warning you, don’t touch her. She’s mine.”
Desperado merely stared at him.
“Never mind. I was the first but I knew I wouldn’t be the last. Have you found that sweet little mole on the inside of her left thigh yet? She likes it when you—”
Desperado leaped at Tate from his horse’s back, taking Tate down with him. They rolled on the ground, exchanging punches, but Tate didn’t have a chance. When Desperado deemed the young fool had had enough, he hauled him to his feet.
“You’re a liar and a braggart, Talbot. Chloe hates your guts. If you so much as looked cross-eyed at her she’d shoot your balls off and feed them to the pigs.”
Desperado released Tate so fast he landed on his rump. He rose quickly and dusted himself off. “Chloe doesn’t really hate me,” he said with sly innuendo. “It’s all pretense. Ask anyone. We were gonna get hitched. Her mother gave us her blessing.”
“Yeah? What happened to break you up?”
“A misunderstanding,” Tate muttered, refusing to look Desperado in the eye. “Then she took it into her head to run the ranch herself after her ma died. Damn shame. She was the best I ever had. She had a tight little—”
“Don’t say it,” Desperado warned. A muscle jumped in his jaw. Tate must have sensed that he had goaded Desperado too far, for he abruptly fell silent, staring at Desperado’s gun as if he expected it to jump out of the holster and bite him.
“If you’re through damaging a lady’s reputation, I’ll hear your plan now,” Desperado rasped.
Tate’s manner changed when he realized Desperado wasn’t going to kill him. “That’s more like it,” he said with considerably more confidence. “I’ve been scouting ahead. There’s a deep ravine about ten or fifteen miles from where you’re camped. My friends and I will camp nearby. There is plenty of good grazing land a mile or so from the ravine. I know you scout ahead. You’re to conveniently forget to mention the ravine. I’ll leave it to you to convince Chloe to camp somewhere nearby that night.”
“What then?” Desperado asked. He knew what was coming but wanted to hear it from Talbot.
“We’ll take it from there. See that you make yourself scarce while we stampede the herd into the ravine. Half or more of the herd will be lost before they can be stopped. Even at twelve dollars a head there won’t be enough money to pay the taxes and Pa will get what he wants.”
Desperado was torn. He still had the money Calvin Talbot had paid him to sabotage the drive and it seemed to weigh him down. To whom did he owe loyalty? A man who had paid him seven hundred and fifty dollars or a woman who’d offered him fifty dollars a month? In truth he owed Chloe nothing. Whether or not she lost the ranch was immaterial to him, he tried to convince himself. The ranch was lost to him anyway and had been for a very long time.
“What’s the matter, Jones, are you having second thoughts?” Tate taunted. “Are you a hired gun or has Chloe’s taut little body made you soft in the head?” He sent Desperado a challenging look. “Chloe must be hard up to bed a half-breed gunslinger.”
Hearing the truth about himself had a sobering effect on Desperado. He should know better than to think Chloe would look favorably upon a man with an unsavory reputation and Indian blood flowing through his veins. He belonged to a breed of restless men who hired out their guns and disappeared into the sunset when someone faster came along. His future was uncertain. A gunslinger had no guarantee of long life and happiness. Had he become a rancher like his father, he could have earned respectability and eventually married and fathered children.
But his life had taken a far different course from what his father had envisioned for him. Because Norie Sommers had hated him, he had found refuge with his mother’s people and lost his right to become the rancher he was meant to be. He was a gunslinger and a damn good one.
Desperado merely stared at him.
“Never mind. I was the first but I knew I wouldn’t be the last. Have you found that sweet little mole on the inside of her left thigh yet? She likes it when you—”
Desperado leaped at Tate from his horse’s back, taking Tate down with him. They rolled on the ground, exchanging punches, but Tate didn’t have a chance. When Desperado deemed the young fool had had enough, he hauled him to his feet.
“You’re a liar and a braggart, Talbot. Chloe hates your guts. If you so much as looked cross-eyed at her she’d shoot your balls off and feed them to the pigs.”
Desperado released Tate so fast he landed on his rump. He rose quickly and dusted himself off. “Chloe doesn’t really hate me,” he said with sly innuendo. “It’s all pretense. Ask anyone. We were gonna get hitched. Her mother gave us her blessing.”
“Yeah? What happened to break you up?”
“A misunderstanding,” Tate muttered, refusing to look Desperado in the eye. “Then she took it into her head to run the ranch herself after her ma died. Damn shame. She was the best I ever had. She had a tight little—”
“Don’t say it,” Desperado warned. A muscle jumped in his jaw. Tate must have sensed that he had goaded Desperado too far, for he abruptly fell silent, staring at Desperado’s gun as if he expected it to jump out of the holster and bite him.
“If you’re through damaging a lady’s reputation, I’ll hear your plan now,” Desperado rasped.
Tate’s manner changed when he realized Desperado wasn’t going to kill him. “That’s more like it,” he said with considerably more confidence. “I’ve been scouting ahead. There’s a deep ravine about ten or fifteen miles from where you’re camped. My friends and I will camp nearby. There is plenty of good grazing land a mile or so from the ravine. I know you scout ahead. You’re to conveniently forget to mention the ravine. I’ll leave it to you to convince Chloe to camp somewhere nearby that night.”
“What then?” Desperado asked. He knew what was coming but wanted to hear it from Talbot.
“We’ll take it from there. See that you make yourself scarce while we stampede the herd into the ravine. Half or more of the herd will be lost before they can be stopped. Even at twelve dollars a head there won’t be enough money to pay the taxes and Pa will get what he wants.”
Desperado was torn. He still had the money Calvin Talbot had paid him to sabotage the drive and it seemed to weigh him down. To whom did he owe loyalty? A man who had paid him seven hundred and fifty dollars or a woman who’d offered him fifty dollars a month? In truth he owed Chloe nothing. Whether or not she lost the ranch was immaterial to him, he tried to convince himself. The ranch was lost to him anyway and had been for a very long time.
“What’s the matter, Jones, are you having second thoughts?” Tate taunted. “Are you a hired gun or has Chloe’s taut little body made you soft in the head?” He sent Desperado a challenging look. “Chloe must be hard up to bed a half-breed gunslinger.”
Hearing the truth about himself had a sobering effect on Desperado. He should know better than to think Chloe would look favorably upon a man with an unsavory reputation and Indian blood flowing through his veins. He belonged to a breed of restless men who hired out their guns and disappeared into the sunset when someone faster came along. His future was uncertain. A gunslinger had no guarantee of long life and happiness. Had he become a rancher like his father, he could have earned respectability and eventually married and fathered children.
But his life had taken a far different course from what his father had envisioned for him. Because Norie Sommers had hated him, he had found refuge with his mother’s people and lost his right to become the rancher he was meant to be. He was a gunslinger and a damn good one.
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