Hitched to the Gunslinger by Michelle McLean
Chapter One
Gray Woodson didn’t know much, but he knew one thing… Life had been a lot easier when he was killin’ people.
This whole retirement thing, on the other hand, was a pain in his saddle-hardened ass. It had taken all of two days for him to be recognized in a new town this time. He hadn’t thought his face would be so well-known way out here. It wasn’t much to look at. Nothing he’d call memorable. Now, his trigger finger? Sure. He was the fastest draw in the country, after all. Gave him some bona fide bragging rights. But it wasn’t like he was wandering down the streets of town, drawing his gun on complete strangers.
But people still recognized him. All it took was someone’s uncle’s friend’s little brother’s cousin who happened to be in that one town that one time something had gone down, and that was it. Notoriety for life. Lucky him.
And now it looked like he’d need to move on again sooner than he’d hoped.
Gray repressed a sigh as the barkeep’s shaking hand sloshed more mineral water—only dead gunslingers ordered whiskey, in his book—on the counter than made it into his glass. The man stuttered out an apology and then filled the glass almost to the brim, pushing it toward Gray with the air of a man feeding a starving coyote.
“It’s on the house,” he said.
Gray shook his head. “That’s not necessary.”
The man’s face paled even more, if that were possible. “Don’t sell much mineral water ’round these parts. I mostly keep it in stock for mixing drinks. I’m happy to get rid of it.”
Yeah, people always said things like that when Gray objected to special treatment, and then a week later the gossips were clucking about the big bad gunfighter who was terrorizing honest men out of their hard-earned money. No thank you. He wasn’t playing the game anymore. He was retired.
Gray slapped his money on the counter. “I pay for what I take.”
The barkeep accepted the coins with trembling fingers. “Th-th-thank you, Mr. Quick Shot, sir. You’re very generous, sir.”
Gray grit his teeth to keep from snapping out a retort. The last thing he needed was for the man to drop dead at his feet. “It ain’t generous to pay what I owe. And the name is Woodson.”
The barkeep’s face drained of all color. “Yes, sir. Sorry, Mr. Woodson, sir.”
Gray didn’t bother hiding his eye roll as he took his drink back to the table in the corner, as far away from prying eyes as he could get.
Didn’t matter how far in the shadows he sat, though.
“My reputation doth precede me,” he muttered into his glass while he watched the other patrons shoot furtive glances at him.
“Well, it is quite the reputation,” a familiar man in his early twenties with dark-brown hair said cheerily as he pulled out a chair and sat at Gray’s table.
Gray scowled. “Sunshine.”
Jason Sunshine—and yes, the man was every bit as irritating as his last name implied—tipped his hat in greeting, ignoring Gray’s foul mood. He leaned in and squinted at Gray for a moment before sitting back. “You’re looking a little crusty, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
Well, that’s a fine way to say howdy. He scraped his hand across only a coupla days’ growth of beard. “I do mind. Go away.”
Jason grinned, his smokey brown eyes twinkling. “But I’ve only just found you.”
“Lucky me,” Gray mumbled, still glowering. “You’re not lookin’ so fresh yourself, you know. I think you’ve been on the road too long. Maybe you should go back to school, teachin’ or tutorin’ or whatever it was you did in your fancy city before you decided to start houndin’ me.”
Jason didn’t rise to the bait, too busy watching everyone else watch them. “Tell me, how does it feel to command the respect of everyone in the room the moment you mosey on in?”
Gray clenched his fist around his glass, glaring at the only man who’d dare invade his space, uninvited. His free hand itched to go for his gun, but he checked himself. Even pre-retirement he hadn’t killed a man just for sitting at his table.
Well… Okay, maybe once. But there had been extenuating circumstances. Honest.
And had the irksome little prat sitting across from him now found him a few weeks earlier, Gray might have made an exception in this case as well. Jason had been pestering him for weeks, trying to get Gray to teach him his “trade.” Gray’s surly refusal hadn’t dissuaded him one flat bit.
“It’s not respect. It’s fear,” Gray said. “And it doesn’t appear to work on everyone in the room.” He gave Jason a significant look that the much younger man brushed off with a grin.
“Oh, it works on me. I’ve just decided that the possible benefits outweigh the risk of you putting a bullet through me.”
“Might want to work on your decision-making skills.” He drained his glass and slammed it on the table. “Anything I can do to dissuade you of that foolish notion, you just let me know.”
