Crackshot: The Way West: Crackshot, #1

The Way West

PROLOGUE

Painted Lady Saloon

Denver, Colorado

Spring, 1878

Harry Clemens, frequently  known as Red due to his fiery orange hair, laid down yet another winning hand in the high stakes poker game. The tall cowboy squeezed the saloon and brothels owner, Seraphina, tight around the waist. Old Lady Luck is surely riding with me  tonight, Phinney.

Seraphina smiled and poured him another glass of whiskey. At forty, she was pleased to maintain such a handsome lover. She had never been beautiful, her face long and narrow, but her dark eyes sparkled with intelligence and her large breasts were still firm.

Harry was dealt another hand of face cards and pulled in yet  another fat pot. He had his entire roll from the last ten years on him, and as the whiskey heated his blood he grew more reckless. The cards stayed with him, however. By the small hours of the morning only he and a rancher from down Glenwood Springs way were left at the table.

His opponent, Jack Billingsley, played rashly, and often bet heavily on mediocre hands. Desperation was visible on his florid face, his shirt wet with sweat.  As hand after hand went to Harry, Jack bet more and more  wildly.

It was close to dawn and still they played on. Harry was dealt four hearts from the Queen down to the nine and one spade. He asked for  one, his cards face down on the table. He lifted the draw card given him. The King of Hearts winked back at him. He was hard pressed to keep his face composed.

Jack Billingsley drew a full house. Three Aces and two Jacks. There was no way that infernal cowpoke could have gotten better, the rancher thought. Jack didn’t think Harry cheated, much as he would have liked to. He just had the Devil’s own luck. But not this time, Jack decided smugly, as he glanced once more at his cards. The rancher resolved to bet it all and win back his money. He pulled a stiff, folded paper from his coat pocket.

This here’s the deed to my ranch in Rifle. Three thousand acres of prime grazing land and timber. I figure she’s worth at least what’s in your pile, maybe more. Jack knew this hand was his. Then he’d show Porter, that smart aleck brother of his, that he could restock the ranch without any help from him.

Harry could not believe his luck, a high flush in his hand and the biggest ante yet. He shoved the huge pile of bills into the center of the green felt table beside the deed. I call.

Jack laid down his cards with a flourish and reached for the pile.

Not so fast partner. Harry spread out his flush.

Billingsley’s  face went ashen. His hands jerked puppet like as he accepted the quill Seraphina handed him. Unwillingly, he signed the deed over to Harry.

The cowboy got up to leave, now the proud owner of his own spread.  He was beyond pleased. Seraphina was swung up into his arms and Harry gave her a resounding kiss. Well, darlin’, how’d you like to take an honest-to-god rancher to bed with you?! Drunk and victorious, he was not as careful as he might have been, and turned his back on Jack Billingsley.

With a look of crazed desperation on his face, Jack drew his  gun and aimed at Harry’s back

Harry suddenly heard a voice ring out, Behind you, man!, and his fighting reflexes took over. Harry spun  and dropped, pulling his gun as he went down. Seraphina dove to the side. It was not the first time there had been gunplay at the Painted Lady. Billingsley fired and missed. The bullet passed through the empty space where Harry’s head had been and lodged in a wall across the street.

Harry’s aim was true. Billingsley fell dead, shot through the heart, an expression of disbelief on his round face.

Harry helped Seraphina up off the floor, then looked around to thank the man who shouted out the timely warning. A slim, dapper man in his sixties nodded his head in acknowledgment. Terribly bad manners to shoot a man in the back. Couldn’t let that happen. Assuming he was not a friend of yours? The man inquired dryly.

Guess he took  losing his spread a mite harder than I figured. I’m obliged to you, stranger. The name’s Harry Clemens. He offered one freckled, callused hand. The older man took it. Hugh Delmont from New York. Pleasure to meet you.

The pleasure’s all mine. I’d admire to buy you some breakfast if you’ve got the time. That’s if you don’t mind, Phinney? Seraphina shook her head. The close brush with death had dampened her ardor.

Delmont gestured at the body on the floor and asked if perhaps there was something they should do. Harry answered that they’d stop by the sheriff’s office on the way.

He drew first. You saw. The folks at the saloon saw. Shouldn’t be no big deal atall. The sheriff’s a good friend of mine.

Harry spoke the truth. Delmont was amazed by the speedy interview that bypassed all the standard legal red tape he was used to. The Sheriff, Clay Peterson,  simply took down their accounts, congratulated  Harry on his luck at the tables and warned him to be more careful turning his back on sore losers. The  two men departed to grab a bite at the nearest restaurant.

Over the meal they discovered a common interest in horse racing. Harry spent several days with Hugh as he stopped by the various businesses he had investments in. On the day of Hugh’s departure Harry drove him to the train station. As he boarded, the New Yorker said, Listen Harry, I’m sure you’ll be busy on your new spread. But, if you ever need a job, drop me a wire. I can always use a man good with horses.

