The Gallows' Bounty (West of Second Chances) (33 page)

D
ARKNESS FELL BEFORE BODEN
rode into town.  The storefronts were cloaked in darkness while the brothels and bars were lit up and rowdy.  It was in Devils Lake as it was in many other rowdy towns across the West.  The good citizens went to bed while the bad ones played.

Boden held his rifle before him as he clung to the shadows, careful to keep his feet quiet on the boardwalk.  His spurs jangled now and again, but not so loudly that anyone heard him.  No, everyone was too busy putting back shots and fondling barmaids.

Raucous laughter reached his ears as a patron of Loretta’s stumbled out of the swinging doors.  On an upper floor a window opened and a woman cackled.

“Next time bring the money, Hank,” the woman said, shaking her large breasts with both her hands, “and you’ll get yourself some of this.”

The man in the street, Hank, made a rude gesture before stumbling away.

Boden approached Loretta’s, feeling, rather than knowing, his wife waited inside.  He leaned against the clapboard building and turned his head to the side to peer through the window.  He listened intently for any clue to his wife’s whereabouts.

“You say you’ve got Butcher Boden’s wife?” a very loud voice raised above the din.

Boden craned his neck to see who spoke.  Brady Jenkins, Loretta’s bartender, approached a table with mugs of beer in his hands; he’d been the one to speak.  He spoke to the man seated at the table—French.  He held
Willow on his lap, an arm wrapped tightly around her waist, holding her to him.  Ezra recognized the men that sat with them, Harry Hartnett and Lyle Peters.  It looked liked Peter's had healed up from the shot Willow had put in him.  That was too bad.

The finger he held on the trigger itched to squeeze, but Boden refused to shoot.  He could shoot
Willow just as easily as French.

“On the house.” Brady grinned widely at French.  He set the drinks on the table. “Drink up, pretty lady.”

Willow ignored him completely, irking French.  “The man offered you something to drink, Willow.  Drink up.”

It was French’s turn to be ignored.  Brady shook his head and retreated to the bar.

“Make her drink it, Sheriff,” Peters urged.  “She's got to be willing and ready for what I've got planned for her.  Thanks to that bitch my shoulder still hurts.”

Not one to ignore a dare, French took the mug off the table and put it to
Willow’s lips.  She still wouldn’t drink.

If he didn’t interfere soon,
Willow would end up getting hurt.  Boden strode toward the swinging doors.

The bar quieted the minute his formidable figure entered the room. He stood with his back to the wall.

“I’ve come for my wife,” Boden said without preamble.

“She’s stayin’ with me,” French asserted. “And there’s no one in this town who’ll take your side. That Marshal Owens you're so fond of is off looking for me and here I sit.”

French laughed, and Peters and Hartnett joined in.  The rest of the bar's patrons had the good sense to keep quiet.

“I can take care of my own business.”

“We’ll see about that.”  French stood swiftly, and Willow nearly tumbled from his lap.

Boden intuitively stepped forward to help her.  He heard the clicking of a hammer moments before someone behind him pulled the trigger.  He lowered himself to one knee as he turned and fired his pistol.  The shot caught Brady Jenkins in the chest, propelling him backward.  The shot meant for him drove into Peters.  It threw the man back against the table and sent the mugs of beer flying.

Patrons of the bar dove for cover, some shouting and screaming.  One old drunk at the bar remained seated, unaware of the excitement around him.  French looked at Peters and Ezra heard him say, “Well, damn.”

Even as French spoke, he drew his firearm and pointed it at Ezra.

Boden's attention focused once again on French and Willow.  French had been about to take a shot at him, but like the coward he was he pulled Willow back against himself instead. His action effectively prevented Boden’s shot.

French smiled smugly at Boden.  “Gonna shoot your wife to get me?”

“I might,” Boden challenged.  “She’s only a woman after all.”

Willow hid a smirk, and French blanched, taking a half step backward.  Harry Hartnett bent over the bleeding Peters.  Peter's wailed from his place on the floor.

