Oklahoma kiss (39 page)

      
For one brief moment he memorized the shape of her mouth, the tilt of her nose, the stubborn lift of her chin—all of her features. He desperately longed to kiss her and to hold her, and it did not matter the least bit that Warren was in the room with them—it was time he learned how he felt about Blair anyway—but he needed to have a clear head when he faced the men, and he couldn't do that with such a recent memory of how her body felt pressed close to his. "Don't worry about me. I’ll be back in a little while."

      
"Please, God, see that he does," Blair murmured to herself after he closed the door behind him.

      
"Good morning. Deputy," Shelton greeted Adam as he came out of the hotel.

      
Adam's gaze sharpened when he noticed how crowded the street was, being so early on Sunday morning. Could it be that word had already gotten around that men were looking for him, and people had gathered in anticipation of seeing blood run? " 'Morning, Shelton, you're out awfully early this morning."

      
His steps slowed. "Yeah, there were some men who thought they could outdrink everybody and before it was over, they busted up my place last night —nothing serious, just thought I'd go ahead and get it cleaned up. See you around." He touched the brim of his hat indifferently and continued on his way.

      
Adam realized he would have to have some help or some innocent bystander might be hurt if there was gunplay. "Wait a minute, Shelton. Usually, there's another deputy about to do something like this, but they haven't arrived yet." He seldom had to ask for assistance and he found it difficult to do. "I need a favor."

      
He stopped and turned around. Grinning, he said, "Favors I give, liquor and credit I don't. What do you need?"

      
"I heard that a couple of fellows in the restaurant were looking for me." He glanced about. "I didn't realize the street would be so crowded this early on a Sunday morning, so I would appreciate it if you passed the word to clear the streets. I don't want an innocent bystander getting hurt."

      
"All right, consider it done." There was a gleam of interest in Shelton's eyes. "Are these men gunmen?"

      
"Possibly."

      
"Do you want me to go into the restaurant and tell them you are waiting outside?"

      
Adam thought about his offer for a moment. If one of the men was Luther Talley, there would definitely be a shooting, and he would rather meet them at his choosing instead of theirs. Besides, it should be safer for bystanders if they met out in the street. They had the option to get out of harm's way, whereas the people inside the restaurant did not. "If you don't mind," he finally said. "It never occurred to me to ask you, most men don't want to become involved."

      
"Oh, hell, it doesn't bother me. In fact, a good shooting adds a little spice in the air and it's good for business." He grinned broadly. "Stop by the saloon later today and I'll buy you a beer."

      
Word soon spread up and down the street that there was going to be a shoot-out, and everybody scurried for shelter except for two little boys. Adam gave them a dime each to go inside the hotel lobby. He also gave them stern orders to stay away from windows and wait until the trouble was over before they came back outside.

      
Adam leaned against the porch railing in front of one of the mercantiles and slowly lit a cheroot. Then he heard Shelton's booming voice announcing to the restaurant's patrons that the deputy was waiting outside for the men who wanted him. It was only a few minutes later that two men sauntered out the door and started walking toward Adam.

      
Adam's blood ran cold when he recognized one immediately. "Heard you were looking for me, Luther. I assume you want to turn yourself in."

      
"Turn myself in?" He laughed boisterously. "I figured you would tuck tail and run as soon as you heard we were in town." Luther taunted in a loud voice, obviously noticing the curious faces peering from the windows.

      
"Why should I run?" Adam asked calmly. "I ran from a polecat when I was six years old, but I haven't since because I learned it just made them stink worse. And nothing stinks worse than a randy polecat." Adam did not recognize the man with him.

      
Luther squinted his eyes under the hat brim. "Why, you're Adam Cahill! I didn't know it was you I was after; I might have hunted a little harder if I had known."

      
Adam told the man with him, "Mister, I don't recognize your face from any wanted posters, so if you don't want any part of this, unfasten your gunbelt with your left hand and let it drop. I'll deal with you later."

      
"I don't take my guns off for any man," he replied in a surly tone.

      
"Suit yourself," Adam said with an indifferent shrug. "Luther, you have a choice, too. You can unbuckle your gunbelt and I'll escort you over to the jail, where you will later be sent to Fort Smith to stand trial for several counts of bank robbery and for murdering a United States Deputy Marshal, or you can die here and now. Makes no difference to me."

      
He laughed as though Adam was a fool. "Do you really expect me to turn myself in when I know for certain Judge Parker is wanting to put a rope around my neck himself? Besides that, Deputy, I've already accepted money to kill you, and that's what I intend to do."

      
Adam noticed Luther's friend had started to shift off to the right. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. With each step you take, you have one less second to live."

      
Adam moved his right hand as if to take the cheroot from his mouth. When they went for their guns, he was a split second faster than they were. Apparently, they had thought the two guns strapped to his thighs were for show. They had no idea Adam was as fast with his left hand as he was his right.

      
Not knowing how fast the stranger was with a gun, Adam had already decided to take him first. His gun was just coming up when Adam shot him.

      
Talley was fast . . . but too fast for his own good. He neglected to take the minuscule of a second that might have made the difference between living and dying—although no one would ever know. His bullet splintered wood less than a dozen feet from where Adam was standing. But Adam's shot hit the target.

      
The first time he had strapped on a gun, his father had told him, "Regardless how fast you draw, always make the first shot count because you may never get another."

      
Adam wasn't going to need another.

      
Luther fell against the side of the building and his gun went off at his feet. His shoulder against the wall, his knees buckled and he fell against the boarded walkway.