“You haven’t killed me yet,” Jason said with a smirk.
Gray narrowed his eyes. “The day ain’t over, Sunshine.”
“You keep saying stuff like that, but you know, in all the weeks I’ve been following you, you’ve never once tried to kill me.”
He shook his head at the youngster’s outrageous lack of common sense. “What a spectacularly ridiculous reason to continue to annoy me.”
Jason shrugged. “I think you kinda like me.”
Gray snorted. “Yet another reason why I’ve never once considered intelligence to be your strong suit.”
The barkeep was at his elbow, refilling his glass before he could make a move to get another. He appreciated the service, but he hadn’t even heard the man move from behind the bar. Maybe he should put a bell on the guy’s belt buckle. He didn’t like people sneaking up on him and two had managed it in the last five minutes. He must be losing his edge.
“See,” Jason said, pointing at the glass. “It has its perks.”
Gray snorted again. “If you want to build a reputation as a gunfighter for fast drink refills, you’re definitely gettin’ into the wrong game.”
Jason waved that off, too. “It’s not just that. Look around,” he said, nodding at the men sneaking nervous glances at them. “There’s not a man in here who’d willingly cross you. It must be satisfying being the one who’s feared instead of being the one afraid, is all I’m trying to say.”
Gray shook his head in disgust. “You know nothin’. And I don’t have the patience or desire to remedy that.”
He sat back in his chair, irritated that Jason had managed to get under his skin again. The bothersome little shit was a city-bred adventure-seeker barely old enough to shave and raised on sensationalized tales of the Wild West. His quest for excitement made him over-eager to sign his own death warrant. His enthralled face every time he brought up some tall tale, the smattering of freckles across his cheeks, making him look so much younger than he probably was, just made Gray…sad. And tired. So very tired.
Jason just didn’t get that the gunslingin’ life wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
Sure, Gray’s reputation as the fastest gun this side of the Mississippi might afford him some protection. And Gray wasn’t so much of a knucklehead that he didn’t get why that might appeal to Jason. Most men gave him a wide berth. Most wouldn’t dare threaten him. But most also wouldn’t befriend him. Most wouldn’t allow him to court their daughters, let alone marry one. Most would do whatever they could to make sure he stayed far, far away.
It was a lonelier existence than he could have anticipated. Not that he loved the company of other people, mind you. Generally, he was content to be on his own. Still, it wasn’t the life he’d set out to build for himself.
And then, of course, there were the odd few men who wanted to gain a reputation of their own by taking out the best. Which painted a target on his back the size of his logger grand-daddy’s prized pecker poles. And those who had tried, and failed, to best him…their faces would haunt his memories for the rest of his life. Each and every one of them.
What a glamorous life, indeed. No. He wouldn’t help Jason become one such as him.
He wouldn’t condemn another man to this life, no matter how much the jackass wanted it.
Gray downed the last of his drink, then slammed the glass down and pushed away from the table. He marched to the center of the saloon where a poker game was going on and made a slow circuit of the table, taking stock of each man.
He narrowed in on an exceptionally gangly-looking fellow who had that drawn, haggard look about him. The one that suggested he had precious little money to lose. Spending his time at the gambling tables was a travesty of judgment on the man’s part. Especially considering his quickly dwindling pile of money. But there always seemed to be one at every table. Men who just didn’t know when to quit.
Gray sighed deeply. He knew he should just walk away. But he’d never been much good at that.
Decision made, he grabbed the player by the scruff of his shirt and pulled him from his chair. The man sputtered and blinked his bloodshot eyes, his gin-sodden brain taking a few moments to catch up with what was happening. Gray swung him around and shoved what few coins the man had left into his shirt pocket.
“If you’re wise, you’ll take that home to your probably long-sufferin’ wife and keep away from the gamin’ tables until you can actually afford to lose.”
Gray dropped into the man’s seat and rapped his knuckles on the table. “Deal me in.”
The farmer he’d displaced began to stammer an objection, echoed by the other men at the table. Gray didn’t look at any of them but yanked his gun out of his holster so fast that none of them had time to draw breath. He didn’t even aim it at anyone, but simply laid it on the table beside him.
The man whose seat he’d taken held his hands up and backed away muttering, “It’s fine, no problems here,” and went to nurse his bruised and frightened ego at the bar.
Jason unfortunately wasn’t spooked by Gray’s antics. He shook his head. “Well, now, that was just rude.”
