by Deborah Camp
Dalton nodded. “Okay.” He settled a hand on Dutch’s shoulder. “Thanks, Dutch. You know that if you need anything, all you have to do is ask, right? I’ll always be on your side.”
Dutch winked and pumped his hand. “That I know, Marshal. If you’re going to that meeting, watch your back. Don’t want to dig anymore bullets out of it.”
“I don’t intend to—.” The sound of gunfire banished the rest of his retort. “What the hell?” Dalton stalked toward the saloon’s batwing doors and out onto the boardwalk just as Lacy stepped out from the hotel. Trey Pullman, Forrest Cole, and two other Pullman ranch hands sat on horseback. Trey had his gun drawn and waved it about like a flag. “Lacy, go back inside,” Dalton told her and received her narrow-eyed glare. “Do it now.” He glowered back at her, took a step toward her, and then ducked when the saloon window next to him shattered. The ring of the gunshot hammered his eardrums, but he heard Lacy’s short shriek as he closed the distance between them and pushed her, none too gently, back into the hotel. He spun around to Trey and Forrest. He could tell by their foolish grins that they were drunk. His boots crunched on broken glass as he stepped off the boardwalk and onto the street.
“You’re going to pay for that window,” Dalton said, taking in the situation and deciding to not deal with them when they were fired up with liquor. “But for now, you fellas go on back to the ranch. If you stick around here another minute, I’m throwing you in jail.”
“Is that right?” Trey smirked and turned bleary eyes on Forrest. “What do you say there, Forrest? You ready to leave town? I’m not. I’m thinking I’d like a poke at one of the saloon gals. Maybe Trixie.”
“Nuh-uh! You said I could have Trixie,” Forrest whined.
“Aw, hell, we’ll all have a turn at her.”
The other riders guffawed, but turned their mounts around and kicked them into trots, all heading out of town. Trey directed a toothy grin at Dalton. “You get along, Moon.” He stuck his gun back into his holster and swung out of the saddle. “You’re not needed here.”
“If you’re staying in town, give me your guns.”
Trey barked a laugh. “You’re not getting my guns.”
“Then get back on your horse and get.” Dalton spotted Otis sidling toward them. “I mean it, Pullman. Take off your guns and give them to the deputy.”
“Ought to just let them go,” Otis said, his voice sounding nasally since his nose was still mending. “You boys need to call it a night. No harm done. Go on like the others headed back to the ranch. You’ve had your fun.”
Dalton sent him a steely glare, fury pumping through him at his deputy’s defection. “You heard me, Deputy. Take their weapons.” In a flash, he saw Forrest reach for his revolver and Dalton reacted instinctively. In the blink of an eye, his gun was in his hand and he fired, knocking the hat off Forrest’s head. The man let out a yelp and fell off his horse. The two horses reared and pawed the air. Trey grabbed the reins of his mount and stared, wide-eyed, at Dalton. He seemed to have sobered up some. So had Forrest, who clamored to his feet and ran a hand through his hair.
“Daggum, Moon! You coulda plugged my head!”
“Do I have your attention now?” Dalton asked. He glanced from one to the other. “Still want to draw on me? Don’t do it unless you’re ready to die because I’m sure as hell ready to send you to your Maker.” He took a moment to steady his nerves. “I gave you a chance to leave and you didn’t. You two are spending the night in jail.”
“I believe you need to reconsider.” The smooth voice came from behind him, accompanied by the business end of a six shooter pressed in the middle of Dalton’s back.
Dalton gritted his teeth and cut his gaze at Otis, who stood still as a statute. The traitor had allowed Enoch Custer to get the drop on him. “Custer, you’ve overstepped. If you have any sense, you’ll holster that gun and make tracks. Otherwise, I’m either going to arrest you or kill you.”
Custer chuckled. “Damn it, Moon. I’ve always admired your grit as much as I admire your dexterity with that gun. But I have the drop on you. Nobody’s going to your jail tonight.”
Custer brought the butt of his gun down hard at the base of Dalton’s skull. The world went black. Dalton shook his head and the world spun back into focus. He found himself on his knees in the street. He pushed to his feet again, seeing stars spinning before him and hearing the thunder of hooves. A dust cloud obscured his vision. Lacy burst through it, her eyes as round as half dollars.
