Hitched to the Gunslinger by Michelle McLean
Chapter Three
Gray stood, plum speechless, as the woman marched away.
The men across from him were just as flummoxed, if their slack-jawed expressions meant anything. Well, what the hell was he supposed to do now? He’d only wanted his horse. Now he had a fiancée? He could call her obvious bluff, but he had a feeling that would make the men who were nervously shifting their feet around him a mite too happy. And he wasn’t in the business of making anyone happy.
His old nag of a horse didn’t seem to have any confusion and was already trotting after the woman, whose name he’d never caught. Useless animal. The woman had smelled disarmingly like she’d been bathing in a vat of cider, which was probably what Birdie saw in her.
He glanced at the men once more and blew out a breath. This was what happened when he stepped into shit that wasn’t his.
He sighed. Ah, the hell with it. It was getting dark, he was hungry, and he hadn’t had any better offers. She’d mentioned supper, after all. Maybe he could at least get a meal out of her. He turned on his heel and followed the woman down the hill, admiring the view as he went. His new fiancée might have a bad temper and some impulse control issues, but she had a fine, plump backside that under other circumstances he’d be delighted to follow around.
When the woman got to her front porch she paused and turned, her eyes widening a little when he entered the yard.
“Did you not expect me to follow you?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Wasn’t sure what I expected, to be honest. I hadn’t exactly been planning to announce an engagement to the whole world.”
He raised a brow. “I take it you aren’t really after marryin’ me?”
Her cheeks flushed and her eyes—deep blue, the color of overripe blueberries, a surprising combination with her brown curly hair—flashed with the sudden color.
“Not particularly.” She looked him up and down. “Before I let you in, what exactly are you after?”
“Supper.”
Her mouth opened in surprise, but she glanced over his shoulder, and he followed her gaze. The sheriff and his men were still standing in the small clearing in the orchard, watching them.
“Let’s go inside,” she said.
Gray grunted, taking a moment to tie Birdie’s reins to the porch post near the rain barrel. The woman held the door open for him and he moseyed inside, taking his time to peruse his surroundings. The house was small but looked cozy enough. A small fire crackled in the hearth. A couple comfortable-looking armchairs were positioned near it, while on the other side of the room a dining table and four chairs sat in the light of two large windows. Two doors on either end of the house led to what he presumed were the sleeping quarters and kitchen. Quite a decent setup.
The woman glanced down at the trail of dirt left by his boots, her brow furrowing. A small spark of guilt at marring the overwhelming cleanliness of the place nagged him, but he didn’t let it bother him too much. He glanced back over to where she still stood by the door. She seemed wary but not overly afeared, which was a welcome change.
She blinked after a moment and gave him a tight smile. “Have a seat,” she said, gesturing to one of the armchairs in front of the fire.
He sank into it with a grateful sigh. Now that was something he could get used to. Much better than bouncing around on a saddle all day. He tilted his head back, his eyes already starting to close.
“Aren’t you wondering why I declared you my betrothed?” she asked and sat in the chair across from him.
He cracked an eye open. “You got your reasons, I expect,” he said, closing his eyes again.
“Don’t you want to know what they are?” she asked, her tone exasperated.
He sighed and pushed himself up straighter in the chair. He was curious, he had to admit, but frankly all he really wanted at the moment was a nice nap followed by a hearty meal. Her reasons for what she’d done could wait, in his mind. But she apparently disagreed.
He waved at her. “All right, then. Go ahead and tell me.”
She frowned and her mouth opened and closed a few times, like she couldn’t quite find the right place to start. Or maybe she just wasn’t quite sure what to make of him, because her brow remained furrowed, her mouth drawn in a confused frown.
He held up a hand. “Let me make this easy for you. Everyone I meet tends to want one of three things from me. They want to kill me, they want me to teach them how to kill, or they want to be protected from someone who wants to kill them. I assume you fall into one of those categories, most likely one of the last two, since you don’t know me well enough to want to kill me.”
