Shawn O'Brien Town Tamer # 1 by William W. Johnstone & J.A. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone & J.A. Johnstone [Johnstone, William W.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Pinnacle
Published: 2014-03-04T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“So it was a trap,” Shawn O’Brien said. “I should’ve known as much.”

“I’ve never seen you before,” the woman said.

“I’ve been around.”

“Are you one of Hank’s men?”

“Hell, no.”

“Then who are you?” She corrected herself. “What are you?”

“Do you really care who or what I am? Call Cobb and get it over with.”

“I’m not your enemy,” the woman said.

She was beautiful in a dark, flashing, Mexican way. Her eyes were as black as midnight, her glossy hair even darker, if that were possible. But her skin was creamy white and her voluptuous figure was the kind that keeps a man awake o’ nights, remembering.

“If you’re not my enemy, are you my friend?” Shawn asked.

“Maybe.”

The shotgun still pointed at Shawn’s belly and he knew he was only a finger twitch from getting cut in half.

“My name is Shawn O’Brien, out of the Glorieta Mesa country in the New Mexico Territory,” he said. “How’s that for starters?”

“You killed a man tonight, didn’t you?”

“Yes. One of Cobb’s men.”

“Why?”

“Because he wanted to kill me. Hank Cobb is my enemy and I aim to see that he pays for his crimes.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “And I’ll make this town pay as well.”

“And he’s also my enemy,” the woman said. “And this town is my enemy.”

“So maybe we can be allies,” Shawn said. Then, smiling, “You know my name but you didn’t give out yours.”

“My mother’s name was Rodriguez. My father was Irish but my mother never said his name aloud. He left us when I was three, went to the goldfields and never came back.”

“So what do you call yourself? Rodriquez?” Shawn said.

“Ruby La Monde. At least that’s what I called myself when I met Hank. I was working the line in Dodge before he brought me to Holy Rood.”

The woman propped up the shotgun in a corner.

The cabin was tiny, barely large enough to accommodate a brass bed, an armchair by the potbellied stove, a small dresser and a clothes closet.

“I wouldn’t have shot you,” she said.

“That’s good to know.”

“Would you like a drink?”

“I could sure use one.”

Shawn glanced out the open window, but saw only a rectangle of blackness.

“Will Cobb look for me here?” he said.

“Maybe. But I doubt it,” Ruby said.

She poured whiskey into glasses and handed one to Shawn. Then she picked up the makings from the table and held them up where he could see.

“Smoke?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Ruby tossed Shawn the makings and said, “Back in the day, I learned the habit from the Texas cowboys who came up the trail.”

“And they learned it from the vaqueros who are much addicted to tobacco,” Shawn said. He smiled. “As I am.”

He built a cigarette and Ruby thumbed a match into flame and lit it for him.

“Those punchers taught you a lot, huh?” he said. “I’ve only seen a man light a match like that.”

Ruby nodded. “They taught me stuff, all right. Both good and bad. I was a prize package back then.”

“You still are, Ruby,” Shawn said, meaning it.

The shouts of men echoed loud in the darkness and the glow of lanterns danced in the street like fireflies.

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