Hitched to the Gunslinger by Michelle McLean

Chapter Twenty-eight

Mercy paced the parlor at Mrs. DuVere’s, trying to calm herself. But every time she thought of Gray marching out to meet Josiah while she was hiding behind the drapes—she couldn’t keep still. Part of her wanted to run out into that street and throw herself in front of her husband. The other part couldn’t forget the fact that it was no longer just herself she’d be putting in harm’s way if she did.

“If you don’t sit down soon, you’re going to wear a hole in my carpet,” Mrs. DuVere said.

Mercy flounced onto the sofa with a huff. “I don’t know how you can keep so calm. I know you’re worried about the reverend.”

Mrs. DuVere nodded. “Yes. I am. But making myself sick with it isn’t going to help anyone. He’s not even here yet. Once he is…well…” She stood and went to a cabinet in the corner of the room and pulled out a heavy, polished shotgun. “I reckon I can pick off a man or two if necessary.”

Mercy’s lips tugged into a smile. “Got another one of those?”

Mrs. DuVere chuckled. “No. But you can help keep a lookout. As long as you stay away from the windows when the shooting starts. And don’t tell your husband.”

“Deal,” she said. It was better than sitting around doing nothing or hiding away with the rest of the women. “How much longer do you think—”

The faint sound of shattering glass had her frozen in place, ears straining for other sounds.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered to Mrs. DuVere, who nodded, holding her finger to her lips.

She crept closer to the door, quietly leaning against it so she could put her ear to the wood to listen. Her forehead creased, whether in a frown or because she was concentrating, Mercy wasn’t sure. She was about to creep closer herself when the door burst open in an explosion of splintering wood.

Both women screamed as Mrs. DuVere fell, knocked backward by the blow. The shotgun went off, firing into the ceiling.

Mercy didn’t know where to look. Mrs. DuVere lay unmoving on the floor, a trickle of blood coming from her head. She was still breathing, though that was small comfort, because two men were pushing their way through the remnants of the door, shoving Mrs. DuVere’s body aside.

One of them had the presence of mind to grab her shotgun as he passed. The other stalked toward Mercy, his face a mask of evil intent.

“The boss wants a word with you,” he said.

Mercy backed up, her eyes darting about the room for anything she could use as a weapon.

“Your boss needs to learn how to take no for an answer,” she said.

She lunged for the heavy lamp on the end table just as the man lunged for her. Her fingers wrapped around it, but his arms were about her waist, lifting her off the ground before she could hit him. She tried to bring it down on his head anyway but only succeeded in hitting his arm.

It was enough, however, to make him howl in pain and release her. She swung the lamp around again and hit him in the side of the head as hard as she could. He staggered and went down, and she grinned in triumph.

And didn’t see the fist of the other man swinging toward her face until it was too late.

…

Too many things happened all at once. Gray and Doc were standing in the front room of the clinic, trying to come up with some semblance of a plan when a shotgun went off across the street. But as they ran outside to see what had happened, Frank and his son raced into town, their horses’ chests heaving.

“Banff and his men are nearly here, Sheriff!” Frank said. “They must have circled around and come in from the south. We was watching the road and didn’t catch sight of them until they’d nearly passed us.”

Gray’s heart hammered in his chest. Banff was nearly on top of them. But that gunshot…

He looked back toward the tavern but didn’t take two steps before Banff and his men arrived in a cloud of dust.

Gray glanced at Doc, who shook his head. Jed might have been able to round up a few men, but some lived farther out of town. And the ones who were nearby hadn’t shown their faces. His heart sank. Perhaps the night before had just been a show. Or perhaps they’d meant what they said at the time. But they’d only been faced with one assailant. It was a different matter when faced with the man who’d terrorized them all for so long, along with an armed posse of his men.

Banff dismounted in the middle of the street and jerked his head at some of his men. Then he fixed Gray with a cold, arrogant stare as Sunshine and Preacher were brought forward, their hands bound in front of them. A ridiculous way to tie a prisoner, but they’d probably been allowed to ride their own horses and needed to be able to hang on. A necessity. And one that left them with some amount of mobility. Thank heaven for a tiny stroke of luck.

Gray fixed them each with a stare. Their faces were swollen and bloody, but their eyes were twin flames of fury. His gut twisted with rage, his heart anguished over what they’d obviously suffered. But their spirits hadn’t been broken. They’d watch for an opportunity. Gray just had to give them one.

He straightened his back and fixed his attention on Josiah. It was time to end this.

Then Josiah smiled, his bug eyes turning to Mrs. DuVere’s.

The door opened…and a man exited, his hand wrapped around the back of Mercy’s neck as he pushed her forward. A gag had been shoved in her mouth and wrapped around the back of her head, and her hands were bound behind her back. As the man shoved her again, she stumbled, falling to her knees in the dirt beside Sunshine.

Gray’s vision filled with red as he took in Preacher, Sunshine, and his Mercy, on their knees in front of Josiah and his men. Each with a gun pressed to their head.

