Way with a Gun by J. R. Roberts Read Free Book Online Page B

gun.”
    â€œMy gun?”
    â€œAnd your office guns—rifles, shotguns, whatever you’ve got.”
    â€œNo problem,” Taylor said.
    He unlocked the gun rack on the wall so Clint could check the Winchesters and shotguns there. They all seemed to be clean, and in proper working order.
    â€œYou got guns at home?” Clint asked.
    â€œJust like the office,” Taylor said. “Rifle and shotgun.”
    â€œI’ll check on them tonight. Let me see your Colt.” Clint held out his hand. Taylor removed his gun from his holster and handed it over. Clint quickly unloaded it, broke it down on the desktop, examined it, and then reassembled it.
    â€œI’ve never seen anybody do that so fast,” Taylor said.
    Clint handed the gun back. “You seem to take care of your weapons.”
    â€œLike you said,” Taylor replied, “I’ve been a lawman for a long time.”
    â€œAnd you’ve never come up against a situation like this before?”
    â€œOh, sure,” Taylor said, “but I had deputies, and no wife. That, uh, seemed to make a difference.”
    â€œYou know,” Clint said, “I have to tell you a married lawman is something I can’t really understand. When you’ve got somebody waiting for you at home, I don’t think you can do the job the way it needs to be done.”
    â€œYou might be right,” Taylor said. “After this, I guess I’ll have some thinking to do.”
    Clint wondered if he meant thinking about whether or not he still wanted to be a lawman, or a husband.

SEVENTEEN
    The Taylor house was warm and filled with aromatic smells coming from the kitchen. Whatever else Miriam Taylor was, she was apparently a good cook.
    Clint and Andy Taylor were in the living room holding glasses of whiskey.
    â€œIt’s all I have in the house,” Taylor had said, and Clint told him it was fine. When Miriam joined them, she also held a glass of whiskey, which she sipped without a hint of daintiness.
    â€œI’m so happy you came around to our way of thinking, Clint,” she said.
    â€œMiriam,” Taylor said, “Clint has decided to help us because—”
    â€œI talked him into it,” she said, interrupting her husband. “Isn’t that right, Clint?”
    Clint just lifted his glass to her and said, “That’s exactly right, Miriam.”
    At the dinner table, she asked, “So what are we going to do about Ned Pine? Arrest him as soon as he shows his face? Go out and hunt him down?”
    â€œMiriam . . .” Taylor said warningly.
    â€œAm I not to ask?” she said. “Not to be curious?”
    â€œIt really wouldn’t be smart for two men to hunt down a dozen or more, Miriam,” Clint said.
    â€œNo smarter for a man to meet them in the street.”
    â€œPine wants to meet me man-to-man, Miriam,” Taylor said.
    â€œWell, even you said he’ll have his men backing him up,” she pointed out. “Will it be enough to have the Gunsmith backing you up?”
    â€œProbably not,” Clint said.
    â€œWell, what if we somehow passed the word that Clint Adams was a deputy—”
    â€œI’m not a deputy,” Clint said.
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œClint is not wearing a badge.”
    â€œWhy—”
    â€œIt’s his choice, Miriam,” Taylor said, cutting her off. “He’s offered his help. Let’s not question him about it.”
    â€œVery well,” she said. “I’m just the wife, I’m not to ask any questions.”
    Clint did not respond. It was up to Taylor to deal with his wife’s feelings.
    But Taylor avoided that problem for the rest of the meal, and eventually Clint found himself on the front porch with the sheriff, each with an after-dinner cigar.
    â€œYou said you were just passin’ through when you got here,” Taylor commented.
    â€œThat’s