Lady of the Gun (15 page)

"Yes,
I'm sure he was," agreed Brett. "Did any of your men report seeing anything out of the ordinary yesterday? Any strangers hanging around the place?"

"No, no one reported anything. Of course, one of them
might have seen something and just not mentioned it. I can ask them all if you'd like."

"I'd appreciate that, Mr. Tylo. Let me know if you
learn anything."

"Certainly, Marshal." He rubbed his forehead with the
palm of his hand. "What did the sheriff want to talk to me about?" he asked.

Brett saw Cass tense up and willed her to keep silen
t. "Nothing much, really. He said he had a few follow-up questions to ask you about the Wayne murders. I'm sure it was all just routine stuff."

Tylo looked at Cass. "Really? I thought I'd answered all
the sheriff’s questions about that when it happened.”

"What could my father possibly have told Sheriff Jackson
now, after all these years?" asked Ramsey.

"I
don’t know…maybe…” Cass started.

"I'm sure it was nothing," Brett
interrupted. "He didn't say it was anything too important."

"It's i
mportant to me," said Cass.

"I'm sure it is," Tylo said solicitously. "It was a real tragedy.
You're a lucky girl to have escaped."

"I don't feel so lucky, Mr. Tylo," she told
him levelly. "You know, sometimes I wonder what would have happened to my family's land if I had been murdered with the rest. Would you have taken it over?"

"I don't know, Cassidy. I never thought about it. I hardly
need any more land." He smiled at Brett.

"But you would like better access to the Losee," she
pointed out.

"I have access t
o the Losee."

"But my father told you he wasn't going to let your cattle
cross our land anymore."

Tylo looked from Cass to Brett, then back to Cass. "Your
father and I discussed it. He decided to leave things the way they were." He glanced at Brett again. "You’re not trying to implicate me in these five-year-old murders, are you?"

"It doesn't
matter that they happened five years ago," answered Cass,

"Marshall?" Tylo questioned.

"No, sir, Mr. Tylo. No one is accusing you of anything. I don't know what the sheriff was going to ask you. As I said, he told me he just had some routine follow-up questions," explained Brett. "You'll have to forgive Cass for being so tenacious. I'm sure you understand her reasons."

Cass gritted her teeth at Brett's patronizing
, apologetic tone. "I'm perfectly capable…"

"I do understand," Tylo
interrupted. Letting his gaze fall on Cass, he continued, "I'm sure I'd act the same way in similar circumstances." He gave her a pitying smile. "I know I'd grasp at straws and make false assumptions."

Cass narrowed her eyes at the older man. She opened her
mouth, but before she could speak, Brett touched her arm.

"Let's go, Cass. I'm sure Mr. Tylo has a lot of work to
do running this place." He stood up. "Thank you for your time, sir. And I'll be waiting to hear whether or not any of your hands heard or saw anything strange yesterday.”

Tylo pushed himself away from the desk.
“Certainly, Marshal. If I come across anything I'll let you know. You'll be in town?"

"Yes. I'll be staying at the jail now that the sheriffs
dead."

"You're planning on being here for a while, then?
”

Brett looked at Cass. "For about a
month, I guess,” he answered.

Cass reddened at his meaning. Standing up, she started
for the door.

"Cass, may I walk you out?
” Ramsey asked.

Cass turned to face him. She'd all but forgotten about
him, and she certainly didn’t think he'd be interested in flirting with her after she'd implied his father might have had a motive to kill her family. “I suppose so,” she stammered.

"Good," he answered, crossing to take her arm once
more.

B
rett stepped behind them to follow, but before they left the room he turned back to Tylo. “Do you have a night watch?"

"Of course."

"And none of those men reported anything?”

"No. Why?" asked Tylo, his eyes narrowing.

"I was out riding last night..insomnia..and I happened upon your place. Must have been about two in the morning. I could have sworn I heard a shot from somewhere on your property."

"Really? That's intere
sting," commented Tylo.

"Yes, it is," answered Brett.
“You're sure no one saw or heard anything?"

"Not a word, Marshal. One of my boys probably just shot
at a prairie dog or something.”

"Yeah, probably," Brett agreed, turning back toward the
door. "Your boys must have real good eyesight,” he murmured.