“I saved him from losin’ his shirt.”
“True, but you could have been nicer about it.”
Gray didn’t look at him but threatened under his breath, “You’re gettin’ perilously close to discoverin’ what it takes for my patience to run out.”
Jason opened his mouth to reply but made the wise choice for once and shut up. He perched in a chair at the table nearest to Gray’s. Not an ideal situation, but as long as he kept his mouth shut, Gray wouldn’t fuss about it.
He gathered up his newly dealt cards and joined in the game. The other men playing didn’t dare object. After a few hands, they seemed to realize that Gray wasn’t going to kill them if he lost, and he actually got some decent play out of them. Even better, he won several good hands. The money would come in handy. It was definitely time to move on. But in the meantime, he intended to enjoy an evening of good cards and piss-warm mineral water.
The night dragged on long enough that Jason fell asleep at his table. Gray smiled, startling the man who sat nearest him. He resisted the urge to grumble. He smiled occasionally. People acted like it was the second comin’ of God or something if he happened to show his teeth.
Now the reason for the smile was a miracle, if a minor one. He’d been prepared to tie Jason to the table leg in order to escape him if necessary. Leaving while he slept would be much simpler. Not that he was sneaking out by any means. Gunmen of Quick Shot’s caliber did not sneak. But he also preferred to keep his life as simple as possible and having to lose Jason was a tiresome complication. Removing that complication without having to kill the little shit was a reason for celebration.
Gray nodded at the barkeep for one last drink.
He was parched but still should have known better and high-tailed it out of there the second things had started going his way. But no, he had to push his luck.
And now the argument that had sprung up behind him had turned into a full-blown fight. Gray stared into his cup while the sound of fists meeting flesh echoed behind him.
“Why don’t you do something?” Jason said, skidding to a halt beside him.
Great. Now the kid was awake and breathing down his neck again.
Gray shrugged. “Not my fight.”
Jason opened his mouth to argue, but Gray held up a finger and finished his drink while Jason watched, mouth hanging open.
Gray glanced over Jason’s shoulder at the commotion. “Duck,” he said.
“Wha—?” Jason gasped and ducked half a second before a chair flew over his head and crashed into the bar.
Gray decided to take advantage of Jason’s distraction and gathered his money and gun and walked out right through the middle of the chaos. The seething mass of fighting townspeople paid him no mind, parting around him to open a path like Moses had when parting a particularly unruly sea. Even in the midst of their drunken and distracted foolishness, their instincts kept them from provoking the biggest predator in the room.
Okay. Maybe the kid had a point. There were a few perks to the whole “infamous gunslinger” bit.
Gray took a few moments to tie the reins of Jason’s horse in an exceptionally tenacious knot. It wouldn’t stop him, but it’d slow him down enough to give Gray a head start. He had several good hours of light left before he’d need to hunker down for the night. With any luck, the kid would have no idea in which direction he’d gone and would have reservations about traveling only a couple of hours before dark. Gray would be up at the first sign of light, too.
He untied his own horse and tried to turn her head from the clump of grass she gnawed on. But the old nag wasn’t having it.
“You’re gettin’ to be more trouble than you’re worth, girl, you know that?” he said, yanking on the reins again.
The horse’s only response was to toss her head hard enough to jerk the reins from his hand so she could go back to her grass. Gray briefly debated leaving her where she was and taking Jason’s horse instead. But horse thieving was a sin even a gunfighter, at least this particular gunfighter, wasn’t willing to commit.
He gripped his horse’s bridle and brought his face close to hers. “All right, Birdie, listen up. I’m goin’ to mount, and you and I are goin’ to ride our asses outta this town before that snot-nosed little weasel makes his way out of that saloon, or I’m going to drop you off at the first glue factory I come across. Got it?”
Birdie blew a nostril full of hot air into his face, but she didn’t go back to her patch of grass, so Gray assumed she understood. He mounted up and turned her west. Thankfully, she didn’t test him further. She was all smoke and hot air. Exasperating, stubborn nag though she was, Birdie was about all he had in the world that was truly his. They’d been through a lot together. Probably why she hated him. But he’d hate to lose her, so as long as she continued to drag his sorry butt where he needed to go, they’d get along just fine.
There was no need to stop at the boarding house where he’d been staying. He’d paid for a week in advance and preferred to let the old woman who ran the joint keep the money than risk being waylaid on his way out of town.
