Three Men and a Bounty (3 page)

“Okay.” Chris gulped and continued following Hannah up the stairs as if he were the guest of honor at a necktie party.

20

Gigi Moore

Troy felt Josie’s eyes on him as he paced the length of his office—back and forth, back and forth—until he thought he would wear a hole in the floor.

He considered that the marshal recognized him. Why else would James Hayden have given him such sharp looks? True, he hadn’t been on the wrong side of the law in a powerful long time, not since his teens, but that kind of past tended to follow a man. Just like all the men who’d bought the farm at the end of Troy’s Dewey, the least of which had been the leader of his former gang. All of them were faces permanently etched on the landscape of his recollections.

Troy paused in the middle of the floor and closed his eyes at the memory of having to shoot down a man who had cheerfully nurtured and indoctrinated him in the outlaw life. If it hadn’t been for the memory of his honest, hardworking parents, their roles could have been reversed and Troy would be the one spending the rest of his days rotting under the ground in a bone orchard. Thankfully, his life of crime with the Baird gang had been short-lived, not nearly long enough to earn him the infamous status that the rest of the men in the gang boasted. He’d earned his freedom and a fresh start at a great cost, though.

Troy opened his eyes to look at Josie’s grinning face, glad for an excuse not to think about how things had turned out between him and Jack Baird. He had enough reminders with all the wanted posters up in town heralding the lawless antics of one Cain Baird. If he had still been in the life and bounty hunting, he’d be out on the road like any other huntsman looking to make a pretty penny off of Baird’s capture.

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He wasn’t in the life, though. He’d sworn it off with Jack’s death. By then he’d made his little fortune so he could settle down and leave the life behind.

Was there really any way for him to leave that life behind when a bloodthirsty enemy ran around the countryside, dodging the law and preaching about Troy’s impending death?

“You should see yourself over there, just a fretting so,” Josie said.

He chuckled, releasing a little of the tension when he imagined the picture he made, practically ringing his hands like a nervous female.

“No help for it. I’ve got a mess of stuff on my mind.” How to stay alive without revealing who and what he was uppermost in his mind.

After the Indians had killed his father, he’d sworn never to let the wolf out to kill again. Instead, he’d taken up the way of the gun.

Three years after collecting his final bounty, he’d settled down and built a peaceful, law-abiding life here in Wolf Creek, one he enjoyed, and he didn’t want to see it end because of some stupid twist of Fate.

“Let’s deal with some of that
stuff.
How many lawmen have come through this town with nary a pause after seeing you? And have we forgotten that you were a lawman yourself once? It’s possible Marshal Hayden remembers you from your bounty hunting days.”

He supposed that possible. He’d rubbed elbows with and helped numerous lawmen bringing in wanted men throughout the years.

However, he knew he’d remember someone like the marshal even if the marshal didn’t remember him.

Damn, he should never have pulled that rifle. When he’d seen Bart threatening the kid, he couldn’t help himself and instantly reacted, though. And now he might have to pay for that overprotective deed with not just his freedom but his life.

How long before Cain’s patience waned and he got hungry enough to come out of relative hiding to collect his own pound of flesh?

22

Gigi Moore

“Might as well face it. You’re being mistrustful for no reason,”

Josie said.

He knew she was right. Plenty of men pulled guns. It was a natural reaction next to ducking and running. And if he had things to do over, Troy figured he’d pull his gun again. No way could he let someone hurt that kid, not on his watch. Obviously, the boy had been through enough already. Troy wondered what.

“Is he still in the bath?” he asked.

“He’s been done a while now. I had Hannah settle him in a room to catch some shuteye, though. Poor thing didn’t argue a peep, so I’m guessing he needed the sleep.”

Troy nodded. He thought that about right. Maybe when the boy woke up, Troy would call Doc Clayborn and have him check Chris out. He wanted to make sure he fared well, at least physically. He didn’t think saw-bones or anyone else could do anything about the cause behind the dark shadows Troy had seen in the boy’s gaze.