“Dalton! Are you all right?” She touched his face and then frowned when he pushed aside her hands.
As the dust settled he realized that Trey and Forrest had ridden away. He spun around, looking for Custer, but he was gone, too.
“You okay there, Marshal?” Otis asked.
Dalton pointed a shaking finger at him. “I didn’t want to do this, Otis, but you leave me no choice. You’re fired. Gather your things and clear out.”
“You can’t do that! What’s wrong with you?” Lacy demanded, grabbing his arm and making him look at her. “You’re not thinking straight. Come inside the saloon and let Dutch look at you.”
He shook off her hand. “You heard me, Gentry” He stared at the older man’s mutinous scowl. “You’ve shown your true colors. If you don’t have my back, I can’t have you around me.”
“Stop this,” Lacy insisted, going to stand by her uncle. “What did you expect him to do? Those men were armed and drunk. He was trying to get them to leave without any bloodshed.”
“It’s okay, hon,” Otis said, his damning glare staying on Dalton. “This hot blooded fool is going to get his dagburned head shot off.” He wagged his finger at Dalton. “You don’t understand how things are here. All you’re doing is making the streets more dangerous.” He spat tobacco juice an inch from the toe of Dalton’s boot, then sauntered toward the jail.
Lacy hung back, watching her uncle’s departure. When she faced Dalton, her eyes shimmered with tears. “His pride is hurt. I understand why you did what you did, Dalton, but he’s my uncle.”
He rubbed the back of his head, feeling a bump forming there. “Stay out of this, Lacy.”
“How can I? He’s given everything to this town. People respect him here. This will be hard for him to take.”
He gritted his teeth as his patience frayed. “What I do is done with fists and blood and bullets. Anyone who can’t stomach it needs to get out of my way.” He realized too late that he’d aimed those words at the wrong person. Lacy blinked, wetting her long lashes. With a quick shake of her head, she whirled and ran to the hotel.
Past the blinding pain in his head, Dalton was aware of others emerging from their businesses and milling around. He made tracks for the jail to be sure that Otis followed his orders. He hadn’t wanted to make an enemy out of Otis Gentry, but he’d left him no choice.
At the hotel, Lacy couldn’t rightly tell how she felt about what had just transpired, so she focused on calming the hotel guests who had heard or witnessed the commotion. She assured them that all was well, that the lawmen had handled a few rowdy cowpunchers and everything was peaceful and quiet again. She exchanged glances with Bobbie Sue and had seen that the woman was angry and anxious. Well, so was she, but she was also nursing stinging feelings at being told to “get out of my way.”
After order was restored and the hotel guests went back to their rooms or into the restaurant for sustenance, Bobbie Sue came around the registration desk to stand beside Lacy.
“Where do you think Otis will go now? Can he stay here until he finds a room somewhere?”
“The hotel is full. He can sleep on the settee in my parlor, I suppose.”
“He won’t be comfortable on that thing,” Bobbie Sue complained. “It’s too short.”
“It’s the best I can do for now. Dutch might let him sleep on that cot in the back of the saloon again.”
“I feel like marching to that jail and telling Marshal Moon that he should be ashamed of himself, throwing O
tis out like yesterday’s slop!” She hammered the desk with her fists. “Who does he think he is? He’s not one of us. He’s only passing through. Otis is part of this town. An important part.” She peered at Lacy. “Aren’t you fit to be tied after what that man just did out there? Firing Otis and telling you to stay out of his way?”
“Of course, I am.” She bit her lower lip when she felt it quiver. The danger of the past few minutes and the rejection she knew her uncle had to be feeling spiraled through her. “Bobbie Sue, I have to see to some things. I’ll be back in a little while.”
“Where are you going?” Bobbie Sue asked, her brows meeting in confusion.
“I . . . I . . . just need—.” She waved a hand, unsure what to say or what she meant to do. She just needed time to think. “I’ll be right back. Keep an eye on the front desk for me. I won’t be long.” She made a beeline for her quarters, releasing a trembling sigh as she leaned back against the closed door. Hot tears immediately sprang to her eyes and she dashed them away with her fingertips.
