Devin’s eyes widened with outrage. His hands clenched the heated rifle as he started to call for Deuce while quickly reloading. He suddenly remembered his horse was good and tied. Without a moment to spare, he jumped to his feet as the second horse took flight. He cursed Webster and Morrow. Even at this distance, he could tell the height of the fence fell short of his order.
At full speed Devin ran, jumping over rocks, fallen logs and large cracks in the dried-up mountain cliff. He propped the rifle against his shoulder and took aim. It was dead on. The rider slumped out of his saddle and landed on the pointed spikes, piercing his rotund belly as his horse glided over the fence.
The following rustler was luckier. Devin, jumping over what appeared to be a long-abandoned campfire consisting of a small pile of rocks and ash remnants, faltered as he landed. The second bullet was off, piercing the back of the rider’s arm. His horse rode fast. The wounded man joined the others already nearing the mouth, desperately racing towards the refuge of the nearby canopy of pinon trees.
Devin was good, but he wasn’t that good. He had to pause and reload once again, knowing it would take all of three seconds. Three seconds he didn’t have to spare, as the horses galloped at full speed, closer and closer to escape.
He raised the rifle to his shoulder, sighted off the distance over several hundred yards. The target was at a downward slope and rode fast, almost a quarter a mile away. Slowly, Devin pulled the trigger. The black cowboy hat flew off as blood, bone and brain tissue splattered out of the unrecognizable rustler.
Once more, he cocked the hammer of the second barrel and raised his rifle.
“Spawn,” Major shouted, grabbing his arm. “They’re gone. We got the wagons.”
“Outta my way,” Devin growled, elbowing the Major on the side of his face and knocking him to the ground.
It was an impossible shot from atop the dusty mountain. He could barely see the outlaw taking up the rear, quickly descending upon the trees. For a moment, it looked as if he was about to get away cleanly. Devin stared straight down the barrel, nostrils flared as he took a deep breath and held it.
Devin slowly, ever so slowly, began to squeeze the trigger. As if in slow motion, he tracked the bullet until it reached its intended target. The outlaw didn’t have a chance.
“You knew about the cannons.” Devin turned toward the Major. The viciousness of his tone yanked the man out of his awe-inspired trance as the Major continued to gape in the direction of the poor son of a bitch who toppled from the saddle a moment before his horse disappeared behind the trees.
“Colonel ordered us not to tell you,” Major said. “He thought you wouldn’t go through with the deal if you knew how heavily armed they were.”
“And the fucking fence? It’s a good two feet shorter than I told them to build.”
Major shrugged his shoulders. “Didn’t know. Toledo and I were working on the gunpowder. I’m as surprised as you are.”
Devin stalked toward Deuce, spewing venom the likes of which Sergeant Major must never have heard come out of one man in all his forty years, judging from his face.
In no time, Devin met up with Webster and Morrow as they walked among the dead or dying men scattered along the narrows.
He swung out of the saddle, the purpose is his stride evident, the look in his eye deadly.
“Sorry-assed bastard,” he growled, coming up to Webster. “Next time I tell you to do something, do it.” His fist landed between Webster’s eyes. Webster was out before his butt hit the rocky earth.
Morrow was trembling when Devin turned and shouted, “Same goes for you.” Devin felt teeth loosening and nose crushing under his fist, just a scant second before Morrow fell flat on his back.
Toledo turned white as a sheet. “Uh,” he muttered as Devin started to walk away.
Devin cut him a cold glare.
“What ‘bout the wounded?”
“Leave ‘em.”
Toledo’s jaw dropped in disbelief.
“We ain’t got time for this shit,” Devin grumbled, finishing off the wounded and dying, knowing they wouldn’t survive the long trek back to camp. He’d do the same for a wounded horse, but hell, it was a generosity his kind didn’t deserve.
Time was of the essence. If any Cheyenne were within hearing distance, they’d be on their way. While on friendly terms, Devin wasn’t about to wait around to try and explain to over a thousand angry Indians why they weren’t getting their weapons.
