Colt drained his glass again, then, to match actions to feelings, tossed it to the barkeep. Unprepared, the man dropped the one he’d been cleaning to catch it. Satisfied to hear the glass break and the man snarl, Colt shoved away from the bar and headed toward the entrance. Chairs toppled over in the customers’ haste to follow him, but feet came to a skidding halt when he paused just beyond the swinging doors to locate his quarry.
Shade had enticed Riley across the street, where he was lounging against a hitching rail with his two friends. The covered boardwalks on both sides of the street were already filling with eager spectators drawn by Riley’s earlier taunt.
The young man had to be nudged to notice Colt’s arrival, and he grinned before straightening, making some comment that brought chuckles from his friends. He then walked toward the center of the wide street, slow confidence in his stride.
A muscle jerked in Colt’s jaw as he ground his teeth in disgust. He wondered if the good townsfolk would call for a lynching if he happened to kill their resident asshole. Probably. Fair fight or not, white folks didn’t like seeing a half-breed defeat one of their own.
At the moment, he didn’t particularly care, but he had no intention of killing the kid when this wasn’t the kind of fight he’d been courting. Someone else could have that distinction. Of course, if the show-off died accidentally by getting in the way of one of his bullets…
Colt tipped his hat back until it dropped behind to hang from the neck strap. He’d once had one pushed forward into his eyes by the wind, at just the wrong moment. He’d be dead now if the other guy hadn’t been such a lousy shot.
“Now what’re ya waitin’ on?” Riley called impatiently from his position in the middle of the street.
“You that anxious to die?”
Riley thought that was funny. So did his friends. So did a number of spectators.
“That ain’t no bow an’ arrow you’re packin’, breed, or ain’t ya noticed?”
This time the kid bent over double, he laughed so hard at his own sally. There was backslapping and eye-wiping going on on both sides of the street as just about everyone present joined in his humor—except the Spaniard.
Colt noticed Alonzo as he moved out into the street, then the Scot standing with him. So some of her people were present. It made no difference. They were merely spectators like the rest. And yet his eyes suddenly scanned the covered boardwalks—and found her, that bright beacon of red hair hard to miss as she ran toward Alonzo.
Shit! Now he was pissed, well and truly pissed! He wondered who he had to thank for her presence, and when she stopped by the Spaniard, he knew. The look he gave the swarthy man promised retribution, but Alonzo, reading that look correctly, merely shrugged.
Looking at the duchess was out of the question. Colt gave his attention back to Riley, his indifference gone, his anger on the edge of exploding. If she tried to interfere…
Jocelyn was about to do just that. She took in the situation at a glance, understood that the two men standing out there in the street were at any moment going to start shooting at each other, and she couldn’t allow it to happen. She knew firsthand how skillful Colt was with his revolver, but what if his young opponent was as equally skilled? She couldn’t take the chance.
But as she lifted her skirt to step down into the street, Alonzo caught her arm and whispered near her ear, “If you distract him now, he is dead. The moment his eyes turn to you, and they will, the young Riley will take advantage and draw his weapon. Had you come sooner you might have stopped it, but now is too late.”
“But…” She bit her lip in indecision, staring at Colt. How could she watch and do nothing, when he might be wounded or worse?
But it really was too late to interfere. Even as she looked toward Colt’s opponent to assess his readiness, the young man was reaching for his gun.
It all happened so fast, it was no wonder the spectators were collectively drawing in gasps of awe. Colt’s gun was already in his hand and aimed at his opponent. The young man, his hand only just gripping his own weapon, still holstered, stared incredulously and didn’t move so much as another inch. He looked rather sick. He obviously wasn’t sure what to do now, whether to concede the fight or to take his chances and still draw. It was the silence of Colt’s gun that made him so undecided.
Colt wasn’t waiting for him to make up his mind. With slow, purposeful strides he closed the distance between them until the nozzle of his Peacemaker came to rest against Riley’s trembling belly. Riley had broken out in a sweat by then, afraid to look down for fear he would see the trigger being squeezed, afraid to look anywhere but into those hard blue eyes that had never wavered from his.
Colt smelled his fear, saw it, but he wasn’t feeling very merciful at the moment. “We tried it your way, you loudmouthed son of a bitch,” he hissed low, so only Riley would hear him. “Now you’ll accommodate me.”
With that Colt removed the gun from Riley’s belly, arched it to the left, and brought it across Riley’s face in a backhanded swing. The kid went stumbling to the side, and when he touched his hand to his cheek, it came away bloody. He didn’t understand. He still didn’t, even when Colt holstered his gun and stood there waiting, fingers flexing.
Riley’s friends didn’t understand either, but they weren’t so doubtful about what to do. One reached for his gun. Simultaneously, Alonzo reached for his knife, and Robbie took a step forward. Neither man’s assistance was necessary, however, or noted by Colt. He had been keeping Riley’s friends in his sights, and out came his gun again, this time to fire.
The bullet struck metal. The cowboy dropped his revolver to the ground with a cry, his fingers numb. The other one spread his arms wide and backed away, unwilling to take Colt on by himself.