“Even you aren’t fast enough to save them all,” Josiah said, each smug word dripping like acid in Gray’s ears.

He ground his teeth together so hard, he wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d cracked.

“Now that I have your attention, Sheriff,” Josiah said, sneering on the last word, “you and I are going to come to a little arrangement.”

A glint of the sun off metal drew Gray’s eye to the roof of the general store. Martha crouched low behind the chimney stack, a rifle in her hand. Movement farther along the roof meant someone else was up there with her. Probably one or both of her grandparents. Either way, he had a set of eyes and at least one weapon trained on the men below. That they didn’t know about.

The tightness in his chest eased a fraction. Enough so he could breathe. Think. He looked back at Josiah and hoped his face didn’t betray the turmoil that was going on beneath the surface.

“I don’t think there is anything to arrange, Banff. Other than your surrender, that is. I believe a white flag is usually involved. I have a handkerchief if you’d like to borrow it.” He patted at his chest before pulling it from a pocket, grimacing a little. “It’s not completely clean, but it’ll do.”

He waved it at Josiah, who growled, his cheeks flushing red with anger. “You need to keep that yapping mouth of yours shut!” he spat out. “Keep it up and we’ll be arranging your funeral instead of your immediate departure from town.”

Gray raised his brows. “You’d arrange a funeral for me? That’s awful nice of you. I’d like daisies, if possible. I guess that means if I win, I’ll have to do the same for you. Do you like daisies?”

“Shut up!” Josiah shouted.

His men shifted nervously. Either because their boss was obviously losing his temper or because Gray seemed so completely unaffected by the scene before him. Most of them had lost the smug looks they’d started out with and had expressions ranging from confusion to outright fear.

Because only a madman—or a stone-cold killer who was very good at his job—would be so unconcerned about being this outnumbered with several supposed loved ones in his enemies’ hands.

He had to keep the fact that his stomach churned with every second Mercy knelt at their feet to himself. Keep them guessing. Keep them scared. And he had to keep Banff distracted long enough to get in a good position. And long enough to allow a few more townspeople to get into place. If they were coming.

He slowly stepped off the porch of Doc’s clinic, moving out farther into the street. Josiah’s eyes narrowed, but Gray took care not to move toward him, and he kept his hands held slightly up, enough so the men could see he wasn’t going for his guns.

The drapes on the second floor of the tavern moved slightly, and Gray thought he caught sight of Mrs. DuVere’s brilliant jewel-colored gown. If the woman also had a gun in her hand, he’d buy enough drinks to keep her tavern in business until the day he died. Even if he never drank them. His one escapade into drunkenness had been more than enough for him.

Josiah’s face twisted in anger. “I tried to go about this the nice way, Sheriff,” he spat out. “I was willing to pay your little bitch of a wife good money for land that should be rightfully mine. But she had to be difficult!”

The man holding the gun on her nudged her head hard, pushing her forward enough that she fell into the dirt.

Rage flashed through Gray again, and he clenched his fists to contain it. He had to bide his time. Wait for the right moment. Josiah was trying to get in his head. Trying to enrage him so he’d make a mistake.

And he was doing a fantastic job.

But he couldn’t let him see it.

Sunshine reached out to help Mercy back up as best he could with his hands bound together. The men watching them allowed him to get her upright, and then his captor shoved at him with the tip of his pistol until he had to let her go.

Gray sucked a deep breath in through his nose, trying to will himself into that calm, quiet place that he needed in order to get them all out of this alive. Though at this point, he wasn’t sure that was possible. He’d do what he could, though. As long as Mercy walked away. The men, too, if he could. But, the devil take it, he’d sacrifice them all to save her.

“You’re absolutely right,” he made himself say. Keep up the small talk. Keep them confused. “My wife does tend to be difficult. Had problems with her myself,” he said.

Mercy made a strangled noise behind her gag and glared up at him. Even bound and gagged and held at gunpoint, the woman was a gutsy little spitfire who refused to take his shit. God, he loved her.

“I’d be happy to give her a stern talking-to if you’d like me to get her off your hands,” he said, taking a step toward her.

Several of Josiah’s men aimed their guns at him and he stopped, hands up. “Just thought I’d offer.”

“The only thing I want you offering is the deed to that property. The speed with which you sign it over will determine how quickly or slowly I let you die. And who I send to die with you.”

Movement near the jailhouse caught his attention, and he looked over to see Frank inching his way up the stairs to Sunshine’s apartment. The fact that he was literally tiptoeing would have made Gray laugh on any other day. Today, he just hoped the man could make it to the top without being seen. And, once there, could make it to the roof or the window or wherever he was planning on going with the ancient shotgun that he had clutched in his hands.

“What’s going on here, Sheriff?” Tom said, coming from the direction of the smithy with a heavy hammer in each hand.

Josiah sneered at him. “Are you planning on fighting bullets with your hammers, blacksmith?”

Tom shrugged. “I’m not planning on anything, Mr. Banff. Just thought I’d see what all the fuss was about.”

