The Avenger’s Trail (Preview)

Chapter One

April 5, 1885

Rio de Roja, Texas

“That was some damned fine shooting, Sheriff.”

Sheriff Edward Price smiled at his deputy, Nicholas Wilson. “Sorry to embarrass you, son, but with Jessica hosting dinner, I really needed that pig.”

There were a few polite chuckles around their corner of the dining room table. Nick grinned. “I’ll get you next year, Ed. I was only a half-inch off of your bullseye.”

“Keep practicing and you’ll be dead center,” Ed exhorted. “But you still won’t beat me.”

There was some more laughter as the others gathered around teased the young deputy. Nick was red-faced, but he grinned good-naturedly. He looked up to Ed like Ed was one of the Earp brothers. If anything, he would probably have been mortified to beat his mentor.

But he would rise to the occasion. It was his time now. He might protest a little when Ed handed him the badge, but he’d take the job, and he’d do a damned fine job with it, too.

“Just out of curiosity, Sheriff,” the portly Reverend Jenner interjected, “what would have been on the menu if it weren’t for roast pork?”

Ed shared a dry look with Nick. Reverend Jenner was as devout as they came, but if someone asked him to choose between God and a good meal, Ed had a suspicion there would be a long moment of hesitation before Jenner reluctantly placed his hand on the Bible.

His smile widened. He could almost hear Jessica scolding him for such blasphemous thoughts. To Jenner, he replied, “Roast chicken.”

Jenner nodded. “Well, that’s all right, too.”

For some reason, this earned even more raucous laughter from the gathered attendees. When the laughter died down, Ed said, “Wait until you see the dessert.”

Jenner’s eyes popped open. “Jessica didn’t make huckleberry pie again, did she?”

Ed nodded. “Grew the berries herself.”

Jenner nearly moaned with excitement. “You have yourself a fine woman, Ed. You are truly blessed.”

“I hope she made a pie all for the reverend,” Rooster Bennett said. “Otherwise there won’t be any for us.”

“Oh, she knows,” Ed assured the burly blacksmith. “No one could forget what happened last year.”

That finally earned Ed his roaring laughter. The reverend reddened, but his tone was jovial when he waggled a finger at Ed and said, “You never told me the pie was for everyone. That’s on you. And come on, you’ve had her huckleberry pie. Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing if you had the chance.”

“Oh, he would have,” Nick replied. “That’s why he’s angry that you got to it before he did.”

Ed took advantage of the fresh bout of laughter to excuse himself. “Let me just go check on those pies.”

“You’d better not steal the best one for yourself, Edward Price!” Jenner called, half-seriously.

Ed didn’t reply, much to the reverend’s consternation.

He headed to the kitchen, where Jessica and the other women laughed and talked about whatever it was womenfolk talked about when they didn’t have to worry about their men hearing. He stood outside the doorway and watched as she carefully layered the huckleberry compote into the prepared crusts and issued instructions to the women helping her.

God, she was beautiful. That wasn’t a blasphemous thought, either. It was just the truth. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She was stout and sturdy, and her powerful waist and strong arms belied a kind heart and a gentle spirit the equal of which Ed had never found. The name she’d chosen was Jessica, and that was the name by which Ed addressed her in front of others, but in private, she was Kuan-kue, his duckling, and he loved her fiercely.

The fact that no other man could see her beauty made that beauty all the more special to Ed. Her features were not the sort that white men found desirable, but the heart that broad chest concealed elevated her to the ranks of angels in Ed’s eyes. Besides, those men hadn’t lain with her. They didn’t know how that strength and gentleness worked their wonders in bed.

“Edward Price, what on Earth are you doing here?”

Ed started and found Jessica staring at him, her hands on her hips and an exasperated expression shining from her dark eyes. Heat climbed his cheeks, and he was grateful that she couldn’t read his thoughts.

“I came to check on the pies. I wanted to make sure you had an extra one for the reverend.”

Karen Jenner sighed and shook her head. “That’s actually a good reason to be back here. I swear, if the Devil showed his face in a jar of molasses, Carl would weep for the loss of the molasses.”

“Be that as it may, my lovely husband is only here to eavesdrop,” Jessica insisted drily. “So he should drag his backside back to the table and talk to his menfolk and leave my kitchen like I’ve told him to a thousand times. Get.”