Again Colt put his gun away and locked eyes with Riley, who hadn’t dared to move even with Colt’s attention momentarily directed elsewhere. “Come on, kid, I ain’t got all day.”
“Come—come on what?”
“You wanted a piece of me. Come and take it.”
Riley took a step back instead, his eyes flaring with alarm. “You mean fight you? But you’re bigger’n me!”
“My size didn’t stop you from shoving insults down my throat, did it?”
“So I made a mistake, mister. Whyn’t we forget it, huh?”
Colt slowly shook his head. “I’d rather beat the shit out of you.”
Riley took another step back, his eyes like saucers now. “Would—would you shoot me in the back?”
Colt scowled at that fool question. “No.”
“Glad to hear it,” Riley gulped out and took off down the street.
For a moment Colt simply stared at his fleeing back with a mixture of surprise and exasperation. He’d had men back down from gunfights before when he’d gotten the draw on them, but they’d never turned tail and run when he’d offered them another out so save face, especially with so many witnesses present. Witnesses usually made all the difference in the way a man reacted, turning cowards into brave men, even if those brave men knew they’d end up being dead men.
He could have dropped a few bullets into the dust around those running feet, but since he doubted that would bring Riley back to face him, he didn’t bother. He turned away in disgust instead, oblivious to the murmurings of many spectators who were experiencing a full gamut of reactions, from shocked amazement to bitter disappointment to jeering contempt for Riley’s cowardice. But mostly they were wondering aloud who Colt was.
It was going to be a source of frustration for the storytellers of the town that they were doomed to never learn his name, for who in their right mind would dare to ask him outright after what they had just witnessed, and there was no one else willing to supply the answer. Jocelyn certainly wasn’t, though she heard the question several times on her way back to the hotel. Nor would her people volunteer his name, accustomed as they were to keeping a low profile.
But overhearing a scorn-filled “He’s a savage. What else is t
here to know?” in answer to the same question, brought Jocelyn up short.
Already upset from the scare she had just experienced, as well as frustrated that Colt had disappeared into the crowd before she could speak to him, she turned to the well-dressed young man whose remark managed to rub her on the raw.
“How dare you, sir!” she lit into him without preamble, to the surprise of both the man and his companion, as well as of Robbie and Alonzo, who were close behind her. “They went out into the street to kill each other. That neither is dead is the mark of a civilized man, not a savage.”
Feeling a good deal better for having vented a small portion of her anger on the hapless stranger, even though it was Colt she really wanted to upbraid for his careless risk-taking, she marched on without the least notion of the agitation she left behind.
“Nice going, Miles, or hasn’t it dawned on you yet that by that accent of hers, it’s a safe bet to say you’ve just offended Lady Fleming herself?”
The sarcasm, delivered so scathingly, put Miles Dryden on the defensive. “Well, how was I to know? The way the countess spoke of her, I was expecting a raving beauty.” And then he groaned. “A redhead, and a skinny one at that! I’ll never be able to go through with it.”
Maura, clinging possessively to his arm, was mollified at hearing that. Personally, she thought the duchess was stunning, but for a moment she had forgotten that Miles wouldn’t think so. She knew from experience that his preference in women ran to well-shaped blondes such as herself. The older countess was likely to give her more cause for worry than the younger duchess.
“You’ll do just fine, sugar, ’cause it looks like this is the one we’ve been dreaming about. A real English duchess, traveling just for pleasure, and in such style. She’s got to be rich as sin.”
“So you said the last time,” Miles grumbled.
Maura didn’t care for that reminder. “The widow Ames never lied about all her children being dead. She just failed to mention there were seventeen grandchildren patiently waiting to pick her estate apart. So they bought you off with a worthless silver mine that got us stranded in this godforsaken place. At least they never questioned the old lady’s death.”
“But she was old. This one’s young.”
“We won’t use poison this time to make you a widower again. An accident will do just as well.”
“And I suppose I’ll have to see to it?”
She was getting tired of his negative attitude. “I took care of your last two wives, sugar. I’d say it’s your turn. Of course, if you’d rather find me a husband instead…”
“Bitch,” he growled jealously, as she knew he would. “The day you even look at another man I’ll break your pretty neck.”
“Now, now, love, I was only teasing.” She grinned up at him. “You know very well I’ve been faithful to you since the day we met. Besides, I could never do what you do so well. I have enough trouble just pretending to be your sister.”
“That was your idea, not mine. This whole lousy scheme has been your idea. ‘Marry a rich widow, sugar, and you can give up your gambling,’” he mimicked in a high falsetto.
Maura’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Your cheating, you mean, which got us run out of one town after another. And you jumped on the idea, if I recall.”
“That was before the first wife wasn’t rich enough to suit you and you decided she had to die so we could try again…and again…and again.”
“All right!” she snapped. “So all four of them turned out to be bad choices. But this time is going to be different, I just know it is.”
“It’s already different, Maura, or have you forgotten how young this widow is? I’ll likely have to work twice as hard to win her over, and even then my success isn’t a foregone conclusion. This could be a total waste of time and effort.”
