Outlaw's Reckoning (2 page)

By now Shelly had guided Henry over to the end of the bar that was closest to the door. Since it was the section of the saloon that caught most of the light thanks to the dirty front window, it was also the section where the fewest of its customers could be found. Positioning herself next to Henry, but between the boy and the more populated section of the bar, she leaned against the wooden structure and licked her lips while moving her eyes up and down the boy's frame.

Henry looked at her and instinctually glanced at the slope of her cleavage, which was displayed in the plunging neckline of her blouse. Pulling his eyes to her face, Henry said, “Maybe there is something you could do.”

Nodding, she said, “Go on, Henry. I'm listening.”

“It's . . . kind of hard for me to say.”

“I know, sweetie,” Shelly replied as she reached out to run a hand along the boy's shoulder. When she found his shoulder and upper arm, she grinned and added, “You're a strong young man. Where'd you get such big, thick muscles?”

“Workin' on my pa's ranch.”

“I bet you're the strongest hand he's got.”

Henry's eyes narrowed as he shifted more toward the bar. He leaned on his elbows and glared at the chipped wooden surface.

Trading a quick grin with the bartender, Shelly rubbed Henry's back and leaned in so she could whisper her next question directly into the boy's ear.

“You want to be with me, Henry?”

Henry didn't shake his head. He didn't even move.

“If it's your first time, that's all right,” she told him. “I'll be real gentle. You just say the word and I'll take you to my room and we can have a real good time.”

“I don't want to go to your room,” Henry said sternly. Quickly looking over at her, he flushed in the cheeks and lowered his eyes. “I do, but that's not why I came.”

“Then why'd you bring all that money, Henry?” Shelly asked.

The boy flinched when he heard that and quickly dropped his hand to the smaller bulge in his pants pocket. Shelly's hand was already there, and she didn't move it away even after she'd been discovered. Instead, she eased her hand away from the bulge and let her fingers wander elsewhere.

“I know you've got a good amount of money in your pocket,” she whispered. “It's more than enough to cover what I'd charge. You'd have enough left over to go around again. If you're feeling randy, I might just let you have a free one so you could try your hand at cards or have that drink. You might need a touch of whiskey when I get through with you.”

Henry straightened up and pulled away from her. “That's not what I came here for.”

Without losing her calm, Shelly asked, “I thought you said you were looking for someone.”

“I am. I'm looking to hire a killer.”

Clint had seen the boy walk into the saloon. In fact, Clint had been one of the only ones apart from the bartender who'd taken much more than a passing notice of the kid. Once he saw Shelly walk up to him and start working her magic, Clint had grinned and wished the kid the best. Any boy could do a hell of a lot worse than have someone like Shelly break him in.

The cards had been warming up, but not enough for Clint to recoup his losses. One bad thing about a hole of a place like the Whitecap Saloon was that it lowered a man's expectations where the gambling was concerned. With no real stakes being wagered, no familiar gamblers' faces about and only dregs tossing their money onto the tables, the odds of finding a challenging game were slim to none. Unfortunately, even the dumbest drunk could get lucky.

Clint fanned his cards and looked down at the four, five, six and seven of diamonds, with the king of spades tossed in for good measure. After a round of bets, he threw out his king and prayed to get one of the cards needed to make a winning hand. There were plenty of possibilities. In fact, Clint was even feeling optimistic when he took the replacement card that was flipped his way and fit it into his hand. That enthusiasm ran dry, however, the moment he saw the king of hearts staring back at him.

A slender hand slid onto Clint's shoulder just then, followed by a sultry voice drifting toward his ear.

“Mind if I pull you away for a second?”

Clint didn't have to look back to know who was talking to him. “Sure, Shelly. Anything for a lady.”

With that, Clint gratefully tossed his cards away and stood up from his spot at the table. A few of the other players looked disappointed, but the next round of betting was more than enough to draw their attention back to the game.

“Hope I didn't interrupt anything,” Shelly said.

Clint laughed and gathered up the few chips of his that remained. “You might as well say the same thing to a horse with a broken leg before shooting it. What's on your mind?”

Shelly's entire manner had changed since she'd walked from the bar to the table where Clint had been playing. Now she strutted through the Whitecap with her hands on her hips and her chin held high. Her clothes may have been frayed at the edges, but she wore them like a queen wore her royal gown.

“You see that kid over there?” Shelly asked.

Clint looked to where she was pointing and nodded. “Yeah. I saw him when he walked in.” It took a moment for Clint to spot the kid again, simply because of the difference in height between Henry and the rest of the men at the bar. “Is he causing some trouble?”

“Not at all. In fact, I'm worried about him getting into trouble.”

“That's what a kid his age is supposed to do in a saloon,” Clint replied with a chuckle. “That's how we learn.”

“He's not in here for that sort of thing. I already checked on that.” Glancing nervously between Clint and Henry, she added, “He's in here to hire a gunman.”

That caught Clint off balance and he looked over to the kid one more time. “Are you sure about that?”

Shelly nodded. “He's even got enough money with him to do the job.”

“Why would he want to do something like that?”

“I don't know. He wouldn't tell me. I barely got him to say that much before he brushed me off and headed on to do his business.”

“If a boy that age could brush you off when you're looking as good as you are,” Clint said, “he must have the weight of the world on his shoulders. Either that, or he's just not seeing straight.”

Shelly smacked Clint's shoulder just hard enough to get his attention. “This is serious, Clint.”

Mumbling a few halfhearted grunts as he rubbed the spot where Shelly had hit him, Clint turned and looked around the saloon. “I don't even see where he went.”

