Hitched to the Gunslinger by Michelle McLean

Chapter Nineteen

Gray watched as the blacksmith pulled out the bent pin from the wagon wheel.

“There’s your problem, Sheriff,” the blacksmith, Thomas Calvert, said. “How did you manage to do that?”

Gray rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “There may have been a goat incident.”

Tom laughed. “One of Miss Mercy’s goats?”

Gray nodded. “That Lucille. She chased the chickens into the yard as I was pulling out with the wagon and they spooked the horse. Took me for a bit of a ride around the yard. The wagon went up on two wheels and I heard a crack. I wasn’t sure it would hold long enough to get it into town. I’m actually surprised it did.”

“So am I,” Tom said with a chuckle. “How’d the chickens make out?”

Gray snorted. “They’re fine. Minus a few feathers, maybe. And Lucille completely ignored us all after nearly destroying the whole yard. The wagon here got the worst of it.”

The smithy tinkered with the wheel for another few minutes while Gray watched, a bit bemused. Never in his wildest imagination did he think he’d be casually discussing the antics of barnyard animals with the town blacksmith. His wife’s animals, no less. If he was a drinkin’ man, he’d be certain he was in some sort of drunken hallucination.

“Can you fix it?” Gray asked, rubbing a hand over the stubble on his chin.

Tom wiped a handkerchief over his face and stood. “Oh, sure. I’ve got some spare pins around here that should do the trick.”

“Good. If Mercy has to go another day without her wagon, she’s going to start making me cart her and those damn bushels of apples all over town. I just don’t have the constitution for that kind of exertion,” he insisted.

The smithy chuckled. “No worries, Sheriff. We’ll get you fixed right—”

The faintest breath of a sound came from the doorway. A foot shuffling through the dirt. An exhale maybe. And the hair on the back of Gray’s neck stood up and goosepimples rippled down his arms. He pulled his gun, aiming and firing at the man who’d appeared in the blacksmith’s doorway before the man had even pulled his pistol all the way out of his holster. The shot struck the man square in the gut, and he collapsed to the ground, dropping his gun as he clutched at his stomach.

The smithy came to stand next to Gray and looked down at the man with a low whistle. “I didn’t even hear him come in. I guess they don’t call you ‘Quick Shot’ for nothing.”

Gray grunted. It wasn’t something that he’d ever wanted to have to prove again.

Several people hurried over, crowding the large open doorway of the smithy’s barn. Gray ignored them all, focusing only on the man on the ground. He’d seen him before. He was the tall, thin man who’d been watching him and Mercy the week before. Gray had had a feeling about him then. He should have listened to it.

Mercy burst in, saw what had happened, and hurried to his side, her face a frenzy of shock and worry. Gray sighed. He’d hoped she’d stay away.

“Are you okay?” she asked him, touching his arm.

“Fine.”

She looked down at the man and frowned. “Isn’t that…”

Gray nodded. “He’s been watching us.” He kicked the man’s gun away from his hand before he bent down to get a better look at him. He’d shot him in the gut—a killing shot, but one that would allow him to get a few answers first.

“Let me see him,” Doc said, bending down to examine the man. He whipped out his handkerchief and tried to apply pressure to the wound, not that it would do much good.

Gray barely spared a glance for the doc. “There’s nothing you can do for him.”

“I might be able to—”

“You can’t fix that,” he said, pointing to the man’s gut. “And I need some answers.”

Doc’s face hardened, but Gray ignored him and squatted down near the man’s head.

“Who sent you?”

The man smirked at him, and Gray gave him a cold smile that made the man’s face pale further than it already had from the blood loss. “We both know you’re done for. The only question now is how fast you want to go. You answer my questions, I’ll let you bleed out quickly and get it over with. Don’t answer me, and I’ll let the doc here try and save you. He’d probably have to dig around in that gut for a few minutes for the lead. Disinfect the wound with a bit of alcohol. The smithy over there has some good, strong rotgut that would do nicely. In fact, we’ll try so hard to save you it might be days before you finally die.”

Gray ignored the doc’s outraged hiss. He could save his saint routine for someone who hadn’t just tried to assassinate him.

“What’s it going to be?” he asked the man.

The man glared at him, his chest heaving as he struggled to drag air into his dying lungs. “Bounty,” he managed to say, though with great difficulty.

“There’s a bounty on my head?” Gray asked, surprised.

“Hundred dollars,” the man croaked.

“Oh, my God,” Mercy said, her hand fluttering over her mouth.

Gray snorted. “A hundred dollars? That’s it?”

Mercy’s mouth dropped open. “What do you mean, is that it? Isn’t that enough?”

“No! It’s insulting,” Gray said. “I wouldn’t get out of bed for less than three hundred.”

