Unraveled (12 page)

The gang members snickered. Sheriff Roxy magically seemed to notice Brody and his crew, and she stalked in their direction, her hands dropping to the pearl handles of the two revolvers strapped to her waist.

Ira cleared his throat, his voice far less enthusiastic than before. “Sheriff Roxy had heard the rumors too, and she decided to give Brody one last warning about what would happen if he tried to rob the bank.”

“Brody!” Roxy called out. “This is your last warning. Don't go causing no trouble now. Or I'll have to put you down quicker than a cold sarsaparilla on a hot summer day.”

The giant snickered and crossed his arms over his chest. “You talk big, but you couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with those fancy guns of yours.”

Roxy glanced over her shoulder. I hadn't noticed it until now, but a couple of guys were busy setting out glass bottles on top of one of the storefront roofs. As soon as they were done, the men skedaddled out of view, leaving the bottles behind, a good hundred feet from where Roxy was standing.

Roxy turned back to Brody and grinned. “That's where you're dead wrong, Brody. I'm the best shot in this here county, and I'll prove it to y'all, right here, right now.”

Even though I knew exactly what was coming next, I still jumped with the rest of the crowd when Roxy pulled her revolvers out of their holsters, spun around, and started firing.

Crack!

Crack! Crack!

Crack! Crack! Crack!

One by one, the glass bottles shattered. Not only that, but they actually
exploded
, with flashes of elemental Fire shooting up into the sky. Even across the distance, I could feel the hot blasts of magic rippling through the air. Roxy might have only moderate power, but she'd found a way to make it count.

“Hey,” I whispered, “she's using
real
bullets. Coated with
real
elemental magic.”

Finn and Owen both shushed me, totally into the show. Bria muttered something about being cold and slouched down a little more. But I stared at Roxy, far more interested in her than before. Sure, she'd probably performed this act and had made those same trick shots dozens of times before, but it was still impressive. She was a sharpshooter in every sense of the word. And I'd never seen anyone use silverstone bullets coated with elemental magic before. Not just trick shots, but deadly ones at that.

Roxy showed off more of her sharpshooting skills, hitting more glass bottles, tin signs, and even shearing several lassos in two. She didn't just aim at things head-on and hit them like a normal shooter. She put her guns behind her back or over her shoulders or even down at her knees, twisting into more and more elaborate and impossible positions, with the targets getting smaller and smaller all the while. She even shot a cigar out of a gambler's mouth using a mirror.

The crowd was appropriately impressed, and Brody and his gang were appropriately slack-jawed, right up until Roxy put her empty guns away and told them to git out of town—or else.

In return, Brody stomped around and made threatening noises that Roxy hadn't seen the last of him and blah, blah-blah, blah-blah. The scene ended with Brody and the other gang members untying their horses from the rail and leading them away under Sheriff Roxy's watchful gaze.

Ira brought his microphone back up to his lips. “Sheriff Roxy was no fool, and she knew that Brody would be back, just as soon as a payroll shipment of gold came into the bank.” He paused. “And now, folks, we're going to take a short break, so feel free to grab some more concessions while we set the stage for the final act of our little drama.”

Ira disappeared, and the concessions people reappeared, offering another round of popcorn, boiled peanuts, hot chocolate, and the like. This time, Finn bought a candy apple, while Bria gave in and got a wad of cherry cotton candy. Owen sipped a sarsaparilla served in an old-fashioned glass bottle, but I raised up my phone and took some more shots of the crowd, still searching for Hugh Tucker, although I didn't see him anywhere—

Suddenly, a great whooping and hollering rang out, along with the
crack-crack-crack
of gunfire. A few seconds later, a stagecoach erupted out of one of the alleys and careened out into the middle of Main Street, with the members of the Dalton gang hot on its tail on horseback.

The gang quickly overtook the stagecoach and forced it to stop, right in front of the bleachers. Gasps rang out from the audience, especially when the gang members tossed the driver off the stagecoach. But the guy did a beautiful pratfall onto what looked like a suspiciously soft patch of hay-covered dirt. Probably the same spot he'd landed on a hundred times before.

The gang pried open the stagecoach door, and two of the members reached inside, then set a locked strongbox on the ground, which Brody dramatically busted open with the butt of his gun. The giant reached down and pulled out a fistful of fake gold coins, which he let slide through his fingers and trickle back down into the box.

“Whoo-eee, boys! We're set for life!” Brody yelled to the enthusiastic cheers of the gang.

