Lady of the Gun (2 page)

She squirmed a bit in the saddle as the memories became
foggy in her mind. There was much she remembered about the massacre. Details that had led her on her search for the murderers. Details that had pinpointed the men when she'd found them. Men she'd bested in gunfights and seen fall to their deaths at her hand. But there were things she couldn't remember. Important facts that, try as she might, she couldn't force to the front of her memory. Her head would ache from the strain of trying to remember. "Damn," she fumed, as once again she felt that something was eluding her.

"But I do remember the gun," she whispered.

As the murderers had finished their work and begun to ride away, she'd seen their leader wave his gun in the air. The image of the sun glinting off the silver handle had burned its way into her memory like a fiery brand. Throughout the years she'd searched for the men and exacted her revenge. But no one could tell her about the man with the silver gun.

"Someday I'
ll find you," she promised the faceless killer. "Someday you'll find yourself in the sights of my gun. And when I pull the trigger you'll know you're on your way to hell," she whispered.

Cass entered Twisted Creek the way she always did,
checking the horses at the livery on the outskirts of town for strange mounts and looking to see if any horses she didn't recognize were tied to the hitching posts. Frowning, she saw a strange palomino tethered outside the Best Bet Saloon. "Might be trouble," she mouthed as she passed.

Banging on the back door of the jail a few minutes later,
she was greeted by a grumpy sheriff still in his long-handle underwear.

"What the hell do you want this early in the
morning, Cassidy?" he barked when he saw who'd awakened him.

Cass didn't let his gruff greeting sway her. I
nstead, she pushed past him into the jail and picked up the coffee pot. "You go put on your pants while I get some water for the coffee," she told him. She headed out to the pump and was soon back inside, measuring coffee into the pot and setting it on the woodstove. After stirring up the coals, she slid a log into the fire.

Sheriff Jackson shook his head as he pulled on his pants,
then stomped his feet into his boots. He would never get used to Cassidy's abrupt ways. As he tucked in his shirt, he stepped to the doorway that divided his living area from the jail, and watched her waiting impatiently in front of the stove.

Cassidy Wayne was a beautiful woman. She was tall and
slender, though curved in the right places, and had long dark chestnut hair and deep blue eyes. Her Skin glowed with a creamy light, just touched by the sun, and her lips were full, perhaps a bit too full, which made her appear to be pouting slightly, like a woman who had just been properly kissed, which led a man to thinking all sorts of things he shouldn't. Jackson cleared his throat as he left his living quarters. "Now, what do you want, Cassidy?"

Cass looked at the sheriff as he entered the jail. She smiled
when she noticed he'd buttoned his shirt wrong. "Long night, Sheriff?" she teased, letting her gaze linger on his shirt.

Jackson looked down. D
amn, he thought. He'd been looking at Cassidy so intently that he'd messed up dressing, himself. "A man has a right to make a mistake now and then," he grumbled, beginning the re-buttoning process.

Cass watched
him adjusting his shirt and waited. She wanted his full attention when she spoke to him about Tylo. Crossing to a chair opposite the sheriff's desk, she sat down, pulling one booted foot up to rest on her knee.

Sheriff
Jackson finished with his shirt and looked up to find Cassidy sitting, waiting for him. "All right, what can I do for you, Cassidy?" He stepped behind his desk and sat down.

"I want you to question Hunt Tylo about the murders,"
she said bluntly.

Jackson heaved a heavy sigh' "Damn, Cassidy. You don't
want much do you? Can't you just let it go?"

Cass's nerves screamed at hearing the same question her
uncle had asked her earlier. “No, I can't let it go," she answered, her voice a threatening monotone.

"But why Tylo? There wasn't any evidence that pointed
to Mr. Tylo five years ago. And you've already killed almost everyone who had anything to do with it."

"Almost," she repeated his word. "And almost isn't good
enough. I want the man responsible. The one who planned the murder and paid those guns to carry it out."

Jackson rubbed his hand over his forehead, then looked
toward the coffee pot, wishing it was finished brewing. "Look, Cassidy, I did all I could when your family was

killed. The posse lost the gunmen's trail
. In all the years you went searching for the killers, you've never found one piece of evidence to prove it was more than what I said it was from the start-just some drunken bastards that got carried away during a robbery."

A shutte
r had fallen over Cass's eyes. "They didn't take anything," she said stonily.

"They got scared."

"They weren't scared, Sheriff. I was there, remember?"

Jackson let his eyes
meet hers. "I remember, Cassidy. And I'm sorry you had to see something so horrible. But it's over.”

Cass stood up abruptly and slammed her hands on his
desk. "It's not over. It won't be over until the last man is dead. The man with the silver gun."

Jackson leaned back in his chair. "You think Tylo's the
man with the silver gun?" he asked, tired of fighting this fight with her.

"I don't know, but he's the only person who benefited
from my parents' death."

"How?"

"He's been letting his cattle use our land to get to the Losee."

Jackson stood and crossed to the
coffee pot, grateful the liquid had become dark and hot while he and Cassidy had been talking. Pouring himself a cup, he thought about what she'd said. "Didn't he use your father's land before?"

Cass looked down. "Yes, but ..."

"Then why on earth would Tylo kill your family for something he was already doing?"

"Pa wanted him to stop. I heard them arguing about it."

"Did he stop?"

“
No."

Jackson raised his
shoulders.

"You don't think Tylo had anything to do with it, do
you?" Cass asked.

"No, Cassidy, I don't. The man was using your father's
land, so they'd obviously come to an agreement before your father's death." He sipped his coffee and watched her over the rim of the cup.