“Well, that’s not saying much. You won’t get out of bed for—”

The man’s breath rattled out of his throat, and the doc sighed and closed the man’s eyes. “He’s gone.”

“Damn,” Gray said, standing up. “I didn’t get much out of him.”

Doc glared at him. “That tends to happen when you shoot people in the stomach.”

Gray cocked an eyebrow. “Should I have let him shoot me? Or maybe Tom here if his shot had gone wide?”

Doc bowed his head and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Of course not. But I don’t appreciate you using me as a threat of torture to get your answers.”

“Look at him, Doc,” Gray said, pointing down at the man. “Be honest with yourself. Could you have saved him?”

Doc stared, his face set in hard angles. “No.”

“And trying would have only caused him a helluva lot of pain and suffering.”

Doc looked like he really didn’t want to agree, but finally he said, “Most likely.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I wouldn’t have let you try, even if he hadn’t answered me,” Gray said. “I’ve seen enough wounds like that in my lifetime to know he only had a few minutes left. But I needed answers and if making a few exaggerated threats will get them for me, then so be it.”

Doc’s jaw popped as he stared down at the man. Then his shoulders sagged, and he blew out a breath. “My apologies.” He took a deep breath. “It just goes against everything I am to not try and help.”

“I get that. It’s nothin’ to apologize for. But I’m not goin’ to apologize, either, for doin’ what’s necessary.”

The doc gave him a jerky nod. “Do we know who sent him? Or why?”

Gray shook his head. “He didn’t say.”

“You don’t seem very worried,” Mercy said.

“I’m not.”

She folded her arms across her chest in a huff. “How can you not be worried that someone just tried to kill you?”

He shrugged. “I’m a gunfighter. People are usually trying to kill me.”

She looked like she was about to argue with him about his blasé attitude, which was kind of touching, but he held a hand up to stop her before she could get started, or they’d be there all day.

“I’m also not too terribly worried because I’m pretty sure we already know who is behind this.”

Mercy’s forehead furrowed. “Josiah.”

Gray nodded. “He’s backed down on the public attempts to get your land. We knew he was plotting something; we haven’t seen him since the last time he showed up at your place. But you knew he hadn’t given up.”

Mercy sighed. “I know. I’d hoped his threats were empty. But…” She glanced down at the dead man at their feet. “What do we do with him?” she asked, wrapping an arm around Gray’s waist.

He pulled her close and kissed her temple.

Preacher stepped forward. “Doc and I will handle it. We can bury him at the back of the churchyard.”

Gray glanced at Doc for confirmation, and when he gave Gray a sharp nod, Gray nodded to both of them. Then he paused, frowning slightly.

“Don’t bury him just yet. Wrap him up good and stick him out of the way. I have another idea.”

“What idea?” Mercy asked.

“Nothin’ you want to know about, I’m sure,” Gray said.

Mercy gave him the look that comment deserved. “You’re going to tell me, Gray Woodson, so you might as well just get it over with. And shouldn’t we discuss what we’re going to do about the rest of this?”

“The rest of what?”

“This,” she said, waving her hand to encompass the whole room. “This whole situation.”

He frowned. “What’s there to discuss?”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “The fact that you want to wrap up a dead man for safe keeping instead of burying him, for starters. And the fact that there appears to be a bounty on your head.”

Gray grunted. “For a hundred dollars.”

“Stop acting like that’s not a big deal,” Mercy said, her voice rising. “There are men who will come after you for that.”

“Not good ones.”

“That’s not the point, Gray,” she said, throwing her hands up. “There might be more of them out there right now.”

Gray shrugged. “If there are, I’ll handle them.”

Before Mercy could argue with him more—bless the woman, he truly didn’t think she could help it—Preacher spoke up.

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea to have a quick discussion, Sheriff. Since the issue seems as though it is no longer confined to Mercy and her property. Not all of us are as…experienced in dealing with this type of thing as you are.”

Doc and Mrs. DuVere nodded in agreement. Gray sighed. He couldn’t fight them all.

“Sunshine,” Gray said. He knew the man had to be close by somewhere. He was always underfoot.

Jason hurried over from the corner of the smithy, carrying a large piece of canvas.

“Help them with the body,” Gray said. “I’m going to get Mercy home. If everyone insists on a…discussion,” he said, with as much exasperation as he could, just to make sure everyone knew how he felt on the matter, “we can meet back at the jailhouse in an hour.”

Jason nodded, already heading to the small group of men around the body.

Mercy turned to him and crossed her arms. “I’m staying,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. He didn’t bother trying.

“Fine.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I need a good strong cup of coffee.”

“I can help with that,” Martha said.

“Why don’t we meet at my place?” Mrs. DuVere said. “There’s more room.”

