My Darling Gunslinger (5 page)

Charlotte was left alone in the empty foyer, her fingers locked around the butt of the small gun, her gaze riveted to the dark red drops running in a trail from the door to the stairs and beyond.

Just count to ten, my sweet and it’ll all be over.

Molly Morgan

Tyler Morgan came awake in small degrees.

His hearing was the first of his senses to awaken.

Gentle pinging of rain against glass.

Muted sounds of pots and dishes banging, the clatter of metal dropped on stone followed by a strangely familiar twirling sound like a toy top spinning.

A man’s murmured speech, another man’s chuckle and a woman’s humming.

Soft footsteps on wood floors, the swish of a woman’s skirts.

“Is he going to die?” The words were whispered, the voice unmistakably that of a child.

“No, Sebastian. Two shallow cuts are not nearly enough to bring a man like this to death’s door,” a woman answered, her voice musical, foreign, the cadence both hurried and slow.

“Akeem said he lost a lot of blood,” the child, a boy if Ty wasn’t mistaken, replied anxiously.

“I don’t doubt he has more than enough to spare a cup or two,” the woman answered crisply.

“Is he still feverish?” The boy was closer now, standing beside the bed near Ty’s legs.

A hand brushed his forehead and Ty’s sense of touch awoke with a vengeance.

Jesus, her hand was soft. Softer than anything he’d ever felt in his life. And cool against his warm flesh. Fingers trailed down his temple, pushed his hair behind his ear.

Ty’s heart stuttered in his chest, skipped a beat.

In that instant he knew the woman was Lady Blue.

“He doesn’t feel feverish,” she said.

Ty disagreed. Vehemently. He felt feverish all right. He felt as if his entire body was about to burst into flame.

He debated trying to lift his heavy lids.

On the one hand, he wanted to see her, to find out if he’d only been dreaming when he’d peeked into the parlor window and seen Lady Blue dancing, her white robe billowing around her, her hair piled in a haphazard bun on her head, golden curls falling to drift over a long, pale neck. She’d been barefoot in his dream, her feet dainty and pink against the blue carpet.

On the other hand, he suspected if she knew he was awake, her gentle ministrations would cease.

“He’s been asleep for two days,” the boy said.

Two days! Christ. Anything could have happened in two days.

Where was the deed? The thought careened into his mind, seemed to bounce and echo, beating against his skull.

“His eyelids are fluttering,” the boy whispered as Ty fought to open his eyes.

“Shh.” Her hand landed gentle as a bird on his forearm, skimming along his flesh, ruffling the hairs before finally reaching his hand.

“It’s all right now,” she crooned as she gently pried the blanket from his clenched fingers. “Whatever has you dreaming night terrors can’t hurt you here.”

“We’re locked up tighter than the Tower of London,” the boy said.

“That we are, Sebastian,” the woman answered, and Ty could hear the smile in her voice.

He wanted to see that smile, pretend for just a moment it was directed at him.

He pried one heavy lid up.

Light slammed into him, forcing it down again.

Resolutely, he steeled himself against the pain of the bright sunlight streaming into the room. On the count of ten, he heard his mother’s voice whispering in his ear.

Count to ten and jump in the river. It’ll only feel cold for a moment.

Count to ten and put your hand in his pocket, real slow like. He won’t even feel it.

Count to ten and hide in the closet, cover your ears and take yourself far away. It’ll be over soon.

Ty began to count, lost his way around eight.

When he finally managed to open his eyes, the room was bathed in the soft pink glow of twilight.

He’d slept the day away.

He hoped it was only the one day.

There was something he needed to do. Something important.

His sluggish mind could not string together the thoughts jumbling around in his head.

Charlie Green.

Lady Blue.

Jasper Heimlich.

They all had something he wanted, but he couldn’t remember what it was.

Charlie will welcome you.

The Zeppelin Ranch is yours… Keep her safe.

As if the scattered pieces of a jigsaw puzzle had suddenly slammed into place, Ty remembered.

The deed. The land. The promise.

He had a sudden hazy memory of Lady Blue standing in the open doorway, her small frame illuminated by moonlight, her eyes huge in her pale face. She’d held something in her hands, something that had looked like pearls gleaming in the darkness. A pearl-handled comb, maybe. All was darkness beyond but for the glint of silver somewhere behind her. He’d felt unseen eyes upon him. Why had her housemates allowed her to open the door? To welcome whatever danger had come calling?

“Lady Blue,” he whispered into the empty room as his lids fluttered shut again.

“What’s that, son?”

Ty opened his eyes to find a man leaning over him.

He recognized the bear of a man from that day at the train station. Lady Blue’s grandfather.

He was dressed improbably in a pink shirt and purple trousers.

In one hand he held an unlit pipe, in the other…

Ty peered hard at the object in the old man’s giant paw. “My dictionary,” he whispered hoarsely.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a man of words,” the old timer said. “You want a sip of water?”

Ty nodded weakly, wondering if this man was Charlie Green.

“Name’s Magnus McDonough,” he said as he carefully eased Ty to sitting, tossed a few pillows against the headboard, and lowered him back against them.

So, not Charlie Green.

Ty eyed Magnus McDonough over the rim of the glass held to his lips. The water was cold, a balm for his parched throat.

“I looked through your saddle bags but could find nothing with your name on it.” Magnus sat on the bed, the glass balanced on one thick thigh. “Found a pile of wanted posters, but none of them bare your likeness.”

“Not wanted,” Ty croaked.

“You a bounty hunter?”

Ty nodded, turned the gesture into a quick shake of his head, the motion setting his temples pounding. “Not anymore.”

“Retired, have you?”

