Outlaw's Reckoning Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  Wait and See

  Clint leaned against a post just outside the Whitecap and watched what happened across the street. Mostly, he kept his eye on the kid to see how he would react to the men who were just about to get his attention.

  If the kid was surprised, that meant he obviously wasn’t expecting them.

  If the kid was scared, he might take off running and give the gunmen a good laugh.

  If the kid was stupid, he might just get himself killed.

  The last possibility didn’t set too well with Clint, but it was definitely something he had to keep in mind. Just to be on the safe side, Clint stepped over to another post so he could lean against it and watch the other side of the street from a better angle.

  The kid definitely looked surprised as he turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. The wide-eyed expression on his face would have brought a smirk to Clint’s if not for the glint of panic in the kid’s eyes. That glint showed more than fear.

  To the other two gunmen, that glint was like raw meat dangling in front of them.

  Clint didn’t have to wait long to see the kid do something stupid. The moment he saw Henry pull his shirt up to reveal the gun stuck under his belt, Clint was bolting across the street like a shot . . .

  DON’T MISS THESE ALL-ACTION WESTERN SERIES FROM THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  THE GUNSMITH by J. R. Roberts

  Clint Adams was a legend among lawmen, outlaws, and ladies. They called him . . . the Gunsmith.

  LONGARM by Tabor Evans

  The popular long-running series about Deputy U.S. Marshal Long—his life, his loves, his fight for justice.

  SLOCUM by Jake Logan

  Today’s longest-running action Western. John Slocum rides a deadly trail of hot blood and cold steel.

  BUSHWHACKERS by B. J. Lanagan

  An action-packed series by the creators of Longarm! The rousing adventures of the most brutal gang of cutthroats ever assembled—Quantrill’s Raiders.

  DIAMONDBACK by Guy Brewer

  Dex Yancey is Diamondback, a Southern gentleman turned con man when his brother cheats him out of the family fortune. Ladies love him. Gamblers hate him. But nobody pulls one over on Dex . . .

  WILDGUN by Jack Hanson

  The blazing adventures of mountain man Will Barlow— from the creators of Longarm!

  TEXAS TRACKER by Tom Calhoun

  Meet J.T. Law: the most relentless—and dangerous—manhunter in all Texas. Where sheriffs and posses fail, he’s the best man to bring in the most vicious outlaws—for a price.

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  OUTLAW’S RECKONING

  A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Jove edition / September 2007

  Copyright © 2007 by Robert J. Randisi.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form

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  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-0-515-14353-9

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  ONE

  A man with a fiddle started to play a waltz from his stool in the corner of the Whitecap Saloon. Although his playing was fairly good, his efforts weren’t appreciated by the saloon’s customers. As soon as the gentle tunes drifted from the fiddle player’s instrument, he was met by a hearty round of boos and grunted profanities.

  The fiddle player winced after he realized he truly wouldn’t be able to play his song all the way through, and he reluctantly launched into a halfhearted rendition of “Camptown Races.” Much to his dismay, the fiddle player heard several grateful claps.

  While that good-natured applause continued, the front door of the saloon was pulled open to reveal a young man standing outside. His light hair was tousled and his face was dirty thanks to the stiff breeze whipping through the town’s streets. He had the look of the wild in him, which didn’t catch many of the drinkers off their guard. The town of Birdie’s Pass was a stone’s throw from the mountains, after all, and many of the men who lived in Montana had a much wilder look in their eyes.

  Once the drunks in the saloon got a look at the boy still standing in the doorway, they shifted on their feet and got back to their own business. The bartender took a bit more interest, however, and raised his voice after a few more seconds.

  “Hey!” the bartender shouted.

  That caused the young man to jump a bit and grab the edge of the door. He did his best to regain his compos
ure by puffing out his chest and forcing a scowl onto his smooth face.

  “In or out, boy!” the bartender shouted. “Folks come here to get out of that damn wind, not have it blowin’ dirt into their drinks!”

  Faltering a bit in his efforts to look mean, the boy took one step forward and paused. He let out a breath, dragged his other leg along into the saloon and then pushed the door shut. When the thick wood smacked against the frame, the boy flinched.