“Shut him up,” French shouted without looking down at the pair.  To Ezra, he said, “You won’t shoot her.”

“I’d much rather shoot you,” Boden said, propping his rifle on his knee and putting his pistol away.  “I might let you live if you let my wife go.”

“We haven’t had our little showdown yet.”  Sweat beaded on French's brow and dripped in tiny rivulets down his temples. “Shut him up!”

Boden realized the man was quickly losing it.  That boded well for him.  A nervous man made mistakes.

“Let’s have it here, now,” Boden prompted.  “There’s an audience and the moon’s bright enough.  Let’s be original and make it a shootout at midnight.”

“I’ll meet you out front,” French decided.  “I can't think with this one screaming.”

“Now.”

French handed
Willow over to Hartnett.  “Whatever you do, don’t let her get away.  Peters is goin' to die anyway, and if you let her get away, you'll be doing the same when I get back.”

Peters shrieked in terror, and an upset Hartnett darted a glance between his dying friend and Willow. 

French turned to Boden.  “Lead the way.  I can't stand to listen to this baby anymore.”

They made their way out of the saloon and into the street.  Outside a crowd gathered around them.   Peters' cries could still be faintly heard out on the street.

Boden headed to the middle of the moonlit street and waited for French to make his move.  “Mighty confident for a man who hides behind a woman,” Boden couldn’t resist saying when French swaggered twenty feet from him, hands hovering over his pistols.

“I’ll be a lot more confident when you’re dead at my feet.”

“Don’t count on it.”

Boden watched as French’s hand swept down to his holster.  Boden drew his gun and fired.  The sheriff crumpled in the street before he could even get off a shot.  He never got a chance to cry out; Boden's shot caught him straight through the heart.

“So much for a sharpshootin’ sheriff,” Boden stated, holstering his pistol.

Without a second glance at French’s still and bleeding body, Boden headed for the bar.   Hartnett no longer stood just inside with Willow.  Instead, the man bent over his friend who had quieted.

Boden hauled Hartnett to his feet.  “Where is she?”

“With a man who looks a hell of a lot like you,” Hartnett responded before pointing a quivering finger to the upper floor of Loretta's.

Boden drew his fist back and sent the man to the ground.  “That’s what happens when you make friends with a bastard sheriff.”

Boden took the stairs two at a time.  He wanted his wife back and he wanted her back now.

WILLOW
FOUGHT AGAINST CARTER
Boden’s merciless grip as he pulled her into one of Loretta’s rooms.  She wouldn’t make it to tomorrow if he kept handling her as he was.  As if to confirm her fears, the back of Carter’s hand connected solidly with her cheek.  He stunned her momentarily as he tugged her hard against him.  Willow renewed her struggle.

“Fight me and you only get hurt worse,” the elder Boden discouraged as he fought with her.

Willow raised a knee to his groin, but he easily deflected the blow.  She fought his grip, twisting and turning.  Willow connected a solid right with his jaw, and Carter snapped her arm up behind her back for her effort.

“Struggling will only make it worse,” he taunted at her ear.  “Hear that shot?  French has killed Boden.  It’s just you and me.”

The sound of a shattering door interrupted Carter’s plans.  He reacted more quickly than Willow would have given the older man credit for.  He whipped around and used her as a shield.  Willow wasn’t fond of being battle armor and that was all she had been as of late.

The man would shoot her husband the minute he stepped through the broken door.  Once again the bait, Willow felt sorry for the worm dangling on the hook.  How awful it must be to dangle in pierced pieces before a swarm of hungry walleye.

“Ezra, no!” Willow shouted as Boden rounded the corner.

That was all the warning Willow managed before Carter Boden knocked her down in front of him and raised one of his pistols in his son’s direction.

EZRA HEARD WILLOW'S SHOUT
and stopped at the door of the room.

“Pa,” he called out.

“Ezra,” Carter called back.

