It's Your Misfortune and None of My Own (Code of the West) (17 page)

“No. No!” She tried to crawl away from the man with the gun, but he jammed his boot on her long black hair, pinning her in the mud. She sobbed in hysterics.

“What’s the matter, breed? I thought you liked knives,” Beckett hissed. “Wait to see what this one can do.”

Just as Tap was about to raise up, the man with the wounded leg spun around and faced Beckett. “Jordan, for pete’s sake, don’t cut her up. Ain’t no sense in that. Turn her loose. We don’t need her.”

Beckett stopped as if he were considering the alternative. He let the knife drop to the ground. As everyone’s attention followed its fall, he drew his revolver and fired two shots into the protesting man’s chest. The others froze in place. The man dropped dead in the wet, brown grass. Even the girl stopped her sobbing to gawk at the man with the smoking gun.

“Anyone else aim to tell me what I can or can’t do?”

No one said anything. Tap stood up with his rifle leveled at Beckett’s head.

“Drop it, Beckett. You’ve shot, stole, and kicked all the l
adies you’re going to for one day.”

“What the .
 . .?” Beckett injected.

“It’s that gunman from the ranch,” one of the men called out.

“Kill him,” Beckett ordered.

“Don’t even think of drawin’ a gun.” Stack appeared from the other side.

“Shoot ’em,” Beckett roared again.

“They got us from both sides,” the men protested.

“We have ’em outnumbered,” Beckett hollered.

“We had ’em outnumbered at the ranch. He’s crazy, Beckett. The one with the rifle.”

“You try anything, and this girl is dead.” Even though his boot pinned Selena's hair in the mud, the man yanked her hair up and jammed the revolver barrel against her head.

Tap noticed that the single-action Colt had the hammer pulled back to the first position, but was not fully cocked. He whipped the rifle around and fired at the man threatening the girl. The bullet caught him in the upper chest, lifted him off the ground, and slammed his body at the feet of the man called Payton.

It was only seconds, but for Tap the time seemed to stand still. The shots echoed in his ears, each one drowning out the one previous. Beckett fired two quick rounds at Stack, who dove behind the rocks. Stack’s return fire caused Beckett to dive for the mud. Payton drew on Tap but missed his shot. By then Tap had his Colt drawn and shot him in the midsection. The man stumbled back under his horse’s stomach, and as he went down tried to fire another shot, but hit the horse in the leg. The terrified animal kicked the man unconscious as it limped for the Mineral Springs road.

At the same time, the man on Tap’s left leaped in panic onto his horse, but the saddle had not yet been cinched. The man crashed to the ground on the other side of the horse and met with the barrel of Stack Lowery’s pistol crashed across his now hatless skull. Beckett had regained his feet. He waved a gun that was either jammed or empty.

The fifth man raised to fire his gun at Stack, but both Lowery and Tap shot at the same time, catching him in the cross-fire.

“The knife,” Stack shouted.

Tap dove across the sobbing Selena, rolling her toward the logs just as Beckett’s knife pierced the ground where she had been. Beckett fired a shot at Lowery, who dove for cover.

Jordan Beckett sprang to his horse and began to race back east of the Brush Creek trail.

“I’ll get him. You take care of Selena,” Stack called, leveling his carbine at the fleeing man.

Tap reached down and picked up Selena in his arms. She had either fainted or gotten shot. He didn’t have time to d
etermine which.

“Tap, my carbine’s jammed. He’s getting away,” Lowery yelled.

Tossing the girl over his left shoulder, Tap wrapped his left arm around her waist and hiked his Winchester to his chin. He lined up the peep sight on Jordan Beckett’s back and waited for the rider to get at the right distance.

“Shoot him,” Stack yelled.

Tap hesitated. In the background he thought he heard a woman’s voice call his name.

“Shoot him!”

“I can’t, Stack. I’ve never sho
t 
a man in the back. I just can’t start doin’ it now.”

“Mr. Hatcher,” came a high-pitched voice.

He turned to see a buggy with a horse tied behind it rolling toward them.

“What are you doing?” the woman driving the rig called out.

“Pepper?” In almost a daze, Tap walked over to the buggy, his Winchester in his right hand and Selena over his left shoulder.

“This is Rev. Houston.”

“What in heaven’s name has happened here?” the clergyman gasped.

“There was a robbery and a shooting, and we chased them down here.”

The minister climbed out of the buggy. “A robbery? Where?”

“At April’s .
 . . eh, at the Pingree Dance Hall,” Stack offered.

“What were you doing there?” Pepper asked Tap.

“I was lookin’ for my stolen horse and—”

“What stolen horse?”

“Onespot. They took him when they wrecked the ranch.”

“Wrecked the ranch?”

“I went to tell you at McCurley’s, but you took off.”

“Took off? I came out here to get Rev. Houston lined up to do our weddin’.”

“Beckett and his gang shot and robbed April. Then they took—,” Stack began.

“April,” Pepper gasped. “Is she—?”

“That’s the lady that runs the place,” Tap interrupted. “She’s wounded, but I don’t know how serious.”

Pepper climbed out of the buggy. “Is Beckett dead?”

“No, he got away. Tap here was about to shoot him when you commenced to hollerin’,” Stack explained.

“What are you doin’ with her?” Pepper glared at Selena.

“She’s just a dance-hall girl I picked up.”

Rev. Houston spun around. “You what?”

“They had hauled her off as a hostage, and just now I picked her up off the ground to revive her.”

“And just how did you intend to do that, Mr. Hatcher?” Pe
pper asked.

“I guess I can put her down.” He lowered Selena off his shoulders and held her in both arms looking for a place to put her.

“Where should I . . . eh . . .”