  The barkeep studied the kid for another second and then turned to nod in another direction. After that, he got back to his bottles and glasses as if the boy no longer existed.

  Glancing around, the boy ground his teeth and studied the mix of humanity leaning against the bar or hunched over one of the tables. Since nobody seemed to be looking at him any longer, he allowed the scowl on his face to drift away.

  “Hello there, stranger,” a soft, gentle voice said from the boy’s right.

  When he turned to get a look at who’d crept up on him, the boy reflexively slapped his hand against a bulge under his shirt on his right hip. Fear filled his eyes, which was quickly replaced by embarrassment when he saw who’d spoken to him.

  The woman was in her late twenties and had short blond hair that was cut to just shorter than shoulder length. Her cheeks were full and her eyes were smiling every bit as much as her thin, red lips. Curls of hair drooped into her eyes, which she swept away with the back of her left hand. Offering her other hand to the boy, she said, “My name’s Shelly. What’s yours?”

  Glancing down at the hand she was offering, the boy reluctantly took his own hand from the bulge on his hip. “Henry,” he told her. “My name’s Henry.”

  “That’s a good name for a handsome fellow like yourself,” she replied while taking his hand in a warm grip and shaking it. “What brings you to the Whitecap, Henry?”

  “I . . . uhh . . . I’m looking for someone.”

  She smiled knowingly while letting go of Henry’s hand and running her fingers up along his arm. Shelly didn’t stop until her fingers were slowly tracing a line along his back. Leaning in closer to him, she whispered, “Think you might be looking for me, Henry?”

  Henry’s eyes widened, and he turned to look at her directly in the eyes for the first time since she’d sidled up to him. His eyes were wide and clear as a pond. Although he looked to be in his mid-teens at first, the longer he drank in the sight of Shelly’s body, the more years were shaved off of him.

  Finally, Henry swallowed hard and softly replied, “I don’t think so, ma’am.”

  Turning her head a bit and giving him a stern look, Shelly replied, “No need to call me ma’am. You make me feel like I’m teaching you your alphabet.” When she didn’t get a response from Henry, she asked, “How old are you?”

  The decision of whether or not he should lie flitted across Henry’s face like a moth dancing too close to a lantern. Actually, it was a bit more obvious than that. Realizing that he wasn’t about to fool much of anyone, Henry replied, “Thirteen. I’ll be fourteen in the winter.”

  Shelly patted his shoulder and nodded approvingly. “Fourteen’s a good age. A young man can learn a lot at that age.” As her hand drifted along his body, she allowed it to stray toward the bulge under his shirt. Henry flinched dramatically, so she pulled her hand back.

  Almost immediately, her hand started moving to another bulge in Henry’s clothes. This one, however, was a bit farther south. Shelly lowered her voice to a soothing whisper and leaned in close enough for Henry to be able to smell the lavender oil she’d put into her most recent bath.

  “You here for a taste of whiskey?” she asked.

  Although Henry’s eyes were on the bar, he shook his head. “No.”

  “Don’t tell me you want to play cards. You’d be better off giving that money to me instead of handing it over to those cheats.”

  Henry looked toward the card games, and his eyes narrowed to focus intently upon what was happening there.

  By now Shelly had guided Henry over to the end of the bar that was closest to the door. Since it was the section of the saloon that caught most of the light thanks to the dirty front window, it was also the section where the fewest of its customers could be found. Positioning herself next to Henry, but between the boy and the more populated section of the bar, she leaned against the wooden structure and licked her lips while moving her eyes up and down the boy’s frame.

  Henry looked at her and instinctually glanced at the slope of her cleavage, which was displayed in the plunging neckline of her blouse. Pulling his eyes to her face, Henry said, “Maybe there is something you could do.”

  Nodding, she said, “Go on, Henry. I’m listening.”

  “It’s . . . kind of hard for me to say.”

  “I know, sweetie,” Shelly replied as she reached out to run a hand along the boy’s shoulder. When she found his shoulder and upper arm, she grinned and added, “You’re a strong young man. Where’d you get such big, thick muscles?”

  “Workin’ on my pa’s ranch.”

  “I bet you’re the strongest hand he’s got.”

