Hitched to the Gunslinger by Michelle McLean

Chapter Nine

Gray scratched at his chest and waved his hand at a buzzing fly. His belly was full of a surprisingly edible breakfast, his feet were propped on the railing of the porch of his small bungalow, and he’d reached that pleasantly dizzy stage of almost-asleep-ness that he so enjoyed.

It had been quiet for nearly a week, aside from Jason’s incessant chattering and Mercy’s interminable nagging. And having to deal with Jason bunking with him in the bungalow, since Mercy said it was either that or she’d let the kid stay in the main house with her. Which wasn’t going to happen.

He’d even managed to ignore them both long enough to transplant a few wild daisies into his window boxes. He’d been quite enjoying caring for the cheery little buds. All in all, it was a damn fine morning.

That alone should have warned him that it was all about to go to shit.

The distant pounding of several horses’ hooves rumbled the floorboards beneath his rocking chair, and he squinted up from under his hat. Judging by the dust cloud coming at them, Josiah had rounded up a few new men and had come to call.

He didn’t move. Just watched as they rode in. Jason, on the other hand, came running out of the house as though it were on fire. Gray snorted. The enemy wouldn’t be frightened off by hysterics. Might as well save the energy for when it was needed.

“Mr. Woodson! They’re here!” Jason called to him.

“Great. Get rid of them for me, would ya?”

Gray pulled his hat back over his eyes and tipped his head back on his chair, taking a deep breath. Such a lovely morning for a nap.

Someone shoved his feet off the railing, and Gray sat up with a grunt. Mercy glared down at him, her ancient shotgun in her hands. “You going to help or just sit there?”

“I should have thought that was obvious,” he said, leaning back in his chair again so he could prop his feet back up on the railing.

She made a cute little growling sound in the back of her throat that had him chuckling and stomped off, her muttered curses colorful enough to burn his ears.

“Are you really going to sit there and do nothing?” Jason said, gesturing to the rising cloud of dust that was nearly upon them.

Gray sighed and peered at him. “I doubt they’re here to do more than blow a little more hot wind. And if they do start some trouble, Mercy is nothing if not capable of defending herself. I should know.”

Jason gaped at him. “But…”

In his experience, men rarely came at him in a thundering cloud of dust for a fair fight. They knew he’d win. So whatever Josiah was on about today, he doubted it was going to amount to much of anything. Later, though…well, he’d likely have to deal with some sneakin’ and shootin’, which meant he needed a nap.

Gray pulled his hat lower. “When we made our deal, she said my presence should be enough to scare them off. Well, I’m present. Now go away.”

Jason scattered with a few impressive curses of his own. Good for him. Gray didn’t think he’d had it in him.

He must have dozed off for a second, because when shouting started, he came back around with a rattling snore. He pushed his hat back enough so he could see what was going on. That damn nuisance Josiah Banff was sitting like a general in the middle of Mercy’s yard, giving her some sort of ultimatum, Gray assumed. His voice was too low to make out everything he was saying, and Gray didn’t want to move closer so he could hear better. He could guess what the man was saying well enough. He’d met plenty of men like Josiah. Mercy, spitfire that she was, had no such issue with volume.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, Josiah Banff, my property is not for sale. And neither am I!”

She hitched the shotgun up on her shoulder a little higher. Good girl.

“You want it, you’ll have to pry it from my cold dead hands!” she shouted.

He shook his head. Not so good. Giving your enemy ideas was really not a great strategy.

“Suit yourself. We all have to live with the consequences of our choices, Miss Douglas,” Josiah said. “Have a pleasant morning.”

The sound of one lone horse riding off triggered a nagging feeling of foreboding in Gray’s gut. Men like Josiah rarely stuck around to do their own dirty work. So, if he was the only one leaving…things were about to get messy.

Gray squirmed in his chair. It had nothing to do with the strange and irritating desire that suddenly crawled through him to rush to Mercy’s aid. He just needed a cushion for his chair was all. Though, if ever a woman could manage to weasel her way past his carefully laid internal defenses it would probably be her. But she hadn’t. And wouldn’t. Because becoming embroiled in her life was not part of his plan. He just needed a better chair.

Though one could argue he was already embroiled in it, seeing as how they were publicly engaged and all. But that didn’t mean he had to put forth any undue effort. He was supposed to sit there and look pretty. Or scary. Or whatever.

