Lady of the Gun (9 page)

Brett took a step closer to her. "'Would you stop being
so quick to accept the blame for this? We don't know what happened, but from what I could see, he died of a severe head wound, not a bullet."

"So?"

"So his horse could have been spooked by something. He could have fallen and hit his head on a rock."

"There were no bloody rocks where he fell."

"His horse might have kicked him. I've seen it happen before."

Cass snorted in disbelief. "After questioning T
ylo about the massacre of my family, Jackson just happens to fall off his horse on his way back to town?"

“
Maybe" And how do you know he ever made it to the Lazy T?"

"I know."

“Cass, listen to me. Even if you're right there's no proof."

"So you're going to do nothing?" she asked snidely.

Brett straightened at her tone. "I'm going out to the Lazy T first thing in the morning to question Hunt Tylo myself. And I’ll have you show me where you found Jackson's body. After that, I'll decide what else needs to be done."

Cass snorted again. "You can wait until morning to talk
to Tylo if you want to. I'm going to go talk to him now."

"Like hell you are," Brett told her. "It'll be dark soon,
and you're going nowhere but home."

"Hah," Cass argued. "I'll go where I want, when I want,
and no one can stop me."

"I can," stated Brett in a quiet, threatening tone.
“In case you've forgotten, I'm the law around here. You will do as I say."

Cass took a step back. She waited to see if he'd make a
move toward her.

"You're going home," he told her. "Nowhere else."

Cass raised her chin slightly in defiance.

Brett knew that as soon as she left his office she'd go
directly to the Lazy T, ignoring completely his order to go home. "I'm taking you home," he finally said.

Cass closed her mouth and clenched her jaw. This marshal,
this man, was proving to be an irritating obstacle. "Fine," she answered shortly.

“
Fine," Brett repeated.

The ride to the Wayne ranch would have been almost
pleasant for Brett if Cassidy had chosen to be friendlier. He knew she was completely aware of his reasons for accompanying her. Her safety was his uppermost concern. But despite this, she rode silently beside him, looking neither left nor right, giving no explanation of their surroundings. Nor did she let him know when they'd crossed over onto Wayne land.

"Is that a river in the distance?" Brett made an attempt
at conversation.

Cass turned her eyes toward the aspen and willows that
lined the river and indicated its location. "Yes," she answered.

"The Losee?" he tried again.

She nodded.

"Is it a
boundary to your property?"

Cass turned her head slightly to look at
him out of the corner of her eye. "No."

Brett gri
maced at her one-word answer and gave up trying to talk. Her demeanor left no room for doubt about how she felt about his presence at her side.

Soon a little house, a barn, and some outbuildings were
visible in the distance. As they grew closer, Brett could also see the remains of a burned-out structure. A stone fireplace and foundation were barely discernible in a stand of trees not far from the small house that now existed. He felt a wash of pity flow through him as he realized it had to be the home that the murderers had burned down during their raid. His eyes darted to Cass's profile as she rode closer to her home. Not once did her eyes stray to the burned remains of what had once been her home.

"'We're
almost there. You can go back to town now," Cass said without looking at the man she'd felt next to her every step of the way home. Some time since she'd seen him in the morning, he'd bathed and put on clean clothes. His dark hair glistened in the sunlight that crept under the brim of his hat, and the fresh, clean, manly scent of his body had assaulted her nostrils during the entire ride.

Brett continued along beside her. "I'll see you safely to
your door."

Cass let out her breath slowly. "Fine," she answered.

As they neared the house, Cass heard a commotion coming from the backyard. "What the . . . ?" Speeding up her mount, she steered him toward the noise, Brett following close behind.

The sight that
met them as they rounded the corner of the house took Brett completely by surprise. A small Chinese man in a long garment was chasing a huge chicken, which seemed to be chasing a large yellow cat. The man shouted at the top of his lungs in a foreign tongue, his long pigtail flapping behind him as he ran. The cat kept running around in large circles, stopping briefly beside trees, bushes, and fence posts, only to have the chicken catch up and begin pecking him fiercely on the head. The entire scene was being watched, and cheered on, by an old, balding man who hopped barefoot in the dirt outside the back door of the house.

"Soony, catch that damn chicken!" shouted Cass when
she saw the melee.

"I'
m trying, Missy Cass. Pork Chop won't leave Mirabelle alone!" the Chinese man shouted back.

"
Uncle Darby, don't just stand there. Do something!" Cass yelled at the old man.

"I am. I'm bettin' on the chicken," the old man answered
gleefully.

"
Uncle Darby!" Cass shouted threateningly as she jumped from her horse and joined the chase.

"Oh, all right," grumbled the man, and he took up the
rear.

Brett watched the ensuing scene with laughter bubbling
up inside him. Cass took the lead, trying to catch either the chicken or the cat, chasing them around and around a tree in the center of the yard. The old man rounded the tree once, then stopped to catch his breath.

"Climb the tree, Mirabelle!" Cass shouted at the cat.
"Soony, grab that chicken! I swear I'm going to fry him for dinner!"

Brett felt himself start to laugh out loud.
He hadn't seen anything so funny in a long, long time.

Cass heard Brett laughing and glowered at him. "You big
jerk, get down and help!" she yelled in his direction.

Brett pointed innocently at himself. "Me?" he answered.

Cass rolled her eyes and took off again after the two wayward pets.