As it was, thanks to Morrow and Webster, there were survivors. The double-crossed gunslingers would be gunning for him. They were probably angrier than the Indians ever would be and thinking of ways to get even. Always one for finishing what he started, he’d trail them and finish the job when time permitted. For now, they needed to put as much distance between them and the nearby Cheyenne as possible.
* * * *
Devin and the four soldiers rode into camp with the five wagons, two of which Toledo pulled with his team of eight horses. Behind were the two dozen or so horses the dead gunslicks no longer needed.
Curious onlookers beamed with shock, excitement and revelry. Some joined the parade of sorts at the gate and followed all the way to the livery.
“Colonel? Colonel O’Roake, they’re here!” exclaimed the young private as he ran into the Colonel’s office, saluting hastily in the process when he noticed the high-ranking officials sitting around the conference table to the right of the large room.
“Who?” Colonel O’Roake asked, waving off the salute and forgiving the overzealous interruption.
“Spawn and the other men.”
The colonel dashed to the window, along with several of the other men at the table.
“They’re all here.”
“They made it.” Colonel O’Roake’s remark was more of an astonished statement of disbelief than a question.
“Yes, sir. Fit as a fiddle, ‘cept for a slash across Toledo’s throat and the bruises.”
“A few cuts and bruises are to be expected after what they’ve been through,” the General said, glancing over his shoulder at the private.
“Begging your pardon, General. Toledo says he got it shaving. Morrow’s busted nose and missing tooth was from tripping over a rock, and Webster has two black eyes.”
“What happened to him?”
The private, standing at attention and staring straight ahead, tried hard not to laugh, but a slight grin curled his lips. “Ran into a tree.”
“Sergeant Major?” the Colonel queried warily.
“Black-and-blue cheek. Got it from walking into the side of a mountain.”
General Simms, two Lieutenant Generals, a few other colonels discussed the outlandish reasons for injury in the line of battle amongst each other. The colonel was almost afraid to ask as a knot twisted deep in his gut. “Mr. Spawn?”
“He’s headed this way. Don’t look none too happy.”
A scant moment later, Devin stormed past everyone in the officer’s headquarters and didn’t stop as he entered the Colonel’s office.
“Mr. Spawn…” the colonel began, smiling graciously though he was surprised to see him alive and even more stunned to learn he was successful. Truth be told, he was somewhat fearful of the man closing in on him with a wild, intent look about him.
“You lying bastard,” Devin interrupted heatedly.
The colonel only had time to blink before everything faded to black.
Devin sucker-punched the well-starched and heavily decorated officer. He glared at the limp body sprawled on the floor and coolly added, “Worthless piece of dog shit. No one lies to a Spawn.”
A hush swept over the room. The private backed out quietly, suspecting someone may have a fool idea about ordering him to apprehend Spawn.
General Simms studied the formidable man, aptly referred to as the Devil’s Spawn. This was the first time he had seen him, but certainly not the first time he’d heard of him. The weaponry alone strapped to his person was enough to wipe out each
person in the room. He stood there, huge and tough, waiting for a challenger. There was no fear, no nerves, nothing but daring, guts and hard, muscled brawn.
The General weaved through the other men gathered about the window. Carefully, he stepped over the Colonel, and met Devin in the middle of the room. “Allow me, Mr. Spawn, to be the first to extend my congratulations, since it appears Colonel O’Roake has tripped over a rug and is unable to thank you properly for a job well done.”
Devin’s eyes narrowed.
General Simms followed the intense silvery eyes taking in the gold stars and stripes decorating his uniform. They exchanged a knowing look, seeing how there probably wasn’t a rug in the entire building, let alone the room they were in.
Chapter 15
“Is that the only reason for your rejection the past month?” Caleb held Megan’s hands tightly clasped between his, sitting across from her at the table in frustration, the look of utter despair upon his face.
“Yes,” Megan meekly replied, not fully aware why she couldn’t bring herself to send Caleb away for good. Dressed in widow’s weeds, she’d used Reed as a feeble excuse not to marry him instead of searching deep for the real reason.
