Against the Day . . .
The first shot went high and wild.
Clint didn’t move. He couldn’t show any fear, or concern.
“Wow,” he called, “which of you fired that shot? That was way off. You must’ve rushed it.”
No answer.
“Come on, boys, step out,” he said. “Let’s do this.”
Tony Black stepped out of hiding. He was off to Clint’s right.
“Where’s Andy, Tony?”
“Here!”
He looked to his left. Andy stepped out, but he wasn’t alone. He had Jason right in front of him.
Damn.
Clint stepped away from the house. He heard Stephanie come out the front door, so he moved farther away. Now he was out in the open, the center of a triangle formed by the other three.
Okay, this was the situation he’d foreseen himself getting into—but not with Jason in the play.
“Okay,” Stephanie said to him, “you wanted me to go for my gun. Let’s do it.”
DON’T MISS THESE
ALL-ACTION WESTERN SERIES
FROM THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
THE GUNSMITH by J. R. Roberts
Clint Adams was a legend among lawmen, outlaws, and ladies. They called him . . . the Gunsmith.
LONGARM by Tabor Evans
The popular long-running series about Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long—his life, his loves, his fight for justice.
SLOCUM by Jake Logan
Today’s longest-running action Western. John Slocum rides a deadly trail of hot blood and cold steel.
BUSHWHACKERS by B. J. Lanagan
An action-packed series by the creators of Longarm! The rousing adventures of the most brutal gang of cutthroats ever assembled—Quantrill’s Raiders.
DIAMONDBACK by Guy Brewer
Dex Yancey is Diamondback, a Southern gentleman turned con man when his brother cheats him out of the family fortune. Ladies love him. Gamblers hate him. But nobody pulls one over on Dex . . .
WILDGUN by Jack Hanson
The blazing adventures of mountain man Will Barlow—from the creators of Longarm!
TEXAS TRACKER by Tom Calhoun
J.T. Law: the most relentless—and dangerous—manhunter in all Texas. Where sheriffs and posses fail, he’s the best man to bring in the most vicious outlaws—for a price.
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COPPER CANYON KILLERS
A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2014 by Robert J. Randisi.
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for having an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
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ISBN: 978-1-101-63513-1
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Jove mass-market edition / June 2014
Cover illustration by Sergio Giovine.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Version_1
Contents
OTHER WESTERN SERIES FROM BERKLEY PUBLISHING
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
ONE
Daniel Thayer rolled over in bed and gazed at the woman lying next to him. She was a long, lean blonde with beautifully shaped, small, pink-tipped breasts and long, lovely legs. On the bedpost behind them was a gun and holster, within easy reach.
They had just spent an energetic half hour pleasing each other, and were both trying to catch their breath.
“So,” Thayer said, “you know what it is I want done?”
“I know,” Stephanie Kitten said.
“And you can do it?”
She smiled, wiped some sweat from her upper lip with a thumb, then licked it off.
“Oh, I can do it,” she said. “I can do lots of things.”
“Well, I know that,” Thayer said. He stood up, grabbed a blue silk robe from a nearby chair, slipped it on, and belted it. He was a man in his fifties, who kept himself in good physical shape.
Stephanie was in her thirties, a woman full of confidence in her appearance and her abilities. The two had a business relationship and—despite the fact that they had sex from time to time—no personal relationship. The sex was actually a way they had of sealing whatever deal they happened to be making at the time.
He strolled over to a sideboard and poured himself a glass of brandy. He did not offer Stephanie a glass.
The blonde reclined on the bed, one knee bent, allowing the air to dry the perspiration that dappled her beautiful body. Later, when she returned to her own room, she’d have a slow, luxurious bath. She actually liked her sex the way she liked her baths, but she never got that from Thayer. He liked it quick—maybe that was because he simply couldn’t last very long. He was a virile man who kept himself in shape, and could possibly go all night if he’d take some direction from Stephanie, but she’d learned a long time ago that this man didn’t take direction from anyone. He thought being
rich made him right.
Well, as long as he paid her well, Stephanie was willing to tell him what he wanted to hear.
“I need this to be done soon,” he told her.
