Lady of the Gun (4 page)

She glanced down at her empty p
late, then drained the last of her coffee. Who was he? And what was he doing in Twisted Creek?

"You done here, Cassidy?" the waitress, Rosie Shafer,
asked.

Cass smiled up at the young woman and noticed the weak
smile she received in return. Almost sighing out loud, she set her empty cup down and softly touched the rim. "A little more, please?" she asked,

Rosie nodded and turned away from the table, but not
before glancing down at the guns strapped to Cass's sides.

Cass did sigh after Rosie left. It was too bad her uncle
Darby was right about the townspeople being a little afraid of her. She'd known Rosie most of her life, had gone to school with the chubby redhead, had even been to several of her birthday parties. Now Rosie would barely speak to her, only did because she was a waitress and Cass was a customer. Cass watched as she returned with the coffee pot "Thanks," she offered.

Rosie only nodded and left the table quickly.

Cass shrugged off the snub. I should be used to it, she thought.

Once again scanning the room, she felt her pulse take a
giant leap as the stranger entered the restaurant.

It took Brett less than a second to see Cassidy sitting
across the restaurant watching him. His nerves jumped, and the hair along the back of his neck and arms stood on end.  Here was the infamous Lady of the Gun, the woman he'd been sent to find. He narrowed his eyes as he studied her.

This
time it didn't take him seconds to see her beauty. She'd removed her hat and thick waves of chestnut hair glistened in the sunlight pouring through a window not far away. Her features were even and lovely. Her eyes were startlingly blue and surrounded by thick black lashes. Then his gaze dropped to her mouth. The moist curve of her full, pouty lips caused him to swallow as a rush of blood began the trail to his loins. It was then he realized she was staring just as intently at him and her eyes had never left his. She was waiting. Waiting to see what kind of a threat he'd be to her. She doesn't know I'm a marshal, he realized with surprise. Taking a step in her direction, he noticed her right hand slip beneath the table.

"Mister, you alone?" asked Rosie, holding a menu toward
the stranger.

Brett blinked as he was distracted. "What?"

"You sittin' alone, or are you waitin' for someone?" Rosie explained.

Cass took this opportunity to leave her table. She'd seen
the stranger start her way, and she didn't want any trouble today. Especially not in town. Leaving two dollars on the table, she slipped quickly down the hallway that led to a back way out of the hotel, grateful she'd chosen a table close enough to it to allow her escape.

Brett cursed under his breath as he saw Cassidy leave the
restaurant via a hallway at the back of the room. "I'm not going to be staying," he answered Rosie, and walked past her to follow Cassidy.

"Suit yourself," said Rosie, tossing the me
nu back on the counter, she turned to another waitress and grimaced. "As if it wasn't bad enough having Cassidy Wayne in here, now we get strangers that just come in to look around and leave."

Cass breathed a sigh of relief as she closed the hotel door
behind her. She'd made her getaway and didn't have to confront the stranger. All she had to do now was get back to the sheriff's office, where she'd left her horse. She admonished herself for not bringing the animal to the hotel in case she needed to leave quickly, and promised herself she wouldn't let her guard down even that much again.

Walking the length of the alley toward the street, she
wondered what the stranger had wanted. Just trouble? She remembered the way his eyes had traveled over her features. She remembered the hard appearance of his body as he stood so still, examining her with his gaze. Her pulse beat rapidly at the memory, and she felt a strange heat growing deep within her. She wondered briefly what it would feel like to run her fingers through the dark curls at the back of his neck, then shook herself mentally. She had never let herself get sidetracked by her lust for a man in her life. She wouldn't now.

Brett was angry. He'd discovered that the hallway Cassidy
had taken didn't simply lead straight to a back door. It led first to a side door that opened onto a closed courtyard, then turned and ended abruptly, flanked by three doors that all looked exactly the same. He'd found out the hard way, by startling guests, that two of the doors opened into hotel rooms. He finally found the door that led outside, but by then Cassidy was nowhere in sight. Heading quickly toward the street, he was relieved to see her walking determinedly in the direction of the sheriff's office.

Cass was still thinking about the stranger when she heard
someone call her name from across the street. When she looked up, she saw another man walking toward her. Behind him was tethered the palomino she'd seen outside the Best Bet Saloon. "What can I do for you?" she asked in a monotone.

"You Cassidy Wayne?" the man asked.

Cass instantly sized up the man before her. Gun tied low. Hands nervous at his sides. Eyes blinking quickly. Her heart seemed to stop beating as a calm carne over her. "I know Cassidy. I'll be happy to give her a message for you," she said.

The man blinked severa
l times in rapid succession. "The bartender said you were Cassidy Wayne. Are you or aren't you?" he demanded.

Cass stepped forward to face him squarely. "That
depends."

"On what?" he asked impatiently.

“The reason you're looking for her." Cass side-stepped slowly, moving so the sun was no longer in her eyes.

"I heard she's fast. I want to see how fast," the man
answered snidely, sure of his superior speed.

"She's not so fast," Cass offered. She'd been challenged
before and had been able to talk her way out of having to kill. She hoped she could do the same now.

"You know that for sure? Or are you just trying to keep
from gettin' killed, Miss Wayne?" the man asked, grinning now.

Cass stopped moving. "I never said who I was," she
told him.

"Didn't have to. You're Cassidy Wayne, all right. I heard
about those twin Colts," he said, glancing quickly at her guns.

“
So?"

"So I want to see if you're as fast as I heard."

"Pick a target," she offered, her voice quiet.