“What room did you settle him in?”

“Yours, of course.”

“You always were too smart for your own good.”

Josie put a hand on her chest and fluttered her long eyelashes at him, feigning innocence. “What? Little ol’ me?”

Troy laughed and shook his head, admiring Josie’s smile and twinkling eyes. She wasn’t his type by a long shot, but he sure appreciated her beauty and intelligence.

When Troy had first arrived in town, she and several other available women had thrown their bonnets in the ring, hoping he would show some interest. He’d let them all down as easily as he could. Josie proved the only one willing to stick around without the promise of a ring and soon realized that she and he were far better suited as friends and business partners than lovers. When he’d opened Barrow’s, he’d allowed Josie and her girls to use several of the rooms upstairs for
entertaining
, and Troy and Josie had been splitting the profits ever since.

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“I reckon if you wanted to go check on him it’d be easier to do if he was in your room.”

“I reckon.”

“He looked like he could use a nice, hard shoulder to lean on.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I know hankering when I see it, and that boy near ’bout swooned every time Hannah or I mentioned your name.”

Troy felt heat flood his cheeks and his groin at Josie’s mention of Chris’ infatuation. He hadn’t wanted to believe it could be so. He didn’t want to get his hopes up that a kid like that would even be thinking about an old sidewinder like him in
that
way. The idea had him just about busting out of his pants that he’d been right and hadn’t imagined the boy’s lingering, charmed stares. Sure, he was getting a little long in years, but his horns hadn’t been sawed off.

“You look about as cute as him when you blush.”

“You are such a rabble-rouser.”

“I’m serious. You two would make a good couple.”

Troy heard the suddenly serious tone of Josie’s voice and peered at her. He noticed the concerned look on her face right away. He knew what she thought. A talk like they were having could get a man beaten up or killed. And it was sweet of her to risk it.

Was that what had happened to Chris out on the road? Had he hitched his wagon to the wrong man, one who’d turned on him?

He counted his lucky stars every day that his first mentor had been a kind and tolerant man like Josiah Maynard, a miner who’d come across Troy after he’d escaped the Indians. He knew, however, that men like him and Chris weren’t always lucky enough to meet a kindred spirit like Josiah. Meeting his second mentor, Jack had taught him that.

“If you ain’t interested, something tells me he’s got his eyes set on other options.”

“Who?”

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Gigi Moore

“I heard from a little birdie he seemed just as smitten with that colored marshal as he did with you.”

A little birdie named Hannah, no doubt. Though he could see why the kid would hanker for James Hayden. If he weren’t so worried about his past and the animal that lived inside him, he might have thrown his hat the marshal’s way himself.

“You don’t say.”

“I do.”

“Guess I should go check on my guest to make sure he’s nice and comfortable.”

“Guess you should.”

Troy turned and headed for the door before Josie’s voice stopped him. “He’s young, Troy, but he’s been through a lot.”

“Another little birdie?”

She shrugged. “Woman’s intuition.”

Troy stared at her for a long moment, searching her features. Josie didn’t do much talking about herself, so he didn’t know a lot about her past. He couldn’t begrudge her that, since he didn’t talk too much about his, either. Still, he recognized someone who’d experienced hard times, and he knew that Josie had. Temptation almost had him asking about her life, but he thought better of it. Let sleeping dogs lie, at least for now.

He had other fish to fry, anyway, with Chris Michaels.

* * * *

He was an uppity coon and a phony to boot.

Who did he think he was, anyway, flashing that fancy marshal’s
badge and shooting up the place like he thought he owned it?

Shooting men just because he could? Someone needed to put him in
his place, but good. Just wasn’t right for a man like that to be walking
around with a gun and all that say-so. Parker had made a powerful
mistake appointin’ all them coloreds and mixed-breed Indians to such
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25

high posts, charging them with bringing in Indians, coloreds, and
white men alike. T’wasn’t right locking up God-fearing men just
trying to make a living and put food on the table for their family.

