by Lana Gotham
Jon’s face softened and the edges of his mouth lifted into a smile. It wasn’t something I’d often seen on my lover. “I am going to bring my son home. To us.” His smile grew. It was pure and clear and the first time I’d ever witnessed such emotion cross Jon’s face. The emotion was strange on his features, and I realized the look I was witnessing was one of hope. Intense hope. “I know children aren’t what you want. I am not asking you to be a mother. Just to support me. Alyssa—Little Wolf—I have the opportunity to save my child. To find him. It has been three years. He will be nine years old. Just a boy. A boy needs his father.” His eyes glistened with the tenderness.
I nodded. “Jon, I don’t want kids but I want you. And this... this is a part of you. Of course you have to do whatever it takes to save your son. To avenge your wife. I am going to help you.’
Jon shook his head. “No. It is too dangerous. And the town needs you. Who would you leave in your place? Tom? They’d eat him for dinner. GloryLand needs you.”
He had a point. But I couldn’t let Jon go riding off into the sunset to save his boy while I just sat back and did nothing. Especially when I knew he only had two weeks. And if he died—his fate would be worse than rotting in the ground. He’d be forced to do a witch’s bidding for eternity.
If I knew anything from the stories from childhood, it was that a witch always stacked the deck. If she made this deal with Jon, I knew that she had no intention of ever letting him go.
“I’m going with you. That’s that. We can leave first thing in the morning.” I put my hands on my hips, my revolver still clutched in my right fist.
Jon sighed. “There will be no talking you out of this?”
“You know better than to even ask that.”
He cupped my cheek in his large palm. “Okay then, Little Wolf. We leave in the morning.” His smile turned wicked.
“What?” I asked.
“We leave at first light on a dangerous journey. We should make the most of tonight. Don’t you agree?”
He grabbed my hips and lifted me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist.
It was my turn to grin. “I think you make a very good point.”
When he kissed me, it sent a path of heat burning through me like only the kiss of true love can. The Vigilante had been fun. Hot. Sexy.
Jon was real. He was all of those things.
He was mine.
Chapter 14
Jon lifted me onto Diana’s back, and then mounted my horse behind me. Even with the extra weight of another person, my horse was the fastest around. With Jon pressed against me, his arms wrapped around me, his breath hot on my neck, and the very real threat of danger pressing against my emotions, we couldn’t home fast enough.
There is something about danger that adds an urgency to sex. It makes what is hot even hotter. It makes what is passionate, frenzied, and it turns lust from longing into a pure white hot need.
When Diana stopped outside of the cabin, Jon jumped from her back and pulled me into his arms. Diana snorted and whinnied, and once we were dismounted, she trotted away, clearly annoyed.
Jon brought me to the grass and lay me on my back. There was no time to make it inside. No time for beds or baths or foreplay. He tore open my shirt, and I pushed my hands underneath his, relishing the feel of his tight stomach against my palms. My chest heaved as I struggled to pull in enough air to satisfy my lungs. Lust pulsed through me with each beat of my heart. Overhead, the stars were bright—and appeared to shine even more as I let Jon undress me.
How could I have ever thought the Vigilante was exciting? How could I have ever wanted anyone else? Had some part of me recognized my lover—my true love—in disguise? Magic is a strange beast and it isn’t impossible for that to be the case. Magic had always behaved weirdly with me. Maybe some deeply buried animalistic part of me recognized my other half the entire time. Could that explain the dreams? John said he had the same dreams—about he and I and himself in disguise.
Jon ripped open the button of my pants, crashing me back to reality. I pushed at his shirt until he paused and pulled it over his head. His fingers scratched along my hips and he worked my pants down. Then my underwear. They made it to my knees—that was far enough. Jon pulled his hard cock from his pants, and with a thrust, he entered me. He fucked me hard and primal. Every thrust made me gasp. Every push made me moan. He worked in and out and pressure grew inside me, building, until all at once I orgasmed with a release that worked from inside me all the way to the tips of my fingers and toes. Every muscle in my body tensed and flexed with pleasure as Jon pushed and with a final bucking thrust, finished.
