Lady of the Gun (6 page)

Cass saw Brett's gesture
and realized what it meant. She wouldn't be able to resist him if he touched her again, and she didn't want to be found in an even more embarrassing position should someone else come along. The thought that Bill Conroy had walked in on them, was probably spreading the gossip over at the saloon right now, gave her the strength to pull back. "No," she whispered.

Brett lowered his hand, but continued to watch the e
motions that played over her beautiful face. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her. "Why not?" he asked.

"It isn't right. I won't . . . I can't . . ." she stammered,
not sure how to turn him down. "I won't be the subject of gossip." She paused a moment, realizing how ridiculous that sounded, when she'd just killed a man in a gunfight in the middle of the main street. "I won't have people talking about who I . . . or when . . . like that," she lowered her eyes, blushing at the reference to their sexual behavior.

Brett saw her redden as she spoke and was surprised she
could act so demure when the way she'd responded to him proved she was no innocent. And the fact the lady was a gunfighter made her pretense of modesty nearly laughable. One didn't search out and kill four murderers without learning a few facts of life along the way. Brett's mouth turned up into a slow smile of, amusement. "Then when and where can we continue this? You've started a fire in me that needs to be put out, and soon. I'm pretty uncomfortable right now," he said, allowing his glance to fall briefly to the bulge in his trousers before fixing her with a purposeful stare.

Cass'
s eyes opened wide. Responding to a man's unexpected kiss was one thing; arranging a time and place to have sex was quite another. "Never!" she burst out. "How dare you!"

"How dare I?" Brett asked incredulously.

"Yes. How dare you assume I'd be willing to plan . . . it," she finished.

“
lt'?" Brett almost laughed out loud at her. "Who do you think you're going to fool with this shocked-virgin routine?"

Cass's mouth opened, but no sound came out. She was
shocked. She was mortified. "I'm not trying to fool anyone," she finally managed.

"Good." Brett's voice became seductive. "Because you
took to me like cream on fresh milk. I'd hate to think all that passion was going to go to waste."

"You pompous ass," Cass hissed, backing away from him.
"You think just because you kissed me that I'm ready to fall into bed with you?"

Brett shook his head. "You're one confusing lady, Cass. I wasn't the only one
doing the kissing. It takes two, you know. And since you seem to have forgotten, you responded to me with more heat than an August brushfire."

Had she? Cass did
n't know what a man expected from a woman.

Brett continued. "If that character hadn't blundered in
here we'd be on the floor right now, and I promise you, you'd be forgetting all the men who came before me.”

Cass just stood in stunned silence, blood staining her face
with embarrassed shock. All the men who came before him, he'd said? Did he think she was a slut? Obviously. Clenching her jaw tightly, she breathed through her nose in deep, self-righteous puffs.

"Come on, honey,
” Brett urged, ignoring her indignant stare. Maybe he shouldn't have been so blunt. He knew most women couldn't handle the truth unless it was sugar coated, but damn it, she'd participated in their kiss like a cat in heat, and for her to pretend such innocence now just rubbed him the wrong way. "You know I’m telling the truth. Next time I'll plan things better so we won't be interrupted."

"Marshal Ryder, ponies will fly before you touch
me again," she spat between clenched teeth as she turned abruptly and headed for the door. As she jerked it open, she turned back toward him briefly, ready to sling a foul insult in his direction, only to be caught short by the steel gray of his eyes as he returned her glare. "I . . never mind," she finished. Turning her back on him, she stepped outside and slammed the door behind her. "What a conceited jerk," she breathed as she stood in the brilliant sunlight that beat unmercifully on the wooden sidewalk. Pausing there a moment while she decided which way to go, she welcomed the sun's heat as a much-needed poultice to her wounded pride.