Cass wasn't convinced. But she had no proof. When she'd
taught herself how to shoot, she'd vowed to rid the earth of every man who'd had anything to do with her family's death. She'd searched them out one by one and killed them, legally, in gunfights. And until she'd found herself close to Twisted Creek, it hadn't struck her that her search had brought her back home. There had to be a reason for it. "Darby says I’m grasping at straws," she said quietly.

"I agree with him," Jackson
confirmed. "You've been through hell these past years, Cassidy. Maybe you're not seeing things clearly anymore. You need to take it easy. Start over."

Cass met the older man's eyes. Jackson was barely as tall
as she was. He was pushing sixty, thick through the middle, and had gray running through his dark hair and mustache.  He was older than her father would have been. "I can't stop," she said. "Will you talk to Tylo?”

"I'd rather not get folks riled up about the murders again,
Cassidy. It's bad enough you came back wearing those damned guns and carrying a reputation a mile wide'"

"If you don't talk to
him, I will," she said bluntly.

"
Now, Cassidy..."

"I mean it, Sheriff. If you don't ask
him a few questions, I'll be glad to do it. But I won't be as polite as you."

Jackson set his cup roughly on his desk, sloshing coffee
over the rim. "Damn it, Cassidy. I don't want you starting any trouble."

"Then
talk to Tylo for me. Just get a feeling from what he tells you. If he seems nervous, let me know"'

Jackson shook his head. "You think I'd tell you if I
thought he was guilty? I wouldn't. You'd ride over there and shoot him before I could arrest him and the circuit judge could get here to hold a trial."

"Then you believe there's a chance he's guilty?"

"Damn it, Cassidy, I didn't say that. Quit putting words in my mouth. I'll go talk to him. That's all I' do for now."

Cass let her breath out slowly. She was relieved she'd
been able to talk Jackson into going out to see Tylo. "All right, Sheriff. Thank you."

"You get along now and let me
drink the rest of my coffee in peace."

Cass nodded. "When ..."

"This afternoon. I'll go this afternoon. Now get!" Jackson waved his arm at her, shooing her from his office.

Federal Marshal Brett Ryder narrowed his eyes as he neared the town of Twisted Creek. He was still angry with his superiors for sending him on this wild-goose chase. It didn't matter that they thought they had good reason. Turning to stretch out the kinks that the last twenty-four hours in the saddle had put in his back, he scanned the buildings of the town as he rode closer and let his mind wander to the reason he'd been banished from investigating the murder of his best friend and colleague, Gerald lvers. He could remember them telling him he was too close to the case, too personally involved. "Hell yes, I was involved," he grumbled between tight lips. Gerald was my friend, and I’m the one who found him with a bullet in his head, he finished in thought. Anger and the desire for revenge surged through his veins. Clenching his jaw, he knew his anger was what prompted his captain to send him to Twisted Creek, Wyoming.

Riding into the
small dusty town, he checked out the buildings as he looked for the sheriff’s office. He once more pulled his thoughts to his mission here. "Lady of the Gun, my eye," he muttered a few minutes later as he pulled his mount to a stop in front of the jail. Whoever started the ridiculous stories about a lady gunfighter had to be drunk or crazy, he thought. "Or just plain bored," he added out loud, letting his gaze wander down the quiet main street.

After swinging down from the saddle, he tethered his
horse and brushed at the dust clinging to his clothes. Clouds of the stuff billowed from the fabric and caused him to grimace. “As soon as I put this thing to rest, I'm getting a bath and heading home," he muttered. Stepping up on the wooden sidewalk, he reached for the doorknob, only to have it pulled from his grasp as a woman nearly ran into him.

Cass stopped dead just before running headlong into the
cowboy standing on the sidewalk in front of her. He was tall, and covered with dust from head to toe, an indication that he'd just come in from the trail. Years of experience in sizing men up had her instantly searching his eyes, eyes that had a cold edge to them when they met hers. Stepping back, she let her arms fall to her sides, waiting.

Marshal Ryder's cross mood showed on his face as he
sized up the woman standing in the doorway of the jail, but he couldn't help it. He was tired, hot, and thirsty. And fuming over the assignment to find the Lady of the Gun. "Sorry, miss," he said, lowering the brim of his hat respectfully.

Cass let her eyes travel over the strange
r’s body. He wore his gun low and strapped to his thigh. His stance was easy, giving the impression that he was relaxed, but she could see by his eyes, nearly hidden beneath the brim of his dark hat, that he was anything but relaxed. "That's all right," she returned. "I didn't think anyone would be coming into the sheriff's office so early. I should have been more careful." She backed several steps away from him, watching to see what move he'd make before she turned her back on him.

Ryder could see the woman was nervous
. He also noticed she was beautiful, and was surprised it had taken him even a few seconds to realize it. I must be more tired than I thought, he mused. As he stepped toward the door of the jail, he saw her finally turn away from him and walk down the street. He leaned back from the door slightly to inspect the way the fabric of her trousers molded itself to her bottom and thighs. Raising a dark brow, he felt his body heat up at the sight of her round behind moving gracefully with her steps.

Jackson cleared his throat. "What can I do for you, young
fella?" he asked, feeling a pang of jealousy he had no right to feel.

Ryder pulled his eyes away from the woman's curves and
swung around to face the sheriff. Stepping into the office and holding out his hand, he introduced himself. "Marshal Brett Ryder, sir. You're Sheriff Jackson?"

Jackson took the offered hand. "Yeah. You here on business?
” he asked, wondering who the marshal was after.

"Yes," he answered, feeling a little sheepish about divulging
the ridiculous nature of his assignment.