Ty looked away from the old man, his hand automatically lifting to tug at the brim of his hat only to come up empty, his fingers gliding through dirty, matted hair instead.

“What’s your name, son?”

“Tyler Morgan.”

“Well, Tyler Morgan, you mind telling me what you were about showing up at our door bleeding from two knife wounds, asking after Charlie Green and carrying a deed to the Zeppelin Ranch?”

Magnus was grinning, but Ty wasn’t fooled. The man had a gun on him somewhere and Ty suspected he knew how to use it. There was a sharpness to his eyes behind the gleam of humor. It was the same sharp glint he saw in his own eyes when he looked in the mirror. The same awareness he’d seen in the eyes of every man he’d come up against who lived by his gun.

“I won the deed in a card game,” Ty admitted.

Magnus’ bushy white brows bobbed above his eyes. “Bloody Prussian bastard.”

“It was an honest game,” Ty replied lest the man think otherwise.

“Honest my ass!” Magnus bellowed as he jumped to his feet.

Ty didn’t miss the grimace of pain or the way his hand dropped to massage his burly thigh.

“I don’t cheat,” Ty growled, wishing for the weight of his gun in his hand. He was a lot of things – a whoreson, a bastard and a killer among them. But he wasn’t a cheat. Hell, he liked to think he was as honest as the next man. He told the truth when he could and lied when he had to.

“So you came to collect in the middle of the night?” Magnus asked.

And he remained silent when it suited him.

“Knife wounds slow you down some?” Magnus guessed, rubbing his hand over his thigh once more. “Hell, son, I know just how you feel. I took a blade to this leg two years past and I’ll be damned if it doesn’t still slow me down.”

Ty wouldn’t let his most recent wounds slow him down. He had a ranch to run.

“So Jasper wagered the ranch,” Magnus muttered before turning away to stare out the window at the darkening evening. “Any idea what he was holding?”

Ty debated what to tell the man. “Less than three aces and a pair of fours.”

“Full house, aces high,” Magnus replied with a shake of his shaggy head.

Ty suddenly felt as if he should apologize for holding the better hand.

Fuck that.

He’d won the ranch fair and square and he refused to feel guilty about it.

The Bloody Prussian bastard shouldn’t have wagered deep on two pair.

“I’d best go tell the others.”

Before Ty could reply, Magnus turned and walked from the room, his easy, rapid gate giving lie to his earlier words.

Damn.

He should have asked the man to help him from the bed. He needed to piss something fierce.

He made three valiant attempts to get to his feet, intent upon finding the necessary. He got no farther than shuffling off the edge of the bed. As soon as he put some weight on his leg, pain shot up his thigh, nausea boiled in his belly and his vision dimmed.

“Shallow cut my ass,” he panted as he finally gave up and fell back against the pillows.

He sat and stewed in his own juices for nearly an hour before he heard footsteps on the stairs.

It was about damn time. The smells wafting from below had his stomach growling and he couldn’t find a comfortable position on the too soft mattress with his bladder ready to explode and pain knifing through his right shoulder and left leg.

The giant Arab stepped into the room, a tray of covered dishes in his hands.

“Good evening,” the man greeted.

Ty stared at him in surprise.

The man’s voice was soft and gentle. Sweet even.

As was the smile that slowly curled his lips.

“Only broth, I’m afraid,” the caramel-skinned man said as he ducked under the door lintel and crossed to the side of the bed.

Ty was more concerned with emptying his bladder than filling his belly. “Where’s the necessary?”

“Ah, one need before the next.” The Arab deposited the tray on the night table and tossed back the blankets covering Ty’s hips and legs.

Ty hadn’t time to pull down his borrowed night shirt. It lay bunched and twisted around his hips.

His cock was semi-hard with the need to piss, the shaft hanging between his legs.

Ty scrambled to cover himself, heat rushing to his face.

With a shake of his head and a muttered “so sad,” the man bent and scooped Ty up as if he weighed no more than a small child.

“I can walk,” he growled.

“No,” the giant replied quietly.

Ty fumed silently as the man carried him from the room and down the hall. He eyed the white linen bandage wrapped around his leg just above the knee.

Thank God the whore’s aim was off.

There was no doubt in his mind she’d been going for the family jewels.

It was dangerous catching a whore rooting through your saddle bags in a fancy hotel room.

“My name is Akeem,” the giant said in his oddly feminine voice.

“Ty Morgan,” he answered, unnerved to be having a conversation with a man who carried him in his arms.

Especially one who’d seen his cock and thought it
so sad
.

The necessary was a wonder.

No closet outfitted with a stool and tub for the strange occupants of the Zeppelin Ranch.

The room was bright and spacious, the floor white stone polished to a shine, the walls pale blue. The commode was shaped like a throne, complete with padded back and spindly carved arms. A tank hung on the wall with a brass chain dangling down.

And the tub.

Holy shit!

The tub was long and deep, the pipes gleaming where they came up through the floor and curved over the rim. It wasn’t copper but some sort of gleaming stone material, like the fine china plates at the Alabaster Hotel. It sat on brass feet in the shape of lions.

“What’s the tub made of?” Ty asked as Akeem gently lowered him to his feet before the fancy privy.

“Porcelain. The piped water is hot enough to scald.”

Ty waited for the man to turn around.

Akeem only looked at him as if expecting him to fall.

“I can manage from here,” he muttered.

Akeem smiled. “My lady will not be happy if you fall.”

“I won’t fall.” Ty wondered which of the ladies belonged to this giant man and decided it must be the amazon. It couldn’t be the mousy little brunette who’d been knitting by the fire while Lady Blue danced around. He’d squash her flatter than a flapjack.