To Reap and to Sow (8 page)

Tina rushed outside with Lynn not too far behind. Locking her eyes on her father, Tina yelled, “What happened, Daddy? Who were those men?”

“Get back inside,” Wes shouted at her. As soon as the words came out, he seemed to be just as surprised by the ferociousness in his voice as the young women were. Forcing himself to ease up a bit, Wes added, “I think they're gone, but you two should stay safe until we're sure.”

Tina nodded and started to walk back to the house. Although she grabbed Lynn's wrist to pull her along, Tina wasn't able to budge the tall blonde from her spot.

“That was Mark,” Lynn said as she fixed her eyes on Clint. “I know it was.”

“Yeah,” Clint replied. “It was him and that other fellow who was with him when we crossed their paths before.”

Lynn pulled her hand free of Tina's grasp and took a few steps as if she meant to follow Mark's horse. The horses were out of sight, but the sound of their hooves could still be heard as they raced away from the house. If she'd had a gun in her hand, there was no doubt in Clint's mind that Lynn would have fired at the sound of those horses.

“Were they after you, Lynn?” Tina asked.

Lynn nodded slowly. “Yes. He always said I couldn't get away from him. The only reason I stuck around so long was because I'd started believing that. But then…” Her eyes drifted toward Clint and she gave him a weary smile.

After a second or two, Lynn let her head droop and she walked toward the house. Tina rushed alongside her, asking question after question as they went.

That left Clint and Wes outside on their own.

For a little while, neither one of them knew what to say.

Clint waited until he caught Wes glancing toward the barn one more time.

“You think they found it?” Clint asked.

“Found what?”

Letting out a breath, Clint eased the Colt back into its holster and crossed his arms over his chest. He stood there until Wes finally lowered the shotgun.

“I, uh…went into the barn,” Clint explained.

“Yeah?”

Clint nodded. “I went in there just to have a look around. It was when I first got here. Tell you the truth, I guess I was just poking around where I had no business going. I stumbled upon that…pile of rags.”

Instead of the anger or panic that Clint had been expecting, Wes simply nodded again. “Of course you did,” he muttered.

Not knowing whether or not it was safe to approach the farmer while he was still holding a shotgun, Clint took one step toward him just to test the waters. Wes didn't do anything in return.

“I honestly didn't mean any harm,” Clint said. “Everything else was so neat, those rags just kind of stuck out. Fires get started from things like that, you know.”

“I know.”

“And all I did was tap them with my boot.” Clint stopped and watched Wes closely. When he saw the farmer still keeping still and remaining calm, it was Clint's turn to be confused. “I thought you'd be angry.”

“Actually, I'm glad you found it. I've only had that damn rock for a few days and it's already been a pain in my ass.”

The confusion in Clint's gut swelled up so much that he nearly choked on it. “It seems like a rock like that would solve plenty of problems. That is…if it's what it looked like it was.”

“Oh, it's genuine, all right,” Wes said. Suddenly, he seemed awfully uncomfortable standing out there. Gripping his shotgun, he said, “Let's get inside. The girls will need to have their minds put to rest and I don't want to give those two assholes an easy target. It don't take brains to fire a rifle.”

“It sure don't,” Clint said. He followed the farmer back into the house. Even after all that had just happened, the neat little home was still comforting.

Wes spent a little while assuring his daughter he was all right. Although Tina had seemed to be worked up before, she calmed down as soon as she saw her father wasn't just trying to make her feel better. She fussed with him for a few more minutes as Lynn set her sights on Clint.

“Come on,” she said as she took him by the hand. “Let me get a look at that arm.”

“It's nothing,” Clint insisted. “Really.”

“I won't hear any of it. Just let me take a look and see what I can do. If you don't come along of your own accord, I'll have to get rough.”

The insistent smile on Lynn's face was hard enough to resist. The soft touch of her fingers upon his hand made Clint want to go wherever she was leading him. Since he'd wanted to hear what Wes had to say, Clint looked over to where the old man was seated.

The farmer was in an old chair in the sitting room, allowing his daughter to buzz around him like a bee. It was obvious that Tina wasn't through fussing over him and that Wes wasn't about to run off anytime soon once she was done. Just to drive the point home, Wes gave Clint a weary nod as if to tell him whatever he'd wanted to say could wait.