“Bold assumption.”
He almost smiled. “I won’t be doin’ any of those things.”
Her frown deepened. “What do you mean?”
“I’m retired. I don’t think you mean to be killin’ me, but I’m not teachin’ and not protectin’. So don’t ask.”
Her eyes narrowed with a flash of anger. “I don’t want anyone killed, Mr. Woodson. Or do you prefer Quick Shot?”
He scowled. “Gray.”
“All right. As for the other…” She shifted in her chair as if she were uncomfortable. “I suppose it’s not too hard to determine from the little scene in the orchard that I could use…some assistance. Not protection, exactly, but—”
“No,” he said, stopping her before she got too far.
She blew out a frustrated breath. “Then why did you agree to be my fiancé?”
“I didn’t agree to anything. All I did was keep my mouth shut and follow you down here, and that was mostly because my horse had already done so. And there was some mention of supper…” he said, rubbing his stomach.
She rolled her eyes. “You haven’t even heard me out. You’d barely have to do anything.”
He pushed himself out of the chair with a grunt. “Look, lady—”
“You said I could tell you my reasons,” she said, standing to block his exit.
“I just said that for the food. And frankly, judging by the smells coming out of your kitchen, it’s not worth it.”
She grimaced. “You have to at least listen.”
“Don’t need to do anything I ain’t interested in, and I ain’t interested in what you want.” He moved around her and made it to the door.
“I’ll pay you.”
He stopped and looked back over his shoulder at her.
“Well?” she said.
“I stopped, didn’t I?”
She seemed perplexed by that, though a degree of relief was mixed in. Still, her eyes narrowed.
“You’d take money from a woman in need?”
“I’d take money from just about anyone willin’ to give it away—as long as it don’t require me to be killin’, teachin’, or protectin’.”
She gave her head a little shake but inhaled a deep breath and retook her seat by the fire. She waited for him to follow. Great. It would be a long tale, then. He swallowed a groan and dropped back into his chair.
“Ever since my father and I moved here, Josiah Banff—he was the one doing most of the talking out there—has been trying his best to get his hands on this property. When we wouldn’t sell, he resorted to threats, in between the odd marriage proposal, which I of course always turn down. The sheriff… You know which one he was?”
Gray raised an eyebrow. “Squirrely little weasel with a badge on his chest?”
Her lips twitched. “That’s the one. Anyway, he’s not much help. Josiah pretty much runs the town unchecked and…”
The chair was the most comfortable thing he’d sat upon in weeks. He shifted his butt around, sinking into it deeper. Yes, that was almost perfect, and he closed his eyes. It took a minute to realize the woman had stopped talking, and he cracked his eyes open a bit. She stared at him, incredulous.
“What?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I just can’t figure you out.”
Gray leaned back into the chair, getting even more comfortable. Hell, a man could sleep all day in this chair. “There’s not much to figure. What you see is what you get.”
Her eyes raked over him from hat to boot. The view did not appear to ease her mind.
“Don’t like what you see, darlin’?” he asked.
She grimaced at him. “I really don’t get it. A woman you don’t know declares you her fiancé and instead of protesting, or at least wondering why, you just walk into her house and immediately try to take a nap.”
Gray blew out a long breath. “I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”
The woman sat back, folding her hands across her middle. “That it has.”
“And you’re making it even longer.”
She ignored the comment like a champ. “I would have thought what I had to say would be interesting enough to keep you awake for at least a few minutes.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t seem too complicated. He wants your land. You don’t want to sell. Don’t want to marry him. Havin’ a man on your side stops the marriage proposals. Havin’ a man like me on your side makes them hesitate to take matters into their own hands.”
She nodded. “So you’ll help me, then.”
“I don’t recall sayin’ that,” he drawled, pushing his hat back a bit. “Unless you’ve got a sack of gold hidden somewhere in this house, I don’t think you can afford my services. Seems a mite too involved for me.”
