She nodded stiffly. “Thanks.”
His grip tightened, angry that she still looked down her nose at him. “You know how to use it?”
She stepped back. “Sure.”
“Then show me how to load it,” he challenged.
“I’ll do it later.”
He’d be damned if she’d dismiss him. “Get the shells. I’ll show you how.”
“This isn’t necessary.”
He wanted Rebecca safe. He didn’t know why, but he did and that was all that mattered. “Get the shells.”
Rebecca, as if sensing she’d not win this battle of wills, went to a drawer next to the sink, rummaged through the junk stuffed in it, and finally pulled out two shells. She shoved them at him. “Here.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Where’s the rest?”
“That’s it.”
He shook his head. “You’re lucky you’ve never needed this gun before.”
“I’ve done just fine without you or anyone else.”
“Like I said, lucky.”
He cracked open the gun to expose the empty twin barrels. “Put the shells in yourself so you can get a feel for it.”
“Do we have to do this now?”
A bitter smile touched his lips. “Only if you want to get rid of me.”
Wordlessly, she stepped up to the gun. Her shoulder touched his as she looked down the twin cylinders. Her lips curved into a delicate frown as she studied the gun. He stared at the creamy white skin of her neck. He savored her closeness, like an opiate. No good would come from his wanting her, but he did just the same.
She inserted the bullets and stepped back. “Happy now?”
Not even close.
He snapped the gun closed. “You know how to pull the trigger?”
“That I do know. Papa showed me.”
“Then I’ll put this on the top shelf of your pantry. It’ll be ready and waiting if you need it.”
He went into the closet, stowed the gun on the highest shelf and returned to the kitchen.
Rebecca had pulled Mac from his chair and had perched him on her hip. “Would you like some breakfast?”
He heard the edge to her voice. She wanted him out of her house, but he reckoned years of fancy boarding schools wouldn’t let her forget her manners. “No.”
“Will you be staying another night?”
If he were a smart man, he’d summon some common sense, ride out of town now and forget all about Rebecca Sinclair Taylor.
Instead, he heard himself say, “Yes,” before he turned and left the house.
The sun hung behind a blanket of clouds trying to peek out over the distant string of mountains. Its bright orange light grayed by clouds cast shadows over the miles and miles of sun-baked grass.
Cole headed toward town, not quite sure where he was going or what he’d do.
Farmers bustled about with bushels of produce to sell, blurry-eyed cowhands stumbled out of the Rosebud and women with baskets filled with eggs and jugs of milk gossiped. And they all stopped to stare at him as he passed.
Cole wasn’t surprised his presence had upset a few applecarts. He’d ruffled his share of feathers in White Stone. If he’d had a father to keep him in line or if his mother had paid more attention, then maybe things would have been different. But they weren’t different, and there was no sense worrying over a past that couldn’t be changed.
His boots thumped against the boardwalk and as he strode toward the Rosebud, he heard a young voice yell, “I ain’t going back with you!”
“Yes, you are.”
Cole stopped and turned to see a burly man grab Dusty by the collar. Fear marred Dusty’s face as he squirmed and tried to bite the man’s hand. The kid didn’t have on shoes and Cole thought his body looked skinnier than it did yesterday.
Passersby gawked at Dusty and the man, but no one seemed interested in helping the boy. The thought stoked Cole’s anger.
In five quick strides Cole crossed the street toward the man’s wagon piled high with turnip and potato sacks.
Cole recognized the farmer as he got closer. Judd Saunders. He lived about ten miles outside of town where he scraped out a living farming a patch of land. He’d always been known for his mean streak and had never been well liked.
“You bit me, you ungrateful varmint.” Judd drew back his fist ready to land a sound punch to Dusty’s face.
Cole grabbed Judd’s wrist and twisted it behind his back until he squealed and released Dusty. The boy immediately scrambled out of arm’s reach.
Judd tried to break free of Cole’s grip, but couldn’t. He smelled of pigs and sweat and likely, he’d not bathed since last spring. “What the hell is wrong with you, mister?”
“You were about to hit that boy,” Cole growled.
Judd’s eyes narrowed. “Cole McGuire. Figures you would stick up for a kid like that.”
“Stay away from the boy.”
“He’s my son and I’ll hit him if I’ve a mind to.”
The farmer tried to break free, but Cole jerked his arm a notch tighter making him wince. “All the more reason to treat him right.”
“He’s lazy and good for nothing and I’m trying to teach him the meaning of hard work.”
Dusty stepped forward, rubbing his arm. “You worked me in the field twelve hours a day with almost nothing to eat.” The heat in the boy’s eyes verified the truth of his words.
Cole glared at the farmer. “That true?”
“Nothing’s free in this world.”
Rage shot through Cole’s veins. “Know this. Whatever you do to this boy, I will do to you.”
The man snarled. “I don’t have to take this from the likes of a drifter who won’t be around much longer.” He tried to break free of Cole’s iron grip, but couldn’t.
Cole shoved Judd away easily and watched him stumble and fall on his hands and knees in the dirt road.
Judd scooped up handfuls of dirt and rose to his feet. He faced Cole, snorting like a bull ready to charge, and then threw the dust at Cole’s face and lunged.
Cole easily dodged the clumps of dirt and Judd’s sloppy ad
vance. He stepped to the side, letting the farmer stumble into a horse trough filled with water coated with a green haze.
Judd reared up his head, murder in his eyes. A semicircle of people had formed around them. Cole noted a few dollars changing hands.
He hadn’t meant to start this fight, but he was in it until the finish. “I don’t want trouble.”
The farmer snarled, baring blackened teeth. “Well, you got it.”
Judd came at Cole again, but this time the sound of gunfire stopped him in his tracks. Both men looked to the middle of the street where the sheriff stood, his feet braced apart, a napkin still tucked in his shirt.
Sheriff Wade strode toward them, his blue eyes simmering with anger. “Mind telling me what fight is so important that I’d have to get up from a hot breakfast to come break it up?”
Judd sniffed. “Just having a little fun, Ernie.”
Cole dusted dirt from his sleeve. “No trouble, Sheriff.”
Wade stared at the two men, his eyes narrowing. Then he holstered his gun and nodded. “Take your fun outside of town.”
“Sure,” Judd said, scooping up his straw hat from the ground.
Sheriff Wade turned on Cole. “Any more trouble out of you and I’ll run you out of town.”
“Fine.”
Cole looked for Dusty, but seeing no sign of him, backed away from the crowd, anxious to be rid of all the onlookers. Only when he was well out of striking distance from Judd did he turn around and set his sights on potter’s field. He’d visit Lily and his son’s grave and be done with this godforsaken place for good.
He’d not taken five steps when he heard the thud of feet behind him. “You didn’t have to help,” Dusty’s familiar voice called out.”
Cole kept walking. “You’re welcome.”
Dusty hurried to keep pace with Cole’s long strides. “He’ll just come back, you know.”
He stopped and glanced down into Dusty’s bruised face. How many times had the boy felt his father’s fists? “You okay, kid?”
Dark, untrimmed hair hung over Dusty’s blue eyes. A handful of freckles covered the bridge of his nose and his two front teeth looked too big for his mouth.