“I’m throwin’ my guns down,” Ezra said and tossed his pistols and rifle into the room.  “I want to talk to you.”

“I’ll talk to you, but after you’ve said your piece, I’m still killin’ your woman and you.”

Ezra eased in the room and sent a prayer heavenward as he did so.  “You don’t have to do any killin’ here today.”

“I’m thinkin’ I do,” Carter replied.  He’d pulled Willow up in front of himself.  Evidently, he didn’t trust his son to keep his word.

“What for?  Why is it so important you get rid of us?” Ezra asked.

“I have plans. Plans that involve a seat as governor, and I can’t have anyone interrupting those plans,” Carter confessed.  “I may not have my son’s respect, but many people in this territory respect me.  I have influence, and I plan to use it.  If anyone found out I was the Boss, I’d be finished.”

“There are people other than us who know about you,” Ezra said.  “You won’t make it to the governor’s seat even if you kill us.”

“Nothing’s going to get in my way. You hear me, son?”  Carter said, rage coloring his face.

The anger reminded Ezra of all those years ago when he’d been a boy.  He’d watched his father spiral into a rage more times than he could count.  Once his anger gripped him, Carter’s sanity eluded him.  Ezra knew a bullet would fly from the end of his father’s pistol.  It was only a matter of time.

“Well, at least let Willow live,” Ezra said.  He met his wife’s eyes. Willow’s expression communicated her love for him and begged him not to sacrifice himself for her. “She’s got a daughter to raise.”

“You’ll both have to go,” Carter said and raised his gun.

“No,” Willow screamed then and sprang for Carter’s gun arm.

She struck his father’s arm with enough force to rattle him, and Ezra took that moment to dive to the floor for his own pistol.  Time seemed to stand still as he watched Carter knock
Willow to the ground and retrain his pistol on her.  Ezra couldn’t seem to move fast enough.

Willow rolled as soon as she hit the floor, but he feared she’d moved too slowly.  He brought his gun up and fired, the sound of his gunfire coming only a mere moment after that of his father’s.

His father lurched and dropped to the ground.  Carter grasped his wound, blood seeping through his fingers.  For the second time that night, Boden had shot a man straight through the heart.  Willow lay curled on the floor, unmoving.

Boden kept his gun drawn and advanced the few feet to
Willow.  She was motionless and bile rose in his throat.  Careful to keep an eye on his father, Ezra knelt and reached out a hand to turn her onto her back, gently avoiding where the blood rapidly stained her front.  That hand trembled as it had never trembled before.

She flopped onto her back, a bright red stain spreading across the front of her dress, just over her heart. Boden’s heart dropped to his feet.  She was dead.  He drew her up into his arms.  He no longer cared if anyone else lingered in the shadows.  His life was finished anyway.

“Boden?”

“Willow?”

Boden thought he was dreaming.  “You’re alive,” he mumbled.  He fought back the strong liquid that stung the back of his eyes.  He hadn't cried since he'd stood over his mother's grave at thirteen.

“I won’t be if you keep hugging me that tight,”
Willow returned.

He gentled his grip.  “What were you thinking?”

“I didn’t want him to kill you.” Willow shifted in Boden’s embrace.

“There’s blood all over your chest.”  Boden said. 

He gently laid her across his lap.  With trembling hands, he tore her dress where the bullet had already damaged the fabric.  Ezra dabbed at the blood with his handkerchief.

“Thank you, God,” Ezra said. “I can’t believe it.”

“What?” Willow asked, pain evident in her voice.

“The bullet grazed your chest, but it didn’t penetrate.”  He couldn’t quite keep the awe out of his voice.

Willow lifted a hand and swiped at the tears on his cheeks.  “I’ll live.”

“Yes, you will,” Boden proclaimed.

He wouldn’t let her die.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Ezra trained his gun on the doorway.  He lowered his pistol when Owens followed by Nathan entered the room.  Boden carefully removed his jacket and draped it over
Willow’s bared chest.