Authors: Connie Mason
D
olly barged into Colt’s room the moment Sam disappeared down the narrow staircase. She snorted in disgust at the sight of Colt’s nude body sprawled across the rumpled bed. She lit a lamp and Colt bolted up, immediately reaching out for Sam, only to encounter emptiness where her small, enticing form had lain beside him.
“She’s gone,” Dolly said, controlling the anger boiling below the surface. “Are you loco?”
“Don’t preach, Dolly.”
“For a man who goes out of his way to avoid virgins, you’ve gotten yourself into one helluva fix. If you’re not careful you’ll find yourself biting off more than you can chew.”
“I know what I’m doin’,” Colt growled crossly.
“I doubt that. How could you seduce an innocent like Miss Howard?” Dolly challenged.
“How do you know she is innocent?”
“I’m not blind. There’s blood on the sheets. Virgins usually bleed the first time.”
“Christ!”
“Are you prepared to pay the consequences, Colt?”
“Sam made no demands, and I offered her nothing,” Colt revealed sullenly. How could one black-haired wildcat disrupt his life so thoroughly?
“What if you just put a baby in her belly?”
“I didn’t—that is—Christ, Dolly, I didn’t dunk of that.”
“Men seldom do,” Dolly muttered with a hint of sarcasm. “Women like me have learned to deal with such things and know how to protect ourselves. But Samantha Howard isn’t likely to know about such things. If she’s pregnant she’ll expect marriage, Colt.”
“No woman will trap me like that,” Colt insisted defiantly.
“What will you do if she
is
carrying your child?”
Fate saved Colt from searching his heart for an answer when the sound of shots and thundering hooves sent him racing into his clothes. A slow, mirthless smile tilted the corners of his mourn upwards. “’Pears like I’m fixin’ to meet the Crowders.”
The shouts, laughter, and shots continued unabated, seeming to intensify beneath Colt’s window. Evidendy the Crowder gang was about to invade the Palace Saloon. Her eyes wide with fear, Dolly fled from the room.
Colt’s face bore a grim reminder of the reason for his being in Karlsburg as he fastened the badge to his buckskin shirt and strapped his gunbelt sporting twin six-shooters below his waist. He carried a bowie knife, too, in a scabbard strapped to his boot. There was an amazing quietness about him and a confidence few men possessed. Before leaving his room he pulled his hat low on his forehead and tightened the strings.
Sam froze, her hand hovering on the doorknob. The shots and sounds of violence coming from town could mean only one thing. The Crowders had returned! Damnation! How she hated those bastards! They had killed Pop in cold blood. She knew it sounded crazy, but it seemed as if they had known exactly what they were doing when they shot Pop. They had no reason to want him dead. They were lowdown mean, and the thought that Colt would be facing them alone put fear in her heart. He could be wounded—or killed—and not one person in Karlsburg would come to his defense.
Not only did the townsmen have an aversion to taking up arms, but they feared reprisal from the gang if they defended themselves. The majority of the German residents were peace-loving farmers who abhorred violence. Colt was on his own against the Crowders. Captain Ford was a fool to expect one man to defend a town against a gang of outlaws who delighted in killing innocent men. Well, never let it be said that Sam Howard was a coward. If Colt needed help, he’d damn well get it.
Determination as well as fear for Colt drove Sam as she turned the knob and rushed inside the house. She recalled having seen a shotgun above the mantel and she headed in that direction. It was only a single-shot, but Pop had taught her to load and shoot as fast as any man.
Sam needed a chair to reach the gun, and then she began a frantic search for ammunition.
“Sam! Did you know the Crowders are—what are you doing?” Ida couldn’t believe her eyes. Sam was racing around and going through drawers like a dose of salts.
“Damnation, Ida, where’s the ammunition?”
“What do you intend to do? The Crowders are in town, it’s too dangerous to leave the house.”
“I know. Where do you keep the bullets?”
“Didn’t you hear me, Sam? The Crowders—”
“Hellfire and damnation, I don’t have time! I have to help Colt. Are you going to give me the ammunition or do I tear the house apart looking for it?”
