Her Cold Revenge

by Erin Johnson

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Introduction

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Back Cover

  Grace Milton, a young woman living in the Arizona Territory, watches as her family is killed by the ruthless men known as the Guiltless Gang. Her house and former life are destroyed in a merciless fire.

  Grace makes a promise to herself. She will hunt down every member of the Guiltless Gang no matter what it takes. Even if it makes her as hard and ruthless as her enemies. Grace becomes a bounty hunter, meeting fear, disbelief and scorn along the way. Then she meets a handsome young drifter named Joe. Joe lost his own family years ago and can feel the pain in Grace’s heart. As the man’s kindness begins to grow into something more, Grace is torn. If she opens her heart will she be strong enough to finish her quest? Will loving this dark-haired stranger turn her aside from reaping her cold revenge?

  CHAPTER 1

  In the flickering candlelight of her cramped room, Grace studied the wanted posters she had draped over the washstand and the chair and tacked against the wall. Not that she needed to. Every detail of the faces of her family’s killers had been burned into her mind. She had memorized each feature, each scar, the hard look in each eye, and the twist of each sneer. Yet even then she couldn’t help staring at the shadows flitting back and forth across the images of the Guiltless Gang, making them appear even more sinister. Desire for revenge smoldered like a constant flame inside her, burning around her heart. Yet in the weeks since Grace had left Tombstone and arrived in Bisbee, not a whisper of their whereabouts had circulated. Not one clue had made its way into the gossip floating around town, and she had no idea where the gang was holed up. Last she’d heard they’d fled like the cowards they were. It was as if they’d completely disappeared. One thing was certain — if she got even an inkling of where to find any one of them, she wouldn’t hesitate to hunt them down.

  Stretching out on her narrow bed in the tiny attic room, Grace swallowed bitterly at her thoughts. Below her, the cacophony in the saloon swelled, the boasts and laughter growing more raucous, chasing off sleep and underscoring her loneliness. The ache of loss and regret spiraled up, reminding her how isolated she was, and how unprotected. Her hand snaked out and curved around her father’s revolver, tucked under her pillow, and more memories fed painfully into her mind. Pa had taught her and Daniel to shoot, to protect themselves from the dangers of the desert — rattlesnakes, slinking coyotes, rabid animals. He’d never expected to be ambushed by humans . . .

  Nightmares of the past closed around her. She was back in the root cellar, peering through the tiny slit, helpless while the Guiltless Gang slaughtered her family one by one. Ma crumpled on the ground, tiny Abby beside her, and her brother Daniel too. Pa’s eyes had warned her to be still, to save baby Zeke, before a murderous bullet took him too. Then as her family’s cabin burned, Grace had fought her way through smoke that clogged her lungs, constricted her breathing, desperate with hope. But it was no use. Zeke’s small body lay in her arms, lifeless . . .

  With the palms of her hands, Grace pressed away the tears that began to roll down the sides of her face, and the horror of the memory dimmed — though it would never fully disappear. The candle burning low on the table beside her came into focus, and she rolled over and snuffed the flame, then lay rigid in the darkness as the bangs and shouts downstairs intensified. The scuffling and shouting crescendoed into crashes, curses, and threats, and soon she heard the saloon doors bang open, followed by screams and gunshots.

  Her hand tightened on the Colt’s grip. Yes, Pa had trained her to kill wild animals, but did outlaws fit that description? Would Pa ever have believed his daughter capable of killing a man? She squeezed her eyes shut, and there was Guiltless member Doc Slaughter, pinning a helpless girl against the hay bales in a dark alley. Grace had acted on instinct to save that girl — and, if she was honest, to avenge the murder of her brother Daniel. But could she do it again if she faced another of those criminals? In a way, she was more worried she might never get the chance.

  Although she’d marched through the crowd at the Bird Cage Theater and declared herself a bounty hunter, she was now alone and near penniless and beginning to doubt her choice. The reward money she’d received for killing Slaughter had seemed a fortune, but after a few months without much work, the money in her pouch had dwindled to almost nothing. And the townspeople made it clear they weren’t likely to hire a sixteen-year-old female to track down criminals. If she didn’t get work tomorrow, she’d find herself on the street.

  She considered returning to the Ndeh tribe who had shown her such kindness, but that would mean facing Joe. Grace knew she wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye; she wouldn’t be able to explain why she’d left without him after the kiss they’d shared. Too afraid to love someone after everything that had happened to her, and fearful love would keep her from her mission, she’d bolted. Still, in spite of herself, most nights she relived each moment they’d shared . . . but tonight she couldn’t — wouldn’t — think of Joe. Memories of him only brought more pain.

  Suddenly, Grace heard heavy boots stomping up the stairs.

  Her fist clutched at the covers. She’d paid extra for this tiny attic room with its smelly mattress and its bugs and mice that crawled over her in the dark, because the room’s location offered a bit more protection. Few people climbed the stairs — until now. She listened hard. She knew her rent was overdue, but those boots clunking up the stairs weren’t her landlady’s. Had Miz Bessie sent someone to throw her out?

