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    The Gunslinger and the Lady
    The Gunslinger and the Lady
    The Gunslinger and the Lady

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    Ebook106 pages1 hour

    The Gunslinger and the Lady

    By Anne Stuart

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    About this ebook

    The Gunslinger... Mad Billy Maddox, aka the Angel of Death, comes to the tiny town in Johnson County, Wyoming as a gun for hire to scare away the settlers. He’s a man who makes his living with his guns, and he never expects to find someone to make him want to change his ways.

    The Lady... Sara is the sweet and shy wife of the biggest bully in town. She’s learned not to let anything scare her, but the way Will Maddox looks at her shakes her up far worse than her husband’s heavy fists. She knows she should hate him, but she can’t.

    Together... He’s a bad man, and she’s a good woman. There’s no future for them in the wild Wyoming territory. But Maddox is a man who gets what he wants, no matter how high the price, and he wants Sara. Not even the fact that he killed her husband will get in his way.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBryant Street Publishing
    Release dateDec 10, 2024
    ISBN9781094476032
    Author

    Anne Stuart

    Anne Stuart loves Japanese rock and roll, wearable art, Spike, her two kids, Clairefontaine paper, quilting, her delicious husband of thirty-four years, fellow writers, her three cats, telling stories and living in Vermont. She's not too crazy about politics and diets and a winter that never ends, but then, life's always a trade-off. Visit her at www.Anne-Stuart.com.

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      Book preview

      The Gunslinger and the Lady - Anne Stuart

      1

      Johnson County, Wyoming, 1889

      Caldwell’s Mercantile and Saloon was busy that Thursday afternoon. With the long harsh winter over and spring arriving, there was too much work for folks to be spending the better part of the day in town. But Jacob Elder had come into the house and ordered his young wife to put on her bonnet and shawl and get out to the wagon. They had business in town.

      That was odd in itself, Sara had thought as she climbed into the old buckboard. Jacob was just as likely to leave her at the homestead, out of the gaze of men. He didn’t believe in womenfolk getting fancy ideas, and even a small town like Cedar Bluffs had too much temptation for the likes of Jacob Elder.

      But Sara wasn’t about to put up an argument, nor was she about to ask any questions. She’d been married to Jacob for almost seven years, and she’d learned early on not to question him. He always took it amiss, using it as an excuse to correct her behavior. Such corrections were usually painful.

      He wasn’t a man for strong liquor either, but the moment they arrived in town, he left her with no more than a mumbled admonition to keep her head covered and her eyes down, heading into the saloon section of Caldwell’s.

      Sara followed him up the steps, obediently moving into the store. It was crowded as well—Marijane Wilks was busy poring over some ribbons while she gossiped with Abigail McKinley. They looked up when Sara entered, and she steeled herself for their usual greeting—the uneasy look of pity in their eyes.

      Good afternoon, ladies, she greeted them, holding her homespun skirts like they were fine silk. Not that she’d ever worn silk in her life, but she’d read stories, long ago, before Jacob had caught her and confiscated the sinful books. He couldn’t read and she could. That knowledge rankled.

      Afternoon, Sara, Marijane said kindly. She was an older woman with a handful of daughters and she tended to treat Sara like one of them. Looks like the men are getting all riled up again.

      Looks like, Abigail echoed. I can’t say as I blame them, though. Did your husband tell you what’s happened?

      Sara didn’t want to admit that Jacob never told her anything. Never spoke to her, except to give her orders or chastise her. No, she said in a low voice, her hand reaching out to touch the lilac-flowered calico that lay on the counter with a reverent caress.

      That bastard Harrison Stark is bringing in a hired gun, Marijane said flatly. Excuse my language, Sara, but there’s no other word for him. He’s hired a professional killer from out of Cheyenne. Stark’s own gang of hooligan cowboys haven’t been able to drive us off our land, so now he’s going one step further.

      How do you know? She pulled her hand away from the calico. It was the prettiest thing she’d ever seen, and she wanted it. The wanting it, and the knowing she’d never have it, made it all the worse.

