Gunslingers Don't Die: A Sweet Historical Western Romance (Brides of Sweet Creek Ranch Book 2)

by Wanda Ann Thomas

  “I know we’re barging into private matters,” Ty said, apologetically. “Who knows when another college-educated teacher will settle in Aurora. We do hope you and Colt will be staying on.”

  Seth snagged a plump muffin from the berry-stained basket. “Boone claims he’s ready to settle down. Does anyone else believe that pile of sh—”

  “Watch your mouth around my wife and son,” Boone said without heat.

  Maggie winced. Nothing had been decided between her and Boone. Nothing.

  Boone had spoken of wanting to take her on a horseback ride to the butte overlooking the ranch. She massaged her constricted throat and met Boone’s steady gaze. “With Ella and Brigetta’s deft help I added a riding skirt to my wardrobe.” Listen to her, sounding all formal and proper like those refined society women who looked down their noses at others. “Stinking snot, what I’m trying to say is I’m ready to take that ride to…what’s that butte called.”

  Boone’s lips curved upward. “Stinking snot?”

  Her face heated. “A riverboat captain my mother married was always saying ‘stinking snot.’ Though we learned later Captain Pete had actually been a pole-man on a coal barge manned by ex-convicts. He and Mama were married for six months before he ran off.” She ground her teeth. Stop rambling on like a silly goose, Margaret Reed Haven. Stop it right now.

  “It’s called Jackass Butte,” Seth said, taking his time slathering raspberry jam on his muffin. “Boone goes up there before he runs off. Probably trying to ease his conscience, or some such sh—”

  “I don’t want to hear one more disrespectful word out of you,” Boone growled. “Are you clear on that?”

  Seth pushed his plate away. “I heard you.” Freeing his long legs, he skulked off.

  Maggie covered Boone’s fisted hand. “You don’t need to scold him on my account.”

  Boone exhaled a heavy breath. “I’m more concerned than angry.”

  The sound of boots tromping up the porch stairs intruded. The front door swung open, and Garrett and Ox and Buck Goodman strode in, wearing windburned stormy faces. And the gravity of the news they carried meant the trip to Jackrabbit Butte would have to wait.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  A lashing gale swept off the mountains, battering the horses on the ten-mile journey to the Double B Ranch to confront Beau Blackwell over the barbed wire fence he was stringing around Garrett’s property.

  Garrett and Ox and Buck had arrived at Sweet Creek Ranch in the morning as agitated as a swarm of hornets shaken from their hive. They spoke over each other, railing against Blackwell for penning in Garrett’s ranch, effectively cutting off his herd from the open range.

  Boone would have preferred to confront Blackwell alone, but Ty and Wyatt had insisted on accompanying him. So all the Haven men, including Seth and Billy, plus Buck, were arriving in force at Blackwell’s ranch. Boone had instructed the others to leave the talking to him, but he didn’t hold out much hope they’d heed him, especially if Blackwell struck back with his usual arrogance.

  Lightning slowed as they passed under a wrought iron gate imprinted with the interlocking B brand and approached a shiny new, timber ranch house. The wind tugging at his Stetson, Boone let out a low whistle. Quite a bit of time had passed since he’d had the privilege of visiting the Double B. “And I thought Blackwell’s Cheyenne mansion was large.”

  “Pretentious peacock,” Ty said disdainfully. “The stable and barns are grander than most of the buildings in Aurora.”

  The Arkansas Kid sauntered to the edge of the two-story, stone-paved porch, propped his beat-up boot on the lower railing, and stared down at them, hands braced close to his Smith & Wesson revolvers. The baby-blue eyes staring out from the under the grease-stained beaver cap did nothing to soften the air of menace clinging to the gunslinger turned cattle detective. “Mr. Blackwell warned me you Havens would come crying about the new barbed fence.”

  Boone leaned forward, his saddle creaking under his weight. The Peacemakers resting on his hips offered welcome assurance. Guns didn’t come any finer. They met every requirement a gunslinger could want in a revolver—dependable, powerful, perfectly balanced, manageable recoil. The Arkansas Kid might have the advantage of youthful quickness, but this wasn’t Boone’s first rodeo. The setting sun was at his back, so if a gun fight broke out the Kid would be squinting into the sun. And at a range of greater than fifteen yards, the favor shifted from the man with the speediest draw to the one with the most accurate aim. And Boone never missed.