She threw her hands up. “If you weren’t interested in helping, then why did you bother following me down here at all?”
“Like I said, supper.”
…
Mercy’s mouth dropped open and her hands clenched the arms of her chair.
The man couldn’t be serious. He’d gone along with everything she’d said in front of the other men…just so she’d feed him?
“You want me to feed you and then let you go on your merry way? And what am I supposed to tell everyone when they wonder where my new fiancé is?”
He shrugged. “Not my problem.”
She narrowed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. Like it or not, she needed this rumpled-up old has-been. Though she’d never met anyone less like an infamous gunslinger in her life. The man almost fell asleep the second he sat down, and if he did happen to move, he did so at the pace of a glacier going uphill in January.
But his name alone had gotten Josiah and his men to back off. Hell, the sheriff had nearly wet himself. Then again, Josiah was a persistent man, and Mercy doubted even Gray’s presence would keep him at bay for long. Maybe she could pick up a few tips from Gray so she could at least defend herself next time the posse came around. She certainly couldn’t depend on Gray himself to help out. If he stuck around longer than the next hour, that was, and she needed him to. Which meant she needed to find out his price. Everyone had one.
“What are your plans in Desolation, Mr. Woodson?”
“Gray.” He frowned a little. “Don’t see what concern that is of yours.”
She pinched her lips together to keep from cursing at him, then forced a smile. “Maybe we can help each other out. If I know what it is that you’re after…”
“I don’t know why you don’t believe me. All I’m after is a moment or two of silence so I can get some sleep,” he said, pushing his hat farther down over his eyes. “And supper.”
This man would drive a saint to drink. She tried again. “I meant in Desolation. What brings you to this town? Nobody comes here.”
Gray snorted softly. “I can see why. A bit out of the way, isn’t it.”
“Maybe. But we like it that way. How did you find us, anyhow, if you weren’t planning on coming here?”
Gray shrugged, watching her from under his hat. “Got on my horse and let her ride west. Useless animal probably followed the scent of apples,” he said sardonically.
Mercy’s lips pulled into a small smile. “We do have plenty of those. Are you just passing through?”
Gray shrugged again, a gesture that was beginning to get on her nerves. Then again, shrugging was the most movement she’d seen him make. Without the shrugs, she could easily mistake him for a dead man.
“I haven’t decided yet,” he said. “I’m looking for a place to settle. Could be here. Could be somewhere else.”
Mercy watched him again for a few more moments, her jaw popping as she gritted her teeth. Gray’s lips twitched a bit, as if he knew exactly how vexing he was being. And enjoyed it.
“Let me be plain, Mr. Woodson. There’s nothing here. The town is small, most folks live farther out in the countryside. There’s no inn, no hotel. Just a saloon. The only lodgings available in town are at Madam DuVere’s parlor house. And if you want to sleep there, you’ll be paying for a bedmate. You might not object to that, but Madam DuVere isn’t known for taking on long-term lodgers. Even if she agrees, you’ll be paying a pretty penny. You want her to feed you, you’ll be paying even more.”
Gray sat forward and leaned his elbows on his knees. “What are you gettin’ at, Miss…”
“Douglas. Mercy Douglas.”
No pleased to meet you from him. He just grunted.
She waited for him to say something else, but he only stared at her. She resisted the urge to squirm under the direct gaze of his surprisingly lucid brown eyes. Fine. She’d say what she had to say, then.
“What I’m getting at, Mr. Woodson, is that if you want a place to sleep and food in your belly for an affordable rate, I’m your best shot.”
“Is that so?”
She nodded. “I’ve got a bungalow out back. And I’m willing to throw in meals with your lodging.”
She was a horrible cook, but he’d find that out soon enough.
“This is a small town. I’m sure by now everyone’s heard that Quick Shot Woodson is here. And let’s face it, men of your…”
He raised an eyebrow, and she swallowed down the spark of fear that zinged through her.
“…your reputation, aren’t always the most welcome in small towns that value their peace and quiet.”
