Lady of the Gun (33 page)

"Sure thing, sir." With that,
Buster turned his horse and hightailed it toward town.

"Let's go," Brett told Cass.

Riding up behind the Tylo house, they were met by six men, guns drawn. "I'm Marshal Brett Ryder, and I've come to ask Tylo a few questions."

"About what?" a belligerent cowboy demanded
.

"It's none of your damned business."

"I'm makin' it my business," the cowboy blustered.

"Then I'm making you my business," Brett said, his voice
a threatening rasp. "We're going on to the house. If any of you try anything I'm going to shoot you right between the front teeth."

"You talk big, Marshal," the man answered. "But there's
six of us."

One of the men began to whisper to one of the others,
distracting the man who was doing the talking. "What is it, Lloyd?" he demanded, leaning over to listen. When he sat up straight, his eyes were fixed on Cass. "Cassidy Wayne, is it?"

"That's right," Brett told him.

"That makes a difference. I'm sure Ramsey would want to talk to you."

Brett sent Cass an irritated look.

Nudging her horse forward until she was abreast of him, she leaned closer. "What does that matter, as long as we get to talk to Tylo?" she asked.

"Ramsey's the one I want to talk to," Brett informed her.

"Ramsey? I thought you came here to talk to Hunt."

Brett shook his head, then spurred his horse a bit" Riding
to the house, he could feel Cass's eyes on him.

After dismounting, they were led into the house. Ramsey
met them in the study. "Cass, what brings you here with the marshal?" he asked.

"She was with me when we were led to Sharky's body,"
Brett informed him.

Ramsey blinked twice. "Sharky?"

"You know Sharky. The old man who beat you so badly at poker your first day back in Twisted Creek," Brett explained, all the while watching Ramsey's eyes.

"Oh, yes, now
I recall. I did play a hand or two that day. But I don't remember the man who beat me."

"Sharky seemed surprised you didn't remember him. He
said he'd seen you around since he started coming through town twenty years ago."

"I certainly can't be expected to remember every old
poker player who comes through town."

"No. But
I think you'd remember this one. He beat you with a royal flush. You seemed quite upset by it."

"I always get a little upset when I lose a hand of poker.
Doesn't everyone?” He looked to Cass for confirmation.

Cass was
listening to the conversation with interest. Brett hadn't actually accused Ramsey of Sharky's murder, but he was establishing motive.

"You
seemed more than a little upset to me, Ramsey,” Brett continued.

Ram
sey's eyes narrowed. “Well, I certainly didn't kill him over it," he argued.

“
Maybe. Maybe not. It does seem to be a very strong coincidence that he was murdered on Lazy T land, though, don't you think?"

"He
could have been killed by anyone, anywhere, and dumped here," Ramsey said.

"Nope.
There was too much blood around the body. He was killed on your land, all right.”

Ramsey stood a little straighter.
“I'm sorry some old man was killed on the Lazy T, but you can’t implicate me. I had nothing to do with it."

“I may
have nothing to go on yet, but I’m going to be watching you like a hawk, Ramsey. You make one move I don't like, and I'll take you down. If you so much as spit

on the sidewalk, I'll arrest
you.”

"You can't do that,
” Ramsey protested.

"I can do just
about anything I damn well please. I’m a federal marshal, remember?”

"What's going on here?
” Hunt's voice boomed as he entered the room. "The boys told me you were in here harassing Ramsey. What’s the meaning of this?”

"A body was found on yo
ur land today, Mr., Tylo. The body of a man Ramsey had played poker with, and lost to.”

"So?"

“So, that makes him a possible suspect in the murder.”

“A man gets accused of murder because he lost a hand
of poker? Please, Marshal. Surely you can do better than that.  If I killed every man I’d ever lost a hand of poker to there'd be practically no men left alive in Twisted Creek.”

Brett scowled at Hunt. "Ramsey hasn't been accused
….yet." he said.

“
You don't think I did this, do you, Cass?" Ramsey asked.

"I don't know, Ramsey."

"Cass, please. You can't think I'm capable of murder?"

"I really don't know you, Ramsey."

"I'll prove to you the kind of man I am. You'll see how wrong you've been to listen to the marshal's jealous lies. That's what they are, you know, lies to make me look bad in your eyes. He's in love with you. He'd do anything to discredit me. Maybe he killed Sharky so he could accuse me of it," he said, his words spilling in a jumble from his lips.

Cass closed her eyes for a moment so she wouldn't have
to see his face. "Please, Ramsey. No more." She turned and walked from the room. She had to get away from him, from this house.

Later, after Brett and Cass had ridden off, Hunt looked
disgustedly at his son. "So you thought you could get Cassidy to fall in love with you,'" he taunted. "You were so sure she'd be sweating in your bed by now. Well, look what's happened, boy. She can't stand the sight of you."

Ramsey sat in one of the huge chairs that faced his father's
desk and stared miserably at the floor.

"She's probably screwing that marsha
l on a regular basis. And what are you doing about it? Nothing!" Hunt shouted. "You're not doing a goddamned thing! I told you that bitch was trouble. But did you listen to me? Do you ever listen to me? If you'd done what I told you to do in the first place we wouldn't be having problems with her now. It would have all ended years ago."

"But you agreed," whined Ramsey.

"Yes, damn it. You're my boy, and I gave in to you. You wanted her, so I gave you a shot at her." Hunt slammed his hands on the desk. "But you didn't come through! Don't you get it, boy? She doesn't want you. She's never going to want you. She's in love with that goddamned marshal!"