She reached behind her to grip the bedpost, which stretched her marvelous body out. Her pink nipples were sharply distended, but Thayer was beyond being excited now. He’d already had sex with her, and he was done for the night.
“No problem,” she told him. “It’ll be done.”
“Today?”
“Well,” she said, “I have to go home and take a bath, but . . . I believe it can be done today.”
Thayer carried his brandy to a chest of drawers. He set the glass down on it, opened the top drawer, and took out a thick, brown envelope. He turned and tossed the envelope onto the bed.
“You want to count it?”
She reached for the envelope with one hand and held it, as if testing the weight.
“No need,” she said. “You’ve never shortchanged me yet.”
“All right, then,” Thayer said. “I guess we’re done here. I need to get some sleep.”
“Of course.”
She slid off the bed and reached for her clothes. Thayer picked up his brandy and watched her dress. She pulled on her jeans, buttoned her shirt, then sat on the bed and pulled on her boots. Lastly, she took the gun belt off the bedpost and strapped it on.
Actually, seeing her there wearing her gun, he did begin to get a little excited again.
She picked up the envelope full of money and tucked it into her back pocket, then grabbed her black hat and set it atop her blond hair, which hung past her shoulders.
“The job’ll be done before tonight,” she told him. “Guaranteed.”
“Okay,” he said. “If that’s true, there’ll be another envelope for you.”
She smiled and said, “I’ll look forward to it.”
He raised his glass to her and said, “Until tonight.”
* * *
Outside the Thayer’s house, Stephanie ran into her two partners, who had been waiting there since she went inside.
“The old guy was quicker than usual tonight,” Tony Black said with a grin.
“He’s not so old, Tony,” she said, “but yeah, he was quick.”
“You get the money?” Andy Choate asked.
“First half,” she said, showing them the envelope.
Tony Black was Stephanie’s age, mid-thirties. In fact, they had grown up together, were almost like brother and sister as far as she was concerned. He wanted their relationship to be more, but she just couldn’t see it. It would have been like incest, which she found disgusting. She knew some brothers and sisters who didn’t mind having sex, but that wasn’t the way she thought.
Andy Choate was like a slow cousin to them. He was younger, still in his late twenties, and did whatever they told him to do.
“So when do we do this?” Choate asked.
“Today,” she said, “but first I need a bath, and some sleep.”
“We all need some sleep,” Black said. “Andy, go home and meet us for breakfast at the usual place.”
“Okay,” Andy said. “G’night.”
As Andy walked away, Tony said to Stephanie, “I could use a bath myself.”
She knew what he meant, but she said, “Fine, you can use the water after I’m finished. That’s as close as you’re gonna get.”
TWO
When Clint Adams rode into Copper Canyon, Wyoming, he was a new man.
At least, he liked to think he was.
He had decided that in his future travels he was going to start minding his own business. Yes, he had decided it before, but this time he was determined to stick to his guns. Travel across the country, enjoy the food and the gambling and the women, and stay out of trouble. And if he did find trouble, it would be his own, not other people’s.
It was actually his friend, Rick Hartman, who had talked him into this new mind-set when he had recently spent time in Labyrinth, Texas . . .
Sitting in Rick’s Place, Hartman’s saloon and gambling hall, Clint had shared a beer with his friend, and listened to his advice.
“You can’t solve everybody’s problems, Clint,” Rick told him.
“I know that, Rick.”
“Then why do you try?” Rick asked. “Every time you get a telegram from a friend in trouble, you run. And even when you’re not asked, if you see somebody in trouble, you step in. You end up with people shooting at you.”
“People shoot at me anyway.”
“That’s true,” Rick said. “They shoot at you because you’re the Gunsmith. But you don’t have to become a target by presenting yourself front and center in their sights.”
“That’s not my aim.”
“I know it,” Rick said. “Look, how about trying it my way for a while? When you ride out of here, see if you can stay out of other people’s troubles until you come back here. What’ll that be? Weeks? Months?”
Clint frowned. Could he turn people down when they asked for his help? Especially friends?
“What do you say?” Rick asked. “Give it a try?”
Clint raised his mug and replied, “Why not?”