Brett jumped down from his horse but didn't really know
where to enter the chase. The cat, darting haphazardly from one spot to another, didn't give much clue to the course the chase was going to take from one moment to the next. It was all Brett could do to stay out of the way and hold his sides laughing. Mirabelle chose that moment to get acquainted. Taking a flying leap, she threw herself onto Brett's chest, clawing furiously for a good grip of his shirt and taking a large amount of flesh along with it"

"Ouch!" yelped Brett, trying to pull the frightened cat
from his chest. Then before he could save himself, his vision was blocked by flapping wings and chicken feathers. The cat released its death grip on his chest and jumped to the ground in terror. Pork Chop tried to follow, but Brett managed to grab her by one leg. She began to furiously peck his hand trying to escape. "Ow! Somebody come get this chicken before I wring its neck," he threatened.

Soony ran as fast as his legs could carry him and grabbed
his precious pet from the fingers of the stranger. "Don't kill Pork Chop. She's a good chicken. She just doesn't like cats," he explained.

Brett rubbed the tiny peck wounds on his fingers and
looked down at his bloody shirt. The cat had done worse damage than the chicken.

Cass had stopped running when Mirabelle leaped onto
Brett's chest, and she now found herself in the center of the yard, staring at the wounded marshal. The whole thing suddenly seemed hilarious to her. Her face split into a grin and her chest started to heave with laughter. Soon she was guffawing loudly, tears filling her eyes and running freely down her cheeks. Finally she had to sit right down in the dirt, she was so weak with laughter.

Brett looked indignantly at the hysterical young woman.
"I don't see what's so funny," he told her, pointing to the bloody marks on the front of his shirt. "That damn cat nearly tore me in half. And look at my fingers!" He held his hand up for Cass to see the angry red marks along his knuckles.

Cass just kept on laughing. The more put out Brett
looked, the funnier the situation became, She didn't know or care whether or not anything was truly funny. Right now it seemed hilarious, and she needed this. After the horrific day she'd had, she needed to sit in the dirt of her own back yard and laugh until she cried. She let herself fall backwards to lay flat, staring up at the sky as she laughed. Oh, how she needed this.

Brett walked over to where Cass lay and looked down at
her. "I'm certainly glad you're enjoying this," he said, which sent Cass into another fit of choking giggles.

Darby took hopping steps to Cass's side. "She's always
been a bit strange," he said to Brett, as though in explanation.

Cass laughed even harder.

Brett shook his head and held out his hand to Darby. "Brett Ryder," he offered.

Darby shook the proffered hand. "I'm Darby Way
ne, Cass's uncle,"

“
Nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne."

"Just ca
ll me Darby, Marshal. Everybody does."

"Yes, sir, Darby."

Cass's fit had begun to subside a bit as the two men made their introductions. She felt as though a huge knot of tension had started to relax in her chest, and knowing what she still had to finish, she relished this momentary respite. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and listened to the sounds around her as hiccups jerked her frame every few seconds and the remnants of a giggle escaped her lips now and then. A few peaceful moments passed before she sat up.

"Where's Mirabelle?" she asked, looking around the yard.

Brett glanced around them. "There she is.” He pointed toward the bam where the cat had stretched out lazily in the doorway, looking none the worse for wear despite her ordeal. "Damn cat," he fumed.

Cass smiled widely. "Mmmm," she murmured noncommittally.
"Looks like Pork Chop has calmed down too,” she said. Pushing herself up to her feet, she brushed the dirt and dust from her trousers. "Is dinner almost ready, Soony?” she asked.

"Just about, Missy Cass."

"What are we having?" Cass was suddenly famished.

"Roast chicken."

Cass turned to Brett and surprised him by smiling. "Sounds good, don't you think? Why don't you stay for dinner, and we'll see what we can do about cleaning up those scratches for you," she said as she turned toward the house.

Chapter Five

“Those aren't so bad," commented Cass as she watched Brett washing off the scratches Mirabelle had planted on his chest. "You're nothing more than a big baby, complaining the way you did," she finished.

B
rett had been standing with his back to her, watching her reflection in the mirror. Turning to face her, he smiled. "You really think so?"

Something in Brett's smile caught Cass off guard. She'd
been teasing him, unaffected by the fact that he'd removed his shirt to minister to his wounds, but now, in the breadth of a second, something had changed. Her gaze traveled a path over his chest, taking in the strong curve of muscle covered by a shadow of softly curling hair that narrowed as it trailed downward, seeming to point to a different, lower part of his body. Letting her eyes fall, she stared at the floor. "Dinner's nearly on the table," she told him quickly.

Brett read the thoughts flitting through Cass's mind and
felt a rush of desire course through his body with the force of a tidal wave. Standing perfectly still, the damp washcloth hanging limp in his hand, he whispered roughly, "Cass?"

Cass couldn't raise her eyes to meet his. He made her
feel things that were unfamiliar to her. Just the sound of her name on his breath sent sizzling little tingles skittering along her flesh. She remembered the way his kiss had felt and tasted earlier that day and wondered why this man had managed to start a wild fire inside her as no other male had ever done. "Come and eat . . . as soon as . . . you’re through here," she told him without looking up. Turning on her heel, she left the doorway of her uncle's room, not giving Brett another chance to speak.

Brett felt conf
used by Cass's reaction to him. Sighing, he turned back to the mirror and dropped the washcloth into the basin, glancing up at his reflection as he did. She's a strange one he decided, remembering the way she'd responded to him in the sheriff’s office. She'd poured herself into his kiss, giving back as much as she'd received, yet, now she blushed and stammered because he'd faced her with no shirt. Shaking his head in wonder, he reached for the clean shirt Darby had left for him; his own was snagged and spotted with blood from the cat scratches. Pulling Darby's shirt on over his shoulders, he headed from the bedroom to eat dinner.