Cass was perplexed. Brett had said nothing to her about
hearing a shot on Lazy T land last night. As she watched him leave the room, brushing past her and Ramsey, she tried to catch his eye, but he passed quickly, heading toward the front door.

"Shal
l we?" Ramsey suggested.

She nodded.

"Good-bye, Cassidy. Come visit me again sometime. I find your visits very interesting," Tylo said to her back.

Cass glanced back over her shoulder as Ramsey guided
her through the door. "Good-bye" was all she could manage when she saw the evil glint in his eye.
He did it
, her heart told her.
He had my family murdered, and he knows I know
.

By the time her thoughts had coalesced,
Ramsey had her out the front door and standing on the porch. "Please say you will," she heard him say to her.

"What? I'm sorry, Ra
msey. I wasn't paying attention. What do you want?"

“I
'm asking you to go to the Fourth of July festivities with me, Cass," he tried again.

Cass blinked in surprise. She hadn't
even thought about the upcoming celebration, let alone considered going with anyone. "There's a parade, isn't there?" she asked.

"Yes. And a chicken dinner. And of course, the fireworks."

Cass thought about his offer for a moment. It would be fun to go to a parade and to see a fireworks display. It had been years since she'd done anything so lighthearted. Yet, looking up into Ramsey's expectant eyes, she wondered why he'd asked her. Hadn't he heard anything she'd said to his father? The Tylo men were a strange breed. Maybe, in their case, blood wasn't thicker than water. She wasn't sure she liked that aspect of their personalities, and she certainly didn't want to lead Ramsey on, but maybe she could gain some clues about his father without his knowing it. "I'd be happy to go with you, Ramsey."

"Wonderful! The parade begins at one o'clock, so I'll pick
you up around noon. Will that do?"

She nodded. "I'll be waiting."

Brett watched the exchange between Cass and Ramsey but couldn't make out what they were saying because he’d mounted his horse as soon as he left the house. When Cass swung up into her saddle a few minutes later, he gave her a scathing look. Turning his horse, he started them on their way home.

"What was that all about?" he asked as soon as
they were out of earshot.

"None of your business," she retorted.

"Everything about you is my business for a while,” he returned.

C
ass let out an exasperated breath. “I accepted Ramsey's invitation to the Fourth of July celebration in town,” she told him.

Brett's eyes widened in angry surprise.
“Do you enjoy consorting with the enemy, or are you just plain stupid?” he demanded.

"How dare you! Ramsey wasn
’t even in Twisted Creek when the murders took place, and he certainly doesn’t act like a man who knows his father is a murderer.”

"Precisely."

"What's that supposed to mean?”

"He doesn't act
like it. Hasn't it occurred to you that he might be acting?"

Cass thought about it for a moment. "If he knew anything,
he certainly wouldn't want to have anything to do with me,” she said.

Brett set his jaw as he looked Cass up and down for a
moment. "You just don't get it, do you?”

"Enlighten me."

"What better way to keep abreast of any investigation into your family's massacre than to pretend to be interested in you?" he asked.

"Thank yo
u very much for the compliment,” she huffed.

"Don't get insulted. You know very well how attractive I
think you are. I'm sure Ramsey thinks the same thing. Hell, any man with eyes in his head would want to take you to bed."

"Don't be crude."

"I'll be anything I have to be to get you to see what might be going on here. I'm sure Ramsey's tickled pink that you turned out to be beautiful. I just wouldn't set too much store in his being honest. If his father had something to do with the murders, Ramsey knows about it. I'd bet my last dollar on that."

"You won't have to" If he knows anything about the murders
I'll find out about it."

"Oh, no. You don't think you can get
information out of him by pretending to be attracted to him, do you?"

Cass wouldn't answer.

"Cass, please don't try this. I think you’re in way over your head with Hunt and Ramsey Tylo."

Cass glared at him.

"I have little doubt you could beat either man in a fair gunfight, but I don't think these men play fair."

Cass glanced sideways at Brett.
“Then you think I'm on the right track about Hunt Tylo?"

"Maybe. There's definitely something about the
man I don't like. Whether or not he had anything to do with the killing of your family remains to be seen, but I think he knows more than he's saying."

Cass thought about what Brett said. "I know he did it,"
she said quietly.

"You think he did it."

"You should have seen the way he looked at me as I was leaving. He's evil. I can feel it."