      He arrived last night. My husband got word from his cousin down in Cheyenne that Stark had planned to hire a couple of gunslingers to try to drive us homesteaders out, and the first one’s already here. The men are in the bar trying to decide what to do about it.

      What can they do about it? She turned her back on the calico resolutely, advancing on the abandoned counter. Obviously, Mr. Caldwell was in the bar with the other loud customers, arguing the fate of the world and leaving the store side of Cedar Bluff’s only business unattended.

      Well, said Abigail in a low voice, some of the men are for hiring their own gunslinger, to fight back.

      No! Sara said, horrified.

      Yeah, that seems to be the opinion of most of them. Besides the fact that after the winter, no one’s got any money to spare.

      Jacob’s voice filtered through the door along with the smoke and the stench of whiskey, deep and somber. "We won’t fight him. It’ll be that simple. He can’t make us fight, and he ain’t going to shoot us in the back. If we just keep our tempers...

      You’re the one with the temper, Jacob, a man’s voice said with a laugh.

      We’ll call on Almighty God to guide us, Jacob intoned. To grant us deliverance from unjust anger. Let us pray, brothers.

      Hell, no. Let’s have a drink, an already drunken voice shouted out.

      Sounds like your husband’s showing more sense than the rest of those hotheads, Marijane confided to Sara. Most of the men listen to him. As long as they’ve got him to follow, we’ve got a chance.

      Sara managed a faint smile. My husband is a very good man, she said. The noise in the bar grew louder, and she turned back to the lilac-sprigged calico, drawn like a magnet.

      They’ll be in there all afternoon and half the night as well, Marijane said with a sniff. And come home stinking like a brewery, and expecting... She glanced at Sara, faltering. Well, you know what they’re expecting, she added in a lowered voice. We’re all married women here."

      Exactly, Abigail said. And I for one am not going to wait around any longer. I’m going over to the hotel for a cup of tea. Why don’t you join us, Sara?

      She had no money. And she knew it was sinful pride, but she couldn’t stand those hidden looks of pity a moment longer. Besides, there was the simple fact that Jacob had told her to stay put. If she disobeyed, he’d punish her. And she was still aching from his last effort to instruct her in what was most becoming in the frailer sex.

      No, thank you, Abigail, she said. I believe I’ll wait for my husband.

      Marijane looked at her for a long moment. You know, I believe I envy you, Sara. There’s something about an older man that makes things a little more orderly.

      Yes, said Sara, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle as she summoned forth a tight smile. I’m a very lucky woman.

      She watched them go, and suddenly she was alone in the store. On the other side of the swinging doors she could hear the angry shouts of the men, the laughter and the clink of glasses. The town elders were turning this latest disaster into an occasion for a drunken party. Jacob wouldn’t approve.

      Sara was good at shutting things out. She closed her eyes, and the voices disappeared. She could feel the smoothness of the lilac-sprigged calico beneath her fingertips, smell the richness of cinnamon and tobacco that filled the store, mixed with fresh sawn lumber and the mud and manure out on the street. If she took a deep breath, she could imagine other smells, leather and rum, and she could feel him watching her.

      Her eyes flew open as she realized the dimly lit store was no longer deserted. A man stood silhouetted in the outer doorway, motionless, his eyes on her.

      She stared back at him, mesmerized. She had never in her life seen anyone who looked like him.

      He was tall, taller even than her husband, though not nearly so broad. This wasn’t a man who made his living off the land. He was whipcord lean, not burly, and he was dressed in black leather, with silver spurs that jangled as he moved.

      And he moved. Into the empty store, with a feral kind of grace, and as he emerged from the shadows she could see the guns at his side. And she looked up and saw his face.

      He looked like an angel. Beneath the brim of his black hat she could see a face of almost eerie beauty. His eyes were shielded by the brim of the hat, but she could feel their force, their strange, chilling heat. He wore his hair western style, long and flowing, and it was almost white blond, adding to the strange impression of almost otherworldly beauty.

      And then he pushed his hat back on his

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