  Grace’s muscles stiffened as the doorknob rattled, but though it twisted and turned, the lock didn’t give way. A loud, angry exhale was followed by fists banging the wood so hard the center panel bowed inward, and she knew the flimsy door couldn’t withstand more pounding. Miz Bessie would blame her if the wood shattered, and she had no money to pay the rent, let alone replace the door.

  Clutching her revolver, Grace slipped out of bed and flicked open the lock, then stood to one side, gun aimed, as she yanked open the shuddering door.

  CHAPTER 2

  A man, his fist up to pound the door again, pitched forward into Grace’s room. He staggered a few steps and then clutched at the washstand to steady himself. Grace wheeled around to keep the gun pointed at his chest. Moonlight glinting through her small window illuminated the hard planes of the stranger’s face and the jagged scar that ran from the edge of his mouth to his eyebrow, pulling one side of his mouth into a permanent smirk. She took an involuntary step back as his startled expression changed to a glower.

  “What ya doing in my room?”

  His slurred words and his eyes, glazed and unfocused, revealed the long hours spent in the bar below. Grace straightened to her full height, but the man still towered over her, his body leaning forward menacingly.

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sp; “You’re mistaken. This is my room.” Grace spat out each word, but she couldn’t contain her trembling. Had Miz Bessie rented out this room to him? Or worse yet, made good on her threat to make Grace service paying customers?

  The man’s small bleary eyes conveyed his confusion. “I pay — hic — paid for thish.” He shook his head. “Room at top of stairs.”

  No, it couldn’t be. She had begged Miz Bessie for a little time.

  A gleam lit the man’s eye. “Musta paid for more than I thought. Come ’ere, lil darling.” He staggered toward her, teeth bared in a jagged, mirthless grin.

  Grace backed up until she bumped into the bed.

  “That’s it, girlie. You and me gonna have us some fun.”

  She stepped away from the bed, setting her jaw and berating herself for retreating. She gestured at him with the revolver. “Stay back.”

  The man halted, swaying back and forth. His uncomprehending eyes fixed on the Colt. He blinked several times. “That ain’t what I think it is?”

  Grace’s teeth clenched so tightly she could barely force out the words. “I’m not afraid to use this.” She dipped the revolver low enough to make the color leave his face, then moved her aim back up to his heart.

  His low, throaty chuckle ended in a sneer. “Lil thing like you don’t know how to use that.”

  Grace pitched her voice as deep and menacing as she could. “Get out.”

  The man stumbled to one side, but steadied himself again on the washstand. “Not before I get wh-what’s on offer,” he slurred, lunging toward her.

  She sidestepped smoothly, and the drunkard crashed face first onto the wooden floor planks. She kept her gun trained on him as he lay in a heap, his breath coming in uneven gasps, but when he remained motionless, Grace nudged him with her foot. No response, no groan. He was out cold. She squatted beside him, uncertain what to do. She could try to drag him into the hall, but what if he woke and wanted revenge? Or worse yet, what if he was one of Miz Bessie’s customers? In that case, she’d best leave now and not come back until she could pay her debts and then some. Miz Bessie would forgive anything if Grace waved enough money in front of her.

  She gathered her belongings from the drawers, stuffing them into the saddlebag, and then collected her rope and the bow and arrows the Ndeh tribe had given her. She stepped gingerly over the man and headed out, feeling her way in the darkness as she crept down the back staircase. A few lamps still burned in the narrow hall and along the second set of stairs, making her descent easier, but she tripped on a loose carpet runner on the lower landing and barely managed to catch herself before she crashed into the door at the bottom of the steps. Turning the knob, she eased the door open a little and peered into the saloon. A few patrons were still hunched over the bar, backs to her, and close by two cowboys slumped over a table, too groggy to notice her. Grace waited until the barman turned to refill a glass, then tiptoed to the rear exit and slipped out into the darkness.

  She crept along the alley, making sure to keep to the shadows, her gun clutched tightly in her hand. Traveling alone at this time of night was dangerous, but not as dangerous as staying in her attic room with that lecherous stranger. She had to head out of town. Her stay with the Ndeh had taught her survival and tracking skills, and in many ways she felt safer out in the desert or the mountains. But there was something she needed first.

  When she reached the stable, she had to bang several times before the doors creaked open and a bleary-eyed stable hand stared out at her.

  “I’m here for my horse.” He didn’t respond or pull the gates wide enough for her to enter until Grace added, “Bullet.” Then it seemed he couldn’t open up quickly enough.

  She hadn’t found a stable yet that could handle her high-spirited palomino. Bullet responded only to her — she’d roped him as a wild colt and broken him herself. Even Pa had given Bullet a wide berth . . . At another thought of him, Grace’s throat closed and she blinked to clear the mist from her eyes. Not now. She’d think of her father again when she could grieve him properly.

  “Bullet?” Grace called into the cavernous blackness that reeked of manure, trampled straw, and old horse blankets. The racket in a far stall ceased, and when her eyes adjusted to the gloom, Grace headed toward the nickering palomino, whispering calming words as she passed stalls filled with snorting and stamping horses.

