ROMANCE: Regency Romance: Fated to His Kiss (Historical Victorian Romance) (Historical Regency Romance Fantasy Short Stories) by Eva Madden Page B
Authors: Eva Madden
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clear?”
“You got it.” Johnny said, pulling out his gun.
“Let’s go. Wait.” He saw a glint of metal flashing from behind the sheep.
The gun blasted three times. He felt a sharp pain along his shoulder blade and a moment later Ike was spinning and falling off his horse.
“Damn it!” He shot, but the shots went wide. Johnny’s missed their mark as well. Once it was clear they’d failed, they spurred their horses forward.
It was less than ideal, but Brock felt reasonably sure he could still put the man in the ground. It’d be his fiftieth kill, and he hated the idea of missing that magic number.
They closed the distance quickly, but from a stationary position with a dead sheep in front of him- one of them had apparently gunned down the sheep- he was taking his time and picking his target. Brock unloaded and was about to give Johnny another order when he saw the man was slumped over the neck of his horse. He slid and fell off.
It was just him and the target now, and he was in a far worse position than he had been when he’d started off. He slowed the horse and, from his higher position, assumed he’d get the shot off without a problem. As Brock gained control over his horse, he smiled and began to lower his gun.
Unfortunately for Brock, his gun fell from his lifeless hands as a shot rang out from his intended target. The gunman followed his gun as he dropped off the horse.
Jeb stood up, letting himself breath for the first time since the ambush had begun. He’d seen them from a distance minutes before they’d begun their attack. He’d expected he’d there would be retribution for his showdown at the Daisy, but he hadn’t expected it would be so blunt.
“The Sheriff be damned.” Jeb said to himself, looking down at the dead body before him. “Time to take a ride into town.”
Jeb rode into Oak Ridge half-expecting there would be a gunfight right on the streets as he rushed in to call out Frank. No one confronted him. But with three killers lying in pools of their own blood on his property, two of whom everyone knew to be in the employ of Frank Durant, he felt confident that it was time to confront his brother’s killer. If the Sheriff wanted to step in, that’d be his mistake.
As he tied up at the Lucky Star, he thought he did spy Sheriff Robert Tate hanging back in the shadows along the side of the road, disinterested in the wild music, shouting, and cursing taking place in the tavern. A couple of ladies of the night were hanging about from the balcony on the building’s second story, and they called down to Jeb to grab his attention. He ignored them.
“Watcha doing’ here, Jeb?” A man called out. It was, as he suspected, the Sheriff.
“Ike Harmon and Johnny Gould are out on my property, same men that likely killed Tom. If you want to know, Bob, I intend to ask Frank a few direct questions about it.”
Sheriff Tate stepped out of the shadows. “Well, that’s a mighty shame, Jeb. Always thought you were smarter than your brother. But I guess you don’t care much about that lady friend of yours, if you think it’s okay to be so brazen about your line of questioning.”
The words caught in his throat. “I- I don’t know what you mean, Bob. Make that clear.”
“I mean I just saw Curly Roberts escorting that Forest woman, the one from Baltimore you’ve been keeping’ company with today. He thought she could do with a bit of better company up in here. You go in there looking to cause trouble, you might not like what you
“You got it.” Johnny said, pulling out his gun.
“Let’s go. Wait.” He saw a glint of metal flashing from behind the sheep.
The gun blasted three times. He felt a sharp pain along his shoulder blade and a moment later Ike was spinning and falling off his horse.
“Damn it!” He shot, but the shots went wide. Johnny’s missed their mark as well. Once it was clear they’d failed, they spurred their horses forward.
It was less than ideal, but Brock felt reasonably sure he could still put the man in the ground. It’d be his fiftieth kill, and he hated the idea of missing that magic number.
They closed the distance quickly, but from a stationary position with a dead sheep in front of him- one of them had apparently gunned down the sheep- he was taking his time and picking his target. Brock unloaded and was about to give Johnny another order when he saw the man was slumped over the neck of his horse. He slid and fell off.
It was just him and the target now, and he was in a far worse position than he had been when he’d started off. He slowed the horse and, from his higher position, assumed he’d get the shot off without a problem. As Brock gained control over his horse, he smiled and began to lower his gun.
Unfortunately for Brock, his gun fell from his lifeless hands as a shot rang out from his intended target. The gunman followed his gun as he dropped off the horse.
Jeb stood up, letting himself breath for the first time since the ambush had begun. He’d seen them from a distance minutes before they’d begun their attack. He’d expected he’d there would be retribution for his showdown at the Daisy, but he hadn’t expected it would be so blunt.
“The Sheriff be damned.” Jeb said to himself, looking down at the dead body before him. “Time to take a ride into town.”
Jeb rode into Oak Ridge half-expecting there would be a gunfight right on the streets as he rushed in to call out Frank. No one confronted him. But with three killers lying in pools of their own blood on his property, two of whom everyone knew to be in the employ of Frank Durant, he felt confident that it was time to confront his brother’s killer. If the Sheriff wanted to step in, that’d be his mistake.
As he tied up at the Lucky Star, he thought he did spy Sheriff Robert Tate hanging back in the shadows along the side of the road, disinterested in the wild music, shouting, and cursing taking place in the tavern. A couple of ladies of the night were hanging about from the balcony on the building’s second story, and they called down to Jeb to grab his attention. He ignored them.
“Watcha doing’ here, Jeb?” A man called out. It was, as he suspected, the Sheriff.
“Ike Harmon and Johnny Gould are out on my property, same men that likely killed Tom. If you want to know, Bob, I intend to ask Frank a few direct questions about it.”
Sheriff Tate stepped out of the shadows. “Well, that’s a mighty shame, Jeb. Always thought you were smarter than your brother. But I guess you don’t care much about that lady friend of yours, if you think it’s okay to be so brazen about your line of questioning.”
The words caught in his throat. “I- I don’t know what you mean, Bob. Make that clear.”
“I mean I just saw Curly Roberts escorting that Forest woman, the one from Baltimore you’ve been keeping’ company with today. He thought she could do with a bit of better company up in here. You go in there looking to cause trouble, you might not like what you
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