She pushed away from the door and went into her bedroom. Sitting on the vanity bench, she dropped her head in her hands and tried to sort through her tumult of feelings. Yes, she was upset at the way her uncle had been humiliated, but she was also furious at herself for being wounded to the core when Dalton had as much as told her to leave him be!
Her face flamed and she scrubbed it, trying to erase the sense of shame and regret and – yes, loss. Dalton was wrong about her being unable to handle his job. After all, her own uncle had been the sole lawman ever since she’d come back to Far Creek. That was part of the problem, though. She had listened to her uncle make excuses for the Pullmans and she had believed that his way was the right way. To pacify. To cajole. To show respect to Junior.
“That’s all wrong,” she whispered, sitting up straight as truth arrowed through her. “Dalton is right.” Nothing would change until the Pullmans were no longer allowed to lord it over everyone in Far Creek. Junior Pullman didn’t own the town and it was high time that was made clear to him. Dalton had told her that Uncle Otis was frightened of Junior Pullman and she hadn’t wanted to agree with him. But she’d seen the fear in his face out there on the street. Otis Gentry wasn’t the man for the job.
She’d stared, slack-jawed, when that weasel Custer had slipped out from between two buildings and stood behind Dalton, aiming his gun at his back. Lacy had opened her mouth to yell at Dalton to look out, but she’d paused, certain her uncle would handle it since he’d obviously seen Custer sneak up on Dalton. But he hadn’t. He’d done nothing. Tears leaked from her eyes to dampen her fingers pressed against them as the truth coated her mind and clogged her throat. He’d done nothing . . . as if he was on the Pullmans’ side against Dalton Moon.
“He means well,” she argued with herself, loathe to label her kin a coward, a turncoat. “He didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”
Dalton was hurt. Dalton could have been murdered in the street!
She wiped at her eyes and shook her head, scattering the image of Dalton lying in the street with blood oozing from his body. No. No. No!
Oh, lord. She was in love with Dalton Moon. That’s why she was in agony over this. She rubbed above her left breast where a pain gnawed. She wanted him so badly. Pained for him. She’d never wanted to give herself wholly, completely to a man. But it was different with Dalton. She wasn’t just a pretty girl to him. When he looked at her, he saw her – a woman with her own mind, her own ambitions – and he didn’t shy away from any of it or try to change her. She loved the way he smiled at her, the way he looked at her, and the way he touched her. Sometimes at night, she felt herself grow damp and achy just thinking about him and wishing for his arms to be around her and his mouth to be suckling her breasts.
Embarrassed by the journey of her thoughts, she straightened her spine and stared at the teary-eyed, pink-cheeked woman in the vanity mirror. Lovesick. That’s what she was. She’d counseled herself not to fall for him because he would leave her and not think of her again. He would travel to a new town and a new woman and she’d still be in Far Creek looking for . . . for what? She’d come here to see her old home, but it had been demolished. She’d come here to see her favorite uncle again. But she had not come here to stay. She’d told herself she would work a year at the hotel, save some money, and move on to a place with more opportunities for a young, unmarried woman. Where had the time gone? What had happened to her plans to travel on until she found a place that felt like home or a mate who made a home for her in his heart?
A light tapping at her door made her stand, startled for a moment, before she went into the parlor and opened the door. Uncle Otis stood there holding a crate stuffed with his few belongings. The sight of his woebegone expression wrenched her heart.
“Oh, Uncle Otis! Come in here.” She snagged him by the wrist and pulled him into her quarters. She kissed his leathery cheek. “I feel terrible about what’s happened. Can you patch it up with Dalton?”
“Don’t want to.” He set his jaw. “I’m done trying to talk sense to him.” He sat heavily in the nearest chair and held his head in his gnarled hands. “I got to find me a room somewhere. Bobbie Sue says the hotel is full up.”
“It is. You can stay here. I’ll sleep on the settee and you can have my bed.”
“No. I’ll make me a pallet here on the floor.” He looked at her. “And I’ll only be here a night or two. I’ll find me somewhere.”
