“This weapon looks very nice,” Martin said while patting the rifle on his desk. “But I’m no expert. I want to have some of my men take a look at it and I’d like you to stay put while they do. If they like what they see, perhaps you can put another one together so they can make sure you can deliver on an entire order. As for the catch,” he added with a shrug, “let’s just say it’s a return on the investment you already made. You purchased a few of my rifles, took the time to modify them, and used some of your own parts to do so. I’m keeping this rifle in exchange for my hospitality while you’re here. Does that seem like a fair deal?”
Considering the fact that many in San Antonio considered Martin Stone to be the richest man in southern Texas, Clint didn’t have much trouble in agreeing to that proposition.
“I think I can stay put for a day or two,” Clint said.
“It shouldn’t take any longer than that for me to see what I need to make a decision.”
“Then you’ve got yourself a deal.”
“Excellent. I’ll have someone show you around.”
SIXTEEN
When Clint stepped out of Martin’s house, a skinny man with sunken cheeks and age spots on his scalp where hair used to be was standing outside to meet him.
“You’d be Mr. Adams?” the old-timer asked.
“I am.”
“I’m Bass. I’m to show you to the livery and point you in the direction of anything else you might need.”
“Lead the way,” Clint said.
The livery wasn’t far from the house and was fairly impressive in its own right. It was easily double the size of a regular stable with a pair of fancy carriages inside already. Since just over half of the horse stalls were full, Clint knew there had to be other stables nearby.
“You need anything special done for you?” Bass asked.
“No, thanks.”
The old man stepped closer to him and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “If there’s anything that does need doing, might as well ask. Mr. Preston don’t ask no questions, this bein’ his private livery.”
“Mr. Preston?”
“Sure. He owns the land and plenty of what’s on it.”
Clint shrugged and said, “I’d just like to make certain my horse is well cared for.”
“Oh, that goes without sayin’. You hungry?”
“Nothing tastes better than a free steak.”
“I hear ya!” Bass led the way out of the stable.
As soon as they stepped outside, Clint spotted one of the prettier sights he’d seen since he’d arrived. She was a smiling brunette waiting for them with hands resting upon full, rounded hips. Dressed like any one of the cowboys working on the ranch, she wore dusty jeans and a faded cotton shirt that clung to a generous figure.
“What are you two doing?” she asked, smiling.
“I was just about to give Mr. Adams here the tour,” Bass replied. “Figured we’d stop off at Miss Millie’s first for a bite to eat.”
“Perfect,” she said. “I’m famished.”
“You’re welcome to join us.”
She stepped between the old man and Clint. “I have a better idea. Why don’t I take over from here? Surely you’ve got better things to do.”
“Sure,” Bass said, “there’s always something else that needs to be done, but I could always—”
“Great,” she said before he could finish. “It’s this way, Mr. Adams.”
“Please,” he said as he offered his arm to her, “call me Clint.”
She took his arm and fell into step beside him with a bounce that was impossible for Clint to miss. Her skin had the dark color acquired from spending most of her days in the sun, and her lips were naturally full and red.
“How do you do, Clint? I’m Felicia.”
“Pleased to meet you. Either this is my lucky day or this town has the best welcoming committee in Texas.”
“The committee depends on who needs to be welcomed,” she replied. “Usually it’s just a bunch of cowboys or some of my grandfather’s business associates. You don’t strike me as either.”
“Who’s your grandfather?”
“Martin Stone.”
“Then I hate to disappoint you,” Clint said with an exaggerated wince. “I do have business with him.”
She stuck out her bottom lip in a well-practiced pout, which definitely had its desired effect on him. “Usually I’m so good at judging the men that come through here.”
“Obviously you’ve sized me up. Tell me what you guessed and I’ll let you know how close you are.”
“I pegged you as someone passing through here on your way to make a fortune. Probably some big, risky venture or maybe even something dangerous.”
“Does every man who rides through here seem dangerous?”
“Most of those men don’t wear a gun on their hip. At least,” she was quick to add, “they don’t look like they’re as comfortable with a gun as you do.”
“Then perhaps you should look closer,” Clint said. “Any man who wants to keep healthy tends to go heeled when riding on their own.”
“But they’re not all Clint Adams, now are they?”
He smiled and nodded. “So you had me pegged even better than I expected.”
“Some of the ranch hands mentioned your name. And I’d heard about you a time or two before then.”
“Nothing bad, I hope.”
“It wasn’t all good,” she said with a grin. “Lots of our cattle are driven down through West Texas. When those men get back, they usually have lots of stories to tell. More than a few of them involve you.”
“I see,” Clint said. “I guess it could have been worse. What did you hear exactly?”
“Enough to catch my interest,” she replied. “What brings you here?”
“One of the less exciting things I do is ply my trade as a gunsmith. I doubt that gets mentioned in those stories you heard.” And after a long losing streak at the poker tables, Clint had needed to take some time off. Of course, there was no reason to bother a pretty lady with details.
Looking around at the shops nearby, she asked, “Are we getting our very own gunsmith?”
