Read Online Bounty on a Baron by Robert J. Randisi - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert J. Randisi
Tags: Fiction
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his mouth watered as he entered the kitchen.
“Is it ready?” he asked, seating himself at the table.
Josephine turned away from the stove, a cup of coffee in her hand. She set it down in front of him, kissed him, and said, “Anybody ever tell you that you were too demanding?”
“I have never had any complaints from my other women,” he said as she returned to the stove.
“Ha!” Josephine said over her shoulder. “I happen to know that no other woman would have you. No other woman would put up with your kind of behavior.”
She often wondered, however, whether or not he had other women in other parts of the country. He was never gone for much more than a month or two at a time, but he was sometimes away several times a year. At least that meant that even if he had other women, he spent most of his time with her.
For Josephine, that was enough.
She knew that she was a big woman, and that most men had trouble measuring up to her. She also knew that although she might have been described as “handsome,” she was certainly no beauty.
Brand had been one of the few men who hadn’t been intimidated by her or put off by her. Many othermen had wanted her, she knew, for one night, just to see what it would be like, but Brand had never been like that. In fact, he had known her for months before he had even tried to kiss her.
No, although she had had affairs with a few men Brand was the only man for her, and even if he had found it necessary to have other women, she would be satisfied with the time he gave her.
She did still wonder, though, what sort of business took him away for those long periods at a time.
She wondered, but she had never asked.
And she never would.
Chapter Fourteen
The first night Decker camped on the trail after leaving the Boone lumber camp made him appreciate Frenchie’s offer of hospitality—whatever the man’s motives—even more. Sitting in front of his fire, he pulled his jacket closer around him and put his fur collar up to ward off the chill. As it turned out, being cold saved his life, because it was when he leaned over to grab his blanket and wrap himself in it that the shot was fired—missing him by inches.
After the first shot he rolled away from the fire as quickly as he could and drew his gun. It was in situations like this that Decker wished he were a better shot with a handgun. His cut-down shotgun had a limited effective range, and was of almost no use in instances like this. True, he could have fired into the brush, and his double-O shot would cover a wide area, its pattern spreading more the farther it went, but at some point—when it spread too much—it became ineffective.
Decker looked over at his rifle on the other side of the fire. He had rolled away from the fire instinctively, trying to get out of its light, but in doing so had also rolled farther away from the rifle.
Anxiously, he looked at John Henry, who seemed unconcerned about the goings-on. Had he been ambushing someone he would have gone for the horse first, either to free it or kill it. He was relieved thathis ambusher—or ambushers—had not thought of that yet.
They might, though, which gave him three possible choices. He could stay where he was, but that wasn’t such a great choice. He might be away from most of the fire’s light, but he was still out in the open.
The second choice was to move over by John Henry, to protect the horse, but then he’d still be waiting for them to make a move.
His third choice was to move into the brush himself, out of sight, which would put him on more equal footing with his attackers.
Lying on his belly, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible, Decker wondered why there had only been that one shot. As if to answer his question there were suddenly two more, sounding as if they had been fired from two different guns. Each kicked up some dirt on either side of him, and he knew he had to move or he’d be dead in seconds.
He took a deep breath, then
“Is it ready?” he asked, seating himself at the table.
Josephine turned away from the stove, a cup of coffee in her hand. She set it down in front of him, kissed him, and said, “Anybody ever tell you that you were too demanding?”
“I have never had any complaints from my other women,” he said as she returned to the stove.
“Ha!” Josephine said over her shoulder. “I happen to know that no other woman would have you. No other woman would put up with your kind of behavior.”
She often wondered, however, whether or not he had other women in other parts of the country. He was never gone for much more than a month or two at a time, but he was sometimes away several times a year. At least that meant that even if he had other women, he spent most of his time with her.
For Josephine, that was enough.
She knew that she was a big woman, and that most men had trouble measuring up to her. She also knew that although she might have been described as “handsome,” she was certainly no beauty.
Brand had been one of the few men who hadn’t been intimidated by her or put off by her. Many othermen had wanted her, she knew, for one night, just to see what it would be like, but Brand had never been like that. In fact, he had known her for months before he had even tried to kiss her.
No, although she had had affairs with a few men Brand was the only man for her, and even if he had found it necessary to have other women, she would be satisfied with the time he gave her.
She did still wonder, though, what sort of business took him away for those long periods at a time.
She wondered, but she had never asked.
And she never would.
Chapter Fourteen
The first night Decker camped on the trail after leaving the Boone lumber camp made him appreciate Frenchie’s offer of hospitality—whatever the man’s motives—even more. Sitting in front of his fire, he pulled his jacket closer around him and put his fur collar up to ward off the chill. As it turned out, being cold saved his life, because it was when he leaned over to grab his blanket and wrap himself in it that the shot was fired—missing him by inches.
After the first shot he rolled away from the fire as quickly as he could and drew his gun. It was in situations like this that Decker wished he were a better shot with a handgun. His cut-down shotgun had a limited effective range, and was of almost no use in instances like this. True, he could have fired into the brush, and his double-O shot would cover a wide area, its pattern spreading more the farther it went, but at some point—when it spread too much—it became ineffective.
Decker looked over at his rifle on the other side of the fire. He had rolled away from the fire instinctively, trying to get out of its light, but in doing so had also rolled farther away from the rifle.
Anxiously, he looked at John Henry, who seemed unconcerned about the goings-on. Had he been ambushing someone he would have gone for the horse first, either to free it or kill it. He was relieved thathis ambusher—or ambushers—had not thought of that yet.
They might, though, which gave him three possible choices. He could stay where he was, but that wasn’t such a great choice. He might be away from most of the fire’s light, but he was still out in the open.
The second choice was to move over by John Henry, to protect the horse, but then he’d still be waiting for them to make a move.
His third choice was to move into the brush himself, out of sight, which would put him on more equal footing with his attackers.
Lying on his belly, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible, Decker wondered why there had only been that one shot. As if to answer his question there were suddenly two more, sounding as if they had been fired from two different guns. Each kicked up some dirt on either side of him, and he knew he had to move or he’d be dead in seconds.
He took a deep breath, then
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