      
For a moment, Adam stood very still. He was keenly aware of the acrid smell of gun smoke. There was a faint sound of a dog barking, then he became conscious of voices, gradually becoming louder and louder.

      
Numbly—although everyone gathering around considered his actions cool and detached —he thumbed cartridges back into his Colt and walked toward Talley. Even though the man had killed his friend, and had apparently been hired to kill him, he found it reassuring that he actually felt a pang of regret that two men had just died by his hand. He had always vowed if or when he became complacent about taking a human life, that was the time to consider hanging up his guns. He was aware of voices buzzing but he tried to ignore them.

      
"Did you see how fast he drew?"

      
"Yeah, but that other man was faster."

      
"Yep, I guess he is. That's why he's dead and the deputy is still standing! Pay me the two dollars you owe me."

      
"I never thought we'd see a gunfight on the streets of Doughtery! What's the world coming to?"

      
Ignoring them, Adam was stopped by the undertaker. Licking the pencil point, then holding it over a writing pad, he asked in a dry, monotone voice, "Marshal Cahill, what do you want me to do with the bodies? I have some lovely satin lined boxes that were just built last night. Since there are two bodies involved, I can offer you a better price. Or, if you prefer, I do carry the standard ..."

      
Adam curtly told him. "If they have it on them, take five dollars from their personal effects for your charges. If it buys a satin-lined box, fine; if not, bury them in a plain pine box. However, if they don't have the money on them, you will have to submit a bill to me and I will forward it to the marshal's main office in Fort Smith."

      
Disappointment swept over the man's face as he angrily crammed the writing pad into his coat pocket. "What do you want me to do with their personal effects? Usually, I take care of such details . . ."

      
Adam had a hunch this particular undertaker was as crooked as a fence nail. It required little imagination to think how he took care of such details. "I will have to confiscate any personal items as soon as they're removed from their bodies.'’ He gestured toward Talley. "This man was involved in several bank robberies and anything of value he has—except personal property, which will be forwarded to next of kin —will go toward the losses the banks suffered. I don't know the other man's identity, I'll let you know for your records as soon as I learn it. But anything of value he owns will be held by the marshal's office. If unclaimed after a certain length of time, it will be seized by the state." Adam gave him a withering glare. "Now that we have that settled, I'd appreciate it if you would have their bodies removed from the street so I can attend to some other pressing business."

      
Whenever there was a shooting that involved loss of life, a report had to be filed as quickly as possible with the main office. Adam wanted to get it out of the way so he could devote his time to other matters. He was very curious who had hired these men to kill him, and hoped there would be something in their personal effects that would lend a clue. Since they had failed, would the man or men responsible try again? Probably. He doubted if they would give up so easily.

      
One thing was certain. This job was getting too much for one man to handle. Suddenly, he was extremely grateful that the other deputies were due to arrive that day. He did not mind admitting he needed their help.

      
Chapter 23

      
Tired and hungry, Adam propped his elbows on the table, gave the waitress his order and requested hot coffee before his meal. He took a deep breath then settled back in the chair to wait. He found it difficult to believe so much had happened that morning and it wasn't even ten o'clock yet.

      
After the shoot-out with Luther Talley and the other man, he had broken up three fights, received four complaints of disturbing the peace —which soon proved to be of no serious consequence — stopped a runaway horse, chased away three children watching the grisly procedures taking place through the window of the funeral parlor, and arrested one man who had gotten drunk and begun shooting out store windows. Luckily, no one had been injured. Considering the fact he had not gotten much sleep in the past few nights and not eaten since the previous day, he was also exhausted and his patience had just about been stretched to its limit.

      
Not able to think of any other plausible reason for all of the petty annoyances, Adam finally decided the entire population of Doughtery must have been affected by the recent change of the moon. He knew there were many people who were superstitious about things such as planting and harvesting crops, weaning babies, putting hens on the nest to set —almost everything imaginable — during different phases of the moon, and on days like this he was inclined to agree with them.

      
A small boy, his face ashen, his eyes so wide they looked about ready to pop out of his head, burst through the restaurant door, slid to a stop, then ran to Adam the moment he spied him. "Deputy! Deputy! Two men just got off the train and they sent me to fetch you! They said to tell you that they're waiting at the depot for you . . . and you had better come packing a gun! Are you going to shoot 'em, Deputy? Huh? Are you? Like you shot those men this morning?" He smacked his fist against his open hand. "Boy howdy, if I had me a gun, I’d help you, I wouldn't hide and watch like I did before!"

      
Anger immediately swept over Adam at the thought that the little boy's parents would allow him to watch something like that. "Listen to me, young man," he said, his voice stern as he gently yet firmly grasped the boy by his shoulders. "You remember those men and how they died on a dirty sidewalk ... all alone. They died because they had no respect for the law or for other people's property. They thought guns were the answer to all of their boyish dreams. One of these days you will be old enough to pick up a gun . . . and if you decide to shoot at a man, just remember that he will probably shoot back. Then you might be the man dying on a dirty sidewalk. You might be the man buried in a pine box in an unmarked grave on a lonely hillside, with no one to shed a tear for you."

      
"But . . . but ... I plan on being real fast . . . just like you."

      
Adam's expression became even more somber. "There is someone out there who is faster than me . . . just like there will be someone who is faster than you. In my case though, I just haven't met him yet. Now, you run on home and think about what I said, think about it very carefully."