“Not on a permanent basis. I heard about an opportunity while I was in San Antonio. It seems Mr. Stone is looking to put together a small group of regulators to patrol his property and he needs to make sure they’ve got the tools for the job.”
Felicia rolled her eyes. “I hope it’s not just another bunch of damn fools with big mouths strutting around here.”
“From what I’ve already seen of your grandfather, I don’t think he’d cut corners with the men he hires.”
“Maybe he’ll hire you.”
“Maybe.”
“Don’t you want to stay on for a while?” she asked. “If you like, I could put a good word in on your account.”
“Why don’t I just take one job at a time? I haven’t even been given a firm offer on the rifles yet.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about that.”
Clint laughed. “Don’t put too much stock to those stories you’ve heard about me.”
“I don’t,” she assured him. “I fully intend to size you up for myself from every possible angle.”
Although Felicia was more than enough to hold any man’s attention, something else caught Clint’s eye as he was escorted to a place named Millie’s Cook House. Two men stood in front of a general store with their arms crossed and scowls on their faces. The scowls didn’t concern Clint as much as the way they stared while speaking quietly to each other.
The smaller of the two turned his back to Clint and walked inside the store. The second man held his ground.
“Who are they?” Clint asked.
Felicia was just about to open the front door to Millie’s when she stopped to look
back at him. “Who?”
“Those two across the street. Well, there’s only one now, but there were two just a moment ago.”
She spotted the man with the intense glare right away. “Oh, that’s Cal Landry. He watches out for my grandfather’s interests. He’ll probably be one of the men firing those rifles of yours.”
“The other man was tall, broad shoulders, dark skin.”
“That’d be John VanTreaton. He does the same sort of work as Cal, but isn’t such an asshole about it.”
“Any reason why either of those men would be watching me like that?” Clint asked.
“My grandfather takes his business seriously. He probably sent them to keep an eye on you.”
Clint had a few more questions, but they left his mind when he got a whiff of the steaks cooking inside Millie’s. Across the street, Cal followed in John’s footsteps by entering the general store. Whoever they were or whatever they wanted, Clint knew he’d find out soon enough. Besides, Felicia was much more inviting to him as she led the way into Millie’s with her hips swaying nicely.
SEVENTEEN
For Clint, dinner was just fine and the company was even better. Felicia sat across from him, watching him with eyes that promised one hell of a memorable dessert. He was so looking forward to tasting it that he nearly didn’t see the ax handle that was swung directly at his face.
Clint reacted out of reflex without even knowing what was coming his way. His first thought was to duck and let whatever it was sail over his head. He might have done just that if Felicia hadn’t been directly behind him. Instead, he reached up with both hands to catch the incoming swing. Clint had guessed the tall man meant to punch him, so he was mighty surprised when the solid wooden ax handle slapped against both of his palms.
“Son of a bitch!” Clint growled in response to the painful surprise.
Although the impact stung like hell, Clint was able to stop the swing dead in its tracks. He tightened his grip on the ax handle and turned toward the man who’d swung it. John VanTreaton glared right back at him. When the dark-skinned man tried to reclaim his weapon, he pulled Clint along with it.
“John!” Felicia hollered. “What are you doing?”
VanTreaton didn’t seem to hear her as he bared his teeth and continued to try and take back the ax handle.
Using all the strength he could muster, Clint pulled the ax handle in one direction. When VanTreaton shifted his weight to respond, Clint pulled in the opposite direction while twisting the handle around as sharply as he could. Between the jarring change of direction and the painful way his wrists were strained, VanTreaton wasn’t able to hold on to his weapon very long. Clint didn’t have much time to celebrate, however, before the other man’s head snapped forward.
VanTreaton’s skull thumped against the bridge of Clint’s nose right between his eyes. He’d heard boxers talk about getting their bell rung, and moments like this made it painfully clear what they meant. For a moment, Clint could hear nothing apart from a dull thrumming, and he staggered as if the floor were being tilted beneath his feet. He recovered after a heartbeat or two, but crumpled a bit more as if he was still reeling.
“You ain’t nothing,” VanTreaton snarled as he raised the ax handle high above his head.
Not only was Clint feigning how hurt he was, but he’d also shifted all of his weight to his back foot without VanTreaton taking much notice. Now that the larger man had both of his arms raised, he presented Clint with a nice, big target. Clint pushed himself forward to slam his shoulder into the other man’s midsection. Even after they collided, Clint continued churning his feet beneath him to drive VanTreaton as far back as he could.
As soon as he could tell he was charging toward a wall, Clint used the rest of his momentum to shove the other man back. VanTreaton hit the wall solidly and expelled a good portion of his wind in one huffing grunt. Clint knew better than to stop there. He immediately started hammering away at VanTreaton’s stomach with a series of quick punches. His knuckles pounded against what felt like a side of beef, so Clint raised his aim a bit.
VanTreaton’s head snapped back when he caught Clint’s uppercut on the chin. He responded by bringing the ax handle into Clint’s ribs with a short, chopping blow. Clint twisted away, moving his sore ribs back and out of the other man’s reach.