Gray glanced at the crowd they’d gathered, a bit flummoxed as they all agreed on a meeting place. None of this was necessary. The bounty hunters were his problem. It was his head they were after. He’d deal with it. Though it didn’t seem he really had a say.

Within a few minutes, he was following the women to the parlor house. Not a place he’d ever thought to bring his wife, but, lady’s choice. Then again, they’d been married there, so he supposed normal social conventions didn’t apply to his marriage. In any sense.

Mrs. DuVere had him settled in her ornate dining room, a large mug of coffee in front of him along with a plate of delectable muffins and cookies. The snacks might almost be worth attending this pointless meeting.

The rest of the men were back just as he’d gotten started on his second cup of coffee. After a quick wash up in the kitchen—Mrs. DuVere’s orders—the town council, plus Mercy and Gray, were seated around the table with their beverage and food of choice and ready to get down to business. Since he still had no idea what that was, he was at a bit of a loss when they all turned to him, waiting for him to say something.

“What?”

Mercy shook her head though her lips were twitching. “What do you think we should do about this situation?”

He frowned. “As I said before, I don’t think there’s anything to do. If we even have a situation, as you call it, which I’m not convinced of. I’m not even all that convinced anyone else will be coming.”

“Of course more will come,” Mercy said, her eyes wide with surprise.

“Why do you think they won’t be?” Doc asked.

“For a hundred dollars?” Gray snorted. “Not worth the trouble for anyone worth their salt—nor the risk of near certain death by me.”

“That doesn’t mean that a few might not give it a try,” Preacher said.

Gray shrugged. “Possibly. If they do, they’ll be just as easily dispatched.”

“Gray,” Mercy said, covering his hand with her own. “You can’t be so indifferent about this. This is your life we’re talking about.”

He squeezed her hand. “I’m aware of that, Mercy. More than you are. As you say, this is my life we’re talking about. And dealing with this type of thing has been my life for quite a while. I’ve done okay until now.”

Her browed furrowed, but she didn’t argue more.

“No one is debating your experience or expertise,” Doc said. “You wouldn’t be sitting here if you weren’t good at what you do. But there’s also the consideration of what this means for the town.”

Gray frowned. “Meaning?”

Preacher leaned forward, his hands curled around his cup, though he’d had yet to take a sip. “This man didn’t come for you on your own land. He came into town. Walked right into the blacksmith’s shop. If you weren’t so good at what you do, as Doc says, the outcome might have been much different. And you might not have been the only one affected.”

Gray’s frown deepened and he sat back. They weren’t wrong. Had he been a second slower…had the gunman aimed wrong or had Tom gotten in the way…it might not have been Gray or his assailant lying bleeding out in the dirt but Tom.

He was used to his life being in danger. It was just the way things were. But his presence had never put anyone else in danger before. It didn’t sit well with him. Not at all. The question was what to do about it.

He glanced at Mercy, a ball of ice forming in his gut at the thought of the probable best solution. A step he didn’t want to take.

“I don’t think anything needs to be, or even can be, done right this moment,” Mrs. DuVere said. “There are too many unknowns right now. We don’t know if this man was hired for this specific job or if this was a bounty that was spread around. We don’t know if he found you on his own or if he was told where you were.”

“True,” Preacher said. “If he found you on his own, there’s no reason to assume anyone else will.”

“Yes, but if he was told…” Martha said.

Mercy nodded. “Then that would mean someone knows where Gray is. And that person might send more men here.”

Gray shrugged. “We know who sent him. Josiah Banff.”

They were all quiet for a second until Doc sighed. “I would say that’s the most likely scenario. But we can’t know for sure. I presume you have other possible enemies out there who might want you dead?”

Gray didn’t have to think too long before he nodded. People wanting him dead was a given. Though no one had resorted to paying for it to be done before. And for the life of him, he couldn’t think of anyone else who would go to the trouble and expense. Aside from Josiah. But he couldn’t rule it out, either.

“Until we do know for sure who is behind this,” Doc said, “we won’t know if there are more coming. So, the only thing we can really do is stay vigilant.”

Preacher nodded. “We do what we’ve always done in Desolation. We look out for each other. Keep an eye on strangers. Report anything suspicious to the council.”

They all nodded in agreement and then talk turned to more social matters.

Gray, however, did not agree with them. There was something he could do. He wasn’t going to sit around waiting to see if another bounty hunter was waiting to ambush him.

He would confront Josiah directly.

Mercy’s gaze bore into him, and he slowly raised his gaze to meet hers. The force of those ice-blue eyes struck him hard enough to take his breath away.

She leaned closer, so only he could hear her. “I know what you’re thinking. And I forbid it, Gray Woodson. Do you hear me?”

He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck to bring her close enough to brush a kiss against her forehead, then her lips.

“I hear you,” he murmured.

But that didn’t mean he was going to listen.