"But
I know I can…”

"Dam
n it! Listen to me! Cassidy Wayne's time has run out!"

Chapter Sixteen

When Cass and Brett got to town they went straight to the hotel to find out where Rosie lived and to discover whether or not she'd been keeping company with anyone. Two other women who worked there said that Rosie lived alone and that as far as they knew, she had no one special in her life. But recently, they said, she'd been very secretive about who she was spending her free time with.

Cass deci
ded she'd like a chance to talk to Rosie alone, so Brett went to the undertaker's to see if he'd gotten back with Sharky's body. He also had some paperwork to catch up on at the sheriff’s office, and he wanted to put up some campaign posters.  The election was nearing fast.

"Are you sure you’re feeling alright?" Class asked for the tenth time since arriving at Rosie’s little house.

"I'm
fine, Cass. I really appreciate you coming all the way into town to check on me. I've been alone since Grandma died last summer."

"I'
m sorry," murmured Cass.

"I
t’s okay, really. She was eighty-two, and lived a good life." Her eyes saddened then. "What would she think of me if she knew?"

"She'd understa
nd. She loved you unconditionally."

"I guess so. I just feel as if I've let her memory down,"
she whispered.

Cass fro
wned. "Don't ever feel that way. And don't worry about what anyone else thinks, either. You don't owe anyone an explanation for your actions. You don't owe anyone but yourself." She hesitated for a moment, pondering her next words. "But you do owe yourself something better than you're getting, Rosie," she said softly.

R
osie lowered her eyes.

"I'
m not going to ask you again who's been beating you, but I will tell you he's no good for you. Don't let him hurt you any more than he already has. If you won't think about yourself, think about the baby."

"I will ... It's just that ...Oh, Cass, I can't explain,"
she stammered.

Cass put her hand affectionately on Rosie's arm.
“I know. You don't have to explain. Relationships are confusing," she said, thinking about her own relationship with Brett. Ramsey had blurted that Brett loved her, but she'd never heard those words from Brett himself. He was attracted to her, and she to him, she admitted. And making love to him was ... well, more wonderful than she'd ever imagined anything could be. But did that mean he was in love with her? Wouldn't he tell her if he was? And how did she feel about him? Sighing, she stood up. "I guess I should be going now so you can get some rest."

"I am awfully tired. Are you sure
my boss understands that I'm ill?" she asked, worried about losing her job.

"I'm sure. Brett told him you fell and hurt yourself out
at my place last night and that you'd need a few days off to recover." She grinned. "Not too many people argue with Brett,” she said.

Rosie let out a sigh of relief. "I'll have to thank him next
time I see him."

"Just get well." She turned toward the door.
“And don’t let yourself be a victim again, okay?"

"I'll try," Rosie murmured.

"All right. I'll cheek on you again soon. And if there’s anything you need, you just get word out to me at the ranch. I can be here pretty quickly if I have to be.”

Rosie s
miled. "Thanks again, Cass."

Cass shrugged. "What are friends for?"

Le
aving Rosie's house, Cass intended to head straight to the sheriff's office, but a little boy in a torn flannel shirt ran up to her and tugged on her arm.

Cass looked down at him. "Yes?"

"Are you Cassidy Wayne?" he asked with a lisp.

Cass grinned down at the waif
. He couldn't have been more than six or seven years old. "Who wants to know?” she asked.

"A man in the alley behind the hotel," he answered.

Cass's eyes narrowed. "A man? Who?"

'"I don't know. He just gave me a whole dollar to come
tell you he wanted to talk to you."

Cass's heartbeat slowed as a deadly ca
lm came over her. Bobby Fleet hadn't shown up yet. Maybe he was waiting behind the hotel for her. "What did the man look like?” she asked.

The little boy blinked several times. He apparently hadn't
thought he'd have to answer any questions. “His nose is broke," he offered after several seconds of trying to remember something about the man who’d hired him.

Cass let out a disgusted breath. "Ramsey," she said to
the boy.

The little boy raised his shoulders and grinned lopsidedly.
"He didn't tell me his name. He just said I should wait till you came out of this house and then tell you to go meet him behind the hotel." He took a deep breath.

"Okay, you earned your dollar. You can go now,
” she said.

"Are you gonna go? I don't want him thinkin' I didn't do
what he told me."

"Yes. I'm going to go," she told him.

"Good!" he burst out, then took off at a dead run for the store.

There's a
tummy-ache in the making, she mused as she watched him go. Un-tying her horse, she led him to the hotel. Tethering him out front, she started for the alley, wondering what Ramsey wanted and why he had chosen such a strange location to talk.

"Cass?" Ramsey whispered when she passed him.

"Ramsey? What are you doing out here?" She turned to see him sitting on a wooden bench against the back wall of the hotel.

"I wanted to talk to you alone. This is the only place I
could think of where the marshal might not interrupt us."

Cass nodded slightly. "All right," she said, sitting down
next to him on the bench. "What do you want?"

Ramsey gazed at her. "You're so beautiful, Cass," he
told her.

"Thank you." She waited,

"I have so many plans for us, Cass."

She
looked at him in surprise. "Ramsey, I don't think…"

"No, Cass, do
n't stop me. My father wants us to be together." That wasn't exactly true. His father had agreed to give him one more chance with Cass after he'd whined and argued for the better part of an hour. But this was his last chance, and Ramsey knew he couldn't mess it up.