“If I know Colt, he won’t appreciate you butting in. You could get yourself killed,” Ida warned, growing desperate.
“Someone has to help. Please, Ida, the ammunition. You can scold me later. Do you want to see Colt dead?”
“You care that much?”
“Yes! Yes, dammit, I care! Please, Ida, if you have any feelings for Colt you’ll give me the bullets.”
“I’m as crazy as you are,” muttered Ida, flinging out her arms in mute appeal. “They’re in my bedroom, hidden beneath the mattress. God help us all.”
Colt stepped onto the balcony that overlooked the barroom, surveying the destruction below through slitted eyes. Ten men stood in the center of the saloon shooting at bottles lined up behind the bar. Men and women were crouching behind overturned tables and the bar. Ducking low behind the bar, Dirk Faulkner wistfully eyed the shotgun resting against the mirror. But to reach it he’d have to expose himself. Brave he might be, but a fool he wasn’t.
A stray bullet shattered the light above Colt’s head and he ducked as particles of glass rained down on him. His mouth tightened into a thin white line. His tawny eyes as cold and empty as death, Colt prepared to face the Crowders, his superb muscles taut, his face hardened into a ruthless mask.
The twin Colts riding his hips slid into his hands with flawless precision. In a matter of seconds he had metamorphosed into a cool, calculating fighting machine geared for survival. The only alternative was death and he wasn’t quite ready for that. Extending himself to his full six-foot-four, Colt surveyed the scene below, his eyes trained on the outlaws raising a ruckus in the saloon. To capture their attention he picked out one man at random and squeezed off a shot, catching the man in the shoulder. He could easily have killed the man, but that wasn’t his way. He hoped he wouldn’t be sorry later for sparing his life.
When one of their own fell at their feet, the gang ceased shooting abruptly. “What the hell!” All eyes lifted to the balcony where Colt stood, supremely confident, knees flexed, one gun smoking, both aimed into the group staring up at him.
“Drop your guns!” Colt bit out. His voice was low, imposing, and deadly.
“Who are you?” A barrel-chested man stepped forward and spat a wad of tobacco juice on the floor, his small eyes narrowed to ruthless slits. A dirty stubble darkened his cheeks and chin, and his ferocious grin revealed uneven, yellowed teeth. He was big, unkempt and filthy, and looked as if he ate children for breakfast.
Colt’s eyes swept briefly over each man, settling on the one, obviously the leader, who challenged him. “The name’s Andrews. Ranger Andrews.”
“Ranger! You mean like in Texas Ranger?”
“I don’t like this, Lyle,” one of the outlaws complained, elbowing Lyle in the ribs. “I ain’t tanglin’ with no Texas Ranger.”
“Don’t get all riled up, Dusty. You don’t know doodle-de-squat. Ain’t but one man up there and ten of us down here,” Lyle scoffed. “I ain’t about to let no Texas Ranger scare me.”
A truly evil smile curving his thick lips, Lyle shouted up to Colt, “You alone, Rangerman?”
“Just me and my six-shooters, Crowder. Are you hankerin’ to test my aim? You can leave peaceable like or carried out feet first, it’s your choice.”
“We ain’t the scarin’ kind, Ranger. A nod from me and you’re history,” Lyle warned. “There’s at least ten guns down here to your two.”
“I got eleven rounds left, so several of you will eat dirt before I die. You’ll be the first, Crowder.”
“Ain’t he a riot, boys?” Lyle crowed. “Brave words from a man facin’ sure death.”
“I don’t rightly know, Lyle,” Dusty hesitated nervously. “I’ve heard said the Rangers take care of their own.”
“Listen up, Crowder,” Colt bellowed from above. “If you kill me you’ll have the whole dang troop breathin’ down your necks. There isn’t a place in this part of the country where you’ll be safe from them.”
Lyle licked his dry lips, intuitively sensing he was rapidly losing control of his en, but uncertain as to how to remedy it. Should he shoot first and take his chances with the Rangers? “You talk big, Ranger,” he drawled, “but there ain’t nobody backin’ you up. You’re either stupid or loco to think you can win. Me and the boys got this town sewed up. Ain’t nobody gonna spoil our fun.”
