Devin didn’t know how he knew. He just did. Just like he didn’t question where his next breath came from, he also didn’t question his intuition. It kept him alive. It revealed things to him no else could see, hear, or even understand. Since he arrived at Camp Griffin, he felt compelled to return to the ranch for reasons beyond Deuce.
As the rambling ranch house came into view, his gut wrenched. There were no lights. Megan always kept the kerosene fixture above the table on low at night.
With barely a break in gait, he jumped off the black stallion. In two long strides, he was up the walk.
The door was ajar.
His heart pounded.
In one leap, he was over the porch and through the front door, pistol in hand. Finely honed silvery eyes acclimated to the surroundings instantly. The signs were there, the ones that had plagued him for the past two days. Megan and the girls were in trouble.
The hearth was cold. A full cup of coffee sat on the small, round table next to the couch. The girl’s beds were unmade, sheets tossed haphazardly on the floor.
Before the sergeant and his men gathered a breath to speak to him as they entered the house, Devin grabbed his rifle from the rack and dashed past them on his way to the barn.
A touch of respite washed over him when he spotted Deuce clamoring in his stall, hungry and feisty, but none the worse for wear. The horse caught sight of Devin. Straight away Deuce snorted his discontent.
Devin wasted no time exchanging saddles. Reed’s old saddle was already strapped down on the black stallion by the time Sergeant Major walked in, followed by the three soldiers.
“Mr. Spawn, is everything all right? Will we be staying here the night? We’ve been riding hard for two days, the men and horses need rest.” Sergeant Major’s tone was direct and cool.
In a sidelong glance, Devin noticed the wariness in the man’s gaze. The officer eyed the rifle, then the two saddled horses.
“Need to go into town. I’ll be back. Follow. Stay. It’s up to you.” Devin already knew they would follow. Come hell or high water, he was going to find Megan and the girls and bring them back. No one was going to stop him. Of that, he was confident.
* * * *
With the military breathing over his shoulder, he thought it best not to shoot up the town first, then ask questions. He decided to start with the sheriff and go from there. Follow the trail wherever it led, then start shooting.
In no time at all, he reached Sheriff Tucker’s office and barged right in.
The Sheriff was dozing, reclined back in his chair with his legs propped on his desk. With the jarring sound of the door banging open, Sheriff Tucker bolted upright, cursing up a storm at the disturbance.
“Where’s Megan Spawn?” Devin demanded heatedly, glaring at the portly older man. His reddened cheeks, blotchy nose, and glazed, red-lined eyes gave off more than a hint of recent alcohol consumption.
“Who the hell wants to know?” Sheriff Tucker bit back with a slur, his beady eyes squinting as he tried to focus on the four soldiers entering his office, then the huge man in front of him.
“Her stepson,” he growled. Inwardly, Devin winced. If she heard him now, she’d be madder than a barrel full of rattlers. He didn’t like saying it any more than she liked hearing it.
From the way his eyes bulged and darted to the wanted poster hanging on the wall behind his desk, Devin detected the moment Sheriff Tucker realized to whom he spoke—right about the time the color drained from his face.
“She’s working,” he blurted, his forehead starting to bead with sweat as he glanced at the four soldiers who stood quietly inside the door.
“Where?”
“Don’t want no trouble.”
Devin slammed his fist on the desk, causing the Sheriff to jerk back a step and everything that wasn’t bolted down on the desk to vibrate. “Damn you, little man, tell me where before I beat next week’s shit out of you.”
“I’ll tell you, but you gotta know, it’s legal. Either she works, or she’s jailed for default on a lawful contract.”
Devin grabbed him by the shirt and back-handed him across his face with such force, the shirt ripped right out of Devin’s grasp. Sheriff Tucker fell backward into his chair, clutching his crimson cheek.
“You’ve seen him, officer. Arrest him,” he shouted, staring helplessly at Sergeant Major and his men, seemingly afraid to look at Devin again.
“Our orders are to follow this gentleman wherever he travels and assist him. We do not interfere in civil matters,” the Sergeant responded reverently. Devin leaned over the desk and grabbed the Sheriff by the front of his torn shirt again, yanking him out of his seat.