Frank’s three brothers slowly approached from the alley behind them. One held a pitchfork. The other two were unarmed but stood with their arms crossed behind Gray.

Josiah’s eyes darted among them, growing more agitated by the second. But when no one else approached, his scornful expression returned. “A pretty poor showing for the beloved town sheriff.”

Gray shrugged. “These men are here because they are loyal friends. Yours are here because they are being threatened or paid. I’d rather trust my back to my friends.”

Each of the men beside him stood a little straighter, and Gray’s heart warmed at the sight. He wasn’t alone in this.

Gray met Sunshine’s gaze, then Preacher’s. Gave them a tiny nod. They each straightened, watching him, poised to spring into action the second they had a chance.

“Enough!” Josiah finally shouted. “Clear the streets! Send them away, Woodson,” he said, jerking his head at the men with him. When Gray didn’t make a move, Josiah marched to Mercy, pulled a gun with his uninjured hand, and jabbed it into her head hard enough that she cried out. “Send them away or she dies. Now.”

Utter stillness swept over Gray, creeping into his very consciousness. Bringing him back to that place he’d never wanted to go again.

“You’ve got till the count of five!” Josiah shouted. And he began his countdown.

Gray’s breath slowly left his lungs. He counted along with Josiah. And when Josiah reached three…

Gray pulled his guns and fired.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

It happened so fast, everyone stood staring, dumbstruck, at what had just happened.

The man holding the gun on Mercy had been struck in the shoulder and was lying on the ground, howling in pain. The one holding Sunshine had taken Gray’s bullet in his thigh. The man next to him got one in the arm. Two others behind them also went down as they got hit in their pistol hands.

And Josiah…as much as Gray had wanted to put a bullet straight through his chest, he didn’t want to murder a man in front of Mercy. He would have, had there been no other way. But Josiah, when it came right down to it, was a miserable little coward who didn’t deserve a quick death. Gray would much rather he suffer a long, long life in prison.

So instead, he’d shot him in his thigh.

Josiah gripped his wounded thigh, putting all his weight on his other leg, and looked around him, sputtering in disbelief. A couple of his men started to raise their guns again, but Gray waved a finger at them. “Boys, I’ve got more bullets.”

They holstered their weapons.

“You might want to rethink employers, gentlemen,” Gray said. Then he pressed his fingers to his lips and whistled.

Martha and her grandparents stood up, brandishing their guns. Doc moved from where he’d been standing behind the post on his porch, his rifle trained on Josiah. Mrs. DuVere and Frank also showed themselves, Mrs. DuVere shoving her shotgun through the window that Gray hadn’t even noticed she’d broken.

And then one by one, more people stood. From every rooftop. From behind every barrel and post. From every alleyway.

Gray watched them all in amazement, his throat growing tight. They’d said they take care of their own. And they had. Damn it all, they’d all shown up when he’d needed them. Nothing could have proven to Gray more that he was finally home.

Josiah’s men looked around. And almost as one, they seemed to realize it was over. They were outnumbered. Several just turned and ran, remounting and riding out of town as fast as they could.

But Josiah still stood beside Mercy, watching his plan fall apart, his gun still drawn, helpless rage mottling his face.

And Gray saw the exact moment the man decided to go down shooting. Josiah’s gaze turned back to Mercy. His gun raised.

A shot rang out.

And Josiah screamed, dropping to the ground and staring at the bleeding hole in his hand.

Gray walked toward him, kicking his gun out of the way, and Josiah’s eyes widened with terror. But Gray turned, ignoring him completely so he could drop to his knees beside Mercy. The other townsfolk swarmed them, helping Sunshine and Preacher, and Doc moved in to check on Josiah.

Gray disregarded all of them. He gently pulled the gag from Mercy’s mouth and kissed her as softly as he could. “God, I love you,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers.

“I love you, too,” she said, leaning in for another kiss. “And I’d love to sit here kissing you all day. But…do you think you can untie me first?”

He sucked in a breath, and she half turned so he could see her hands. He…didn’t even know what to say. It had just slipped his mind for a second… Oops?

He quickly untied her hands and rubbed his hands up and down her arms. And then groaned, releasing some pent-up frustration. “I swear, if you ever scare me like that again, I’m going to put you over my knee and spank you.”

Instead of looking properly chastised, her eyes lit up with a mischievous curiosity, and he blinked at her in shock for a few seconds before shaking his head and muttering, “You are impossible,” under his breath.

“Yes, but you love me anyway,” she said, having heard him despite his taking almost no care to keep her from doing so.

“Heaven help me, I do.”

He pulled her to her feet, his hands searching her, trying to make sure she really wasn’t injured. “Are you okay?” he asked, cupping her face.

She nodded, and he leaned down to kiss her again, his heart thudding in his chest. He pulled her into his arms, and she buried her face against him. They held each other for a few moments, and then she took a long, shuddering breath and shook her head.

He looked at her, brows raised in question. “What?”

“I guess there went your retirement.”

His laughter rang out through the street. “No way. That will be the last time I ever pull those damn guns. I’m retired.”