Harry took Hugh up on his offer almost immediately. When he’d  arrived at the ranch he found it in poor repair. There was not a single cow on the place. His stake was not large enough to restock the ranch, at least not the way he wanted it done. Billingsley had obviously been down on his luck long before that poker game. Harry was philosophical. You don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, and he sent Hugh Delmont a telegraph.

CHAPTER ONE

FairView Plantation

Essex County, Virginia

May, 1880

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Come on, Prince! The trim young woman shouted and touched the flanks of her fine blooded chestnut stallion with her spurs, in a surge he moved ahead. His white stockings flashed with every stride and his rider laughed with abandon. You’ll not catch us this time, Justin!

A tall black-haired man galloped hard on her flanks. Long raspberry-blond hair flew wildly about as she urged her horse to still greater speed. Blue green eyes, the color of a stormy sea, gleamed with excitement.

The young man pushed his bay gelding in an attempt to catch up. The race isn’t over yet, Morgan! He shouted with a laugh. In his mind, racing behind her in those tight buckskin britches she preferred, was not quite the punishment she believed.

They continued their run at breakneck speed with the supreme confidence of excellent riders well mounted. Mud and water spattered them as they charged through the creek, up the bank, and down the side of a freshly plowed  tobacco field. The horses’ hooves threw up huge clods of dirt that created further shouts of laughter when they hit.

Last one back owes the other one wish! Morgan’s challenge rang out.

You’re on. He called back.

She wheeled her mount sharply to the side and hurdled a ditch without a break in stride, then head straight down the main drive for the plantation  and back towards the stable.  They flew along the row of tall magnolia trees, bits of gravel spattered in the air. Pointed towards their home barn, as ever, the horses found new energy. For nearly a half mile neither gave way but as they neared the final curve both slowed. The heavy five plank gate was latched. As the slim young man pulled up his inexperienced horse, Morgan sailed past him. Astride the Prince she had no such qualms. In a steady rhythm they had a perfect take off and soared effortlessly over the solid wood planks.

Justin watched her, love and admiration glittered in his pale gray eyes. There were not many men who could sit a horse half as well as his Morgan, and none would ever look as good doing so, he thought with a smug inner smile. He felt his britches tighten. Only two more weeks and they would be wed. Finally, he would be able to do something about the ache in his groin that was almost continuous now. As he dismounted and led his young horse through the gate, Morgan walked back towards him, a triumphant smile on her flushed face.

I do believe you lost your wager, Sir. You owe me and I mean to collect. She drawled.

I am ever your willing servant, my lady. He said huskily and pulled her down off the tall horse, wrapping his arms about her small waist. As his head lowered to touch his lips to hers, the horses who had been momentarily forgotten touched noses, the chestnut stallion squealed loudly and struck out at the younger horse. The young couple hastened to separate them.

Glad someone has the good sense they were born with; even if it’s just the two horses. A gruff voice came from the stable doorway. A thin older man, with a thick mane of white hair, stepped into the courtyard. Why your parents didn’t marry you off last summer, I’ll never know.

Morgan ignored the tirade for the bluster she knew it was and kissed the old man on his weather beaten cheek. Grandfather, you know  full well Father wouldn’t let us wed until my seventeenth birthday. Besides, she added impishly, I’m not ready to be married yet.

The dark haired man stepped up behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. Not even to me? He questioned softly, his breath warm on her ear.

Well, perhaps if you’re terribly nice to me, I may consider it. She said primly, then ruined the effect with a giggle. This time the interruption came from her grandfather.

If you two can stop your flirting for a moment, I see two hot horses that need cooling out and me with no grooms to spare. The horse buyers are down from New York, and I’ve got no time for your foolishness.

As they looked at their lathered mounts, the young couple were immediately contrite and led them into the barn.

The old structure was built of stone with a wood shingled roof. There were three such edifices surrounding a central brick courtyard with flower beds placed around the outside edges. This area was the true heart and soul of FairView plantation. The business offices were run by Morgan’s father, Thomas Dunsmore, while Edward Dunsmore, Morgan’s grandfather, made sure the stables were kept in as immaculate condition as the horses that were housed there.

They unsaddled and sponged off their mounts in a companionable silence, having performed this same ritual for many years. Lost in their thoughts of their upcoming nuptials and the events that preceded them.

It had not been a sudden courtship by any means. Morgan had loved Justin since the day they met nine years before. He’d been eleven years old and quite grown up in her eight year old’s eyes. Even then he’d been extremely handsome with high strong cheekbones and eyes as clear as crystal. He’d looked like a hero in a fairy tale to the little girl she’d been. Morgan laughed softly as she wiped down the Prince, not much else about that first meeting had been romantic.

What has you so amused, Princess? Justin asked, breaking into her reverie.

I was thinking of the day we met, and how I’d snuck out of the house determined that I was grown up enough to ride without a groom accompanying me.

And grown up enough to jump that pony over the stream, or at least try to. He amended with a grin.

You were like a knight in shining armor and I a drowned cat, sitting where that damned pony dropped me. She gave him a loving glance. You were so terribly polite. Simply asked if you could fetch my mount for me without even breaking a smile.