He moved around the table, sat on the edge, one leg planted on the floor and the other dangling. Easing her up by the shoulders, he pulled her into his warm embrace.
“Meg,” Caleb pleaded softly. “If it’s true, I’ll submit to your request, wait as long as necessary till you forget what you were even mourning.”
He lifted her chin toward his face.
Filled with sorrow, her eyes slowly rose to meet his. The shadow of anguish clouded the blue eyes, the whisper of hope clinging beyond the depths, and the love forever engrained in his soul. Suddenly, she found herself wanting to be lost in his gaze. Swept away by whatever bound them together for an eternity.
“Ask me to wait. Tell me you love me, and I’ll be patient, though it will kill me more each day not to be able to hold you like this.” His arm tightened around her as he kissed her forehead gently.
The warmth of his lips seared her skin, made her shiver with a puzzling lusty awareness that awakened her fear. She had a very real fear that stringing Caleb along was wrong, might hurt him emotionally and place him in danger physically. If her depraved lust, the sinful nature Mrs. Walker had warned against, was the cause of Reed’s condition, then she refused to take that risk with Caleb. Wrong or not, it was a risk she was willing to take with Devin. There was no love between them, only hot-blooded lust that she could not deny. If anything happened to Caleb, the love of her life, she would simply perish.
Before she allowed him to go further, ignoring the longing in her saddened heart, she slipped out of his embrace and put distance between them.
“Oh, Caleb, don’t ask me when you already know how I feel. It wouldn’t be fair to make you wait when I don’t know if I’ll ever be prepared to marry again.”
“That’s for me to decide.” His poignant tone tore at her heart as he slowly walked to where she stood at the opposite end of the long rectangular table.
* * * *
Standing on the front porch, Devin decided he’d heard enough during the past couple of minutes. He hadn’t covered hundreds of miles in two days without stopping, exhausting his prized Deuce to near death, to listen while another man professed his love for Megan.
He stepped inside.
“Step away from her and draw.” Any man fool enough to traipse on his property, risked a double-barrel offense. Both hands were ready for Pretty Boy’s slightest move.
Apparently, neither seemed to hear the door open, but Megan and Caleb no doubt heard the cold finality of the threat that turned their attention.
“Devin,” Megan gasped on a breathless note.
“Who are you?” Caleb shouted, glaring at Devin for the first time.
“I should be asking the questions, seeing how you’re in my house.”
“Yours?” His bewildered gaze shot to Megan, then back to Devin.
“But it don’t matter who the hell you are, since you’ll be dead soon.” Devin drew his shooter, gestured for Caleb to move away from Megan. “Like I said, step away.”
“Devin, no,” Megan shouted frantically, jumping in front of Caleb. “He’s a doctor. He’s not carrying a gun.”
“You know this man?” Caleb appeared more surprised at learning she knew him than at the threat on his life.
“He’s Reed’s son. Devin Spawn,” She answered nervously, staring at Devin as he removed one of the knives strapped to his calf and threw it on the table. It came to rest in front of Caleb. “What are you doing?”
Without answering, Devin tossed the other revolver beside the knife.
“Choose how you want to die, Pretty Boy.”
Caleb’s eyes narrowed.
Devin noticed the other man’s fist clench, and his whole body seemed to stiffen at the use of “Pretty Boy.”
“Devin, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but Caleb is a childhood friend. That’s all.” Megan looked up at Caleb, and the plea in her eyes told him to be quiet and let her speak if he wanted to live.
Devin could tell the man wasn’t about to step down from a fight, not when his masculinity was challenged.
“Don’t lie on my account. I can take care of myself.” Caleb brushed her aside, stepping to the table to choose his weapon. He stared Devin in the eye and declared with firm confidence, “I plan on marrying her.”
Devin laughed. It was a chilly, harsh laugh meant to provoke, but there wasn’t a flicker of humor in his steely gaze. “Before I kill you, you should know how futile your death will be. Tell him, Megan.”