Sheriff Tucker cowered at the news. This time, he began to tremble. His last thread of hope appeared to vanish along with any shred of his surviving dignity.
Devin’s hand came up, and Sheriff Tucker blurted, “Jazelle’s. She’s at Jazelle’s.”
Sheriff Tucker was breathing raggedly, eyes glazed with fear as Devin released him. Abruptly, he slumped back into his chair, thankful for the reprieve. Devin thought the good-for-nothing sheriff looked ‘bout ready to whistle Dixie and dance a jig if Devin felt a hankering to request.
“Emma and Shelby?”
“Shelby is at the Garrison farm, and Emma is over at the Johnson’s place, behind the café.”
* * * *
Very few dared disturb Madame Jazelle while she tallied the week’s receipts. Everything happened at once at the loud bash brought on by the door to her private office being kicked open. Anger raced her blood and her gaze shot up. Underneath the desk, she threw up her skirt, reaching for the derringer strapped to her thigh, set to shoot the trespasser.
Her eyes widened and her hand stilled. Jazelle instantly recognized the forceful Cannon from his two previous visits. Another dilemma with one of the girls, she surmised. With a relaxed smile on her face, she sat back in her chair, positive she had the perfect remedy—new blood.
However, she intended to save the coveted arrival for her most discriminating client who expected to utilize the girl exclusively. Since he was out of town at the moment, there was no harm earning a little extra on the side. If the price was right, a profitable deal more to her liking was always attainable. Her excitement increased as the dollar signs flittered in front of her.
Known only by “Cannon,” she couldn’t very well call him that, so she greeted him in her usual seductive tone. “Darling, there’s a favorable outcome to every entanglement.” She liked the play on words.
“Where is she?”
“Who?”
“You know who the hell I’m talking about,” Devin growled.
“Cheri?” she asked with a valid air of curiosity. Inwardly Jazelle grumbled, thrown briefly by the dark challenge in her formidable client’s voice.
“Megan Spawn.”
“Word travels fast. Interested in the new girl? It’ll cost you.”
“I ain’t fucking paying for kin.” His muscles tightened every line taut in his face.
“Sorry, sweetie, this one you are.” Madame Jazelle took a deep, steadying breath as her pulse sped out of control. Her mind raced. Hardin promised good money for the girl, and she wasn’t about to let Megan slip away so easily.
“Like hell I am.” He loomed over her desk, wiped it desk clean with one sweep of his arm.
She gasped, watched with chagrin as the night’s receipts scattered across the floor, along with the tiffany lamp, ink bottle, her favorite shot glass, and everything else.
“Assuming you’re Devin, then your pa should have enlightened you about your stepmother.” Practically shaking in her chair, she fought to control her nerves. She could hear her own voice quaver. She hadn’t become a successful proprietor by allowing anyone to see her sweat, backing down from a fight, or letting someone pull a fast one over her, and she wasn’t about to start now.
“Look here, bitch. I don’t know what the fuck you’re trying to pull, but you have two seconds. I alwa
ys wondered what it would be like to skin a woman alive.” She stared at the huge hand curling over the handle of the long blade sheathed at his waist. “One.”
Her wide eyes shot from the long blade to the fiery warning in his black gaze. She swallowed hard, gripped with fear.
“Fine, I’ll tell you.” She was fond of her skin just the way it was—every flabby roll and wrinkle. Hardin’s deal failed to provide round-the-clock protection, though the eager beaver expected to show up later tonight to partake in widow Spawn’s delights in privacy after her customers left. Hardin assured her Megan Spawn’s stepson, the notorious gunslinger, had been arrested. Had she known the outlaw was the same man standing in front of her, Jazelle would have thought long and hard before dragging Megan back.
“Megan worked for me before she married your pa. I put a roof over her head, fed her, and clothed her. Could have made lots of money off that gal. Still can. Men pay top dollar for young and attractive girls, with fresh little—”
“Take care of what you say.” His tone was a cold warning, and she heeded every word.