“Do you two have something planned?” Lynn asked.

“Not exactly.”

“Because if you want to hunt down those two, you've got my blessing.”

Clint was about to say that hunting them down probably wasn't going to be necessary. If they'd come back this time, they would more than likely try again later. But that wouldn't have made Lynn feel any better, so he kept it to himself.

Also, Lynn wasn't stupid. She had to know what Clint was thinking without him telling her.

“If I tried running off now,” Clint said, “you'd just have to get rough and pull me back. Remember?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I remember. Now let's get a look at that arm.”

She'd taken him into a small bedroom that was decorated with a few pictures on the wall and a few doilies draped over the little round tables set up on either side of a bed. There wasn't enough for it to look like someone slept there regularly, so it was probably a guest room. As neat as the rest of the house was, this room had Tina's touch all over it.

Lynn's hands were soft and gentle on Clint as she guided him to a bed that was just the right size for one person. Blankets and quilts were piled there to make Clint's landing as soft as possible as he dropped down.

“Careful,” she said. “You've been through enough as it is.”

Clint watched as she slowly reached out to pull open his shirt and peel it away from his body. Her eyes wandered along his chest and shoulders before finally settling upon the wound on his arm. She didn't shy away from the sight and even traced her fingertips gently along the bloodied skin.

“Does that hurt?” she whispered.

He shook his head. “Not too bad.”

Lynn smiled and reached for the washbasin nearby. Since there weren't any cloths on the table, she cupped her hand and dipped it into the water. Her movements were careful and deliberate as she took her handful of water from the basin to Clint's arm. Drops trickled along her arm before dripping off her elbow. Finally, she wiped the water onto him.

It was cold and sent a bit of pain through Clint's arm, but he only let out a slight wince.

“Did that hurt?” she asked.

Clint played it up as he replied, “Yeah. A bit.”

“Aww. Let me just get it cleaned up and then I'll help you feel better.”

Since Clint was sitting on the edge of the bed, Lynn straddled one of his legs as she reached back and forth between him and the basin. Every time she refilled her hand with water, she wriggled herself against his knee. And every time she put the water on him, she was sure to get some of it on herself.

The more she cleaned him off, the less the wound hurt. Partly because the water was cold enough to numb him a bit. And partly because he was becoming more and more distracted as Lynn kept working on him!

While taking a closer look at the wound, she scooted in toward him. Leaning forward, her hair brushed against the side of Clint's face like a curtain that separated them from everything else. Her slender, muscular leg was also just far enough along his thigh to brush between his legs in just the right way.

Smiling at the effect she was having on him, Lynn said, “I don't even think this needs stitches.”

“You don't? And when did you become a doctor?”

“And when did you become such a baby?”

“A baby?” Clint asked. “That's a bullet wound, you know. I thought you were going to make me feel better.”

She started to laugh, but slipped one hand behind his head and pulled him forward as she leaned in to place her lips on his mouth. Her entire body slid up closer to him while her other hand drifted between his legs.

Her lips were soft and warm. Lynn's hands were eager, and she used them to work Clint up so well that he forgot he'd even been in a fight earlier that evening.

“Are you…uh…sure your friend won't want to check in on you?” Clint asked.

Lynn slid her hand farther down, until she could stroke Clint's erection through his jeans. Turning at the waist, she reached back and shut the door. “She'll know better than to barge in. Besides, I'm not about to wait one more second.”

Clint cupped her tight breasts in his hands and felt Lynn's little nipples grow hard against his palms. “I know exactly how you feel,” he said.

Mark rode like a madman until he was sure to be out of range of the guns that were behind him. Even then, he kept riding just to be safe. When he pulled back on the reins, he looked around for Joey. When he'd started racing away from the barn, Mark had had Joey in his sight. Now Joey was nowhere to be seen.

Fighting back the urge to yell out Joey's name, Mark snapped his reins and kept riding in the same direction.

Still nothing.

Just as he was about to write the man off and call it a night, Mark caught a glimpse of Joey's horse. He assumed it was Joey's horse. Any animal would have to be out of its mind to gallop so fast through such thick darkness.