“What the hell are you after?” Clint asked.
Without saying a word, VanTreaton took a swing at Clint with the ax handle. If Clint didn’t lean back at just the right time, the piece of carved wood might have knocked his head clean off his shoulders.
“Clint,” Felicia said from the doorway. “Cal is nearby.”
“Of course he is,” Clint said with a grin meant to ruffle VanTreaton’s feathers. “This one here wouldn’t go too far on his own. That might just put him into something close to a fair fight.”
VanTreaton didn’t like that one bit, and he made it known by swinging at Clint a few more times. Each time was a downward attack as if he were driving a railroad spike into the ground. Clint sidestepped one and then the other before snapping a quick right hook into VanTreaton’s chin. The larger man barely seemed to feel the punch before driving one end of the ax handle into Clint’s gut again.
When Clint saw his next opening, he didn’t waste time with another hook or jab. Instead, he clasped both hands together as if he had a club of his own. Even though he wasn’t brandishing a weapon, his fists made a jarring impact when they thumped against VanTreaton’s elbow. It was the closest target Clint could reach. Even if it didn’t do a lot of damage, VanTreaton wasn’t able to take another swing of his own right away. Clint put the extra second he’d bought to good use by bashing his fists into the other man’s jaw.
VanTreaton staggered back half a step and shook his head before spitting out a juicy wad of blood. “You . . . ain’t nothing.”
Despite the fact that he was still up and talking, VanTreaton was taking a moment to catch his breath. Clint took a moment as well to look around at who else was watching the fight. Felicia was still standing by the front door, and a few others were scattered here and there just to take in the spectacle. It took less than a second for Clint to spot Cal standing across the street.
“What’s the matter?” Clint shouted toward Cal. “You’re not going to lend your partner a hand?”
“Don’t think he needs one,” Cal replied.
When Clint turned back toward VanTreaton, he found the dark-skinned man already cocking his arm back for another swing with the ax handle. In a smooth motion, Clint drew his modified Colt and fired a shot. Smoke curled from the Colt’s barrel as chips flew from the tip of the ax handle. Clint squeezed his trigger again, driving another bullet through the length of wood about halfway down. He paused for half a second, fired again, and chopped the ax handle into two pieces.
Once the top portion of the handle hit the ground, Clint asked, “What about now? Think he needs any help?”
VanTreaton took a moment to examine the broken end of the ax handle before looking across the street.
Cal stayed where he was. Both hands hung at his sides within easy reach of his holstered pistol.
“That’s enough of this!” Felicia said. “All three of you!”
“I didn’t start this mess,” Clint told her.
“But you’re about to make it a whole lot worse if you shoot anyone.”
“Where my next bullet goes is up to these two here.”
With the snap of his wrist, VanTreaton threw the piece of his ax handle with enough force for the splintered end to stick into the ground near Clint’s feet. He glared at Clint, let out a single huffing breath, and walked away. Cal followed suit a second later.
“What was that all about?” Clint asked.
Felicia approached him and said, “I don’t know, but it’s over.”
Somehow, Clint doubted that.
EI
GHTEEN
Clint rented a room above the smaller of the two saloons on the property. Any similarities the ranch had to a town stopped when it came to keeping the peace. After Clint’s scuffle with VanTreaton and Landry, the only keepers of the peace to come around were a few ranch hands armed with shotguns. Once they saw the fight was over, they shrugged and headed into the largest saloon.
The room Clint rented was strictly bare bones. There was a bed, a stack of linens, a table, and a wash basin. Despite the lack of any other niceties, Clint was happy to get off his feet. As soon as his backside hit the edge of the mattress, he began tugging at his boots.
“Thanks for the tour of the place,” he said. “Hope you don’t mind showing yourself out.”
Felicia stepped inside and shut the door. “I’m doing nothing of the sort. You could use some tending.”
“What I can use the most is some sleep. Anything else will have to wait for a while.”
She waved that away like his refusal was a fly buzzing around her head. “Stop your grousing and let me help you.”
“Grousing? Didn’t you see that big fellow trying to knock my head off my shoulders?”
“He didn’t, did he?” she said.
“Well . . . no.”
“Then you’ll be fine. Here, let me lend you a hand.”
Since she wanted to lend a hand with peeling his shirt off, Clint allowed her to do so. Once she’d removed his shirt, she went to the water basin and dipped a small cloth into it. Felicia returned to the bed and crawled on it to sit behind Clint. The water was cold and Clint flinched when he felt the cloth touch his side.
“Good Lord, you’re fidgety!” she said.
“Just try not to scrub a spot that wasn’t already pummeled by that big ox.”
“How about this?” Felicia asked as she used the cloth to dab at a spot on the side of Clint’s head that was caked with dried blood.
He tried to grit his teeth through his discomfort, but eventually brushed her hand away.
She sighed and placed her hand on a spot on his lower back that was dark from bruises. When Clint grunted and shifted uncomfortably, she threw the wet rag across the room. “There’s just no pleasing you,” she grumbled.
The Clint Adams Special Page 6