Didn’t know what chapped the hide worse—that the colored boy
lorded over all the more deserving white men in the community with
his authority and his badge, or that he pulled the wool over
everyone’s eyes, appearing normal, bedding the black whores in their
house of ill-repute when he knew he preferred a man’s company in
bed to a woman’s.

Wicked pervert. He wouldn’t pull the wool over the eyes that
counted.

The marshal would be getting his comeuppance.

And he would get it powerful soon.

* * * *

He couldn’t get away from them, no matter how hard he fought.

He was smaller than them, and there were way more of them, enough to wrestle him to the floor and bind his wrists as if he was a helpless calf. He tried to scream, but they stuffed a rag in his mouth to keep him quiet, and when he kicked out, two of them grabbed and held his legs down.

The aroma of manure and hay assaulted his senses. Chris fairly gagged on it when he took a deep breath through his nose to calm himself down. He tried to convince himself that they wouldn’t, they couldn’t, do what he thought they would. But then one of them jerked his pants and long johns down over his hips as the others stood by.

They watched and laughed, saying things like “Teach the little chuck-eater a lesson.” or “Show him who’s boss.” One of the men brought the hot branding iron within a couple of inches of his face, so close he could see the Whitfield emblem glowing orange and could hear the sizzle of the scorching metal.

26

Gigi Moore

He’d been on a couple of round-ups and seen cowpunchers brand beasts young and old, but despite its necessity, he’d never cottoned to the act much himself. He always imagined the animal’s pain, what it would feel like to have a brand seared into his flesh against his will, but cowboys and ranchers claimed animals didn’t have no will, none but what man gave them.

Chris gagged against the rag at the thought of where they would brand
him
. He thought how they had taken away his will and put him at their mercy—like an animal. He felt the tears on his cheeks and heard one of the men above him say, “You’ve got a right pretty little ass for a boy. Pretty as a picture, perfect for this little ol’ brand.”

Someone touched him. Chris felt the calloused pad of a hand fondling him. He squeezed his eyes shut against the shame when fingers strayed close to his back hole as if to enter him but suddenly stopped and the hand was snatched away.

“Gimme that iron.” The voice came out gruff and disgusted, as if the owner hated himself for touching Chris the way he had.

He struggled anew against the ropes and hands securing him but couldn’t get free.

The heat of the branding iron neared his backside.

Exhausted, Chris said a prayer, his struggles waning. He had about given up all hope of someone helping him when the barn door finally burst open.

“What in tarnation is going on here?”

The branding iron dropped, and men went scrambling away from him.

Mr. Whitfield pulled the rag out of his mouth, and that’s when Chris started screaming and screaming until his throat grew raw.

Strong arms came around him as he pulled away from the nightmare, eyes yet squeezed shut.

Chris threw his own arms around a strong back and held tight, as if his life depended on it. “Don’t let ’em hurt me. Please, don’t…”

“I won’t. No one’s gonna hurt you here.”

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27

Not Mr. Whitfield’s voice. It well and truly had been a dream.

Thank God.

Chris pulled back slightly to stare up at the face of the man holding him. “Troy?”

“Who else you expecting?”

Chris couldn’t say, except that the only other person whose arms he wanted to be in proved just as forbidden, if not more so, than Troy’s.

Marshal Hayden.

Chris stared at the chiseled features of the man in front of him, heart fluttering at the upward tilt at one corner of Troy’s mouth like he found Chris’ confusion amusing. It took everything in him not to bury his face against the solid wall of Troy’s hard-muscled chest to escape that amusement and find his comfort in the flannel folds of Troy’s shirt. He’d learned his lesson but good. Men didn’t cotton to shows of affection like that between men. If his time with Cooper had taught him anything, it had taught him that.

Troy didn’t seem to mind Chris clinging to him, though. In fact, he did a little clinging himself, like he didn’t want to let Chris go.

“Want to talk about it?”