"All the more reason for you to stay away from Ramsey
."

"Too late
. He's picking me up at noon on the Fourth."

"I'll be watching you."

"You can't follow us around all day."

"Why not?"

"He'll think you're crazy."

"I won't be that obvious. You could invite me to join
you," he said, liking the thought of thwarting Ramsey's plans, whatever they might be.

"I don't think
so," she replied. "If Ramsey knows his father is guilty, this outing could be a good opportunity for me to find out. If he doesn’t . . . well . . .” She trailed off, spurring her mount to a faster gait, not wanting to take this conversation any further.

Brett glowered at her. How could she be so obstinate? She
was deliberately putting herself in danger without regard to how he felt about it, or her. Speeding up his own horse, he spoke. "Didn't last night mean anything to you?”

Cass's gaze darted to Brett, her face reddening at the
memory. "I know what it meant to you, a reason to stick your nose in my business,” she accused.

"
It gave me a reason to care about what happens to you,” he said softly.

Cass didn't say a word in answer. She studied Brett
’s eyes until he turned away from her, then stole glances at his profile as they rode silently toward her home. He was devastatingly handsome. Dark and wild. Every time she thought about what they'd done together the night before, her blood pressure shot through the roof and her heart hammered in her chest like the hooves of wild horses. Her body grew hot and felt as if it were melting from the inside out. The problem with feeling this way was that it interfered with what she had to do. If flirting with Ramsey Tylo would bring her closer to finding out the truth about her family, and in the end help her find the last man, the man with the silver gun, it was worth it. She would do what she had to. If she hurt Brett in the process, so be it.

Her gaze skim
med his handsome features again, and her heart did a little flip, sending blood flooding through her veins with a jolt. She didn’t really want to hurt him. “Brett, I'm sorry, but this is something I have to do.”

"You don't
have to put yourself in danger.”

"I have to finish w
hat I started.”

"You don't have to kill the last
man. I’ll find out who he is and bring him to trial. You’ll see your justice.”

Cass met his eyes.
“What if he gets off? What then?”

Brett couldn't answer. It happened sometimes if there
wasn't enough evidence to convince a judge and jury, or if the criminal could afford a tricky lawyer who knew all the loopholes. Sometimes the crook got away with his crime. "It won't happen," He promised.

"You can'
t say that for sure, Brett. My way finishes the job once and for all."

"And what about afterward?" he questi
oned her. "What do you do with your life after you've killed so many men?"

Cass
lowered her eyes. "I haven't thought much about the future. I always knew there was a chance I'd lose one of those gunfights."

"
Have you thought about what your death would do to your uncle?"

"
He'd get over it," she said defensively.

"
Do you really believe that?"

Cass took a deep breath. "He did fine
while I was gone."

"On
ly because he could hope you'd come home again. If you were dead he'd be alone, Cass. You're all he's got left."

Her eyes
filled with hatred. "I'm all he's got left because of Hunt Tylo. I'm going to finish this, Brett. If you don't want to help, just stay out of my way." Pulling her horse to a stop, she glared at him, defying him to argue with her again.

"You
may find that the price you ultimately pay isn't worth the revenge you seek," he said quietly.

"It'
ll be worth it," she said. "This is where you turn off to go to town. I guess I'll see you on the Fourth."

"Unless I can talk you out of your social engageme
nt with Ramsey."

"You can't
."

"Then I'
ll see you on the Fourth."

Chapter Eight

Cass saw Brett before the Fourth. She saw him at Sheriff Jackson's funeral the next day. As they stared at each other across the open grave, she felt his thoughts, his desire for her to end her quest for revenge. She shook her head almost imperceptivity, only to have him frown at her. He then stared at her abdomen, reminding her that they could have created a baby together, as if she needed reminding.

When the
minister had finished his graveside sermon, Brett crossed to where Cass stood waiting to toss a handful of dirt on the coffin, "He seemed to be a good man,” he said softly.

“H
e was," she answered solemnly.

"It
could have been an accident.”

She
looked up into his eyes. "It wasn’t. There was blood on his saddle."

"
I saw it."

"It was on the right side.
”

"
I know. That doesn't prove anything."

Cass stopped the
slow shuffling walk they’d been making in line to the grave, '"Tell me, Brett. Do you mount a horse from its left or its right?"