  He pretended boredom, even as he wondered where Wyatt and Buck had disappeared to. The pair were undoubtedly up to something he wouldn’t like, but there was nothing to be done about that now. “Tell Mr. Blackwell we want a word with him.”

  The fringe on the Arkansas Kid’s buckskin jacket flapped wildly in the wind. “He ain’t here.”

  “Where can I find him?”

  “He left me in charge. And I say the fence stays.”

  Boone’s jaw clenched. “You tell Beau Blackwell the small nesters have as much right to graze their cattle on the open range as the cattle barons.”

  “You grease pots go ahead and cut down Mr. Blackwell’s fence and I’ll be happy to arrest you. Unless I think your hand comes too close to your gun.” The Arkansas Kid shrugged. “Then I’ll be happy to splatter your guts on the ground and leave you for buzzard meat.”

  Garrett swore and shifted in the saddle. “I don’t take kindly to you calling us grease pots.”

  The Arkansas Kid grinned. “Good, cause I ain't exactly trying to be friendly.”

  Seth drew his unwieldy Colt Dragoon and urged his horse ahead. “I’ll show you friendly.”

  “Stay out of it,” Boone said calmly, even as his pulse bucked like a spooked horse. “We won’t be goaded into a fight.”

  “Is that so?” the Arkansas Kid drawled, lips curling. “Every man has his breaking point, even the Cowboy Assassin. You be sure to give my regards to Lady Lily and her ugly runt.”

  Black rage overtook Boone. “That’s twice you’ve threatened my family. Come near them and my face will be the last one you see.”

  “I advise you to speak more respectfully of Miss Margaret and Colt,” Ty said, closing ranks with Boone. “We don’t take kindly to disparaging remarks directed at our womenfolk and children.”

  The Arkansas Kid saluted, touching his beaver cap in a nonchalant manner. “Yes, sir. Wouldn’t do to make enemies of the saintly Havens.”

  Ty scowled. “We ain't above killing the likes of you.”

  “No cowpoke rancher and his snotty-nosed orphans are going to take down the Arkansas Kid.”

  Garrett, Billy, and Ox cursed and grumbled.

  Seth pointed. “I’ve had enough of your bull—”

  “Simmer down,” Boone said.

  The foreman of the Double B Ranch and a dozen cowboy ranch hands circled them from behind. The confrontation had all the markings of a runaway train on a collision course with disaster.

  “Give Mr. Blackwell our message,” Boone said, and he wheeled Lightning around. “Let’s go home, boys.”

  Blackwell’s men parted, and Boone led his brothers and the second-chance boys to safety before someone did something stupid.

  Seth joined him. “You chickened out.”

  Boone flinched. “Does being gunned down have a better ring than chicken?”

  “I don’t need you watching out for me.”

  “No, but your brothers need protecting from you.”

  Seth glared back sullenly. “I’d die for them.”

  “I know.” Now wasn’t the time to explain that dying was a whole lot easier than living with yourself after your recklessness got your loved ones killed. “We’ll talk later.”

  Ty rode up beside them. “Where’s Wyatt and Buck?”

  “They went looking for maverick calves,” Seth said.

  Boone wanted to shoot the pair. “Lecturing the bunch of you to use caution is like waving a red flag at a bull.”<
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  Wyatt and Buck rejoined them as they trotted past the outermost barn.

  Wyatt eased his large bay horse between Lightning and Eclipse. “Buck and I found those calves of Ty’s that went missing. The Double B brand was stamped above our Sweet Creek brand.”

  Ty glanced back at the barns. “Blackwell blamed that gang of cattle rustlers working out of Elk Horn Pass.”

  “Buck and I can sneak back later and rustle your calves back,” Wyatt said, the wheels in his mind clearly spinning.

  “Stay clear of trouble, Wy,” Ty ordered firmly.

  Boone echoed Ty’s words. The problem was Wyatt and good sense had a habit of parting company.