He studied her for a few moments and then sat back, a half grin tugging on his lips that sent a spark of a different, and far more surprising, kind zinging through her now.
He stood. “I believe there was a mention of payment.”
She jumped up to block his path again if need be. “Free room and board.”
He cocked his head and took a step closer. “For how long?”
“As long as you need it,” she said, backing up a step.
He took another step closer and again, she backed up. Once more and she’d be up against the door.
His gaze roved over her. “And in return I just have to forfeit my virtue?”
She sucked in a breath, heat burning her cheeks. “Of course not! I’m only proposing a pretend engagement. Temporary. Just until Josiah gets it through his thick head that I’m not going to marry him or sell my land.”
Gray’s eyebrow quirked up again. “Seems like you’re gettin’ the lion’s share of this little deal.”
Mercy shrugged this time. “You’re getting what you’ve said you want.”
“True.” He contemplated her a few more moments. “Fine. Deal.”
She broke into a grin, relief and excitement shooting through her.
Gray turned and dropped back into his chair. He sighed deeply, every inch of him exuding weariness. “I’ll stay, but don’t expect me to be doin’ any chores around this place or goin’ after Josiah or the sheriff. I’m not lookin’ to cause any trouble.”
She nodded, hoping that if it came down to it, he wouldn’t be as averse to helping her as he seemed to be right now. Surely, he wouldn’t stand by and watch if she were in real peril.
One more thing was troubling her, though. She didn’t want to bring it up, seeing as how he’d finally agreed to help and all…but…
“I just have one…I mean I just need to know…how many…”
Gray’s amusement faded. “Yes?”
He was really going to make her ask? Fine. “How many men have you killed?”
His eyes shuttered and he sat back, his lips tight. “None that weren’t tryin’ to kill me first.”
She cocked her head. “Is that typical for famous gunfighters? I assumed men like you were always out looking for trouble.”
Gray shrugged and frowned. “I don’t know what’s typical. I just know me.”
“And you don’t know how many men you’ve killed?”
“Never cared to keep count.”
Well, that wasn’t ideal. But then again, it wasn’t his past that she worried about. It was his future intentions. “Planning on killing any more?”
Gray shrugged again. “Never planned on killing any of them. But if you’re wonderin’ if I plan on riding into town, looking for a fight, it won’t happen. I’m retired.”
“Retired?” she said, eyes wide in evident disbelief. “Never heard of a retired gunfighter before.”
He raised an eyebrow again, and she blanched at the foolish remark. Of course she hadn’t heard of a retired gunfighter before. Because they didn’t retire, did they? At least not willingly. They just got killed. The fact that he was sitting there, into his forties if he was a day, meant he really was as good as the stories about him. Despite all appearances to the contrary.
“As I’ve said, Miss Douglas, all I want is a comfortable chair to nap in and a little peace and quiet. And regular meals wouldn’t be amiss, either. You provide me with that, I’ll go along with your little scheme, assuming it doesn’t require anything on my part but my presence.”
She nodded and stood. “Well, then, Mr. Woodson—”
“Gray.”
She paused for half a second before nodding again. “Gray.”
His full lips pulled into a small but genuine smile that did odd things to her belly. She cleared her throat. “I’ll go get started on your supper.”
He nodded and closed his eyes again, probably about to make good on his first nap in that chair. Good. The more comfortable he got, maybe the longer he’d stay. And of course, the longer he stayed, the more likely she could convince him to use his particular skill set to teach her how to get Josiah out of her life once and for all.
She walked into the kitchen, closed the door behind her, and sagged against it, feeling some small measure of relief for the first time since her father had died. Her troubles weren’t over by a long shot. But she’d get the protection—scant though it may be—that Gray’s name seemed to be providing.
Like it or not, Gray had hitched his wagon to hers and he’d have to see it through.
At least, that’s what she hoped. With that man, though, she was starting to realize he was unlikely to do anything expected.