“You’re wrong, you murdering skunk!” a voice from behind them challenged. “He’s got me, and I can shoot as well as any man.”
Lyle spun on his heel, laughing raucously when he spied Sam pointing a shotgun in his direction. “Shit! A female—a half-growed one at that.”
“I load fast, shoot straight, and can hit a gnat’s ass at ten paces,” Sam countered with unwavering resolve.
“Christ!” Colt exploded. What in the hell was she doing here? “Vamoose, Sam! I can handle this.”
“I’m staying, Colt,” Sam called back. “If they kill you they’ll have to kill me too ‘cause I aim to come out shooting.”
“I ain’t killin’ no woman,” another of the outlaws said.
“And I ain’t killin’ no goddamn Ranger,” Dusty added, backing away. One by one the others followed suit, leaving Lyle alone to face Colt’s six-shooters. Experience had taught them to fear Rangers, the word synonymous with reprisal and death. It was said the Rangers always got their man, more often than not bringing them in draped over the rear of a horse.
Hatred drew Lyle’s brow into a fierce scowl. Backing down before the very same townspeople he had been terrorizing was damn humiliating and an insult he wouldn’t soon forget. He suffered no guilt over killing women and he’d just as soon shoot a Texas Ranger as look at him. Hell, killing was killing, what difference did it make who it was? But without his men behind him his hands were tied.
“Take your wounded man and vamoose out of town,” Colt advised, still seething over Sam’s unwelcome interference. How could she deliberately place herself in danger when she saw he had things well in hand?
Lyle glanced down to where his cousin Barney lay bleeding on the saloon floor. “Help him up, Dusty,” he growled. “We’re leavin’—for now. But you ain’t seen the last of us, Ranger. Nobody runs the Crowders outta town.” He shook his fist at Colt to give emphasis to his words. “We ain’t quits yet.”
“I’ll face you whenever or wherever you say,” Colt stated quietly. His eyes never wavered as the outlaws trooped out, dragging their injured comrade with them. No one inside moved until the sound of pounding hooves disappeared into the distance. All eyes turned to Colt, who calmly shoved his six-shooters back in the leather.
Then all hell broke loose. “You did it! By God, you did it!” Dolly crowed, rushing up the stairs from her office behind the bar where she had sought refuge when the fracas began. Dolly’s most prized possession was the money in the safe. Like a mother hen protecting her nest, she had sat behind her desk with a revolver in each hand. The first man to step through the door would have been blown to kingdom come.
The last time the outlaws rode into town they had wreaked such havoc on the Palace that she had to close down for a month until repairs could be made. It nearly ruined her. The fact that this time the Crowder gang had been driven off was so astounding that Dolly threw herself exuberantly into Colt’s arms. She rained kisses over his face and neck, caring little who might be watching, for Colt had just performed a miracle. She clung to him adoringly, preventing him from bounding down the stairs and shaking the living daylights out of Sam.
Sam watched from below, the gun sagging in her hands. Now that the danger was over, her knees buckled and only the wall kept her from falling. During the actual confrontation a surge of adrenaline had made her oblivious to all but the need to save Colt from what she thought was sure death. She never questioned her motives, just reacted spontaneously to the danger, knowing she didn’t want Colt dead. It mattered little that her foolish act of bravery went unrewarded, or that Colt had reacted unfavorably to her interference. At least he was alive and might not be if she hadn’t shown up when she did.
Sam watched as Dolly and Colt embraced, his response to her kisses fueling her jealousy. She could not tear her eyes from the loving couple until Colt looked down and spied her. From across the space separating them their eyes met and held. For a long silent moment they stared at each other through an invisible wall of an emotion neither could name. For a second it seemed as if Colt would shake himself free from Dolly’s arms and race down the stairs to her, but the moment was lost when the room erupted into a frenzy. Cheering men flew up the narrow stairs to offer congratulations, and then Colt was lost to her. Choking on a sob, Sam whirled on her heel and quietly left the Palace.
“Sam, dear God, what happened over there?” Ida asked in an agony of apprehension after waiting on the porch for Sam’s return, wringing her hands and pacing. “I was so worried.”