"Cass ..." he said exasperatedly.

"Tell me."

"So the blood was on the right side and horses are
mounted from the left. That doesn't prove he was murdered."

"It proves he was struck while still on horseback. It proves
he was already bleeding when he fell off the right side."

Brett sighed. "It looks that way, but since he was alone
when it happened, we can't prove it. Look, Cass, anything could have happened."

"You and I both know what happened. There just isn't
anything you can do about it. Isn't that right, Marshal?"

Sighing again, he responded, "For now."

"Well, I don't want to wait patiently until Tylo decides to write out a confession. I have a feeling it'd be a while," she said sarcastically.

Brett glanced at the people
standing behind them. "Come on, we're holding up the line."

Cass stepped closer to the grave and dropped the warm
dirt she'd been squeezing tightly in her fist. It hit the casket with a thud. Walking away with Brett at her side, she paused when they were far enough from the other mourners not to be heard. "Did you notice who's absent from this little gathering?"

Brett glanced back at the people
paying their last respects over the grave. "The Tylos," he said, adding, "Both Tylos." He gave her a meaningful stare.

"And why, when practically everyone in town showed up
for this funeral, do you think that they are so glaringly absent? And why are none of the Lazy T men here either?"

"You can't blame them for murder just because they don't
show up for a funeral."

"You know something? When I was growi
ng up, I thought it would be wonderful to be a sheriff or marshal. Lawmen always seemed to have so much power and control. But I've found out since then that you have almost no power. You tie yourselves so tightly in the law that you can barely move. I'll keep doing things my way. You do, or don't do, them your way. Good day, Marshal.” She turned and left him standing alone.

Brett
watched her go. Joining her uncle and Soony as they headed toward their wagon, she mounted her horse for the ride home. She was the most stubborn, and most beautiful, woman he'd ever known.

Walking
from the cemetery back into town, Brett decided he needed a drink. Entering the Best Bet, he let his eyes adjust to the dim light of the saloon for a moment before he headed to the bar. Then, leaning on its shiny top, he called out, "Whiskey, please.”

Jaybird turned toward the voice and scowled.
“Just a minute."

Brett knew he'd wait longer than a minute. Jaybird didn't
like him, and he had to admit there wasn’t any love lost on his part for the big man. Turning his back to the bar, he scanned the room while he waited. Several girls, perched provocatively on chairs or on customers' laps, smiled in his direction, hoping for future business. Two poker games were in progress, and a man played the piano in a corner of the room.

Brett looked for Sharky. The old
man was a character, and talking to him or losing some money to him might just take his mind off Cass and her trouble for an hour or two. Walking to one of the tables, he watched for a break between games. "Any of you boys seen Sharky around today?” he asked.

"Nope. Ain't seen him in a while,
” one man answered.

"Did
n't show up for our game last night,” another added.

"Thanks," Brett said and headed back to the bar.

Once again leaning on the cool wood of the polished bar, he thought about what the second man had said. Sharky hadn't shown up for a poker game. His eyes narrowed as he pondered this. Sharky was a gambler, his chosen game, poker. He wouldn’t have missed a scheduled game unless something was wrong.

"So what do you want?" Jaybird asked in a belligerent
tone.

Brett looked up. He hadn't seen Jaybird approach him.
"Nothing. I've changed my mind." Pushing himself quickly away from the bar, he turned and headed for the door, leaving Jaybird standing with his mouth open, pondering the wisdom of leaving a customer, even a customer he didn't particularly like, alone too long. He'd just missed a sale.

Brett walked to the hotel, his
boot heels digging into the dusty street with each hurried step. Once inside, he approached the registration desk. "Did Sharky check out?" he asked.

The man sitting against the wall behind the counter
looked up from his newspaper and blinked his surprise at the marshal's urgent tone. "What's that?"

"Did Sharky Draper check out?" Brett repeated.

The man stood up and met Brett at the counter. "Old Sharky? No, he's still registered," he answered.

"Have you seen him since the day before yesterday?"
Brett asked.

The man scratched his forehead with his thumb. "No,
can't say as I have. But that don't mean nothin'. Sharky sometimes gets to drinkin' and don't come in for days."

"
He's not at the saloon and he missed a poker game last night."

The man frowned slightly. "Well, that don't sound like
Sharky."