“It matters to me,” he said, taking another step.
It was now or never. If he got past her, then he would go after Mac. Her hand moved to her side, just inches from her Colt.
She had no choice. Mac was like a father to her. Now shattered by three bullet wounds, he lay unconscious in a room inside the saloon. She had to protect him. There was no one else. No one.
“Look, I have no quarrel with you,” he tried again. “I don’t even know who the hell you are.”
“We don’t like strangers,” Sam repeated. She tried to hide her abhorrence at what she was doing. The fear that turned her blood cold in the hot temperature.
It’s for Mac.
Archie was with Mac now. Archie, another of her “godfathers,” was the oldest of the three men who had loved her mother and taken over Sam’s care when her mother died. Now he needed glasses to see across the room. He would have tried to help if he knew what was happening. And he would have been killed.
Only she stood between the marshal and Mac.
She’d be damned—or dead—before she’d let this man take Mac to hang.
She could have ambushed him, but that went against everything Mac had told her. Only cowards ambushed.
“Leave,” she tried again, hoping her desperation didn’t reveal itself in her voice. “There’s other guns aimed at you.” Even as she voiced the words, she knew he wouldn’t retreat. Knew his reputation as a ruthless hunter. Still, she had to try. Her heart pounded so hard she feared he could hear it even from a distance.
“Can’t do that,” the intruder replied. His lips were twisted into a frown. She tried not to look at his holster. Mac said never look at the holster. Or the hand. Look at the eyes. They told you when your opponent was going to draw.
The eyes. Not the face. Concentrate on the eyes. Dark with a glint of blue. Unblinking.
“I’m a U.S. Marshal looking for Cal Thornton. He might be going by the name of MacDonald these days,” the lawman continued. “I don’t have a quarrel with anyone else.” His voice suddenly hardened as he added, “Unless they interfere.”
“Don’t know no Thornton,” she said. “Or MacDonald, either. And that badge don’t mean nothing to me.”
His gaze didn’t leave her face. “That old man in the livery said the owner of the horse there was in the saloon. Thornton rode that horse. There aren’t many pintos like it.”
“He’s crazy. I won that horse in a wager.”
“Then I’ll just take a look and move on.”
“No,” she said flatly.
Something about her answer made his lips twist into a smile.
“Where is he, kid?”
She realized with a sick feeling that she’d confirmed the fact that Mac was here. It didn’t make any difference, though. She’d seen him talk to old Burley, then start in the direction of the saloon without hesitation. If he’d ridden this far to find Mac, he wouldn’t be stopped by a denial. Only a bullet could do that.
She held her ground as he took another step. His gaze met hers, weighing her. Watching her every move.
“No closer,” she said. “I’ll shoot.”
“Are you sure, kid?” His voice was steady. “I bet you never shot a man before.”
Her eyes didn’t leave the marshal’s face. It looked carved from a rock. Lines were etched around his eyes, and she sensed they weren’t caused by laughter but by harsher emotions. He studied her with a cool perusal.
Then he started to turn away from her. “I’m going to look in that saloon,” he said.
Now. She had to make her move now.
Her heart pounded hard, and her throat was so dry she could barely breathe. She shifted and concentrated. She was good with a gun. As good as any man, Mac said. But he had taught her to shoot only for self-protection. In her heart, she knew he would not approve of this.
“One more step, and I’ll kill you,” she said.
He turned back to her.
“Go away,” she tried one last time. “No one here but a few ghosts.”
“And you.” His dark gaze seemed to search her soul. “What’s he to you?” He was trying to disarm her. She knew it, even as she realized it might be working. She widened her stance slightly and didn’t bother to answer. Instead, her fingers inched closer to her holster. Don’t stand there talking, Mac had taught her. Some gunmen will try to distract you with talk.
“Don’t know what you mean.”
“Why isn’t he here? Why is he letting a kid protect him?”
She didn’t reply. She had the terrible feeling that every time she did, she revealed more than she intended, that he saw under the disguise she’d so carefully assembled.
“I just want to take Thornton to trial. It will be fair.”
“Not bloody likely.”
He raised an eyebrow at that. “Then Thornton is here.”
Blazes. She’d said too much.
She hadn’t had much time to plan after a friend of Mac’s from the old days had ridden in three hours earlier to warn him that a marshal named Evans was on the way. He’d moved on after issuing the warning. The man had a price on his head, as well.
Evans. She’d known that name. He’d been dogging Mac for years. A vendetta, Archie said once.
She tried to keep her hand from shaking as she stared into the marshal’s eyes. She didn’t want to kill him. Blazes, she didn’t want to shoot him at all. But she could. She knew she could. She was fast. As fast as Mac had been in his heyday, and she’d beaten him to the draw more than once.
But this was no game between teacher and student.
The lawman took a step toward her, his arms at ease. He obviously didn’t believe she would really draw.
Her heart quaked. If he reached her, he could easily disarm her. She was strong for a woman, but he was well over six feet and she suspected his lean body was all muscle.
Now.
“Draw!”
Her hand dove to the butt of her Colt. She saw a change in his eyes. He believed her now. His hand started toward his pistol, as well. A gust of hot wind caught her coat and flung the other side open.
Her finger pulled the trigger at the same second she realized his hand had stopped moving.