Madame Jazelle countered with a sneer. He might be wearing a lethal collection of weapons designed for considerable harm, but she had the supply to his demand. That pretty much kept her in charge of the situation. “All I’m saying is, Reed offered to buy her, and I accepted. He’d been paying for her since day one. Still owes me money, and I ain’t letting her go until I collect every damn cent. Whether she earns it on her back or you pay up, doesn’t matter to me.”
“How much?”
“Fifteen thousand.”
“Fifteen thousand! What, you dress her in diamonds?”
“Interest, sweetie,” she bit back with smug satisfaction. At her age, the thrill of negotiation aroused her more than sex. “Either you pay the full amount, or for a tidy sum, we can work you around her other clients.”
He pulled out a pouch tucked in the inside pocket of his jacket. It plopped with a deep thud in the middle of her desk. “Keep the change,” he said dryly.
Her eyes widened with sheer ecstasy. She knew the sound of gold when she heard it. And baby, that was the sweet knock of pure gold, and lots of it.
“Sweetie, she’s all yours.” Her voice hummed with elation as she started to pull out gold nugget after gold nugget, lining them along the top of her desk. “Truth of the matter, I’m glad you’re taking her off my hands. She’s been spitting fire from hell ever since she stepped foot in this place. Hasn’t worked out like I hoped.”
“Where is she?” he demanded menacingly, towering over her desk.
“Up front in the saloon, probably scaring off the customers,” she offered happily, hauling a scale from the bottom drawer to the top of her desk.
“Come near her again, and you won’t live long enough to see this hellhole go up in smoke.”
Madame Jazelle’s gaze rose to meet his. For once, she was rendered speechless at the icy viciousness in his tone. Never would she forget the look in his eyes, black orbs boring the conviction behind the pledge before he stormed out the room.
* * * *
“Ah, Sarge, can’t we have at least one drink? Colonel don’t hafta know,” Corporal Sam Webster grumbled at the same time Devin was learning of Megan’s whereabouts. Sam glanced forlornly at the bar where the soldiers sat in a corner table in the saloon, nursing their glasses of water.
“We’re on duty. When you become Sergeant Major, you drink all the whiskey and beer you want. For now, we have to keep our wits about us.”
“Why, the Laredo gang ain’t round these parts,” Trooper Vic Morrow piped up, frowning as he pushed his glass of untouched water in the center of the table and crossed his arms over his chest in objection.
“They’re not the ones concerning me at present. If Spawn doesn’t come through that door within the next five minutes like he said,” Sergeant Major nodded his head toward the connecting door that led to Jazelle’s Place, “we’re going to have to go after him. And fellas, it’s gonna take all four of us to handle him.”
“Don’t knows ‘bout you guys, but I’d rather have a double dose of honey any night than the best whiskey any ol’ town has to offer.” The three other soldiers followed Sergeant Edgar Toledo’s line of vision to the newest attraction at the Silver Nugget.
They smiled and mumbled their agreements at the petite figure dressed in a mid-calf red satin skirt with black ruffles, black fishnet stockings, and a black-and-white corset that pushed up her small breasts dangerously above the plunging neckline. So low, it looked as if one wrong move and her nipples would pop out. Golden-colored hair curled atop her head with several loose tendrils falling down her back and around her shoulders.
“Can’t I stay in town whilst the rest of you go back to the Spawn ranch? I’ll be back in the morning, I swear, Sarge.”
“You’re the randiest rooster in the hen house, Toledo. I’ve noticed that one—” Sergeant Major responded just before Corporal Webster interrupted.
“A fella can’t help but notice a warm body ripe for the plucking,” Webster added grinning at Toledo.
“And Toledo wansta do the plucking,” Trooper Morrow joked.
“Plucking ain’t what I had in mind.” Toledo elbowed Morrow in the arm, snickering. “Mores like fucking.”
“Well, you fellas can forget it. Since we sat down, she hasn’t been overly friendly to anyone. Don’t think she’s setting her sights on your sorry flat butt, Toledo. And besides, we ain’t got the time.”
