Lady of the Gun by Faye Adams Read Free Book Online

pride.
    Brett watched Cass leave in a huff and couldn't figure out why she'd gotten so damned mad. Okay, he'd already admitted to himself he'd been too abrupt and straightforward, but that didn't really warrant her behaving like an insulted schoolmarm. She was, after all, a gunfighter, and she had responded to him in a way that even now sent his blood racing at the memory. "Damn it," he cursed as he took a deep breath to clear his head.
    Straightening, he walked around the sheriff ’s desk and sat down. Leaning forward on his elbows, he rested his head in his hands. What the hell am I doing getting involved with the Lady of the Gun, anyway? I'm supposed to be investigating her, not making love to her, he thought disgustedly. But even as he admonished himself he remembered the softness of her full lips beneath his, the way she'd leaned into his touch and pressed her firm curves against his feverish body.  "Holy shit," he grumbled.
    Cass glanced quickly to the place where she'd gunned down Henry Fleet. She was relieved to see that his body had been removed and the crowd had dispersed, though the dark red stain marking the dusty ground like an old puddle still showed where he'd fallen. Somewhere deep inside her she felt a pang of remorse. She hadn't wanted to fight him. She'd tried to talk her way out of it, just as she'd done twice before when young gunfighters had challenged her, but he wouldn't listen to her.
    Looking at his blood, drying quickly in the hot sun, she pushed the remorse from her heart. That could have been her blood. Henry Fleet was no better than the men who had killed her family, and his big brother Bobby was said to be even worse.
    Sighing heavily, she let her eyes scan the street and noticed that it was unusually quiet. Everyone had apparently taken the marshal's advice and gone home. Shaking her head with disgust, she knew that, what with the gunfight and the scene with Brett that Bill Conroy had walked in on, she'd given the townsfolk ample fodder for at least a month’s worth of gossip. "Wait until Uncle Darby hears about all this," she groaned.
    Stepping off the sidewalk, she headed in the direction of the livery, hoping her saddle was now finished. As she walked along the deserted street, she couldn't stop the wash of emotions that flooded her senses at the memory of what Brett's mouth and hands had done to her. Was what she’d felt normal? she wondered. Did all women feel this way? She'd never felt like this with any other man, and God knew there were men who'd tried to have their way with her. Up until now she'd felt only mild interest at best, and powerful disgust and revulsion at worst. And why Brett Ryder? She didn't even know him, or like him. She pictured his tall form, his dark hair, and haunting gray eyes, and swallowed hard. No, she didn't like him at all, she decided. And she sure as hell wouldn't give him the opportunity to touch her again.
    A cloud of dust, the loud creak of wood and leather, the jingle of harness chains, and a stream of colorful expletives from Jed Higgens, the driver, announced the arrival of the noon stage. Cass glanced upward to confirm the time, surprised so much of the day had already passed. "I guess when you're having fun . . ." she murmured sarcastically.
    Slowing her walk to the livery, she saw the coach pull up in front of the stage office next to the jail, wondering who, if anyone, had found reason to visit the small town of Twisted Creek. It wasn't exactly a social metropolis. She watched Jed's movements as he climbed to the top of the coach and tossed the mailbag down to the waiting stage agent. She knew there would be nothing in the bag for her or Darby. They had no family left other than each other.
    The stage door opened slowly then, catching her eye, and she saw the long fingers and manicured nails of a man's hand as he grasped the door to steady his descent from the coach. Once he was outside the stage, she could see he was young and tall, with blond