The man took a step toward her, his eyes
narrowed. "You makin' fun of me?" he asked.

"No
. There's just no reason for us to shoot at each other. I can show you how fast I am without killing you," she explained, staring hard into his eyes.

The gunman blinked again. "You're pretty damned sure
of yourself for a woman," he said rudely.

"I'm very sure of myself. I've found that guns don't care
who holds them and bullets kill just the same no matter, who pulls the trigger. So let me ask you a question," she said softly.

The man nodded slightly.

"Do you really want to die today?"

"Why, you
…”

"No need to lose your temper, mister. Just answer my
question. The sun is shining in a blue sky and there's a cool breeze blowing in from the range. Do you want to die on such a nice day?"

"You bitch," the gunman hissed. His left eye began to
twitch as he blinked. Spreading his stance slightly, he poised his hand over his gun.

Cass sighed inwardly. "I'm serious, mister
, I'm not trying to be funny. I'm faster than you are, I guarantee it, and you're going to die if your gun clears leather. Do you want to die today?

The man
clenched his jaw as she spoke. He stood stone still except for his incessant blinking. He was going to draw.

Time stopped, and Cass waited. But only for a second.
She saw the jerk of his shoulder muscles and pulled her guns with lightning speed, sending bullets to explode in his chest before he even got his weapon completely out of the holster. She watched as he fell to the dirt, a look of surprise on his face.

"Jesus Christ!" cursed Brett from a short distance away
. He'd never seen anyone so fast in his life. He wasn't even sure he could beat her himself. And he couldn't believe it had happened while he watched. Running the last few steps to reach Cassidy, he grabbed her by the shoulder and jerked her to face him.

Cass felt t
he strong hand take hold of her, and she was ready to fire again as she was spun around. Only her quick reflexes kept her from shooting the stranger. Instead, she found herself staring up into the hard gray eyes that seemed to pierce her to her soul.

"What the hell was this all about?" demanded Brett.

Cass didn't answer. She just looked up at the handsome face above her. Her heart had started beating again, and now raced wildly in her chest. It took her only seconds to realize he still held her shoulder in his firm grasp, his strong fingers biting into her flesh. Stepping back, she tried to jerk herself free of his grip. "It's none of your business," she informed him stiffly.

"Like hell it's not," war
ned Brett, holding tight to her shoulder. "You better give me an answer, fast."

Cass pinpointed the aim of her guns. "And you better let
go of me," she threatened.

Brett glanced down at the guns almost touching his stomach.
All she had to do was pull the triggers on the deadly weapons and his life would be over, but something in her eyes told him she wouldn't do it. "Miss Wayne, I'm a federal marshal, and unless you want to spend the rest of your life in prison, I suggest you drop those Colts." He looked hard into the blue of her eyes and kept his tight grip on her.

Cass blinked once. Federal marshal? Was he telling her
the truth, or was he a friend of the dead man trying to get the better of her? "I don't think so. Not without proof," she challenged.

Brett kept his eyes level with hers. She wanted proof
, eh? Reaching slowly inside his shirt beneath his vest, he pulled out a tarnished silver badge. Letting it lay in his palm so she could see it, he waited.

Cass lowered her eyes to inspect the badge. It could have
been a fake or stolen, but her senses told her he was telling her the truth. Looking back up into his eyes, she kept the guns trained on his stomach. "What are you going to do with me, Marshal?" she asked quietly.

Brett felt his pulse take a sma
ll jump as her words brought some startling pictures to mind. His body instantly reminded him of some very interesting things he'd like to do to her. He narrowed his eyes. "I'm taking you to the jail for questioning," he told her, his voice stern. "Now bury those guns."

Cass slowly lowered the Colts. A group of people had
started to gather, and murmured gasps traveled through the crowd as they inspected, with relish, the wound her two bullets had made over the gunman's heart. She glanced at the body of the dead man, then back to the marshal.

Brett saw the crowd gathering just as Cass had, and he
didn't like the expressions on some of the faces. "You people go on about your business," he said loudly to the group.

Nobody moved.

Releasing his hold on Cass's shoulder now that she had lowered her guns to a relaxed angle, he took a step toward the crowd. "I said to disperse," he told them.

"And who are
you to tell us what to do?" a belligerent voice demanded defiantly from the back of the crowd.

"Marshal Brett Ryder," he responded with authority. Pinning
his badge to his vest, he took a step toward the crowd. "One of you go get the undertaker. The rest of you go on about your business."

"You're a marshal? Where's Sheriff Jackson?" asked a
tall heavyset man as he disengaged himself from the group.

Brett raised a brow slightly
in Cass's direction.

"Jaybird Johnson," she whispered cross
ly. She had her own bone to pick with this man. She knew he had to be the bartender who'd identified her to the gunman.

B
rett noticed Cassidy's hostility and felt an inward tension as he stepped between her and the man. "Mr. Johnson, Sheriff Jackson had business out of town this morning. He'll be back in a couple of hours. Until he gets back, I'm the law. And I want this crowd to disperse before it gets out of hand. You seem to be one of the community leaders,” he heard Cassidy snort behind him, "so I wonder if you could assist me in getting folks to go on home."

Jaybird didn't like anyone tel
ling him what to do, even under the guise of a compliment, but this marshal didn't know him, so maybe, just maybe, he'd let it slide this once. He looked past the lawman to where Cass stood just behind him. "What about her? She just murdered a man in the street. You gonna do something about it?" he demanded.

Cass threw down the gauntlet. "It wasn't murder, Jaybird.
You know that better than anyone else."