Hitched to the Gunslinger by Michelle McLean

Chapter Twenty-two

Martha had Mercy ushered across the street and upstairs into Mrs. DuVere’s parlor with a hot cup of tea and a plate of cookies almost before she’d agreed to go.

“So, what happened last night?” Martha asked while Mercy was still catching her breath from being rushed over.

Mercy’s cheeks instantly warmed. She knew Martha wasn’t referring to what had happened when Gray got home. Or where it happened. Or how many times it happened. But that had been right where her mind had gone. Where her mind had been since the moment she’d woken up, if she were honest. And if Mrs. DuVere’s smile meant anything, she knew exactly what Mercy was thinking about, too.

“What happened when the sheriff went out to Josiah’s?” Mrs. DuVere added helpfully.

“Ah,” Mercy said, setting her cup down. “Not much, I don’t think.”

Both women looked disappointed, and Mercy filled them in as much as she could, telling them everything that Gray had told her.

Mrs. DuVere sat back, frowning slightly. “That’s about all Samuel said as well. I’d hoped maybe Gray had spilled a few more details.”

Mercy chewed her lip. “Gray said he threatened him, warned him to put a stop to it. Do you think…?”

Mrs. DuVere shook her head slowly. “No. And neither do you if the look on your face is any indication.”

Mercy gave her a faint smile. No one pulled anything over on Jade DuVere.

“Then more men will come?” Martha asked.

“Most likely,” Mrs. DuVere said. “So, we’ll need to keep vigil—”

A loud crash and shouts from downstairs had them all on their feet and running for the indoor stairs that led to the tavern below.

The scene that greeted them halted Mercy in her tracks. Preacher, Doc, Tom the smithy, and Frank, of all people, were trying to wrestle a man to the ground, but he was putting up one hell of a fight. And he had a gun in his hand, though Preacher’s death grip on his wrist seemed to be preventing the man from moving any of his appendages enough to shoot the thing.

“Get the gun!” Preacher yelled to…anyone, probably.

Mercy darted forward and grabbed the gun, but the man wouldn’t let go for anything. She yanked at his hand and dragged his flailing arm toward her as the men bore him down to the ground. When he still wouldn’t let go, she set her teeth in the fleshy part of his thumb and bit down. Hard.

That worked. He howled and dropped it. Mercy grabbed the gun and stepped back, aiming at the mass of writhing males on the ground, though she kept her finger away from the trigger, since there was no way to hit the bad guy without hitting one of the townsfolk.

The man must have finally decided he was outnumbered because he suddenly went limp. The men on top of him waited a few heartbeats before removing themselves, though Preacher kept firm hold of him until Frank rustled up some rope to tie the man’s hands. Then he sat back and sucked in a few lungfuls of air. Mrs. DuVere knelt beside him, pressing a handkerchief to his bleeding lip.

Their new prisoner leaned against a table leg and glared at everyone.

“Who are you?” Doc asked.

The man said nothing but spat in Doc’s general direction.

Mercy leveled the gun at him. “Answer the question.”

He turned his glare on her. “I don’t have to answer nothin’. You ain’t the sheriff.” He looked around the room, then back to her. “Where is your sheriff? I heard he likes to spend his time in the tavern.”

Mercy lowered the gun. “You heard wrong. But I guess we know why you’re here.”

She glanced at Doc, then Preacher. Both had grim faces but gave her quick nods to show they agreed with her assessment. They’d just caught themselves another would-be assassin.

Preacher wiped at his lip with the handkerchief. “I saw him on my way home last night. He was with another man, making camp just outside of town. Been watching for them ever since.”

That brought the man’s head with a snap. “You saw us last night?”

Preacher’s mouth pulled into a wry half grin. “You had a big enough fire going, anyone passing you from a mile off probably saw you.”

The man scowled and looked away, obviously not pleased he hadn’t been as stealthy as he’d thought.

Ice ran down Mercy’s spine. “Wait, you said you saw two of them?” she asked.

Preacher nodded, his eyes narrowing as he hauled himself to his feet. He, Doc, Mrs. DuVere, even Frank, closed in around the man and Mercy brought the gun back up.

“Where is the man you were with?” she asked.

His eyes widened a bit, but he still managed an impressive sneer. “What man?”

She cocked the gun and moved a step closer though she was careful to stay out of the man’s reach. Rope didn’t always hold.

“Let me share some information with you,” she said, her voice quiet and strained with the effort she was making to keep it from shaking. “The sheriff is my husband. And I have no intention of letting anything happen to him. So, if you don’t want to die here today, you’ll tell me who you are, who sent you, and where the other man is that you came with. And start with that last one.”

The man didn’t answer. He just looked up at her, his eyes as cold as a snake’s, and smiled.

She didn’t wait to try and get more answers out of him. She didn’t wait for the others. She just turned and ran for the door.

Gray.

…

Gray had just lifted the coffeepot to pour himself another cup when the door opened.