Shelly turned on the balls of her feet and made the same turn to glance in all directions. Finally, she stopped and pointed toward the back of the room. “He's right over there and he's talking to some men that he's got no business talking to.”

Clint looked over there and spotted the kid without much delay. Henry was having a conversation with some men with dirty faces and guns on their hips, but nothing much was coming of it. “Looks like those fellas are about to push him toward the door. That'll scare him out of here for a while.”

“You're acting like this is a joke.”

“The boy's not in any danger,” Clint explained. “I walked into my first saloon when I was younger than him and got thrown out not long after. If someone goes and tells him to leave, he'll probably just look at it like a dare to come back later. So long as nobody gets hurt, there's no problem.”

“That's just it. I'm afraid he'll get hurt.”

Clint looked at her and immediately recognized the seriousness in her eyes. “Do you know that kid or something?” he asked.

“No, but I've seen others pulling the tricks you're talking about. Believe me, a woman in my line of work is usually a young man's first stop when he screws up the courage to walk into this place. That kid over there wasn't like one of those others. He's not here to drink or play cards and he's not here to get under my skirts. He told me he was here to hire a gunman and I believe him.”

“You're serious?”

Shelly nodded. “Serious as hell and I'd bet that kid is even more so.”

“All right. I'll go over and see what I can do.” Clint looked over to where Henry had been standing and found the spot to be empty. The rough fellows who'd been talking to the kid were glaring toward the front door, so Clint followed that line of sight to find Henry walking out with his head hung low.

“Looks like the problem's already solved,” Clint said. When he saw the gunmen stalking toward the door in Henry's wake, he added, “Or it just might have gotten worse.”

When Clint spotted the kid on the other side of the street, he could tell that Henry had no clue what was walking up behind him. Clint could barely make out a side of the kid's face and one arm, since the two armed men from the Whitecap Saloon were standing in the way. Those other two walked steadily toward Henry like dogs stalking their prey.

Rather than rush across the street and force anyone's hand, Clint stayed in front of the Whitecap and waited to see what would happen. For all he knew, the other two gunmen were continuing whatever conversation they'd been having.

Henry could very well have asked the men to step outside for one reason or another.

As long as things remained on this same track, Clint wasn't too anxious to stick his nose in where it didn't belong. After all, experience was still the best way for a kid to learn how to handle himself when he stepped through the gate of his parents' house.

Clint leaned against a post just outside the Whitecap and watched what happened across the street. Mostly, he kept his eye on the kid to see how he would react to the men that were just about to get his attention.

If the kid was surprised, that meant he obviously wasn't expecting them.

If the kid was scared, he might take off running and give the gunmen a good laugh.

If the kid was stupid, he might just get himself killed.

That last possibility didn't set too well with Clint, but it was definitely something he had to keep in mind. Just to be on the safe side, Clint stepped over to another post so he could lean against it and watch the other side of the street from a better angle.

The kid definitely looked surprised as he turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. The wide-eyed expression on his face would have brought a smirk to Clint's if not for the glint of panic in the kid's eyes. That glint showed more than fear.

To the other two gunmen, that glint was like raw meat dangling in front of them.

Clint didn't have to wait long to see the kid do something stupid. The moment he saw Henry pull his shirt up to reveal the gun stuck under his belt, Clint was bolting across the street like a shot.

“That ain't scaring nobody, kid,” the first gunman said. “So you might as well pull yer shirt back down and hand over that wad of cash yer carryin'.”

Both of the gunmen looked to be more than double the kid's age. They wore clothes that were tattered and held together by the stains soaked through the material, and both of them reeked of the liquor they'd been drinking. The first one had a barrel chest and a long beard that was filled with bits and pieces from a week of suppers. The second gunman was a bit younger and a whole lot thinner than the first, displaying a broken set of yellowed teeth in a slack-jawed, vaguely oblivious expression.

Henry's eyes darted back and forth between both of the gunmen as his hand wavered in front of the pistol stuck under his waistband. “If you don't get away . . . I . . . I swear I'll . . .”

“You'll do just what the man said,” Clint announced as he stepped behind the gunmen and planted his boots in his spot.

Instinctively, both gunmen hopped to one side and turned so they could look at Henry and Clint with a minimum of fuss. That put both gunmen facing each other in between the other two. They hadn't pulled their own weapons from the battered leather holsters around their waists just yet. At first, they didn't look as if they needed to. Now they knew better than to make an overly hasty move.

Clint nodded in appreciation of the gunmen's restraint. “Might as well take a breath and walk away, you two. Surely this boy ain't worth all this fuss.”

“You'd think twice about that if you saw the cash he's carrying,” the second gunman said. “There's enough for all three of us to split and be on our way before someone steals my spot from the bar.”

Henry listened to that and pressed himself against the front of the saloon that was across the street from the Whitecap. Even though the door was a few steps away, he didn't seem able to move his feet enough to get him there. Instead, he kept backing himself up until he was flattened against the side of the building.

Turning toward Henry, the first gunman lowered his head and stepped forward. “Hand over that money, boy, and be quick about it.”

“You . . . you said you wouldn't do the job.”

“I'm doin' all I need to get that money right now. If it don't work, I can always take it from yer pockets after I beat you to death.”

Despite the fact that he looked as if he was going to crawl up the side of the building in order to get away from those gunmen, Henry swallowed and said, “You do the job and I'll pay you.”

The first gunman stopped and glanced over at the second. Both men looked at each other silently for a moment before breaking out into laughter. “You hear that?” the first gunman said. When he glanced over his shoulder, he found Clint standing behind him and watching what was taking place. “That kid's got some balls, I'll tell you that.”