Brett watched Cass leave in a huff and couldn't figure out
why she'd gotten so damned mad. Okay, he'd already admitted to himself he'd been too abrupt and straightforward, but that didn't really warrant her behaving like an insulted schoolmarm. She was, after all, a gunfighter, and she had responded to him in a way that even now sent his blood racing at the memory. "Damn it," he cursed as he took a deep breath to clear his head.

Straightening, he walked around the sheriff
’s desk and sat down. Leaning forward on his elbows, he rested his head in his hands. What the hell am I doing getting involved with the Lady of the Gun, anyway? I'm supposed to be investigating her, not making love to her, he thought disgustedly. But even as he admonished himself he remembered the softness of her full lips beneath his, the way she'd leaned into his touch and pressed her firm curves against his feverish body.  "Holy shit," he grumbled.

Cass glanced quickly to the place where she'd gunned
down Henry Fleet. She was relieved to see that his body had been removed and the crowd had dispersed, though the dark red stain marking the dusty ground like an old puddle still showed where he'd fallen. Somewhere deep inside her she felt a pang of remorse. She hadn't wanted to fight him. She'd tried to talk her way out of it, just as she'd done twice before when young gunfighters had challenged her, but he wouldn't listen to her.

Looking at his blood, drying quickly in the hot sun, she
pushed the remorse from her heart. That could have been her blood. Henry Fleet was no better than the men who had killed her family, and his big brother Bobby was said to be even worse.

Sighing heavily, she let her eyes scan the street and noticed
that it was unusually quiet. Everyone had apparently taken the marshal's advice and gone home. Shaking her head with disgust, she knew that, what with the gunfight and the scene with Brett that Bill Conroy had walked in on, she'd given the townsfolk ample fodder for at least a month’s worth of gossip. "Wait until Uncle Darby hears about all this," she groaned.

Stepping off the sidewalk, she headed in the direction of
the livery, hoping her saddle was now finished. As she walked along the deserted street, she couldn't stop the wash of emotions that flooded her senses at the memory of what Brett's mouth and hands had done to her. Was what she’d felt normal? she wondered. Did all women feel this way? She'd never felt like this with any other man, and God knew there were men who'd tried to have their way with her. Up until now she'd felt only mild interest at best, and powerful disgust and revulsion at worst. And why Brett Ryder? She didn't even know him, or like him. She pictured his tall form, his dark hair, and haunting gray eyes, and swallowed hard. No, she didn't like him at all, she decided. And she sure as hell wouldn't give him the opportunity to touch her again.

A cloud of dust, the loud creak of wood and leather, the
jingle of harness chains, and a stream of colorful expletives from Jed Higgens, the driver, announced the arrival of the noon stage. Cass glanced upward to confirm the time, surprised so much of the day had already passed. "I guess when you're having fun . . ." she murmured sarcastically.

Slowing her walk to the livery, she saw the coach pull up
in front of the stage office next to the jail, wondering who, if anyone, had found reason to visit the small town of Twisted Creek. It wasn't exactly a social metropolis. She watched Jed's movements as he climbed to the top of the coach and tossed the mailbag down to the waiting stage agent. She knew there would be nothing in the bag for her or Darby. They had no family left other than each other.

The stage door opened slowly then, catching her eye, and
she saw the long fingers and manicured nails of a man's hand as he grasped the door to steady his descent from the coach. Once he was outside the stage, she could see he was young and tall, with blond hair and a golden mustache. She let her eyes search his frame from boots to hair, and though his suit was obviously expensive and tailored to perfection, it couldn't hide his too thin physique. She thought about how perfect Brett's body was in comparison, then frowned angrily at her own observation. Why on earth would she compare anyone to the marshal? Just then the man turned in her direction and let his gaze fall directly on her, a smile creasing his face. He looked familiar, but she couldn't quite place him. A few puzzled seconds later it hit her: the man was Ramsey Tylo, Hunt Tylo's son.