The crowd was completely caught up in the story, and pretty much everyone—even Bria—was perched on the edge of their seat, wondering what was going to happen next.

Just as Brody and his gang were trying to figure out how to load the strongbox of gold onto one of their horses, Sheriff Roxy came running out of the saloon, along with several good-guy cowboys. She sprinted across the sidewalk, leaped up onto one of those long wooden rails, and flew through the air, landing perfectly on top of her waiting horse.

Shock jolted through me. I recognized that smooth, graceful acrobatic style. Those were more or less the same moves that Ms. Fedora had used when she'd jumped the fence outside Jonah McAllister's mansion a few days ago. I'd thought that Roxy might be up to something, but I'd never expected her to be an assassin for the Circle.

“Son of a bitch!” I muttered.

Several people shushed me, and Ira Morris gave me a particularly dirty look for daring to interrupt the show's grand finale, especially with such bad language. Finn, Owen, and Bria all stared at me, but I shook my head, and they all went back to the show. Me too, with my gaze now firmly fixed on Sheriff Roxy.

Roxy galloped down the street, threw herself off her horse, and whipped out her trusty revolvers. “Surrender, Brody!” she yelled, pointing her guns at the giant outlaw. “Don't make me shoot you!”

“You'll never take me alive, Sheriff!” Brody shouted back, pulling out his own guns.

After that, it was like an epic Western movie shoot-out, as
everyone
pulled out their guns and started firing at
everyone
else. All of them using blanks, this time, of course. Costumed characters poured out of the saloon, the jewelry store, and all the other shops to take part in the big showdown, with Brody Dalton and his gang facing off against Sheriff Roxy and the good folks of Bullet Pointe.

I'll give the performers their props. They went all out in selling the show, with exaggerated facial expressions, bloodcurdling screams, and several impressive swan dives from the second-story balconies and even the storefront roofs onto strategically placed hay bales and other soft surfaces below. A couple of dwarves even dropped down into a couple of conveniently placed water troughs and came up sputtering. I shivered. Even though it was all an act, that water had to be frigid today, no matter how many space heaters were in and around Main Street.

The gang members were quickly overpowered by the townspeople, who loomed over them with shotguns, ­rifles, and pitchforks, and soon Brody was the only outlaw left standing.

“Give it up, Brody!” Roxy shouted, slowly advancing on the giant, her revolvers still pointed at him. “You've got no place to go!”

“Never!” Brody hissed back.

The giant's head whipped left and right, searching for an escape route. Then he did something completely unexpected—he sprinted directly at the bleachers. The crowd gasped, but Brody ignored their surprise and popped off a few more blank shots at Roxy, who gracefully rolled behind a water trough for cover.

“You'll never take me alive, Sheriff!” Brody repeated, still racing toward the crowd.

He skidded to a stop right in front of the bleachers, as if just realizing that people were sitting there. His dark brown gaze locked with mine, and a smile spread across his face.

Before I knew what was happening, Brody Dalton grabbed my arm, hauled me to my feet, and pressed his gun against my temple.

 10 

“You're coming with me!” Brody yelled in my ear.

“I don't think so, sugar.”

I didn't even think about what I was doing. I just reacted the way I normally did anytime someone shoved a gun up against my head and tried to take me hostage.

Violently.

I rammed my elbow into the giant's stomach three times in rapid succession. Brody let out a loud
oof!
of pain and surprise and lost his grip on me. Before he could recover, I whipped around, yanked the gun out of his hand, and slammed it right back into his face.

Crunch
.

The giant might have been shooting blanks during the battle scene, but his revolver was real and heavy enough to break his nose, especially with the force I put behind it. Brody yelped and staggered back, clutching his hands to his suddenly lumpy, swollen nose. Blood gushed down his face and soaked into the black-and-white paisley bandanna tied around his neck. The giant's blood also spattered all over the revolver, which I was still holding up high, ready to slam it into his face again.

For a moment, there was stunned silence.

Brody stared at me with wide, shocked eyes, as did the rest of the performers and everyone in the audience. Even the horses looked at me sideways. I'd forgotten about everything else when I was taking down Brody, but now dozens of people and animals were eyeing me, the crazy woman who'd just ruined this grand Western show by being, well,
me
.

Ira hustled over and plucked the revolver out of my hand before I could do any more damage with it. “Let's give a round of applause to this little lady who, um, saved the day in Bullet Pointe!”