  The setting sun blindingly bright and the windswept dust scouring his face, Boone cursed Blackwell. They were sitting on a powder keg. One false move and everything Boone loved could be blown to smithereens.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Frustrated and angry after the confrontation with the Arkansas Kid and unfit to be good company to anyone, Boone mucked out horse stalls steeped in the calming scents of hay, manure, and horse. Exchanging the rake for a brush, he worked out the tangles from Lightning’s mane.

  Jack watched from the corner with sad eyes.

  Boone grabbed the hoof pick next and lifted Lightning’s foreleg. “What’s that look for, dog? I don’t plan to hightail it to Nebraska or Montana, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Jack heaved a large sigh and propped his muzzle on his paws.

  Boone dug a clod of dirt from the curved edge of the hoof. “Our wandering days are behind us. I’m not just saying that.”

  “Dogs are supposed to be good judges of character,” Maggie said, stepping into the circle of lamplight.

  Boone paused for an instant, then resumed his work. He ought to send her away, but he was selfish where she was concerned. “I didn’t want Colt to see me in a foul mood.”

  She peered over the stall door. “You’re worried about the Arkansas Kid.”

  With her upswept hair and berry-kissed lips, she might have stepped out of a fancy drawing room or formal garden. But the best he’d done by her was a tawdry hotel room and a hayloft bed. He released Lightning’s hoof, straightened, and rolled his tight shoulders. “I need to take a ride. Say you will come with me.”

  “In the dark?”

  “The moon is almost full. I know it sounds crazy, but I promise you’ll find it thrilling.”

  She dissolved into the infectious peals of laughter that had arrested his heart the day she’d stepped off the train as the Lady Margaret Lily, his mail-order bride. “How can I resist? I keep telling myself I will give up my dance with dark danger, but it won’t be tonight.”

  He saddled Lightning with quick efficiency, led the large black stallion into the yard, took his seat, and drew Maggie onto his lap. The smell of her citrus perfume mixed with the heady aroma of the mountain snowmelt swelling the banks of the nearby creek. He gave the reins a light flick and Lightning carried them in the direction of Swift Falls.

  He brushed his mouth over her elegant neck and dainty ear. “I don’t want to sneak around anymore. I want to give our marriage a real go.”

  Her head jerked around. “Boone, I—”

  “Don’t answer just yet.” He urged Lightning into a gallop, wanting her to have time to consider his request.

  The ground flashed by in an exhilarating rush, diamond-white stars twinkled in the endless sky, and he took courage and comfort from the pounding of horse hooves and the whip of the wind in his face.

  Maggie pressed against him. “This is crazy.”

  Was she speaking of the midnight ride or his proposal? “Do you want to stop or go back?”

  “No. I want to go faster.”

  “Hold on,” he warned, as they plunged over a grassy knoll.

  She squealed with unladylike delight and held her arms over her head, glorying in the thrill. “Colt will be jealous.”

  Boone smiled. Something he’d been doing more and more of, thanks to Maggie and Colt. “I’ll bring him to the falls tomorrow,” he promised.

  The tree line a dark silhouette ahead, Lightning slowed and stopped. The wind whispered through the ponderosa pines. The short trail to the falls was bathed in moonlight.

  Boone helped Maggie off the horse. Taking her hand, he guided her along the winding path edging the gushing stream. “Watch for rocks.”

  “What about Lightning?”

  He won’t go far.”

  “The falls sound close.”

  They rounded a corner and came upon a black ribbon of mountain water tumbling over jutting stones. Swift Falls looked smaller than he remembered. “My brothers and I spent hours in these pines when we were boys. The falls die down to nothing after the snow melts. It’s been years since I’ve been home during the spring thaw.”

  “Your love for the ranch is obvious. Why did you leave?”

  He pulled her into his arms, needing the physical connection. “Kiss me.”

  Her mouth skimmed his. “I won’t judge you. I understand the need to run away from an unhappy past.”

  “I’ve never told anyone, not even Ty or Pa.”

  “But a husband and wife should trust each other enough to say anything.”

  The words rocketed through him like a bullet shredding muscle and shattering bone. She was giving his proposal serious consideration. But it meant abandoning the privacy he’d clung to until it had become the very fabric of his soul. He rested his forehead against hers. “My father was a violent man. I won’t dirty you with the ugly details.”