“I know you will. The Preston’s son, Abel, moved out of their home last month. He got married, remember? Maybe they’d rent you his old room. Wouldn’t hurt to ask.”
He nodded. “It won’t be permanent. Once Moon clears out, I’ll get my job back and move my things to the jail again.”
She rested a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “That’s right.” Questions sizzled in her brain and she couldn’t hold her tongue. “Why didn’t you call out to Dalton when you saw Custer sneak up on him?”
His gaze slid sideways and up to her. “All happened too fast.”
The uncertainty in his expression and the way he couldn’t keep looking squarely at her told her more than his answer. “I know, but what you said about letting them go after Dalton told them to turn over their weapons.” She shrugged. “That was wrong of you.”
“I was keeping the peace.” He took off his hat and ran his hand over the thin strands of hair stretched over his scalp. He looked older and weary. His nose was still swollen and the bruises on his face were purple and violet. “That’s what a lawman is hired to do. Keep the peace. Not cause all hell to break loose.” He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Once Junior hears about it, he’ll make everyone miserable and he’ll make a damned fool out of Moon. You watch. He’ll have Moon leaving town with his tail between his legs.”
“Is that what you want, Uncle Otis?” she asked, almost afraid of his answer.
“That’s what will happen. Don’t make any difference what I want or what you want,” he grumped, then shoved his hat back on. “I’m going to see about a room.”
“Okay.” She watched him stomp out, leaving his crate of belongings sitting beside the chair. He was running scared. Dalton had seen it long before she had. Of course, he didn’t view Otis Gentry as a gentle, loving relative, so he was able to discern that his deputy had lost his nerve. “Uncle Otis,” she whispered as she sank onto the chair he’d vacated. “How can I be angry at Dalton when he was right to fire you?”
And how could she tell Dalton he was right and still be loyal to her uncle?
Chapter 14
He perceived that someone lurked near him and Dalton’s gun was in his hand, cocked and ready, before his other senses caught up. Squinting into the darkness at the side of the stables, he let out a slow breath when Enoch Custer stepped into the milky light with his hands at either side of his head.
“I’m not armed and I’m not looking for trouble, Moon.”
Dalton didn’t holster his gun. “
Then you must be looking to be arrested or killed.”
“You’re not doing either.” He showed off his rows of teeth. “Can I lower my hands now, Marshal?”
Dalton nodded. “Are you alone this time?”
“I’m here to tell you no hard feelings. I’m heading out tonight. Got a job in Colorado.”
“No hard feelings, huh?” Dalton coughed out a laugh at that. The bump on the back of his head said otherwise. “You’re a snake. Spineless.”
Custer hooked his thumbs in his belt and cocked a hip. “I didn’t have to come around here, but I figured I owed you. Pullman hired me to keep you in line, whichever way I wanted. I could have shot you if I was that kind of man. But I’m not. Things haven’t progressed to suit Pullman and he told me he wanted you dead along with the railroad agents. That’s when I said he could keep his money.” Custer kicked at a stone near his boot as a wry smile curved his lips. “He’s kind of loco, you know. He wants to control everyone and everything. His ranch, his workers, his family. They all jerk to attention when he snaps his fingers. That’s how he likes it. If it had been him who approached the railroad about running tracks by Far Creek, we’d be talking a different story. But it wasn’t. The railroad stepped in, got everybody in town excited, and Pullman didn’t have a part in it. He can’t stomach that.”
“And the other ranchers who’ve fallen in with him are the same way?”
“Not really. They don’t want any trouble with him. They know that if you get sideways with Junior Pullman, bad luck dogs your every step. Your best heifers go missing, cattle buyers decide your herd isn’t worth much, and buildings and crops catch fire.”
Dalton holstered his gun. “Then there’s hope for the others. I might be able to make them see reason.”
“You’re as hardheaded as Pullman. They’re his bunch, not yours. They’re not going to turn on him. It’s best if you let the railroad mosey on. They’ve got Indians to fight along the way and that’s enough trouble. They don’t need to throw more logs on the fire by messing with Pullman. Blood will be spilled and lives will be lost. Over what? To make some richer railroad men richer?” He threw out a hand in disgust. “This isn’t worth it, Moon. You’re a damn fool if you don’t see that.”