* * *
That had been several weeks ago. So far he’d been able to stick with it. He’d encountered a man who was losing his business in Northern Texas, and another man who was in danger of losing his ranch in Kansas, and he’d managed to stay out of it. He’d left town both times without looking back. And just a few days ago, after he’d ridden into Wyoming, he’d heard shots in the distance. At one time he would have ridden hard to see what was happening, but this time he ignored the shots and rode the other way.
It hadn’t been easy, but he’d done it.
Now he rode into Copper Canyon, feeling that he was able to adhere to his agreement with Rick Hartman and stay out of trouble. He was just here to eat, maybe gamble, and see what kind of women the town had to offer.
* * *
Jason Henry entered the mercantile store with his list in his hand. This was the first time his father had trusted him to come to town and shop for supplies, and he wanted to get it right.
He walked in, and found the store empty. He looked around for Mr. Collins, the owner, but didn’t see him or any customers. He found that odd. It was the middle of the day, and the store was usually busy, because Copper Canyon was a growing town.
“Mr. Collins?” he called.
No answer. He thought maybe the man might be in the storeroom. He’d never been back there, but his father had pointed it out to him once, telling him that a lot of the store’s supplies were kept back there.
“Mr. Collins?” he asked, walking back to the storeroom doorway . . .
* * *
In the storeroom Tony Black pressed the barrel of his gun tightly into Ed Collins’s spine and said, “Not a word.”
“That’s Jason Henry,” Collins said. “The boy might come back here.”
“If he does, he’ll be sorry,” Andy Choate said.
“Quiet!” Stephanie Kitten hissed.
All three men fell silent. Collins was sweating profusely. The sixty-eight-year-old merchant wasn’t sure what the three people wanted, but he knew it wasn’t good. They’d looked like trouble when they first entered the store, scaring away his customers, and when they produced their guns, he started to sweat.
“Mr. Collins!” the boy shouted from the store.
“If he comes in here,” Stephanie whispered, “he’s dead.”
“Let me keep him out,” Collins said.
Tony gripped the back of the merchant’s neck so hard the man winced.
“You’ll try to run,” Tony said.
“I won’t!” Collins said. “I just don’t want the boy hurt.”
Andy looked at Stephanie.
>
“Talk to him from the doorway,” she told Collins.
“Steph—” Tony started, but she cut him off.
“Shut up!” She looked at Collins, gestured with her gun. “Go!”
Tony released his hold on Collins, who moved toward the doorway, pushed aside the curtain that covered it.
“Hey, Mr. Collins,” Jason said, smiling broadly. “I was lookin’ for ya—”
“Run, Jason!” Collins yelled. “Run!”
“Stupid!” Stephanie said. She grabbed Collins, pulled him back from the door, and struck him in the face with her gun. “Get the boy!” she yelled at Tony and Andy.
But they didn’t have to chase Jason Henry. The seventeen-year-old stuck his head through the curtain, frowning, and said, “Mr. Collins.”
Stephanie almost brought her gun down on the top of his head, but thought better of it. Instead, she grabbed him, wrapped her arm around his neck from the back, and choked him until he was unconscious.
“You killed him!” Collins said. He was down on one knee, holding his head.
“No,” she said, taking her gun out again and pointing it at him, “he killed you.”
THREE
Daniel Thayer sat behind his desk in his office.
When the new City Hall was built, he chose a back office on the second floor for himself. He had a window, but it overlooked the back alley. He didn’t want the distraction of having the town right outside his window. He also couldn’t hear what was going on out in front of the building. Unless there was a shoot-out right in front, he didn’t think he would ever have heard a thing. If the bank was robbed, with shots fired, he’d have to be told about it. Similarly, if someone in town was shot to death, he wouldn’t know until someone came to his office with the news.
* * *
After Clint had secured lodging for both himself and Eclipse, his Darley Arabian, he’d gone out in search of a steak. He’d found one that was pretty good, and now he was washing it down with a cold beer at Milty’s Saloon.
That was where he was when he heard the shots.
The bartender’s head jerked up at the sound of the first one. Chairs scraped the floors as patrons rose to their feet when the second shot sounded.
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