He gave a long-suffering sigh. If he knew Mercy, and he was beginning to think he did, that woman was bound to make the situation worse. He was just about to stand up and see if she needed a hand when the first shot was fired.

Dammit. What does a man have to do to get a nap around here?

He peeked around the post in his line of vision. Jason duck-walked between fence posts and barrels, hiding, and then popping up again to shoot his gun as he tried to make his way closer to Mercy. Though as far as Gray could tell he wasn’t bothering to aim, and he certainly wasn’t managing to hit anything. Gray snorted. “Amateur.”

“We could use some help, you know!” Jason shouted at him.

Gray waved him off. “You’re doin’ fine.” Besides, from what he could tell, Josiah’s men were worse shots than Jason, which likely meant they weren’t there to actually harm anyone. Probably more intent on scaring her off her land than anything else, if he had to venture a guess.

“I don’t need his help,” Mercy argued, before squealing and jumping back behind her post as a shot rang out in her general direction—although if the dirt that flew up was any indication, they’d still missed her by a good twenty feet. Were they closing their eyes when they fired? Missing by that much wasn’t going to scare someone as stubborn as Mercy. Surely Josiah had told them to at least make it look good.

“I’m doing just fine.” She popped out from behind the post and fired her shotgun in the general direction of the men—also in no danger of hitting anyone anytime soon.

“See? She’s doin’ just fine,” Gray said.

The commotion stopped for a few seconds as Josiah’s men must have finally noticed him. He rubbed a hand across his eyes. Maybe they’d keep ignoring him if he kept his mouth shut.

After a minute, they seemed to realize that he had no intentions of joining in the fight because they resumed their attack, keeping their focus on Mercy and Jason. Not a bad decision, since Mercy and Jason were the ones shooting at them.

A bullet grazed the post that Mercy hid behind, and Gray’s feet dropped from the railing.

She peered out from behind the post, her face a masterpiece of righteous anger. “You almost hit me!” she shouted, and Gray chuckled. Only Mercy would berate a man trying to shoot her for daring to get too close to actually hitting her. He sighed. She was startin’ to grow on him.

She aimed her shotgun and fired. And hit nothing. But she had managed to scare the horse of the man who’d fired on her, and it bucked and reared until it unseated its rider and took off at a dead run, leaving him in the dust. Probably not what she’d been aiming to do, but it had the desired result. Good on her.

Gray tried to settle back again. It had been close, but she’d performed admirably. He didn’t need to get involved. He counted six men, plus the one in the dirt, and he sorely hoped they ran out of bullets soon. It would seriously mess with his retirement if he had to start killing people. Gray rubbed at his chest, realizing he’d probably have to leave town if word got round this was where he was hiding out—which it surely would if he laid out four men at once.

Best just keep this a friendly little disagreement for now.

So when one guy started to get a little closer to Mercy than Gray liked, he bent over and selected a nice, large apple from the basket she had left on his porch the day before. She was busy trying to reload her shotgun and hadn’t noticed the man had crept closer and was raising his weapon to fire again.

Gray stood and let the apple fly, hitting the man in the shoulder just as he fired, which caused him to jerk and his shot to go wild. Gray grinned and sat down again, though he pocketed a few more apples, just in case.

The man shouted and grabbed at his shoulder, and Mercy peeked out from behind her post, frowning in confusion. Then she looked at Gray.

“Did you just help me?”

Gray shook his head. “Nope.”

She opened her mouth to say something else, but one of the other men got off a shot, and she ducked back behind her post with a squeak.

“Dammit,” Gray muttered. So far, she was doing just fine, but Banff’s men were being much more persistent than Gray had thought they would. It was growing increasingly obvious they were not there just to scare or intimidate her into complying but might actually be intent on truly harming her. And that was something he just couldn’t—

Before he could finish the thought, a stray bullet shattered the window box next to him. The dirt left in the box dribbled out of the now-broken side, dragging his newly planted daisies with it.

“That’s it,” he said, standing up and brushing off the dirt that had splattered onto him. “I planted those flowers myself!” he shouted to no one in particular.

Dammit, seeing those little flowers thrive under his care had been an almost religious experience for him. And now it was all ruined. No one was going to get away with that. And…maybe Mercy could use a little help. Since he was joining the fight anyway.

He reached for his guns at his hip, belatedly remembering he’d buried them in the garden. Shit. Well, he’d have to do things the old-fashioned way. He sighed. That was so much more effort than he preferred. Ah well. No help for it.