As for his belongings…everything he owned was in his saddle bags. He traveled light. Had never been in one place long enough to need more than he could carry with him. Hopefully, that would change one of these days. If he could ever find a place to settle.
He let Birdie have her head while his mind wandered, drifting back to what Jason had said. If Gray was honest with himself, something he tried never to be, for a variety reasons, he would admit that in his more ignorant youth he had enjoyed several aspects of his notoriety. It didn’t hurt to have men fear you when no one had your back. And there were always the ladies who enjoyed a dangerous but charming man.
But it had gone on long enough. Hell, most gunfighters were dead before they hit thirty-five and he was several years past that. If he wasn’t gonna die in some street somewhere, he needed a good place to live out the rest of his days.
About the time his butt started going numb, Birdie crested a hill that overlooked a small but seemingly neat and tidy town. Gray pulled the mare to a halt near a sign that hung half off its post. The word Desolation had been burned into it, and he chuckled. Maybe it was named that to discourage people from visiting. Definitely sounded like his kind of place.
Then again, it wasn’t much to look at, from the distance where he sat, at least. There was a street of sorts boasting the kind of buildings that’d be found in any town. Nothing particularly ramshackle about the place, but nothing overly nice, either. Still…he took a deep breath and tilted his head up to the blue sky. Something about the place called to him. Maybe because he was already well acquainted with desolation. It just felt…right.
Suddenly, Birdie took off in a trot, and Gray opened his eyes and gripped the reins.
“What the hell… Oh.” The nag was heading right for an orchard of apple trees a ways down the hill.
Gray sighed. Apples were not his favorite. In fact, he usually avoided them at all costs. However…his stomach rumbled. It had been a while since he’d eaten and frankly, he didn’t want to try and change Birdie’s mind. She would rather chew her own leg off than do what Gray wanted under most circumstances. He really didn’t want to see what she’d do if he tried to keep her from an orchard full of treats.
So. Apples for dinner it was.
His optimism over his dinner choice faded even further after he’d slid out of his saddle and taken the first bite. The overly tart juice flooded Gray’s mouth and puckered his cheeks.
“Ugh,” he said, tossing the apple over his shoulder.
Birdie, on the other hand, had no such complaints and was happily munching on her third apple. Gray debated the wisdom of pulling her away from her treats so he could go into town and find his own supper, when the sound of raised voices floated over the breeze.
He nudged Birdie closer to the commotion, taking care to keep hidden behind the trees. In a small clearing next to a grave, a stern-looking woman stood, hands on her hips, facing off against a group of men. They weren’t physically harming her, but it was obvious she was not happy at their presence.
Something about the way she stood her ground, her whole demeanor poised and ready for a fight, sparked an admiration in Gray. He wouldn’t call her beautiful. In fact, he’d never quite understood how men found women at their most attractive when they were angry. The women he’d known had been much prettier when they were smiling and batting their eyes at him. Not so much when their faces were blotched from anger and their claws were out.
This woman was definitely in a high dander. She reminded him of a hissing cat being forced into a bath. All prickly fur and bared fangs. Her hair was a nondescript light brown pulled back in a messy bun at the nape of her neck, despite a large portion of the apparently untamable curls escaping the knot. The rest of her, though, looked highly starched, impossibly clean, and neat as a pin. And radiating fury. Attractive, at that particular moment, she was not. However…she did look every ounce the queen ready to defend her territory. Quite mesmerizing.
He had no doubt she’d do just fine on her own, and he had no intention of wading into a mess that wasn’t his. Heck, he hadn’t even made it to town yet. Not that she needed his help in any case. She looked ready, and more than capable, to start knocking a few heads together. An admirable trait in a woman, he’d always found. But not one he wanted aimed at him. Now seemed like a great time to head the other direction into town and find a place to lodge for a few days.
He turned to grab Birdie. Only…she was no longer there. He spun in a circle, searching for her. She wasn’t far away, but…
“Damn it all to hell,” he muttered.
The miserable beast had abandoned her apple feast and was trotting straight for the arguing group. Damn useless animal.
But there was no help for it. He’d have to go bring himself to the attention of the squabbling folks by the grave unless he wanted to abandon his horse. Which was sorely tempting, but everything he owned in the world was in her saddlebags.
He sighed and made his way down the hill.
His mama used to tell him that burdens were a blessing. Well, if that were true, he really wished God would bless him a little less.