I AWOKE BEFORE JON the following morning. I didn’t trust him not to leave without me. He kissed me on my forehead without a word—he knew better than to think I could be talked out of a decision I felt so strongly about. I was the Sheriff, I was a Davis and that had implications. Implications that meant I wasn’t the type to need protecting. Implications that said if anything—it was my job to do the protecting. Jon was my lover, my love, and I’d be damned if I was going to let him go off alone.
We packed water and biscuits and jerky and left with the sunrise.
Jon’s black stallion led the way. Diana, though she was faster, was happy to let the other horse lead. We made the journey in easy silence, slicing through the mostly barren countryside, not stopping the entire time until we reached New Duluth. We watered the horses, but didn’t enter any of the businesses, and did our best to blend in. Jon’s face was stone. He wore no expression and his eyes gave nothing away, but I could feel the anger rolling from him.
We were getting close, and I understood that he was thinking of what he was going to do to the person who held his son captive.
When our animals were refreshed we again mounted. I followed Jon through the mud road, trusting he knew his way. We had no plan to speak of, outside of barging onto the ranch, killing the son of a bitch, and bringing home Jon’s son. I realized that I didn’t know Jon’s son’s name. He’d only referred to him as son or his boy. It was strange to consider that the man I loved, in reality I knew almost nothing about. I knew my feelings for him were true and strong, but other than that, he’d been a stone wall giving little away. I’d gleaned what I could from our whispered bedroom conversations, but I’d never felt the need to push. I’d thought what we had was fragile and I guess a part of me had been afraid that if I pushed then I would risk shattering it. Now I knew that what we had wasn’t fragile at all. It was tough and real. Malleable as clay and hardy as leather.
A man stood smoking a pipe under the wooden overhang of the whorehouse, and as I rode by, his eyes followed me. He nudged his friend, a plump red faced man with pig eyes. The two watched a little too closely. I pulled my hat lower on my head and trained my gaze straight ahead. Drawing unnecessary attention to us would be folly, no matter how badly I wanted to kick in the men’s teeth.
We’d made it almost out of New Duluth—almost home free—when the shit hit the fan.
I wish I could pass the blame, but it rests solely on my shoulders.
Chapter 15
We rode by a squat building as a gangly man was exiting. He did a double take as I passed.
I tried to ignore him and silently willed him to keep his mouth shut, but I should have known better.
“Hey. Sheriff!” The man’s voice bellowed above the street noise. “You are that Sheriff! That woman Sheriff. The one that arrested Bart’s brother last year. Strung him up in GloryLand’s town square.”
Shit.
I should have known. New Duluth and GloryLand are a days journey a part, and despite their geographical closeness, the two towns have little to do with each other. There isn’t a feud, exactly, but there is definitely no love lost between GloryLanders and New Duluthians.
The Bart this man was talking about had been convicted of attempting to rape our school teacher, Shelly Smith. He’d beaten her real bad, and if there is one thing there I refuse to suffer it is a rapist
. He’d been caught red handed and shown no remorse. (Not that remorse would have landed him anywhere but the wrong side of a rope. As far as I’d been concerned he was a hanged man the second Tom had caught him with his meaty hands around Ms. Shelly’s neck and her skirts pulled up.)
When the man called to me, without thinking I looked up, catching him right in his eye.
This was all he needed to keep his hollering. In front of me, Jon stopped and looked over his shoulder.
“I think we need to get out of here.” I wasn’t panicked—and if we weren’t on a mission I’d have gladly made short work of shutting up this jerk. But Jon was on a time restriction. It was quite literally life or death. If we didn’t rescue his son and kill the monster, then he’d spend the rest of his life (and whatever happens after life) on Red Soot Mountain in the clutches of a witch.
Jon nodded, then turned and picked up the pace. Diana followed closely.
As we continued down the street people stopped and watched. Whispers broke out as eyes followed me. It was at the last building on the street—the town bar—when a very drunk red headed man stumbled out.