He marched into the fray, swiftly dispatching the first man who rounded on him with a well-placed fist. He shook his hand. Hitting someone in the face hurt a lot more than one would think. He glanced around for some kind of weapon and spied the stool Mercy used while washing clothes.

He grabbed it and held it over his head.

“Don’t you dare!” Mercy called out, sticking her head out from behind her post.

He almost rolled his eyes. “Do you want my help or not?” he shouted back to her.

Oops. Josiah’s men had noticed his appearance into their skirmish. Two of them mounted their horses and ran off. Cowardly, but smart of them. The one firing at Mercy stayed behind the barrel he was using for protection, though he hardly needed it. Two others, after a slight hesitation, headed his way. They must have noticed he wasn’t armed, or they wouldn’t have dared. Or so he’d like to think. He shook his head. He was starting to believe in his own legend.

He got a better grip on the stool and raised it again.

“I use that!” Mercy said, coming out from behind her post long enough to get a shot off in the general direction of the men coming toward him. The shot hit the ground at his feet.

“Aim for the other guys!” he shouted, smashing the stool against the ground.

“I am!”

He shook his head. That woman was going to be the death of him.

He picked up two of the stool legs, which were now adequately sharp weapons, and held them up to show her with a grin. “See, now I can use it.”

He ducked just before the fist aimed at his face made contact. He swung with one of his stool legs, bashing the man over the back of the head. The man dropped to the ground, facedown, and didn’t move.

One down.

“Where’s Sunshine?” Gray called out, slowly turning in a circle, trying to keep both of his other assailants in his line of sight.

“Over here!” Jason’s strained voice rang out.

Gray risked a glance in the general direction. Jason grappled with another of Josiah’s men. One of them held a gun, though Gray couldn’t tell which, as whoever didn’t have it tried to wrestle it from the one who did.

“Quit playing with that gun and go help Mercy!”

“Working on it!” Jason grunted.

“I don’t need help!” Mercy said, her words breaking off in a yelp as another shot splintered the post near her head. “Stop doing that!”

Gray chuckled, wondering if she really expected the man who was shooting at her to listen and mind like a good little schoolboy, or if she just couldn’t help being bossy. He’d also been about to argue her whole refusal-of-help argument, but the shot had made his point for him fairly well. Plus, he was a little busy. The mean bald one on his right chose that moment to lunge right as the smelly bearded guy on his left lifted his gun to get off a shot.

Gray threw his last stool leg at Bearded One like a knife, grinning in satisfaction as the sharp end of the wood sunk into the man’s wrist, making him drop his gun with a shriek. Bearded One clutched his hand and ran off. Bald One’s fist crashed against Gray’s jaw before he could celebrate too much.

He staggered. “Ow!” he yelled, holding a hand to his jaw. “That hurt!”

The man stopped, frowning. Gray could almost see the man’s confused thoughts of “well, yeah” crossing his face before Gray flung his hand—and the apple he’d stashed in his pocket—with all his might. The apple found its mark right between Bald One’s eyes with a satisfying crunch. His eyes rolled up in his head, and he joined the first man on the ground.

Gray glanced at them with a satisfied grin. “I took care of my three!” he yelled out. In case Sunshine was keeping count.

“Great,” Jason grunted, still wrestling with his one assailant. He finally shoved against the man and brought his knee up, plunging it into the man’s groin.

Gray grimaced and bent over, protecting his own tender bits out of reflex.

Jason’s opponent crumpled to the ground, curling around his aching nether regions with anguished yips.

Gray had to admit, he was pretty proud of himself. He’d managed to dispatch all three opponents without killing anyone. Defeated his enemy with his retirement record of zero body count intact. Of course, there was still the man shooting at Mercy. Now that Gray could get a good look at him, and the murderous intent on his face, a flash of hot anger spiked through him. Fists and knees were one thing. Warning shots to keep someone pinned in place might have even been tolerable. But shooting at a woman—his woman—with the obvious intent to harm her was something else entirely.

Mercy popped out from behind her post and got off one more shot, which must have gotten close enough to spook the ruffian who’d had her pinned, because after a quick look around the courtyard—and a very brief moment of eye contact with Gray as he advanced on him—the man gave a high-pitched whistle to call his horse, mounted, and raced away. The few remaining men—well, the conscious ones—mounted and followed.

Gray couldn’t help a disappointed sigh. They’d bring more trouble when they came back. Sometimes killin’ had its uses.