Well, I did chuckle a time or two while I was catching the little brute. But you were so worried that he would get home before you, I didn’t have the heart to do it in front of you.

At any rate, you did manage to catch him and get us both home without anyone being the wiser. Avoiding the punishment I so richly deserved. My grandfather would have given me a good switching if he’d found out.

Your secrets will always be safe with me. Justin said softly. I think that was the day I decided you would be mine. Sitting in the creek mad as a hornet instead of bawling like my sister. You broke off a nearby branch and as I recall we didn’t leave until that pony jumped the water.

Well, of course I made him go! Both of them laughed at her indignant outburst.

I thought you were the bravest girl I’d ever met. Besides, I’d never seen a girl in britches before. I was quite overwhelmed by your nerve.

Thank God, Mother told Father that he shouldn’t be so stuffy. You can’t ride a racehorse in a habit. A pair of these are ever so comfortable in comparison. Morgan stretched out one shapely leg before her.

And ever so becoming on you, my dear. He teased. Takes all the sting out of coming in second place.

Her face colored but she was not displeased. That reminds me of our wager. Shall I have you shine my boots or groom my horse or... She looked at him under her thick eyelashes. Or maybe one kiss. I wish for a kiss, Sir Knight.

I am always your willing servant, my lady. He bent his head, and gently pressed his lips to hers. Morgan appeared  rather disappointed. He cradled her in his arms. After we are married, I’ll be happy to kiss you for as long as you like. But if you plan to remain a maid until our wedding day, you will stop rubbing against me now. He had waited years for her seventeenth birthday but there were limits to what a man could take. A wicked glint sparked in his eye. I’m looking forward to the wagers made after we’re wed. I do believe I might ask for more than just a kiss.

Why, Justin Ashworth, you’ve used every wish you’ve won since your seventeenth birthday on kisses. Are you complaining? The young man wisely refrained from answering by kissing her instead. This was not a quick peck like the time before. Their tongues met lightly stroking at first, then rapidly intensifying. They abruptly pulled apart flushed and breathless. Justin recovered his senses first.

If you’re finished collecting your bet, we’re expected at luncheon. I’m anxiously awaiting the unveiling of your latest confection to dazzle the horse buyers.

Collecting my bet. Morgan sputtered. How dare you, you vain thing. He yanked the ribbon from her hair, his grin unrepentant. If you don’t hurry, you’ll look like you’ve just come from the stable.

With a laugh she took his arm and they headed up to the FairView plantation house.

Neither was precisely sure when the wagering for wishes had begun. Morgan owned her first Connemara hunting pony, so she must have been at least nine or ten. As the only children of close age for miles, racing their ponies had been only natural; the wagering adding zest. And they knew if they were ever caught betting coins that Morgan’s grandfather would tan them proper. In those childhood years the wishes had been for concrete things. Justin would wish for Morgan’s share of dessert. She would wish for him to care for her lathered pony after a long days ride.

It was not until his seventeenth birthday that the wishes changed in content. That was the day that the pale eyed boy wished for their first kiss. Morgan had been a coltish fourteen. Her figure just beginning to show the promise of the woman she would become. It was no more than a touching of lips quickly parted but sufficient in impact to leave both breathless and in awe of this extraordinary transformation in their relationship. Any previous emotions were swept by the wayside in the discovery of their new-found passions.

Afterwards, Justin had returned to his family’s plantation, Twin Elms, aglow with love and lust. His father, Edmund, read the signs on his son’s flushed face with humor and accuracy, and asked him to join him in his study. He poured Justin his first official drink of smooth aged whiskey that the boy sipped with practiced ease, his father noted. Edmund, a straight forward man saw no reason to mince matters. He had had a similar conversation with Michael, his elder son, several years back.

Son, in my mind, being seventeen means you are a man, complete with a man’s desires and responsibilities. I take it you’re fond of the Dunsmore’s girl.

I plan to marry her, Sir. Justin answered forthrightly.

I thought that might be the case. Edmund considered for a moment, stroking his thick mutton chop sideburns. I think it’s time you learn more about women and not from young Morgan either. Tonight we’re going to pay a visit to Madame Delilah’s house. One of her girls can tell you more about the ladies than I ever could. The older man chuckled, then went on. Thomas Dunsmore is one of my oldest friends. I don’t want him showing up one day with a shotgun. Do you receive my meaning, boy? He concluded sternly.

Yes, Sir! Justin answered. He was inexperienced but not ignorant.

When you need to, you go into town. That’s what the girls at Delilah’s are there for. Enough said, let us put word to deed.

*                            *                            *                             *

Justin’s eyes were wide as they entered the overly opulent house with its mirrored walls and crystal chandeliers. A long white marble topped bar ran halfway down the length of the front room. Several well dressed men stood beside it, drink in hand. A bevy of women, in gowns designed to reveal rather than conceal, served drinks to the men who lounged on various velvet couches scattered artfully about the spacious room. In one corner two men sat with serious expressions as they moved their backgammon markers, in another a game of cards played with equal intensity. The perfume the women wore was overlaid by the smell of smoke coming from