Devil in Texas(65)

And the woman was Sadie.

Kill or be killed. That was the law of the gun. No one knew that law better than Cass. Over the years, he'd been accused of being a showboater. A braggart. A pretty-boy with a fancy set of pistols. Because he talked nice and acted polite, tough characters often mistook him for a mealy-mouthed weakling.

Hank had been one of those tough characters. For seven long years, Cass had been haunted by his choice to flee the Rocking W rather than face Hank at high noon. To make the guilt worse, Hank had used those years to terrorize decent folks. His Wanted Posters accused him of extortion, rustling, arson, smuggling, armed robbery, kidnapping, rape, manslaughter, and capital murder. But thanks to Poppy, the charges never stuck. Hank always got paroled.

Cass's breaths shuddered from barely controlled rage. He gazed into the glazing, tawny eyes of the woman he loved. The woman who was the reason he still aspired to do good deeds in the world. Her temple was bruised. Her throat had blistered from the gun metal. Cass reasoned that if he'd shot Hank seven years ago, Sadie would be safe.

The thought made something inside Cass go dangerously dark and cold.

So help me God, if Hank spills a single drop of her blood, all the torments of hell won't keep me from doling out my own brand of justice.

Hank's right sleeve was soaked with blood. Sadie had tried to disable him rather than kill him. Cass knew this because he'd watched her do it while he'd been running up the hill and his .38 had been out of firing range. In Hank's adrenalized state, his pain wasn't great enough to drop the six-shooter he'd cocked under her chin.

"Let Randie go." Cass didn't know why Sadie was pretending to be Randie, but the matter was moot. He played along. "Your quarrel's with me."

"Always the ladies' man," the outlaw jeered. "You know she's screwing Baron, right?"

Sadie whimpered.

Cass's jaw hardened. "Relax, sweetheart. This will all be over in a minute. I promise."

Hank laughed. "Rebel Rutter, my ass. You're more like Cuckold Cass."

"Yeah. You got me there, pal. You're superior in every way. You want me to stroke your dick, too?"

"Naw. I think I'll let your woman do it. After you're dead."

Cass smiled pleasantly. Hank had no idea what type of vengeance he'd just bargained for at Sadie's hands. "Now that would be a sight to watch from hell."

"Your sass ain't helping her, smartass."

"Aw, c'mon, Hank. You don't want to kill a woman. You want to test me. See how fast I can really draw."

"Well now, let's see. Since I'm already wearing your gun belt—" Hank's lip curled "—it looks like you've failed that test, grasshopper. Toss aside the piece."

Cass was holding Collie's gun in his right hand. His weak hand.

So he obeyed.

Not even Lynx knew Cass was a southpaw. He'd perfected the ruse by the age of 12, practicing long and hard to become proficient with both hands. He picked up his fork with his right hand. He brushed his teeth with his right hand. He even pumped bullets into his six-shooter with his right hand.

But when it came to close encounters, Cass's salvation, an 18-ounce Smith & Wesson, was strapped to his left forearm.

"Spread 'em," Hank snapped.

The magic words, Cass thought darkly.

Now Sadie's life—and his, too—relied on split-second timing. He raised his hands over his head. He puckered his brow. He made sure he looked worried enough to keep Hank from getting suspicious.

On the inside, Cass was iced steel.

"This isn't going to go well for you, Hank. You'll never leave Lampasas County alive."

Hank laughed at the warning, as Cass knew he would. Guns had a way of inflating a coward's confidence.

"That's brave talk for a dead man. Or maybe I should say, a dead boy. S'long, sucker."

Hank leered. He started to turn his gun muzzle away from Sadie's throat.

With the speed of a striking rattler, Cass triggered his .38 and fired. The bullet drilled through the center of Hank's forehead.

The outlaw blinked.

His jaw went slack.

A heartbeat later, he was toppling like felled timber.

"S'long, Hank." Cass flexed his wrist to hide his pistol beneath his sleeve once more. "See ya in hell."

Sadie hit the dirt. Now she was flailing in her mantle, which had tangled around her legs. Cass stepped forward, extending a hand to help her up.

"Are you all right?"

"No!" she snapped, slapping his hand away.

"Well, let me—"

"Don't you dare touch me!"

"Good God, woman, what's eating you now?"

"I'm not Randie, you insufferable, pig-headed—"

"I knew that!"

"You did not!"

"C'mere," he growled, grabbing her left arm and hauling her to her feet.

"I hate you!"

"No, you don't—"

Her right fist plowed into his gut, and he oomphed, doubling over. Okay. Maybe she does.

"I just saved your life," he wheezed.

"You just saved Randie's life. And you called her sweetheart!"

He refused to release the wrist she kept twisting in his fist. "That was for show!"

"Like crooning Destiny in my ear was for show!" She tried to punch him again.

He caught her other arm and spun her against his chest. "You need a paddling something fierce!"

"And you need a restraining order for your pecker!"

Suddenly, a gunshot drowned out the thunder. They gasped, hugging each other tight. Hearts hammered in syncopated rhythms; lungs wheezed like squeezeboxes.

A wail of grief shattered the night.

"Baron," Cass choked, shoving Sadie toward the tombstone. He lunged for his fallen six-shooter. "Take cover!"

"Like hell!" She grabbed the .32 from her waistband. "I'm going with you!"

Together, they sprinted through lightning and shadow, around the corner of the house, toward the dirt mound by the grave. Sadie ignored the pounding in her head and the pain in her chest every time she dragged air into her lungs. She thought she might have bruised a rib when she'd rolled down the hill. But she couldn't worry about that—she wouldn't worry about that—as long as Jazi was in danger.

Beneath a ghostly moon, she spied Randie wrapping her mantle around her child's slender shoulders. Jazi was hugging a raccoon that was trying to eat her gris-gris. Sadie figured all must be right again in the Reynolds's world.

Near the lip of the pit, Sadie noticed Collie, covered with dirt. He stood with a Winchester at the side of a grim-faced Sid Wright, whose kneecaps were stained with grass. Younger and more agile than the other members of the posse, Collie and Sid had undoubtedly been the heroes who'd hauled Jazi from her grave.

The third man on the scene was Rex. Still pretending to be retired as a Ranger, he sported a Lampasas deputy badge, which suggested he'd been spontaneously sworn-in by Sid. At any other time, Sadie might have ribbed Rex about his demotion. But today, his wolfish features were grim and his gun-metal gray eyes were stark. He was gazing at the tragedy that had transpired some 10 feet away.

"What happened?" Sadie whispered, halting at his side.

A muscle ticked in Rex's jaw. "When Baron heard about the posse, nothing short of leather straps could keep him in that hospital bed. He begged us to let him reason with Poppy.

"But when we arrived, she was like a woman possessed. She told him if she couldn't have his babies, no woman would. She tried to shoot Randie. Baron struggled with her for the gun, and it went off."

Jesus. Sadie sickened to see the senator convulsed with grief. He was cradling a limp, black-robed figure against his heart.