“Hey, Sunshine. You want a cup of—”

He caught the glint of sun on a raised gun and heaved the coffeepot as hard as he could. It struck whoever had just come through his door square in the forehead, and the man went down with a squeal that would have made a pig proud. He’d dropped his gun, and Gray kicked it out of the way before grabbing the pitcher of water on his windowsill.

“Hot, hot, hot!” the man screamed, clutching his head.

“Sorry the temperature isn’t to your liking,” Gray said, tossing the pitcher of water into the man’s face.

He sputtered a little, but the howls of pain had stopped so the water must have helped.

Before Gray could say anything else, Mercy hurtled herself through the door, stepping over the man on the ground to throw herself in his arms.

“Hey, darlin’,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist. “What brings you here? Oops, I’ll take this,” he said, gingerly plucking the gun from her hand and uncocking it before he shoved it in his belt buckle.

“What brings…” She stared at him, utterly nonplussed. “What happened?” she asked instead of answering, nodding down at the man on the ground who was still holding his forehead and whimpering.

“I was just offering Mr.…?” He glanced down at the man and waited for him to answer.

“Brown.”

“Ah. I was just offering Mr. Brown here some coffee.”

Doc, Preacher, Mrs. DuVere, Martha, and Frank had been right on Mercy’s heels and were congregated on the porch, straining to see what was going on.

“You were offering him coffee? With the whole pot?” Mercy asked.

Gray shrugged. “Didn’t have time to find a cup.”

Mercy half sighed, half laughed and dropped her head to his shoulder.

“What’s all this?” Jason’s voice said from somewhere out on the porch. “Who’s the prisoner?”

“Prisoner?” Gray asked.

Mercy looked back up. “Yes. We caught another gunman over at the tavern. He came with another man…” She looked down at Mr. Brown. “I’m assuming that’s him.”

“Ah. Well, in that case…”

Gray set Mercy away from him and bent to pick up the man on the ground, except when he got near him the man emitted a high-pitched shriek that had Gray pulling back like he’d just grabbed the wrong dangly bit on a cow and was about to get kicked.

“Okay,” he said, drawing the word out while he searched his audience for his deputy. “Sunshine!”

“Here, Sheriff!” Jason said, pushing his way forward.

“Get him up.”

Jason hurried to obey as the crowd on the porch parted long enough for Preacher to push through with the other prisoner.

“Ernie!” Gray’s coffee friend said.

“Don’t say my name, you dolt!” Ernie said.

“Ernie? Would that be Brown as well?” Gray asked. “I detect a certain resemblance, I think.”

“He’s my brother,” the other one said.

“Dammit Claude, keep yer mouth shut!” Ernie yelled.

“Sunshine, why don’t you show Ernie here to a cell while we have a chat with Claude.”

Jason grinned and grabbed Ernie’s other arm so he and Preacher could wrestle him back into a cell.

Mercy had a quick murmured conversation with Martha and Mrs. DuVere before coming back inside the office and closing the door. He didn’t bother trying to ask her to leave. She’d just refuse, and he’d end up telling her everything anyway, so she might as well be there.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” Gray said. He reached for Claude, who emitted that high-pitched shriek again.

Gray stepped back, wiggling his finger in his ear to get it to quit ringing. Well, all right, then. Mr. Claude Brown apparently had a slight aversion to Gray.

He pushed a chair in his direction and Jason and Doc shoved the man into it with one hand each on his shoulders. Gray sat in his own chair and leaned his elbows on his knees.

“Who sent you here, Mr. Brown?”

Claude just stared at Gray, his eyes so wide the whites were visible.

“Claude?” Gray tried again. “I really don’t want to ask again.”

The man whimpered, and Gray rubbed a hand over his face and then sighed, sitting back in his chair. He gestured to Jason and Doc.

“Claude,” Doc said, “who sent you here?”

Claude shook his head. “No…no one.”

“Then why did you come?”

Claude’s gaze shot to Gray for a split second and then darted away again, like he was afraid to look too long.

“You came to try and collect on the bounty?” Jason asked.

“Claude, don’t say anything!” Ernie’s voice filtered in from the back.

A cracking sound followed by a thud drew all their attention to the doorway leading to the cells.

Preacher walked out a few moments later, his hardbound Bible held tight to his chest.

“Brother Brown required the word of God,” Preacher said. “He’ll be pondering on it for a while, I think.”

Gray gaped at him, and then broke out in a smile. Well, damn. He hadn’t thought the preacher had it in him. He nodded and then turned back to Claude, who was now staring at Preacher with his mouth hanging open.

Preacher hiked his Bible a little higher and pinned Claude with a significant look. “I believe you were asked if you came here to try and collect on the bounty that’s on the sheriff’s head.”

Claude nodded. “Ernie…he said…” His eyes darted frantically between everyone and then settled on Jason, who certainly had the friendliest face. “Ernie said he knew where we could find him and that it would be easy between the two of us.”

Gray snorted. Easy? He must be losing his touch.