Ramsey was only three years her senior, but she barely
knew him. He'd traveled in a different circle than she had. Being the son of the richest man in town had gone to his head, and though they'd been neighbors, he'd never noticed the tall, skinny, gawky kid she'd been. She remembered he'd left for college shortly before her family was murdered. So the big-city boy has come home, she mused, wondering why he was grinning at her now.

Brett heard the stage outside and decided to see who
might be arriving. He was still concerned that Bobby Fleet could be in the area. The chance that the gunfighter would enter town on the stage was slim, but Brett couldn't gamble with Cass's life, no matter how sure she was that she could take care of herself. Leaving the office, he went to watch the unloading of mail, luggage, and passengers.

Cass narrowed her eyes when she saw Brett leave the
sheriff’s office to stand and watch the stage unloading. Seeing him again, even at this distance, did strange things to her heart. Grimacing, she was about to turn away when she heard her name being called from the stage.

"Cass? Cassidy Wayne, is that you?
”

Cass did a double take, not sure that she
’d heard right. She would have bet good money that Ramsey didn’t even know her name, yet here he was calling to her as though they were old friends. tilting her head slightly in curiosity, she began a slow walk in his direction. “Ramsey?" she said when she was close enough to speak.

"Yes, Cass, it's me. And look at you, all grown up
,” he said smiling down at her, reaching out to take her hands in his.

Cass
nearly pulled away. She didn’t know this Ramsey. His golden hair and light blue eyes shone as though he’d been touched by the sun, and he was smiling down at her as if he'd been waiting all these years just to see her. “Ramsey?" she repeated a little incredulously.

"Yes, Cass." He nearly laughed.
“I didn't know I’d changed that much,” he commented.

Cass blinked several times. He did
seem to have changed. As a child there'd been a hardness to him that had made him seem a little cold and cruel. She remembered him teasing Rosie, the waitress, when they were kids. His teasing had gone beyond the normal childish taunts, sending her running home in tears. To this day Rosie paled whenever Ramsey's name was mentioned.

But the Ramsey standing before Cass now, beami
ng down at her with an angelic smile, seemed softer, kinder, somehow. Cass looked up into his eyes. Maybe he's just grown up, she thought. Finally returning his smile, she allowed him to hold her hands familiarly. "Hello, Ramsey," she offered. "I hadn't heard you were coming back."

Brett watched Cass and the stranger standing close, talking.
He looked at them curiously. Was this man a special friend of Cass's? He squinted speculatively as he sized up the fancy man in the expensive suit. Tightening his jaw, he waited and watched.

"Dad knew I was coming for a visit, but I didn't tell him
when. I wanted to surprise him," Ramsey explained, letting his eyes roan over the curves that had appeared on Cass's figure in the last few years. The Cass he remembered had been thin and awkward. What a pleasant surprise to see that the weed had blossomed into a rose. "Have you seen my father lately? How does he look?"

Cass lowered her eyes. "No, I haven't seen him in a
while," she explained. "I've been very busy." She couldn't add that she'd sent the sheriff out to the Lazy T to ask questions about his father's possible part in her family's murders. Now, with Ramsey looking down on her, all golden hair and friendly smiles, she felt a little guilty.

Ram
sey watched the color rising in her cheeks. He'd heard the stories about Cassidy's revenge. His father had written him about it. But even the twin Colts strapped to her thighs couldn't convince him she was as dangerous as Hunt had claimed. Stepping even closer to her, he leaned over slightly, creating a feeling of privacy. "You've become a very beautiful woman, Cass," he breathed intimately.

Cass glanced up into his eyes, startled by such a revelation
from a man she hardly knew. "I don't know what to..to say," she stammered.

"Don't say anything. Just accept the truth when it's told
to you." He squeezed her hands.

Warning bells went off in Cass's head as he tightened his
grip on her. Why would Ramsey Tylo get down off a stage after not having seen her for five years, and not even knowing her that well to begin with, and act as if they'd been close friends before he left town? This was too much, too quick. And it was making her uncomfortable. "I . . . ah . . ." she started to pull her hands from his grasp.