  When she reached Bullet’s stall, she struggled to undo the latch and noticed a section of his door was bowing out. He must have been kicking at the wood again. She’d already paid to replace the stall door twice. Grace rubbed his nose and sighed. Bullet had been so happy at the Ndeh camp — if only they could go back to the warmth and closeness of the Indian village. But she once again reminded herself that Joe might still be with them, and she couldn’t afford any distractions. She had to concentrate on her mission: tracking down her family’s killers and bringing them to justice.

  A short while later, she and Bullet streaked down the road toward Tombstone. They both loved cantering down the deserted trail, braids and mane blowing in the cool night air. Grace kept one hand on the pistol holstered at her side; the other hand held the reins loosely, giving Bullet his head. The horse needed his freedom after being corralled for so long, and the beauty of the stars twinkling overhead tempted her to relax and enjoy the scenery, but she knew she had to remain alert for the desert’s many dangers. Soon grayness smudged the sky to the east, followed by streaks of yellow and pink along the horizon. As they traveled on, Grace patted her rawhide containers again to be sure they were full of water. Ever since the stable hands in Tombstone had sabotaged her water bags, she always checked and rechecked her supply. Once the sun rose, the heat shimmering on the desert clay and sand would quickly cause dehydration, so she pulled Bullet to a halt and gave him a drink. One thing she had learned was that you could never be too cautious.

  By early morning, they reached the outskirts of Tombstone, and Grace headed straight for the sheriff’s office in the courthouse. Sheriff Behan had been away on “family business” ever since Grace had received the reward money for killing Doc Slaughter; the Guiltless Gang had been paying Behan for protection, and the sheriff failed to deliver. In Behan’s absence, Deputy Clayton had captured many crooks, but had apparently seen neither hide nor hair of the Guiltless Gang. Even if it wasn’t a priority for the law, Grace would never abandon her hunt for those murderers. But for now she would hunt whatever petty criminals appeared on the new wanted posters so she could pay Miz Bessie. Dismounting, she tied Bullet’s reins to a hitching post outside the courthouse, frowning as he snorted and nosed her arm.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Stay calm until I come out.”

  She and Bullet had already made enough enemies in this town; they did not need any more. She ran a soothing hand down Bullet’s neck, and then turned and strode quickly toward the courthouse. Behind her, Bullet stamped and tossed his head, but at least he didn’t rear.

  Inside the sheriff’s office, Deputy Clayton sat at the smaller of the two desks. The other desk remained empty, and Grace pursed her lips at Behan’s continued cowardice. The deputy looked up when she entered.

  “Can I help —?” He squinted at her. “Oh, Miss Milton, it’s you.”

  He stood and motioned her to a hard-backed chair, and she sat on the edge of the seat and leaned forward.

  “I came to see about more bounty work.”

  Clayton cleared his throat, averting his eyes. When he spoke, his syrupy, patronizing tone seemed geared to pacify a young child whose sticky sweet had fallen into the dirt. “Well now, you know how much we appreciate what you did at the Bird Cage Theater. Ridding us of a notorious criminal and all. Very admirable.”

  “And . . . ?” Grace prompted after he paused.

  The deputy tilted back his chair, gazed at the ceiling, and stroked his chin. “Thing is, most people don’t abide by a woman chasing outlaws.”
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  Grace gripped the chair arms and struggled to keep her temper in check.

  The deputy drawled on. “The men round these parts just don’t like being shown up by a girl. And you got to consider that some of ’em have families to feed.”

  “I need to eat too.”

  Deputy Clayton tendered an apologetic smile and sighed. “A pretty girl like you should just get yourself a husband.”

  He looked at her sincerely, but Grace almost choked. She hid her clenched fists under the folds of her calico skirt, but she couldn’t keep the tartness from her words. “I have something important to do first.”

  Deputy Clayton’s eyes filled with pity. “That’s no life for a woman.”

  Grace wished she hadn’t made public her plan to bring every member of the Guiltless Gang to justice. The deputy had done everything he could to discourage her — maybe he even knew the gang’s whereabouts. Was he keeping it from her so other bounty hunters could capture them?

  “If you need money, I hear old Miss Billings needs a seamstress . . .” he ventured.

  Grace suppressed a sigh and shook her head.

  “Miss Billings is a mite testy at times, but she’d pay you well.”

  “I’m no good with a needle and thread.” Grace bit out the words. Pa had needed her help breaking the horses, so she’d never even learned to sew.

  The deputy’s eyebrows drew together. “Well, what about housekeeping? I could ask around.”

  Grace stared hard at him, unwavering.

  When the silence dragged on, Deputy Clayton sighed. “Fine. All’s I have are a few cold cases or petty criminals.” He waved a hand at the wall of wanted posters.

  “Which ones are they?”

  “Not worth the time, if you ask me.”

  She hadn’t asked him. He didn’t have rent overdue and only a handful of pemmican for the next few meals. Grace would take whatever she could get. She strode over to the wall and, turning to him, she asked again. “Which ones?”