Caleb turned to Megan, and Devin noticed the shame, humiliation and fear shrouding her eyes. She remained speechless.
“Tell me what?” He glared questioningly at Devin.
“I own her. Bought and paid for her. So you see, she’s not free to marry you or anyone else.”
“Name your price.”
“She’s not for sale.”
“What do you want?”
“To get this over with.”
“Caleb,” Megan pleaded, “don’t be a fool. He’ll kill you. The man’s a walking death machine.”
Inwardly, Devin smiled at the compliment—or was it meant as an insult?
“Megan, you don’t think you’re worth dying for? I’m only doing what I should have done long ago, defend you against my parents.”
“You were a young boy. What could you have done?”
“I’m a man now, and I won’t make the same mistake twice.”
“It’s too late. There are things about me you don’t know. I’ll never be free to marry you. I belong to Devin now.”
Even Devin sensed how her words punctured the other man’s heart. The rather touching interlude between the two displayed an intimacy beyond mere friends, and quite beyond innocent childhood friends, as she so heatedly professed. Megan Adams Spawn apparently held more secrets he had yet to discover.
“Then, my dear, there is no reason to live.” Caleb turned and reached for the knife, knowing by the time he lifted it he’d probably be dead.
Clearly, Pretty Boy wanted to die. Devin realized he was serious. The man truly loved Megan. How unfortunate.
With his hand covering the handle, Caleb paused, looked up, and stared at him.
Devin quickly surmised if he killed Caleb, Megan would never truly be his. Her body, yes, but all else would be forever lost to him. It was in that instant Devin realized he wanted much more from her than he dared confess. Megan was creeping into his disreputable soul in a way that made his blood boil with an unquenchable need, made him yearn for the solitude of the wilderness, and at the same time, take her into his arms and never let go.
Did Caleb feel the same?
Caleb picked up the knife, stood solid, as if waiting to be gunned down by the man who claimed his woman.
Oh, hell yes, Pretty Boy was in the same hellish existence.
Despite his strong disposition toward his formidable opponent, measured by degree of Megan’s affection, not lethal propensity, Devin could never kill Caleb.
“Leave, before I change my mind.” Devin kept his expression reserved, his tone dangerously low and absolute. He watched Caleb’s gaze flicker, as if contemplating his own fate at Devin’s most gracious offer to extend his life another day. His grip tightened on the handle, as though calculating the effort to direct it toward his nemesis. There wasn’t a hell of a lot of calculating with a six-shooter already cocked and pointed directly at him. With a reputable speed unsurpassed, the man would be a fool to doubt he’d be dead in an instant and have Megan only in the afterlife.
Devin could see Caleb struggle with his decision to live or die—either way, he’d lose. If he made the wrong choice, Devin would lose, also.
His best option, transfer the upper hand to his opponent. Devin returned his pistol to leather, shocking Caleb and Megan.
A test of sorts to see what Megan thought of him. Not limiting gallantry to Caleb for willingly laying his life on the line over a miniature porcelain figurine of a woman, albeit a beautiful one, the tables were now turned. As if putting his gun away wasn’t daring enough, carefully he unbuckled and untied his double belt. He tossed it off to the side of the table in a rare feat he’d afforded no man before.
Unarmed, he waited for Caleb’s next move as they stood eye-to-eye.
Pretty Boy must choose between becoming a cold-blooded murderer or what some considered a fate worse than death—defeat.
The intense silence shrouded them in a black eerie cloud and dragged on as neither of them backed down.
* * * *
Megan was the first to speak, her voice tinged with terror.
“Caleb, please,” she begged. Despite the trembling of her fingers, she tried to pry his tight-fisted grip from the knife. “I’ve made my choice. Please try to understand. You’ll find someone else.”
Caleb looked down at her, his face going pale for the first time. He studied her face for what seemed like an eternity, as though searching for a hint of the person he once knew, the young girl he fell in love with years ago. The one he still worshipped.
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