“My butt ain’t what I was gonna use. B’sides, only needs a few minutes with a real man to set her straight, not that drunk she’s with now.” Toledo grimaced as they all intently watched the ruckus unfolding several tables away.
* * * *
For the hundredth time today, Megan tried to sidestep groping hands as she deposited a whiskey bottle on the table with a loud thump. She would have succeeded in her hasty escape if not for the persistence of her current patron.
“Chickie, where’s ya scurrying to?” The drunk rose out of his seat slightly, grabbing her by the arm. The three other cowboys sitting at the card table laughed when he yanked her across his lap.
“Unhand me. You have your whiskey. That’s all you’re getting from me,” she hissed as she attempted to unhook his tight grasp from around her waist.
“Tonight, I’m lucky at cards and gettin’ luckier with the ladies.”
“Don’t see no ladies round here, Hoss,” a buddy from across the table sneered.
“This is one lady who’ll be passing you up,” Megan declared heatedly as she attempted to stand.
“Not so fast,” he muttered, tightening his grip. He pulled her back onto his lap and kissed her on the neck. She slapped his face, yelling vehemently for him to let her go. Her loud voiced captured the attention of another saloon girl walking nearby.
“Hoss, why you wasting time on a rattle-boned mouse?” Hattie said sweetly, draping an arm around his shoulder, staring at the large pile of money sitting in front of the drunkard. With her hand on Megan’s forehead, she pushed Megan’s face from Hoss, who was leaving a slobbering trail down Megan’s neck.
Megan gave off a shrill noise and her neck jerked sideways.
Hoss grinned up at the other woman. His body swayed in its seat. The other men looked on, baring stained-toothed sneers.
“She’d be nothin’ but a worthless poke.” Hattie pulled Megan off Hoss’s lap by the hair, knocking her to the floor.
Megan shrieked and landed on her rump with a loud thud, several of her light golden strands dangling from the other woman’s long fingers.
With mixed emotions, Megan scrambled to her feet. The other woman happily took her place on Hoss’s lap. Part of her was thankful for her replacement, yet her temper escalated by the unceremoniously removal of herself. Unruly customers came with the job. It was to be expected. If she had to work here for who knew how long, then there was no way she was going to allow the other females to trample over her.
“
Who ya calling worthless, you festering barrel of lard?” Megan hollered, yanking the other woman’s red hair until she was halfway off Hoss’s lap.
The redhead screeched, clutching at Megan’s wrist frantically.
The men started hollering and laughing. Hoss grabbed Hattie’s plump ass and shoved her forward. She landed on Megan, and they both tumbled to the floor while several other patrons started to gather around the quarreling females.
Megan tried to push the woman off, but estimated Hattie had at least a good thirty pounds or more on her big-boned frame. The other female straddled her, twisting painted fingers in Megan’s updo, and banged her head against the wooden floor.
With all her might, Megan made a fist and landed a punch across the woman’s right cheek. Megan rolled the woman off as the redhead fell sideways, crying out. They continued to roll on the floor—arms flaying, legs kicking, clothes ripping, and hair flying.
The entire crowd gathered around, including the soldiers. Enthusiastic men pushed the tables and chairs out of the way as the tumbling mass rolled across the floor. They went right along with the women, hooting and hollering, giving them plenty of space to carry on. Some were even taking bets as to who was going to win.
Toledo whooped the loudest when Megan’s strap busted and her left breast popped out, so firm, it scarcely bounced when the satin-striped corset ripped apart, soon followed by the other breast.
The buxom redhead spared no modesty as her robust tits spilled out of her torn neckline. Legs kicked in the air, hiking her skirt up around her waist, revealing her bare ass and proof she wasn’t a natural redhead.
* * * *
In a rage, Devin barged through the crowd, knocking people over in the process. He shouldered his way to the center and reached down into the middle of the fracas to scoop Megan up with a single arm wrapped around her waist.
The crowd booed and shouted their protests. As soon as he shot them a warning look, most quieted down.
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