“Sheriff,” he roared. “I thought people were lying, but here you are, not hiding in your precious town.”
My first instinct was to shoot the man and gallop off, but I didn’t want anyone to follow us. This had to be handled and quickly. I stopped Diana. A few paces ahead, Jon also stopped.
“You killed my brother.” The man walked shakily toward where I sat on horseback.
“Your brother was a rapist. I got no quarrel with you. Go back inside and finish your drink.” Even as I spoke, I knew he wouldn’t do as I said. I knew the way things were going to end. I knew men like him.
“Fuck you!” He yelled, reaching for his gun. I let him get his hand on his weapon, his finger on the trigger, before pulling my weapon.
I pulled back my hammer and the click was loud. “I wouldn’t do that. Like I said, I ain’t got a quarrel with you. Go inside.”
The man, Bart’s brother, paused. He looked slowly up at me, dragging his eyes the entire length of my body. He snorted, working up a wad of phlem, then spit in my direction. “Fuck you, you cunt.”
He again began to pull his weapon, but I ended him before it left his holdster. My shot hit him between the eyes and the shell of the man who’d stood moments before, crumpled to the muddy ground.
The town seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. I couldn’t blame them—these things seldom ended easily. I fired another shot into the air. “I got your attention now. I don’t want no trouble from anyone in New Duluth. I am passing through and I ain’t got a quarrel with none of you. Tell your Sheriff what happened here. Tell him to come and see me in GloryLand if he needs me. I suggest you all go back to what you were doing before and don’t make no more trouble. I’d really hate to leave another body in my wake today.” I glanced at Jon to see his hand resting readily on the butt of his revolver. His rifle was slung across his back.
Slowly, everyone began to actively ignore me, returning to their day. Looks were cast from the corners of eyes, but no one else threatened me.
I’d have been a fool to think it was over. Fights with stupid men seldom end well. There’d be hell to pay.
Chapter 16
I spent the rest of the journey glancing over my shoulder.
I’d known that Bart came from a big family, and at the time of his execution I’d been worried there would be some stupid attempt at payback from his band of idiotic brothers, but when none happened, I figured that they’d agreed that raping and choking and beating a woman was an offense that deserved hanging.
Since then, I’d dealt with an endless number of ass holes and the horrible man had gradually slipped from my mind. I guess his brother hadn’t been as quick to forget.
Bart’s brother had been drunk and I’d been a sitting duck on horseback. Maybe it had been too good for him to pass up the opportunity to try and exact his revenge. Sometimes cowboys were stupid—thinking without acting. Sometimes their stupidity ended their lives. I could hardly be held accountable—what was I supposed to do? Let him shoot me? No.
The sun sank behind the clouds when we finished the last leg of our journey. The ranch, by all outward accounts, was nice. Wooden fence penned in herds of cattle. There were barns and stables and random buildings erected along the road leading to the main area.
Jon stopped and I followed suit.
“What now?” I asked.
“We go in and get my son. We shoot the man whose shape I’ve worn. And we get out of here alive.”
He said the words like they were the most obvious, simple instructions ever given. Never mind there was a one hundred percent chance we’d be shot at. Or that things were bound to get messy real quick.
“Jon, tell me you have more of a plan.”
His jaw tightened, and he remained silent.
“You mean to tell me you’ve been masquerading in this man’s skin, killing baddies and gathering information, and this whole time, you haven’t been considering what you’d actually do?”
“It isn’t that simple, Little Wolf. I only found out about this ranch when I met Mary-Bell. Since then it has taken the whole of my concentration to not ride over here and kill everyone who gets in my way. I have shown restraint, but my attempt to come up with anything resembling a true plan...it has been difficult. I just want...no I need to get my boy home safe. That is all. I will kill anyone who stops me.”
I sighed. “Okay, cowboy, let’s do this then.”