“Not quite, love. We still have that other option to fall back on if the lady doesn’t succumb to your fatal charm. But my money is on you. After all, I know how irresistible you can be when you really try. You won me heart and soul, didn’t you?”
Chapter Twenty-six
“Good morning, Your Grace.”
Jocelyn turned to smile at the young man who had caused her such embarrassment the night before when she was first introduced to him. It was laughable now, but at the time it had been quite mortifying to find that the brother and sister Vanessa had taken under her wing were the same pair Jocelyn had practically accosted right after the aborted gunfight yesterday. They had also been invited to dinner, so there was no easy escape from her discomfort.
But somehow, and she still wasn’t sure how he had done it, Miles Dryden managed to put her at ease with his profuse apologies, wouldn’t accept any she tried to offer in return, and even made her forget the incident for the remainder of the evening. He was, without a doubt, utterly charming. She had suspected he would be handsome too, and indeed he was, with his dark blond hair cropped just below the ears and his eyes the color of fine sherry. On the lean side and slightly above average in height, he had a pair of the most engaging dimples that appeared with every smile, and with a keen sense of humor, he smiled often, as did everyone around him.
Maura Dryden was just as interesting as her brother. There was little family resemblance between them with her ash-blond hair and large, dark green eyes, her much shorter height and voluptuous figure, but there was no denying they had both been blessed with exceptional looks. And where Miles’ charm added to his attractiveness, Maura was possessed of a sultriness that enhanced hers, at least as far as men were concerned, if Sir Parker was any indication. He had also joined them for dinner, and to Jocelyn’s amusement, had barely taken his eyes off the girl throughout the meal.
Vanessa had certainly been delighted with the whole evening and had no doubt gone to bed with her worries put to rest. As a hoped-for distraction, Miles Dryden was proving eminently successful. Jocelyn had retired conceding that point, and even experienced a measure of relief that it was so—until it occurred to her that Vanessa’s scheme could work both ways, for Colt as well as for herself. And the thought of Colt finding Maura Dryden to his liking, just as Sir Parker had, effectively squelched whatever relief she had briefly felt, and even added a new dimension to her confused emotions. To her chagrin, she was afraid it might be jealousy. But since it could just as likely be a misguided sense of possessiveness, what she might feel for anything that had cost her such an exorbitant sum of money, she wasn’t going to worry about it.
So she had decided, but even now with Miles Dryden’s winsome smile turned on her, she was wondering where his sister was, and what Colt’s reaction would be when he first saw the girl. She also wondered if there was any way she might renege on her agreement to allow them to join her entourage, but she supposed not. Their belongings were probably even now being loaded into the wagons in front of the hotel.
“Mr. Dryden.” She nodded in reply to his greeting. “I hope this early hour hasn’t proved inconvenient. We are more or less at the mercy of our guide, who doesn’t believe in wasting daylight, as he so quaintly puts it.”
“I know the sort. Our stage driver was a cantankerous old curmudgeon who rushed us in and out of every roadhouse with the threat of leaving us behind if we weren’t quick enough to suit him.”
She had to smile at that description, which was pretty accurate for their guide, too, except for the old part. Colt was more often than not quarrelsome, irritable, and quick of temper. How would he be today? Would he even be out front waiting, or had he already gone on ahead as usual, leaving it to Billy to point the way?
She realized suddenly how anxious she was to see him. She also recalled that she still didn’t know what he thought of the gift of her virginity. She didn’t try to delude herself that he might not have been aware of the gift. His gentle handling of her that night proved otherwise.
“We aren’t nearly so rushed, Mr. Dryden, just roused at an ungodly hour every morning.” She hoped she didn’t sound as impatient as she felt, but
she wanted to find Colt and perhaps have a few words with him before they departed. “You will quickly become accustomed to it, I’m sure. Now, if you will collect your sister—”
“Maura is already outside, Your Grace. If you will allow me?”
She was hesitant in accepting his offered arm. With her guard surrounding her, it was so unnecessary. Besides, she didn’t want Colt to see Miles escorting her from the hotel, though she wasn’t sure why. But short of outright rudeness, there was no help for it.
Outside, everything was in readiness, Jocelyn being the last to arrive. Miss Dryden stood waiting with Vanessa and the two maids in the shade of the hotel porch, but she wasn’t attending their conversation; was, in fact, staring off toward the front of the cavalcade—at Colt.
He was mounted already, as was Billy, who had his attention at the moment. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of Miss Dryden’s perusal. Likely he was, since he was usually aware of everything going on around him, the reason that his eyes turned toward the porch only seconds after Jocelyn stepped out of the hotel. The moment he saw her, he yanked his horse around to take off.
“A moment, Colt, if you please!”
Jocelyn immediately flushed, having thoughtlessly drawn every eye toward her. She had had to raise her voice for Colt to hear her, and even to her own ears she had sounded imperious. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he embarrassed her further by ignoring her, but he didn’t. He whipped his horse back around and waited, with obvious impatience. That he didn’t dismount and come to her as would be expected of one’s employee was noted, particularly by her guard, even by Miles, whose arm she could feel tense beneath her hand. But Jocelyn wasn’t pressing her luck any further. Excusing herself from Miles, she quickly stepped off the porch.