Hitched to the Gunslinger by Michelle McLean

Chapter Twenty-six

Fire ripped a path across Gray’s head, and the wooden sign above him exploded into a million splinters. The screams and thundering of people’s feet as they scattered disoriented him for a second. He shook his head, hissing when the movement sent stabbing pain cascading through his skull.

Mercy!

She stood motionless a few feet away, seemingly stunned. Jason, Doc, and Preacher were nearby, ushering people out of the way, getting as many of them back inside the tavern as possible.

“Gray!” Mercy shouted, snapping out of it as she rushed toward him. But there was no time. The gunman who’d shot him sat on his horse in the middle of the road, a cold smile stretching his thin lips as he watched the scene of panic spread out before him.

“Sunshine!” Gray yelled, pushing Mercy into his arms as Jason turned.

“No!” Mercy tried to shove Jason away, but he pulled her to safety behind the thick post that supported the tavern’s porch roof.

Gray turned to face the gunman, dragging in deep breaths to try and clear the fog in his head. The adrenaline coursing through him burned off whatever final alcohol still lingered in his system. But that bullet had gotten too close. His head throbbed again, and he pressed a hand to the jagged line of burning pain on his scalp. His hand came away slick with blood.

Way too damn close.

He swayed but managed to keep to his feet. Barely. His hands reached for his guns, but it felt like he was pushing through mud to get to them. Maybe that graze went deeper than he thought. His vision swam, black dots flooding his periphery.

The gunman who’d shot at him dismounted and sauntered closer, living up his moment of besting a legendary gunfighter for all its worth. Irritating for certain, though Gray couldn’t really blame him. He was a catch, after all.

“Thanks for making this easy, Old Man,” he said, waving at Gray.

At least Gray thought he waved at him. He couldn’t quite make his eyes work right. He leaned his shoulder against the post at his right. It would make it harder to pull his gun, but he wasn’t all that sure he could pull it anyway. Certainly not fast enough to best a man who already had his gun trained on him. Why hadn’t he shot again? Still trying to savor his moment of glory, maybe?

“I aim to please,” Gray said, though his voice sounded like it was coming from far away.

“No!” Mercy shouted. She broke free from Jason and rushed to Gray.

“Stop!” the gunman yelled.

Jason skidded to a halt a few feet away from them. Mercy however, placed her body in front of Gray while she clapped a handkerchief to his head.

“Mercy, get back,” Gray said.

She ignored him. Because of course she did. She dabbed at his head again and winced, though whether it was from causing him pain or because she was using her injured arm to tend him, he didn’t know.

“Don’t you ever listen, woman?” he mumbled.

“No,” she said with a tremulous smile. “I’d have thought you’d be used to that by now.”

His eyes shot to hers as her other hand trailed down to his until she reached the gun in his hand. Her eyes bore into his. She was steady, calm, and his shaking fingers released the weapon. He glanced over to Sunshine who was hopefully the only other one who noticed Mercy hiding the gun in the folds of her skirt. Jason’s hand made a subtle move toward his own gun, and Gray let out a long breath. They were both too stubborn for their own good. He loved them for it. But damn.

“I said, get away,” the gunman said, keeping his gun trained on Gray and Mercy.

She half turned to him. “Are you really going to shoot a man who doesn’t have a fair chance?”

The man snorted. “For seven hundred and fifty dollars and the right to say I killed Quick Shot Woodson? Hell yeah.”

She gave him a slow, cold smile that both filled Gray with pride and a hint of fear. “Good,” she said. “I wasn’t planning on being fair, either.”

She and Jason both pulled their guns, and Jason moved until he stood shoulder to shoulder with Gray. The gunman’s eyes widened, and he pulled his other gun, keeping one on Gray and Mercy but aiming the other at Jason.

Gray tried to take the gun back from her. He appreciated the thought, but the last thing he wanted was for Mercy to be dueling for his life. But every time he’d tug at her or try to move to pull her arm down, Mercy would swat at him with her other arm, though it must have pained her to do it.

“Blasted woman, give that to me,” he muttered.

“No. Now hush,” she snapped back without an ounce of bite.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do, mister,” the gunman said to Jason. “But I ain’t got no fight with you. Or with the woman. I’m just here for Woodson.”

“Then you do have a fight with me,” Jason said.

“And with me.”

Gray’s mouth dropped open as Doc stepped up beside Jason, pulling his own gun from somewhere to aim at the gunman.

He shrugged at Gray’s (and Mercy’s and Jason’s) obvious surprise. “I keep one around for emergencies. This seems to qualify.”

Gray started to laugh, then groaned as the action sent a fresh round of pain shooting through his head.

“You don’t have to do this,” he murmured to Mercy and his…his friends?

“Yes, we do,” Preacher said, coming to stand on Gray’s other side, a wicked-looking dagger in his hand.

Barkeep stepped up, wielding his broom, and Gray inched up the post, standing a little straighter, his eyes wide.

The barber stepped up, too, holding his scissors like a knife. He gave Gray a nod and turned to glare at the gunman. Martha planted herself next to Mercy, waving her marble rolling pin. Mrs. DuVere and her girls poured out of the tavern. The girls all held wine bottles by the neck, brandishing them like they couldn’t wait to bludgeon someone over the head. Mrs. DuVere marched over and stood beside Preacher, winking at Gray before she leveled her gun at Gray’s assailant.