  Her arms tightened around him. “Did he beat you?”

  He stared into the dark water assaulted by turbulent memories he’d thought he’d buried. Pounding fists. Sour whiskey breath. Vile cursing. “I could care less what he did to me, but I hated him for hurting my mother.” That hate hadn’t died when his miserable cuss of a father shot his mother dead, then fell into a drunken sleep on the railroad tracks and had his life snuffed out under the wheels of a train.

  “Is that why you became a gunslinger?”

  “No, that came about by accident.”

  “Who becomes a gunslinger by accident?”

  The splash of rushing water filled a long silence. “I was exactly like Seth. Unhappy and unsettled, no matter the love and goodness Pa and Ma showered on me, and no matter the fact I had the best brothers in the world in Ty, Wyatt, White Wolf, Ace, and Levi.”

  Fifteen years had gone by since the fateful day he rode away from Sweet Creek Ranch for the lonely life of a wanderer. He felt ages older than his thirty-four years. “I was making my way through Texas, picking up enough work as a cowpoke to get by, when I came upon a drunken cowboy punching his young son. I confronted the brute and he tried to shoot me for my trouble. Garrett’s father was the first man I killed.”

  She pulled back. He expected to see a look of revulsion or shock, but tenderness and concern shone in her eyes. “And you brought Garrett to Sweet Creek. How old was he?”

  “Six, I think. I’d do it again. And I have.”

  “You make killing sound easy.”

  Boone exhaled heavily. “Some men are good at accounting, or farming, or shopkeeping. I’m deadly good with a gun and once others heard about my talent they came looking for me.”

  He felt a shiver go through her. “Men like the Arkansas Kid.”

  Guilt washed over him. Pa and Ma had lost their lives because of it. He rubbed her back. “The Arkansas Kid, and others like him, is the reason I stay away from the ranch.”

  “Your instinct is to run now, isn’t it?”

  He swallowed the ready denial. “Yes, but I won’t. I’m going to send the Arkansas Kid back home, then I’m hanging up my Peacemakers. I want to be your husband and Colt’s father and make a life with you someplace far from here. New York City or San Francisco ought to be safe.”

  Her eyes were as troubled as the water tumbling over the rocks. “You’d move to a city for us?”

 
What could he say or do to convince her? “If Jack got used to city living, I will too.”

  She laughed shakily. “Are you sure marriage and responsibility are for you?”

  His heart beat faster. That wasn’t a no. “I won’t lie. Settled life will take a bit of getting used to. Tell me you don’t want to divorce. Tell me you will give us a chance.”

  “Us?” she whispered. “I like the sound of that.”

  Hope burst into life. “We were meant for each other. Do you believe that?”

  “I do,” she said, moonlight glistening on her ivory complexion.

  This would be the second time he was given the opportunity to make a new start. He wouldn’t waste it, like he had as one of Pa and Ma’s second-chance boys. “When should we tell Colt and my family?”

  She pressed closer. “No more decisions for now. Hold me. Love me.”

  His blood heated. How many times had he spent a lonely night under a starry sky longing for the comfort of a wife? He hoped he didn’t wake to find tonight just a dream.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Hammers banged and long-toothed saws chewed through wood under the midday sun. Maggie, Brigetta, and Colt had traveled with the Haven family to Garrett’s homestead ranch to help raise a modest-size barn. Maggie worked alongside Ella and Brigetta, setting out a picnic lunch on a makeshift plank table. Babies Viola and Vivien slept on a patchwork quilt under a budding cottonwood. Colt and Little Malcolm busied themselves scooping cups of water from a pail and dumping them into a water trough. Jack and Millie kept a watchful guard from their resting spot in the shadows of the one-room cabin.

  Maggie glanced at the barn skeleton. Turbulent gusts buffeted Garrett, Seth, and Ox as they scaled the timbers. Wyatt patiently instructed the youngest second-chance boys in woodworking skills. Boone stared at her from his perch on the half-finished roof. His black eyes assessing her in that quiet, intent way of his.

  She swallowed, gaining sympathy for the rival gunslingers and brutish thugs he’d set his sights on.