Heaven with a Gun by Connie Brockway Page A

wasn’t. That’s the bottom line.” Without a trace of discernible emotion, he watched the tears stream from her eyes. “But then, if you were willing to sacrifice it, maybe it wasn’t what I thought it was. It sure felt like it though.” He turned.
    She stared at his broad back, watching her life, her future, her love, step farther away with each second. And she couldn’t do it. She ran after him, cutting in front, jamming her hands into his hard, flat belly.
    “No! You listen, Jim Coyne. You’ve been hounding me for the truth for a week. Well, now, by God, you’re going to listen!”
    “Hush!” He hauled her into his arms, pulling her head close into his broad shoulder, his own raised to scan the dark alley. “Do you wanna get caught?”
    “I don’t care!”
    “Coulda fooled me.”
    “Damn it, listen to me.”
    “I’m listening.”
    “I am a schoolteacher. I teach drama at a girls’ school. And all the rest of it—the land speculation company, my gun reputation, and everything—it was the truth. Seven years ago Vance Calhoun and four others framed my father for their own scheme of embezzling funds from a land speculation company they were partners in up near Kansas City. My father didn’t have anything to do with it, but the other men were all pillars of the community, with respected family names. My father was the outsider. No one believed him and he was convicted.” Though he still held her closely, it was with as much tenderness as a statue. His face was impassive. Doggedly she went on. “I’d visit my father in prison and watch first his spirit, then his health grow frail, and I’d go home and read in the paper about his old pals and their Midas touch with business.
    “I didn’t want justice, Jim. I’d been in that court. I knew there was no chance, not even with a hundred witnesses for the defense, of that happening. I wanted recompense.”
    She could see the interest kindle in his eyes, mistrustful but there. She gripped his arms, willing him to believe her.
    “If my father was going to suffer for those men’s crimes, at least they weren’t going to feed on his corpse. If he was going to pay for the crime, he was going to at least enjoy the booty. I made my plans. I spent two years learning how to fire a gun, ride a horse. By the time I was ready to become Lightning Lil, the men who’d framed my father had spread out over the territory. I’ve spent half a decade finding them and making sure they don’t enjoy the money they stole.
    “Calhoun’s the last one. I knew he lived here. I couldn’t believe it when I got here and discovered he was the bank’s president. Still, I didn’t think he’d keep his cash in any bank. Even his own. He never did trust banks. But I didn’t know where he kept his money. I couldn’t figure how to find out.”
    “Yeah?” His tone was flat, unemotional.
    “I kept seeing your ads. I thought I could trade, give you a story in exchange for proximity to Calhoun. I didn’t know ... I didn’t plan on claiming I was your wife.”
    “Why didn’t you trust me?” His voice sounded as though it was wrenched unwillingly from deep within his chest.
    “I wanted to, but you kept saying what we were doing was business. Even up to . . . that last night I didn’t know how you felt about me, and then, when I did, I was afraid once you found what I intended to do you’d make me stop. And I couldn’t. Not then. Not so close to the end. Don’t tell me you’d feel different.” She prayed, looking into the fine blue eyes that pinned her to the spot, studied her for what seemed an eternity. “I know you, Jim Coyne. You wouldn’t quit, not when the finish was so close.”
    “So why are you still standing here? You wanted to make us both feel better before you go? A little salve for your conscience, a gratis for the lover?”
    Who’d have thought his lovely voice could be so brittle, so cold.
    “No. Because I was wrong. I can quit. I can turn away right