More townspeople joined them, each holding anything that could be used as a weapon, and Gray’s chest grew so tight, he rubbed at it. What were all these people doing?

Doc turned a cold smile on the gunman. “Sorry, Mister. But Sheriff Woodson belongs to this town. And we take care of our own.”

Gray sucked in a breath, completely…flabbergasted. He didn’t know how to react or what to think. Why? Why would they all do this for him?

“See?” Mercy said, for his ears alone. “I told you this was your home.”

A noise escaped him that he’d meant to be a laugh but sounded more like a sob. Home?

He looked around at the people gathered by him, gathered with weapons gripped tight to help him, defend him.

For the first time in his life, that tiny spark of hope in his chest that he tried so hard to ignore flared. Maybe…maybe he had finally found the place he belonged. Maybe he could actually live a full life that didn’t end prematurely at the end of a gun.

He pushed away from the post and Jason was there to steady him. His head pounded somethin’ fierce, but he ignored it. Mercy wrapped an arm around his waist and Martha stepped nearer, ready to flatten anyone who got too close.

The gunman had slowly backed up as more and more people came out to stand by Gray, but he hadn’t lowered his gun. He’d have to shoot through more than one person to get to him, but he looked like he might still try.

Just then, Frank came hurtling from the jailhouse, swinging the teakettle with a garbled yell. The gunman spun around but not fast enough, and the teakettle slammed into his arm with a crack. The gunman dropped his weapon, howling in pain.

Gray’s eyes widened. Frank looked pretty surprised himself. But he shook it off and stood up straighter, giving Gray a nod.

“I might have to make him a deputy now,” Gray muttered.

Mercy smiled. “As I said. You aren’t alone anymore.”

The townspeople all nodded, and Gray cleared his throat, wiping at the sudden moisture in his eyes. “Must have gotten some dirt in there,” he murmured, and Mercy laughed and kissed his cheek.

Doc nodded to the stunned gunfighter who still knelt on the ground, cradling his arm.

“You. Get out.”

The man’s eyes widened. “You’re not going to kill me?”

“Not this time,” Preacher said. “You get to deliver a message for us.”

The man’s face paled, but he jerked his head in a nod.

“Spread the word,” Preacher said. “To anyone else thinking about coming for the sheriff. You tell them even if they manage to get a lucky shot off—and that’s a big if—this is Quick Shot Woodson we’re talking about. That person will never make it out of town. Let alone collect any bounty. The townspeople will make sure of it. All five hundred and sixty-three of them.”

“Soon to be five hundred and sixty-four,” Mercy said, putting her hand on her belly.

Doc grinned, Preacher laughed, and Jason beamed like a proud uncle.

Gray stared at Mercy, down at the hand covering his…his child?

The world around him spun again. He opened his mouth to say something, anything. But the black spots took over his vision and everything went dark.

…

Mercy gasped when Gray hit the ground, and she dropped to her knees beside him, patting his cheeks.

“Jamison?” she asked, glancing up at Doc, worry coursing through her.

But Doc just laughed. “He’ll be fine. I suspect his delicate constitution has more to do with your condition than his. Good luck with that one,” he said, though there was a twinkle in his eyes.

“You won’t get away with this,” the gunman said as Frank yanked him off the ground and dragged him to his horse. “Josiah Banff is a powerful man. He won’t let this go.”

Preacher stepped forward. “Frank, perhaps you should escort our new witness here to a jail cell.”

The man frowned even as Frank nodded. “Witness? What do you mean, witness?”

Mercy stood and rounded on him. “He means that you just gave up your boss. And if you want any sort of protection from him—and you’re going to need it—you’ll tell the authorities everything you know about Josiah and this bounty.”

If possible, the gunman’s face paled even further, and he stuttered a few times but then slumped, letting Frank half walk, half drag him to the jailhouse. Maybe he’d realized speaking against Josiah was his best bet to stay alive. Whatever it was, she didn’t dwell on it, because Gray’s eyes blinked open and gazed at her with bemused wonder.

She helped him to his feet, and Doc turned to Jason. “Deputy Sheriff, I think it’s past time Josiah saw the inside of a jail cell.”

All amusement in Jason’s eyes died. “Agreed.”

“I’ll go with you,” Preacher said.

Jason nodded and turned to Gray. “We’ll head out and arrest him, Sheriff, and that should be the end of all discussions about you leaving again.”

“Thank you,” Gray said, clearing his throat. “I…” He took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

Doc smiled. “You’ve had our backs since day one.”

Gray opened his mouth, probably to refute that claim, but shut it with a grunt when Mercy elbowed him in the ribs.

Doc continued, unaware of Gray’s antics. “It’s time for Josiah and anyone else who has an inkling to cause trouble to know that from here on out, Desolation will no longer allow its citizens to be terrorized. We take care of our own.”

“Here, here!” the crowd cheered.

And this time Mercy didn’t try to hold back her happy tears.

She wrapped her arm around her husband’s waist and leaned against him.

“Welcome home, my love.”