Mark snapped his reins and tapped his heels against his horse's sides. Within moments, he was closing the distance between himself and the other horse ahead. The man in the saddle was Joey, all right. And Joey damn near took a shot at Mark out of pure, twitchy reflexes.

“Put the fucking gun down!” Mark shouted.

There was more than enough venom in his tone to get Joey to do as he was ordered even if he couldn't hear Mark's voice. The command traveled like a slap through the air, forcing Joey to take notice and snap out of whatever had been gripping him.

“Mark? Damn, I'm glad to see you.”

“So glad you're gonna put a bullet in me?” Mark asked.

Joey blinked and then looked at the gun in his hand as if he didn't even know what it was doing there. He lowered the weapon and waited for Mark to approach. “Are we off that farmer's land yet?” he asked.

“I think so.”

“He's got a legal right to shoot us on his own land,” Joey said as if he was reciting it from a vague memory. “Ain't that the way it is?”

“I don't know, but that don't even matter. If the farmer wants to come after us, it'll be the last thing he does. He got lucky, is all.”

“He almost shot me in half!”

“He blindsided us while we were about to shoot the other fella.”

Although Joey may have calmed down a bit, he didn't seem to be convinced about what Mark was saying. He started to nod, but wound up shaking his head. “I don't even know how close we got to killing that fella. Maybe we should—”

“Maybe we should keep riding for a bit before we kick back and have a nice conversation,” Mark interrupted.

And before Joey could say another word, Mark snapped his reins and rode farther along the trail leading into Thickett. Joey followed along and picked up his pace once he was in sight of the town.

They rode down the street with the most people walking on it and didn't have any trouble finding a saloon. Even though the saloon wasn't what either of them was used to, they ordered a drink and got it quickly enough. Once Mark and Joey had tossed back their first shot of whiskey, they slowed down enough to get a better look at their surroundings.

“You sure this is a saloon?” Joey asked.

“That's what it says in the window.”

Double-checking his own statement, Mark looked at the front window. Sure enough, the letters painted on the window marked the place as a saloon. The inside was still a whole lot cleaner and quieter than any saloon either man had frequented.

“As long as the whiskey comes,” Mark said as they got their second drinks, “I don't give a damn if this is a Chinese laundry.”

Joey showed his agreement by lifting his glass and downing the whiskey. After the firewater had burned its way to his stomach, Joey let out a slow sigh. “That's better,” he said.

“Those two sure got awfully close, didn't they?” Mark asked with a grin.

“They sure as hell did. All I got to say is that woman better have gold between her legs for us to go through all this trouble.”

“What'd I tell you about talking about her that way?” Mark snarled.

Joey held up a hand and shrugged. “I'm just saying. You know I'll ride along with you on a job where there's some profit involved, but this ain't worth it. That fella can handle a gun plenty better than we can. He's got the look of a genuine killer.”

As much as Mark wanted to refute that assessment, he couldn't do so with a straight face. The farmer had come at them just as Mark had expected, but the other one was something else. Even though Mark swore he'd hit Clint at least once, that didn't seem to make a difference. Not every man could stand in the middle of gunfire and catch some lead without getting rattled.

“I don't know for certain if he's a killer,” Mark said. “But he does know how to handle himself in a fight.”

“You're damn right he does. We're in over our heads and it ain't worth putting our lives on the line for that woman. There's plenty more women out there, Mark. This one's just too much trouble and you know it.”

Mark mulled over those words and wasn't about to argue. But there was something else in his head as well. That was obvious by the anxious look in Mark's eye. Finally, he just came out and spoke his mind.

“Maybe we should look for someone else who can help us,” Mark said.

“I don't know anyone around here,” Joey replied.

“I'm not talking about someone we know.”

“You mean a hired gun? We don't have that kind of money, and no gunman would go after that blonde for free unless he wanted her for himself.”

Mark's eyes narrowed and a wolfish grin slid onto his face. Leaning forward with both elbows against the edge of their table, he whispered, “What if I saw something else in that barn that might be worth our trouble?”

“What if that fella's a gunfighter?” Joey asked.

“Forget about him. He's probably licking his wounds right along with that damn farmer.”