Selena's eyes blinked open. She whispered, “I feel safe when I’m in your arms.” Then she spied Pepper. “You blonde witch!” She spat and cursed in Spanish.

“Eh, she must be hurt. Don’t take any offense. She’s got you confused with one of the girls down at April’s.” Tap handed Selena to Stack and glanced back at the minister who knelt in prayer next to one of the men.

Prayer? Oh yeah, my promise. Lord, help me now.

“Pepper, come here.” He reached out and grabbed her hesitant hand.

“What? What are you doin’? Where are we goin’?”

“Stack, take care of Selena. We’ll be back in just a minute.”

“Mr. Hatcher, just where are you taking me?”

“We need a private conversation. I promised God I would get this one matter cleared up right here and now. I’m not goin’ to keep playin’ this game,” Tap insisted.

Pepper stumbled along as he pulled her back behind some trees and up an incline toward a clearing.

He knows. He knows who I am. This is it, girl. Everything he says, you deserve. You had no right to treat him this way. He merits someone a whole lot better than you.

“I know what you’re going to say,” she sighed. She reached up and brushed the cheeks under her eyes.

There were no tears.

“You do?”

“Certainly. It’s been obvious all along.”

“It has? Then why did you go along with it?” Tap asked.

“I kept hoping it would work out. Look, let me—”

“Pepper .
 . . just hear me out. You can ride right out of here in a minute and go back to Fort Collins, or wherever, but listen. I want you to hear this straight from me.”

He took a deep breath, pulled off his hat, rolled the brim, and then looked into her green eyes.

“Pepper . . . I am not Zachariah Hatcher.”

He watched her eyes grow wider and her mouth drop open.

“Hatcher and I fought off some Indians down in Arizona Territory together. He and the others died at the scene, but I lived. Before he died he—”

“You are what?” she cried.

“I am not Zachariah Hatcher. I read your letters to him . . . I was very attracted to all of this, and I tried to take his place. Now I’m tryin’ to—”

“What do you mean you aren’t Hatcher?” she wailed.

She’s not takin’ this too well. I should of beat around the bush, softened her up, laid it out subtle.

“What I’m tryin’ to say is that I’m really—”

“I’ve been making wedding plans to marry a total stranger?” she gasped.

“We did visit some. And I thought we were getting along. But I’m not Hatcher. My name is Tap A
ndrews, and I—”

Pepper broke out in such hysterical laughter that it co
mpletely shushed him.

8

T
ap wondered at Pepper’s uncontrollable laughter, feeling buried by an emotional avalanche.             
.

She’s lost control. The shooting, the bodies, the dance-hall girl—it’s too much for her. She shouldn’t be out here. She shouldn’t be saddled up with the likes of me. Maybe I be
tter get the Reverend to look after her.

She caught her breath and her expre
ssion changed to sorrow. She began to sob.

She’s lost it. She’s like that Frazier woman down at Coars
egold. She went off her nut when those babies died, and she never could get it back. I kept my promise, God. I told her straight up. I need You now. You got to help her get control.

He had no idea what to say nor what to do. It was as if someone were pushing him forward as he reached out and encircled her with his arms. To his surprise, she didn’t shove him away. With one hand around her waist and the other lying gently on her blonde hair that was still neatly pulled back, he held her close. He could feel the sof
tness of her body. He could smell the sweet scent of perfume. She continued to sob.

It’s our last hug. She’ll ride off now. We’ll wave and pro
mise to write, but we won’t. She’ll go back to the East and have great adventures to share. She’ll sit around some posh Chicago restaurant with her well-dressed friends, and it will all make a delightful story. “The Lady and the Gunfighter.” They will laugh their way down State Street at the cowboy who thought he could marry a lady. She’ll marry some banker and live in a big house, raise her kids, and sit on the porch in a rockin’ chair with grandchildren runnin’ around her feet. And every once in a while she’ll tell ’em about the time some old cowpuncher tried to trick her, but she saw through him.

It’s all I ever wanted. A ranch and a good woman. No man needs more than that. It isn’t her fault. She never figured anyone would lie to her like this.

Lifting his hand from her hair, Tap smeared the tears across his cheeks and put his hand back on her golden hair.

Pepper fought to stop crying. Loosening her grip around his hard, muscled shoulders, she reached up to wipe her eyes.

There were no tears.

He’s in love with Suzanne Cedar. Thoughts of her have made this man face down that whole Beckett gang. He did it for her. He doesn’t want a dance-hall girl. He’s probably had all of those he wanted. Selena would fall all over him for a wink. I can’t tell him now—not yet .
 . . Reverend, I know I promised, but . . . not now, not today, not like this. He’d leave me right there at April’s. There wouldn’t be nothin’ left livin’ for. Lord, don’t You see? I know I made You some promises yesterday . . . but You’ve got to be patient with me. My mind wants to obey, but my heart is scared to death.

Tap broke the silence. “Aren’t you goin’ to say an
ything?” he whispered.

“I .
 . . I . . . I just can’t.”

He held her back at arm’s length but refused to look in her eyes. “I got a favor to ask of you. I don’t have any right to ask you this. But would you do this for me? Would you get in that buggy and let me drive you all the way back to McCurleys’? You got to get your things anyway.”

“What?”

“Just hear me out. Please. I want you to sit in that buggy and listen to me for a while. I’ve got a lot of things on my heart, and if you took off to Chicago without me ever ge
ttin’ a chance to say them, I’d live with regrets all my life. Let me talk to you. You don’t have to say a word.”

He’s afraid I’m goin’ to leave him? Why on earth would I want to leave him?

“Just nod or something if you feel up to it.”

Pepper nodded.

They walked back toward the others, and he helped her into the buggy. Stack had retrieved their horses. Selena slumped on a log with a sullen face, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Rev. Houston had tied a bandage on one of the wounded men.