We rode down the dirt road toward the smoke, until a house came into view. It was a simple, rectangle structure with a chimney on either end. It was by all accounts plain. I am not sure why this surprised me—I had been expecting grandeur. Multiple stories and white washed exteriors with grand wrap around porches and balconies are the visions I’d conjured on the ride over. I guess in my mind, excess was linked with immorality. Probably because I had parents that believe that doing without built character—and they’d raised me to have a lot of character.
Next to the houses, three mares grazed near a trough. Cattle stood around lazily behind fences, with the occasional mule joining them in the field. There were no guards posted around the property, like you’d expect from an evil mastermind. It was...bizarre.
The large front porch held a few rocking chairs. The house could have belonged to anyone. It could have easily been the home of a couple of happy, caring grandparents. There was nothing giving away the evil who lived inside.
The planks of the porch creaked under our boots.
With one hand on the door knob, Jon turned back to me and silently held up his fingers. 1.2.3.
He pushed the door open, his weapon drawn. I covered his back, but stayed out of sight.
“Hands in the air,” Jon growled. He stepped further into the room. I followed him. My pistol was raised in front of me and I swept it over the room. A woman screamed. She’d been lounging on a settee near the fire, dressed in purple and red silk with a plunging neckline. She was made of big hair, cleavage, and white teeth. Her hands shot skyward.
The inside of the house was as normal as the outside. Wood floors. Wood walls. Shelves in the kitchen area. A large fire burned in the fireplace, with a rug spread over the floor.
The woman continued to scream, so I crossed the floor in five steps. I cocked my gun and said, “If you want to die, keep it up.” I had no intention of killing another woman. Ever. With few exceptions, I’d come to understand most monsters were men. However, I’d been proven wrong a few times (example, Mary-Belle.)
The woman snapped her thick, ruby lips closed.
“Now,” I said, “Where is he?”
Her voice shook. “Where is who?”
I brought my gun closer to her face. “Don’t play stupid. Your husband, that’s who. I don’t know if you know this—but he is a bad man.”
The woman smirked. She met my eyes, then spit on the floor. “My husband, huh? Do I look like anyo
ne’s wife to you?”
I swept her body with my gaze. Purple and red silk. Rouged cheeks. Bleached curls. None of it screamed propriety. “Okay, then. Whatever that man is to you, he is bad. And we are here for him.”
“That man—Malachi—is nothing to me. He paid for the night, so here I am. Nothing more. If you get him, just let me collect my fee.”
I stared at her a moment more, then lowered my gun. “Deal,” I said. Far be it from me to keep another woman from getting paid—especially if she has put in the work.
“Where is he?” I asked.
Jon had come to stand next to me. His weapon wasn’t pointed at the woman, but it wasn’t lowered, neither. He kept it trained steadily across the room, in a great sweeping motion anytime there was a noise of any kind.
“We just got back from New Duluth. When we were riding up, some of his cattle were out. I’ve never seen a man fly into a rage like that. He let me in the house and then said he’d be back. Said he had to teach someone to do a better job at their duties. I don’t know who he has hired to work with his livestock but I can tell you I am glad it ain’t me.” Her painted eyelids opened wide. “He was practically red.”
I looked over my shoulder at Jon. His bronze skill paled. “Go,” I said. He nodded and then bolted from the house.
Chapter 17
“What’s going on exactly?” the woman asked.
“What’s your name?” I answered her question with a question.
“Lindsey. Lindsey Willing.”
I nodded. “I’m Alyssa. That man who brought you here, he took my partner’s son. Maybe even killed his wife. We are here to get his boy back and bring that man to justice.”
“Malachi. His name is Malachi. And if he hurt a child—then the only justice he deserves is a bullet between his eyes.” Her eyes flashed and her lips twisted into a snarl. “I know good people think women like me are bad—but I’m not. I have me a son. I sent him to live with my sister over the mountains in Payne. I only do this to make money, but I am saving it. All of it. Then I am getting out of here and getting my son and we are starting over.” She paused, her eyes taking on a far-away look. “If someone hurt my child, I’d kill them. I’d kill them and I’d make sure they felt it as their life left their body.”