Read Online The Rustler's Bride by Tatiana March - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tatiana March
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busting their gut from sunup to sundown.”
Victoria frowned. She wanted to say she understood that everyone was under strain of overwork, and apologize for it, but Lenny had already turned away and was reloading a shiny new nickel plated Colt. In his middle twenties, Lenny had tousled brown hair and even features that made him popular with the ladies. He also had a combative streak, a need to prove his masculinity that got him embroiled in saloon fights.
Without another comment, Lenny whirled around and crouched. He pointed the gun and lifted his other hand to pull back the hammer. Bang-bang-bang. He fired six shots in rapid sequence. Five tin cans, perched on log stumps on the far side of the clearing, flew into the air and clattered back down again.
The smoking gun in his hand, Lenny turned around with a swagger. “Can you best that, Beaulieu?” he said, strutting over to Declan.
Declan had been leaning against a fence post, arms crossed across his chest. Victoria could feel him watching her from beneath the brim of his black Stetson. “The sheriff took my guns,” he said lazily, not moving from his easy pose.
Lenny made clucking chicken noises.
Declan pushed up from the post. “You have cartridges for that pea shooter?”
A flush rose on Lenny’s smooth skin. “I’ll load it for you. In case you don’t know how.”
Declan nodded. “You do that.”
Victoria waited uneasily while Lenny dug in his coat pocket for bullets and inserted them one by one. The sun had disappeared below the horizon. The daylight was fading rapidly. In the corral, the horses moved restlessly, but she knew they were—and needed to be—used to the sounds of gunfire.
“You want to make a wager?” Lenny said.
“Sure.” Declan cocked an eyebrow. “What can you afford to lose?”
Lenny hooted with confident laughter. “You can have my new boots.” He sent a sly glance toward Victoria. “And I’ll have a kiss from your wife.”
Declan took the gun and weighed it in his hand. “What is this?” he muttered. “A kid’s toy?”
The blush on Lenny’s cheeks darkened. He was not very tall, about five foot eight, and Victoria guessed he might have gone for the short barreled model because the longer barrel would have looked ungainly against his thigh.
“I’ll go and set up the tin cans for you,” Lenny said.
“Don’t bother,” Declan replied. “Your boots will be too small for me and my wife’s kisses are not mine to sell.”
Before he’d finished the sentence, he spun around and fired, all in a single motion, his left hand cocking the hammer for a new shot even before the sound of the previous one had faded. The last remaining tin can flew backwards and bounced like a panicked animal along the ground, each of the six bullets sending it farther into the distance.
“Not a bad little pea shooter,” Declan said as he casually turned back and handed the gun to Lenny, whose Adam’s apple was bobbing frantically up and down.
Victoria felt a frisson travel over her. An outlaw. Gunfighter. A criminal. That’s what Declan was, but somehow in all her romantic dreams she had managed to gloss over that detail. She bit her lip. Had Declan meant his actions to be a reminder? She glanced at him, but his expression as he studied her in the thickening dusk was unreadable.
“You ever hire out your gun, Beaulieu?” Hank asked.
“Never have, and never intend to,” Declan replied.
“Miss Ria, you show Lenny what you can do,” Stan said with an eager glint in his faded brown eyes. “It’s a good pair of boots he’s wagered. They might fit me real nice.” Most of his teeth were missing and his speech came out in a muffled hiss.
Stan and Hank had been at Red Rock while Victoria was growing up, and it was Stan who had taught her to shoot. Victoria glanced up at the sky. The twilight would last another fifteen minutes. The temptation to show off, just as Declan had, got the better of her.
“Sure,” she said,
Victoria frowned. She wanted to say she understood that everyone was under strain of overwork, and apologize for it, but Lenny had already turned away and was reloading a shiny new nickel plated Colt. In his middle twenties, Lenny had tousled brown hair and even features that made him popular with the ladies. He also had a combative streak, a need to prove his masculinity that got him embroiled in saloon fights.
Without another comment, Lenny whirled around and crouched. He pointed the gun and lifted his other hand to pull back the hammer. Bang-bang-bang. He fired six shots in rapid sequence. Five tin cans, perched on log stumps on the far side of the clearing, flew into the air and clattered back down again.
The smoking gun in his hand, Lenny turned around with a swagger. “Can you best that, Beaulieu?” he said, strutting over to Declan.
Declan had been leaning against a fence post, arms crossed across his chest. Victoria could feel him watching her from beneath the brim of his black Stetson. “The sheriff took my guns,” he said lazily, not moving from his easy pose.
Lenny made clucking chicken noises.
Declan pushed up from the post. “You have cartridges for that pea shooter?”
A flush rose on Lenny’s smooth skin. “I’ll load it for you. In case you don’t know how.”
Declan nodded. “You do that.”
Victoria waited uneasily while Lenny dug in his coat pocket for bullets and inserted them one by one. The sun had disappeared below the horizon. The daylight was fading rapidly. In the corral, the horses moved restlessly, but she knew they were—and needed to be—used to the sounds of gunfire.
“You want to make a wager?” Lenny said.
“Sure.” Declan cocked an eyebrow. “What can you afford to lose?”
Lenny hooted with confident laughter. “You can have my new boots.” He sent a sly glance toward Victoria. “And I’ll have a kiss from your wife.”
Declan took the gun and weighed it in his hand. “What is this?” he muttered. “A kid’s toy?”
The blush on Lenny’s cheeks darkened. He was not very tall, about five foot eight, and Victoria guessed he might have gone for the short barreled model because the longer barrel would have looked ungainly against his thigh.
“I’ll go and set up the tin cans for you,” Lenny said.
“Don’t bother,” Declan replied. “Your boots will be too small for me and my wife’s kisses are not mine to sell.”
Before he’d finished the sentence, he spun around and fired, all in a single motion, his left hand cocking the hammer for a new shot even before the sound of the previous one had faded. The last remaining tin can flew backwards and bounced like a panicked animal along the ground, each of the six bullets sending it farther into the distance.
“Not a bad little pea shooter,” Declan said as he casually turned back and handed the gun to Lenny, whose Adam’s apple was bobbing frantically up and down.
Victoria felt a frisson travel over her. An outlaw. Gunfighter. A criminal. That’s what Declan was, but somehow in all her romantic dreams she had managed to gloss over that detail. She bit her lip. Had Declan meant his actions to be a reminder? She glanced at him, but his expression as he studied her in the thickening dusk was unreadable.
“You ever hire out your gun, Beaulieu?” Hank asked.
“Never have, and never intend to,” Declan replied.
“Miss Ria, you show Lenny what you can do,” Stan said with an eager glint in his faded brown eyes. “It’s a good pair of boots he’s wagered. They might fit me real nice.” Most of his teeth were missing and his speech came out in a muffled hiss.
Stan and Hank had been at Red Rock while Victoria was growing up, and it was Stan who had taught her to shoot. Victoria glanced up at the sky. The twilight would last another fifteen minutes. The temptation to show off, just as Declan had, got the better of her.
“Sure,” she said,
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