Polite, scattered applause broke out, but everyone in the audience kept shooting me wary glances, and the cast looked particularly sour. Brody glared at me with hate-filled eyes, even as he ripped off his bandanna to wipe the blood off his face and his still-swelling nose.

“Why don't you give a nice wave to the crowd, little lady,” Ira said in a loud, pointed voice, jabbing his elbow into my side much the same way that I'd done to Brody.

Despite his one-hundred-plus years, the dwarf was still strong, and the blow dug into my ribs. I started to retaliate, but Ira gave me a sharp warning glare. So I gritted my teeth, raised my hand, and gave a short, jerky wave. No more applause sounded, though, and I hurried back over to the bleachers and sat down next to Owen, hunching my shoulders and trying to make myself as small and invisible as possible.

Owen looked at me, a grin spreading across his face. “You know,” he said, “I think there just might be a new sheriff in this here town.”

“I think you're absolutely right,” Bria chimed in, enjoying my misery as much as he was.

“Shut it, you two,” I groused, crossing my arms over my chest.

Finn leaned forward, staring at me. “You just had to go and ruin the show, didn't you, Gin?”

“I didn't do it on purpose,” I groused again. “He had a gun.”

“Which was loaded with blanks.” Finn snorted. “He had a
toy
.”

Still, he grinned and tossed his last few pieces of popcorn at me, letting me know that all was forgiven. Well, at least my friends thought that my embarrassing myself was freaking hilarious, because the Bullet Pointe performers certainly did not. They all gave me another round of sour looks before walking down the street and heading back inside the shops to take up their previous stations. Naturally, Brody was the angriest of all, giving me a
drop-dead-bitch
glare before he stomped off toward one of the alleys.

Ira stared at me, his arms crossed over his chest, his mouth puckered in thought. Then he shook his head, as if dismissing me as just some crazy lady, and started messing with the sound system close to the dais, putting his microphone away and turning everything off until the next show.

Sheriff Roxy was the only one who wasn't upset by my showstopping antics. Even though I'd ruined her big, ­triumphant moment to play the hero, she seemed genuinely amused by the whole thing, and she even went so far as to grin and tip her white Stetson at me. The move was eerily similar to how she'd saluted me with her gun outside McAllister's mansion, further convincing me that she was the lawyer's would-be assassin.

But instead of charging over and confronting her, I gave her a sheepish grin and shrug in return, pretending that I was still clueless about her real identity—and how dangerous she was.

Roxy nodded back at me, then turned on her bootheel and hurried down the street, heading after Brody. I wanted to know what the two of them might say about me, so I decided to go be a fly on that wall.

“You know,” I said, “I really should go apologize to Brody for overreacting like that.”

Finn nodded. “That would be a nice gesture.” He waggled his eyebrows at me. “And you should totally ask Brody for his autograph. You know, soothe his bruised ego and busted nose a little bit.”

He snickered, and Bria and Owen chuckled right along with him.

I rolled my eyes. “Fine, fine. I'll go make nice with the giant. You guys go check out the shops on Main Street, and I'll come find you in a few minutes. Okay?”

We all got to our feet, and Finn, Bria, and Owen fell into the stream of folks leaving the bleachers and wandering back toward the storefronts. I started to head toward the alley that Brody and Roxy had disappeared into, but Ira rounded the dais and blocked my path.

The dwarf crossed his arms over his chest and spread his legs wide, as if bracing for a confrontation. “Who are you?” he demanded. “And what are you and your friends
really
doing here?”

“I told you before. My name is Gin Blanco.”

I waited, wondering if Ira might be on the Circle's payroll just like Roxy was, but he didn't show a flicker of recognition at my name. He was either a good actor or he really had never heard of me before.

“And Finn told you why we're here,” I continued. “He's Deirdre's son, and he owns the resort now.”

Ira huffed. “That city slicker's name might be on the deed, but Bullet Pointe belongs to
me
.” He stabbed his finger into his chest, right where his heart was. “Sweet Sally Sue herself took me in and gave me a job when I was just a teenager, and I've been here ever since. I'm the one who's kept this place running all these years, despite Deirdre Shaw's best efforts to the contrary.”

My eyes narrowed. “What do you mean? What do you know about Deirdre?”

He huffed again. “That she was a spoiled, selfish brat who didn't give a damn about anything other than herself. She certainly didn't care about the theme park and the people like me who love it, who depend on it to put food on their tables and clothes on their kids' backs. All she did was live the high life in her fancy suite and squeeze as much money as possible out of the hotel and park. And then, when she decided that I wasn't making her enough money anymore, she replaced me with that, that
phony
.”