  Henry’s eyes narrowed as he shifted more toward the bar. He leaned on his elbows and glared at the chipped wooden surface.

  Trading a quick grin with the bartender, Shelly rubbed Henry’s back and leaned in so she could whisper her next question directly into the boy’s ear.

  “You want to be with me, Henry?”

  Henry didn’t shake his head. He didn’t even move.

  “If it’s your first time, that’s all right,” she told him. “I’ll be real gentle. You just say the word and I’ll take you to my room and we can have a real good time.”

  “I don’t want to go to your room,” Henry said sternly. Quickly looking over at her, he flushed in the cheeks and lowered his eyes. “I do, but that’s not why I came.”

  “Then why’d you bring all that money, Henry?” Shelly asked.

  The boy flinched when he heard that and quickly dropped his hand to the smaller bulge in his pants pocket. Shelly’s hand was already there, and she didn’t move it away even after she’d been discovered. Instead, she eased her hand away from the bulge and let her fingers wander elsewhere.

  “I know you’ve got a good amount of money in your pocket,” she whispered. “It’s more than enough to cover what I’d charge. You’d have enough left over to go around again. If you’re feeling randy, I might just let you have a free one so you could try your hand at cards or have that drink. You might need a touch of whiskey when I get through with you.”

  Henry straightened up and pulled away from her. “That’s not what I came here for.”

  Without losing her calm, Shelly asked, “I thought you said you were looking for someone.”

  “I am. I’m looking to hire a killer.”

  TWO

  Clint had seen the boy walk into the saloon. In fact, Clint had been one of the only ones apart from the bartender who’d taken much more than a passing notice of the kid. Once he saw Shelly walk up to him and start working her magic, Clint had grinned and wished the kid the best. Any boy could do a hell of a lot worse than have someone like Shelly break him in.

  The cards had been warming up, but not enough for Clint to recoup his losses. One bad thing about a hole of a place like the Whitecap Saloon was that it lowered a man’s expectations where the gambling was concerned. With no real stakes being wagered, no familiar gamblers’ faces about and only dregs tossing their money onto the tables, the odds of finding a challenging game were slim to none. Unfortunately, even the dumbest drunk could get lucky.

  Clint fanned his cards and looked down at the four, five, six and seven of diamonds, with the king of spades tossed in for good measure. After a round of bets, he threw out his king and prayed to get one of the cards needed to make a winning hand. There were plenty of possibilities. In fact, Clint was even feeling optimistic when he took the replacement card that was flipped his way and fit it into his hand. That enthusiasm ran dry, however,
the moment he saw the king of hearts staring back at him.

  A slender hand slid onto Clint’s shoulder just then, followed by a sultry voice drifting toward his ear.

  “Mind if I pull you away for a second?”

  Clint didn’t have to look back to know who was talking to him. “Sure, Shelly. Anything for a lady.”

  With that, Clint gratefully tossed his cards away and stood up from his spot at the table. A few of the other players looked disappointed, but the next round of betting was more than enough to draw their attention back to the game.

  “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” Shelly said.

  Clint laughed and gathered up the few chips of his that remained. “You might as well say the same thing to a horse with a broken leg before shooting it. What’s on your mind?”

  Shelly’s entire manner had changed since she’d walked from the bar to the table where Clint had been playing. Now she strutted through the Whitecap with her hands on her hips and her chin held high. Her clothes may have been frayed at the edges, but she wore them like a queen wore her royal gown.

  “You see that kid over there?” Shelly asked.

  Clint looked to where she was pointing and nodded. “Yeah. I saw him when he walked in.” It took a moment for Clint to spot the kid again, simply because of the difference in height between Henry and the rest of the men at the bar. “Is he causing some trouble?”

  “Not at all. In fact, I’m worried about him getting into trouble.”

  “That’s what a kid his age is supposed to do in a saloon,” Clint replied with a chuckle. “That’s how we learn.”

  “He’s not in here for that sort of thing. I already checked on that.” Glancing nervously between Clint and Henry, she added, “He’s in here to hire a gunman.”

  That caught Clint off balance and he looked over to the kid one more time. “Are you sure about that?”

  Shelly nodded. “He’s even got enough money with him to do the job.”

  “Why would he want to do something like that?”