WINNER TAKE ALL: historical Western: amazon/Winner-Take-All-Denyse-Bridger-ebook/dp/B00IDMUMVY/ At some point in the evening, Maggie had fallen asleep at her work. She was jarred from slumber by the familiar sound of gunshots, but instead of casual interest, this time the sound made her blood run cold. She rose and went to the door that led onto the balcony above the saloon. She opened it cautiously and looked out. Lights were beginning to spark to life in the buildings across the street from the Spur, and the sound of running feet grew louder. She peered at the shadowy alley across the street from Wilkins’ Café. The alley that had drawn Dylan’s attention so many times the previous night, a voice inside her head reminded her. There was someone there now. She caught the briefest glimpse of white, and then it was gone. Heart pounding in her chest, Maggie ran for the door that would take her down to the saloon. She’d just stepped off the flight when there was a low knock at the rear entrance. Without thinking of consequences, she went and twisted the lock, then opened the heavy panel of wood. Dylan Coulter slipped past her and closed the door. “What have you done, Dylan?” she asked before she could choose a more tactful way of making the query. “Do you have any experience pulling bullets out of men, Miss Watson?” Maggie’s knees suddenly felt inadequate to the task of keeping her standing upright. “Dylan?” He stumbled, and she caught him awkwardly, offering what little support she could as he propelled her into the saloon and back to the stairs. Once they reached the short flight, the lamp on the wall halfway up gave her a clear look at him. He was dressed in dove gray tonight, and the pristine white of his shirt was marred by a horrible, expanding stain of crimson. “You need a doctor, Dylan,” she whispered, feeling the color drain from her face. “They won’t send a doctor, Maggie,” he said through clenched teeth, “ a lynch mob maybe, but not a doctor.” “Why?” They’d made it to her rooms, he pushed the door open, and went to the bed, where he promptly collapsed into unconsciousness. Before she could think more about what was happening, insistent pounding began on the main floor doors. Her gaze went back to Dylan and she obeyed instinct rather than reason. Until she knew what had happened, she didn’t intend to let him be killed. If the dread in her heart was any indication of how serious things might be, he was in real danger, and he’d come to her for help. She tossed a heavy velvet dress onto the bed and over him, messed up the linen and pillows, then grabbed for a dressing gown. She was shouting and running a minute later, dragging fingers through her hair in an effort to look like she’d just been awakened from a sound sleep. She yanked open the saloon doors and stood back when Ed Madison stormed inside, followed by no less than a dozen men. “Where is he, Maggie?” Ed asked, his dark eyes vivid with rage. Madison was a tall, lean man, with graying hair and angular features. He had an air of authority about him that commanded respect in many men, and fear in many others. He was armed with a rifle, and to all appearances was fully prepared to turn it on anyone who stood between him and his quarry. “Where is who, Ed?” She feigned ignorance, figuring he would attribute it to her being a mere woman. “Coulter,” he snapped. “Dylan Coulter. He just gunned down Billy and Gil.” “That’s ridiculous,” she objected before she could think about what she was saying. “Ridiculous!” Ed repeated with real menace, his hand closing painfully around her upper arm. “My son is dead, Maggie! And my foreman is probably not going to be far behind him.” She staggered when he released her with a push and headed for the stairs. “What room was he in?” he demanded. “Three,” she answered, chasing him up the stairs, overly aware of the guns at her back as his men trailed after them. Dear God! They’d shoot Dylan while he was unconscious if they discovered him. The door to room three was torn from its hinges when Ed Madison’s foot crashed into it and sent splinters showering over them. At his back, she stumbled into him when he stopped suddenly inside the room. “Where is he, Maggie?” “How the hell should I know, Ed? I run this place and rent the rooms, I don’t keep track of the guests. You know that.” “Gil said you and Coulter seemed pretty cozy.” His eyes ran over her in speculative consideration. “He an old friend of yours, Maggie?” The snide tone galled her, but she kept her temper in check with determined effort. “Until he rode in yesterday, I’d never set eyes on him before,” she replied with a calm that surprised her. “Search every room in the place,” Madison ordered over her shoulder. “Ed, for pity’s sake,” she snapped. “I will not have my home invaded by strangers!” “Get out of the way, Maggie.” He pushed her aside and strode down the hall, on a direct course to her rooms. She ran after him and reached the door ahead of him. “Ed, there is no one in my rooms!” She swung the door inward and gave him a full view of the disheveled bed and the rest of the empty room. He looked for several moments, and she wondered if he was suspicious or waiting to hear or see something that would prove her the liar she was. “Get inside,” he shoved her into the room, closed the door, and she heard him walk away. She went to the bed and sat on the edge, her hands shaking uncontrollably in her lap as she considered how she was going to get Coulter out of the Spur while he was still breathing. After a few minutes, quiet returned to the saloon and she knew the hunt for Dylan had moved on. A gentle rap on the balcony door almost made her wet herself, and she ran to bolt the door before anyone could force their way inside. “It’s Charlie, Miss Watson.” She closed her eyes, thanked God for kind souls and brave men, then opened the door and let him into the room. “I thought you might be needin’ some help, ma’am.” His eyes moved to the heap of tumbled velvet and bed linen. “Coulter under than mess somewhere?” he asked quietly. “He’s been shot, Charlie.” Her voice was tremulous with fear. “And I don’t know what the hell went on tonight.” “Billy Madison lost big again, ma’am” He informed her as he tossed aside the layers of material that concealed Dylan. “Heard him talkin’ afterward, sayin’ he wasn’t gonna hand over anymore o’ his daddy’s money to the likes o’ Coulter.” He finally had Dylan uncovered and was tearing open his bloodied shirt. Maggie’s sharp gasp made him glance over his shoulder. “I’m gonna need your help with this, Miss Watson,” he said, tone neutral. “Maggie,” she said. “Call me Maggie, please.” She went to stand next to him and swayed just a little. “Can you take the bullet out, Charlie?” “Yes, ma’am. But right now, you’re gonna have to do it. Get some whiskey, pour it into him, and get the slug out. He’ll survive it. I borrowed a few things from the doc,” he added, indicating the black bag that hed placed next to the door. “But—” “Miss…Maggie—” He nodded. “—I need to get Coulter’s horse from the livery and hide it someplace before Madison and his gang discover he’s still in town.” A small measure of composure returned to Maggie, and with it came clarity. She nodded. “Get his things from room three. Take everything to your place, and I’ll get him out there as soon as I can.” He smiled encouragement and she touched his arm as he rose and turned to leave. He looked at her, waiting. “Thank you, Charlie.” He nodded again, and was gone before she could say anything further. “Maggie…” Startled by Dylan’s voice, weak though it was, she sat next to him, her hand pushing back his hair to smooth his forehead. There was a flush of heat on his skin already. “Stay quiet, Dylan,” she advised softly. “I’ll be right back.”
Posted on: Sun, 25 May 2014 21:39:48 +0000
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