Well, I couldn't argue with his assessment of Roxy. She was a phony, right down to those flashy colored rhinestones on her oversize belt buckle.

“And now you and your friends come here,” Ira continued in his rant, “and the first thing you do is ruin the high-noon show. Absolutely
ruin
it. I saw your face during the show. You thought it was silly, stupid even. But the performers train hard for it, and they like showing off their skills and getting cheers and being asked to pose for pictures. Not to mention how much the audience enjoys it, especially the kids. But none of that happened today, thanks to
you
, Ms. Gin Blanco.”

I'd never thought about the show that way before, how hard the performers worked to put it on every single day, and how much enjoyment they and the audience got out of it. I shifted on my feet, guilt weighing down my stomach. “I really am sorry about that. I didn't mean to ruin the show.”

Ira slapped his hands on his hips. “Sorry? You're
sorry
? No,
I'm
sorry. I'm sorry for hoping for one second that your friend Mr. Lane might actually be different from his mama. That he might actually give a damn about this place and do what's best for it and all the people who work here.”

I opened my mouth to say that Finn was different from Deirdre, but Ira snapped up his hand, cutting me off.

“Forget it,” he growled. “I have work to do. I don't have time for the likes of you, you . . .
menace
.”

Ira gave me another angry glare, then turned and stomped off, disappearing into the crowd.

I stood by the empty bleachers, digesting his tongue-lashing, which ironically enough was similar to what I'd said to Jonah McAllister a few days ago. And just like mine had been back then, Ira's words were all too true now.

I didn't care about Bullet Pointe and what happened to it, and neither did Finn. We'd come down here to get answers about Deirdre and the Circle. Nothing more, nothing less. This was just a lark for us, just a holiday, just a couple of days' respite from our own lives, problems, and worries back in Ashland.

But to Ira Morris, this resort with all its costumed characters, cheesy decorations, and corny shows was his home, and he was determined to fight for it. Even if he might still secretly be working for Tucker and the Circle, I admired the dwarf's conviction. It was the same way I felt about the Pork Pit and all of Ashland. Once the weekend was over, and my friends and I had our answers, I'd talk to Finn about his plans for Bullet Pointe, about making sure that the resort continued on.

But for right now, Roxy was here, and she was the only lead I had on Hugh Tucker and the Circle. So I squared my shoulders, left the bleachers behind, and set off down Main Street, more than ready to find some answers about what was really going on in these here parts.

*   *   *

I headed for the alley that Brody and Roxy had walked into, which was one of several that ran between the storefront blocks that made up the two sides of Main Street. A few of the performers were leaving the alley and heading back out to the street, and they all gave me the stink-eye as they passed me. It made me feel as though I were still back in Ashland, still back at the Pork Pit, being glared at by the underworld bosses while I served up barbecue. Always popular, yep, that was me. Making enemies wherever I went.

I ducked my head and hurried on. Just before I reached the end of the alley, I glanced back over my shoulder, but no one else was in the corridor, so I sidled up and peered around the corner, staring out into the space beyond.

A large square had been converted into a break and staging area for the performers and shows. A series of open-air wooden pavilions spread out across the square, each one a different station. Racks of cowboy, saloon-girl, gambler, and other costumes were lined up in one pavilion, along with several lit mirrored vanity tables so everyone could put on their beauty marks, scars, and other makeup to get fully into character. Metal footlockers for folks to store their personal possessions and clothes took up most of another pavilion. Still more supplies were housed in the other areas, everything from boots and high heels, to strongboxes full of fake guns and ammunition, to pickaxes, saws, and other tools, to lassos that were curled up like thick rattlesnakes in plastic barrels.

The stagecoach that had been used in the high-noon show was also parked back here, complete with piles of luggage that had been lashed to the top. A dirt path led off to the right and over to a rusty red barn where the horses were kept, and the air smelled like manure, dust, and hay. A ten-foot chain-link fence topped with razor wire cordoned off the back of the square, and through the trees, I could see the dark blue surface of the lake glinting in the distance.

Since the show was over, all the performers were back at their usual stations on Main Street, and the square was empty except for Brody, who sat in front of one of the ­vanity-table mirrors, peering at his broken nose. Roxy leaned against the side of the mirror, her arms crossed over her chest. Her lips quirked up into a smile as she watched the giant try to push his nose back where it was supposed to be. I slipped my phone out of my jeans pocket, set it to video mode, and pointed it at them.