“No offense, Claude,” Gray said, and the man shrank back against his chair like Gray had invaded his space just by saying his name. “But you seem a bit…”

A faint smile touched Claude’s lips. “Lily-livered? Yeah. My brother is the one with all the gumption in the family. But he said I had to come, too, that it would be worth it once we collected on the bounty and got the money…” He trailed off, but Gray shook his head with another snort.

“Sorry, Claude. It just seems like a lot of trouble to go through for a hundred dolla—”

“A hundred?” Claude said, perking up and looking around at all of them, confused. “Hell no, I wouldn’t have done it for that. Ernie said my share would be two hundred and fifty.”

Gray sat back with a low whistle. Mercy moved to stand behind him, her hand stealing up to grip his shoulder. He reached up and held her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. Which one of them he was trying to comfort, he wasn’t sure.

Doc looked down at Claude. “The bounty is up to five hundred dollars?” he asked.

Claude nodded, and Doc and Jason both looked at Gray, their expressions worried. As well they should be. Five hundred dollars was enough to bring out a few gunslingers worth the price of a bullet.

“Sunshine, why don’t you escort Mr. Brown here back to his brother. They can be our guests until we can figure out what to do with them,” Gray said.

Jason nodded and took Claude back to join Ernie.

Mercy came around so she could meet Gray’s eyes. “I guess we know what Josiah’s response is to your visit.”

Gray nodded. “Damn expensive response.”

“If he’s the one behind it,” Doc said. “I don’t have any doubt that he is,” he added, before anyone could argue. “But as of yet, we don’t have any proof. No one has actually named him, and I doubt he’d be foolish enough to put anything in writing.”

Gray frowned, but he couldn’t argue. With a lack of hard evidence, they needed someone to crack and confess, or arresting Josiah wouldn’t do much good. At least legally.

Jason came back into the main room, and Gray was uncomfortably aware that all eyes were on him, waiting for words of wisdom or a plan of action or…hell, he didn’t know. All he did know was that with that large a bounty, more would-be assassins would come. And with bullets flying, Gray wouldn’t be the only one in danger. The events of that morning had already proved that. Ernie had gone to the tavern, attacked the men there. And what would have happened if Sunshine had been the one sitting behind the desk when Claude had shown up instead of Gray?

And Mercy…she had been at the tavern.

He cut off that line of thinking. She’d been upstairs with Mrs. DuVere. Not a target. Thinking of her in harm’s way made thinking of anything else impossible. And he needed to think.

The town was no longer the peaceful haven Gray had thought it might be. Everyone was already on edge, and it was just going to get worse. And it was his fault. He was the target and the bungling fools who’d come after him so far didn’t seem to care who they went through to get to him.

His eyes strayed to Mercy, and he took a deep breath, trying to ignore the panic that was clawing at his gut. The only reason Josiah was after Gray was so he could get to Mercy. She’d already turned down money and matrimony. Murder was the only way left to get her out of Josiah’s way. Once Gray was gone, she’d be his main target again. He couldn’t let that happen.

A quick glance at the faces around the room didn’t help matters. They’d all already been put in harm’s way because of him. He’d need to keep awake, alert. Naptime was certainly a thing of the past. And that pissed him right off.

“What do we do?” Mercy asked.

“We keep alert,” Doc said, echoing Gray’s thoughts. The others nodded.

Gray stood. “We watch every new face that rides into town.”

“More so than usual,” Preacher said with a wry smile that broke the tension in the room.

“Check with the man we sent to watch Josiah’s, see if he’s seen any movement,” Gray told Preacher, who nodded and immediately left on his errand.

Mercy rounded on Gray. “You didn’t tell me you’d left someone watching Josiah.”

Gray shrugged. “I didn’t think it was important. It was just a precaution, and not one that I expect will be useful. If Josiah was goin’ to make any outward moves, he wouldn’t have put a bounty on my head. He’d have just killed me outright. But it doesn’t hurt to be thorough.”

A slight shudder went through Mercy, and Gray put an arm around her. “Don’t worry about me,” he murmured to her. “I’ve gotten pretty good at avoidin’ the undertaker over the years.” She was the one he was worried about.

She leaned into him, wrapping her arm around his waist. “Yes, but you said yourself that a five-hundred-dollar bounty would—”

He kissed her. And kept on kissing her, ignoring the good-natured ribbing as people filtered out and left them alone.

He couldn’t kiss her into silence forever. And she was right to be concerned. Five hundred dollars was more than a year’s wages for a lot of men. An impressive amount, to be sure. Gray would be damn proud if his was the only life at stake.

He wrapped his arms tighter about Mercy, her warmth a sharp reminder of why he’d always avoided such entanglements in the past. If you didn’t love anyone, you couldn’t hurt anyone. And despite all his efforts to the contrary, his feelings for Mercy had evolved into something he couldn’t bring himself to name.

Because for all his joking that she would be the death of him, he was very much afraid it would be the other way around.