She stepped forward, shooing him away like she would shoo a chicken back into the coop. He resisted the urge to catch her hands and pull her into his arms, and instead bowed and blew her a kiss.

“As you wish, my love. I’ll see you later.”

“You won’t see me at all if you don’t get,” she scolded. “Go. Don’t act all sweet like a puppy caught with its nose in the honey jar.”

He narrowly avoided a swipe and chuckled as he rushed back to the dining room. When he arrived, Jenner asked, somewhat desperately, “Are the pies almost ready?”

“All except yours,” Ed said seriously. “Jessica said yours will have to wait. She ran out of huckleberries, so she’s making you one with cabbage instead.”

Jenner took the jibe with good grace. “Long as there’s molasses to spare, I’ll eat it.”

The conversation turned to other subjects, mostly optimism for the year’s crops and the eventual arrival of the railroad. Easter dinner was the most highly anticipated meal of the year in Rio de Roja. They celebrated Thanksgiving, but for some reason, Easter had taken its place as both the largest meal of the year and the largest fête in town.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Easter occurred in spring, when warmth had arrived and growth was on the horizon, whereas Thanksgiving was in November when the chill had arrived and the harsh storms of winter loomed.

Either way, “dinner” rarely began later than noon on Easter. Jenner gave the Easter service on Saturday evening rather than Sunday, a break from tradition he insisted the Good Lord would understand. That allowed Jessica and anyone else hosting dinner to prepare the meal early. Dessert would come around three at the very latest, and by five o’clock, people returned home to their own families and enjoyed the evening free of responsibility.

That was Ed’s favorite part of the day. As the sheriff and co-founder of Rio de Roja, he rarely had time with only himself and his family. Easter afternoon was one of those times, and Ed counted the days every year.

Soon, though, he would have as much time as he wanted. Hell, he would have all the time in the world.

He looked at Nick, who was animatedly trying to convince Rooster that the cougar he’d shot out back of his granddad’s chicken coop was, in fact, as large as a bear. He chuckled softly. Nick was young and given to the embellishment that all young men—and many old men—were. But he was a good man, a great shot, and a fantastic deputy. He’d make a good sheriff.

Besides, this was Rio de Roja. After Ed had driven off the Harris Gang fifteen years ago, there hadn’t been anything resembling trouble here. All Nick had to do was ride around town and enjoy friendly conversation with the lovely townsfolk.

Ed’s reminiscences came to a jarring end when seventy pounds of coonhound followed by ninety pounds of boy rushed into the dining room. Reverend Jenner displayed the reflexes of a gunfighter as he lifted his plate and glass from the table just before the combined force of the two dynamos ensured that no one else would be so lucky.

“Shooter!” Nick called to his dog. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Watch your language,” Jenner scolded.

Rooster offered helpfully, “I think what the boy meant was, ‘Damn it, Shooter, what are you doing?’”

Jenner glared at Rooster. Ed glared at the member of the duo not named Shooter. “Kevin, what did I tell you about bringing Shooter inside at mealtimes?”

“I’m sorry, Pa,” Kevin said. “I didn’t mean to. He just ran in here, and I chased him.”

His grin told Ed that he felt absolutely no guilt at chasing Shooter into the house in defiance of his parents’ clear instructions. Ed fought to keep his expression stern, but he couldn’t. A smile of his own cracked, and he said, “Well, if you still want to practice shooting later, you’ll have to help your mother clean up.”

Kevin paled. “I will!” he assured Ed earnestly. “I’ll scrub the place spotless!”

“Good,” Ed replied. “Now get Shooter out of here.”

“Good luck with that,” Nick said drily. “He smells the pork now.”

Indeed, Shooter had completely lost interest in whatever game he and Kevin were playing and was now busily mopping up the food he had knocked onto the floor. Jenner watched him like a hawk, holding his plate grimly out of reach.

Jessica came to the rescue when she stormed into the kitchen carrying a thick chop. “Shooter! Come here, boy.”

Shooter, of course, was all too happy to follow Jessica from the house. Kevin trailed behind Shooter, repeating his assurances that he’d clean everything up. When they were out of earshot, Rooster observed, “Good boy. Reminds me of Jackson when he was a pup.”

“Are you talking about Shooter or Kevin?” Ed asked.

“Both. But mostly Kevin. He’s a good kid. It’s good for boys to have a lot of energy. Energetic boys grow up to be resourceful men. ‘Specially if they got good parents.” He looked Ed up and down critically, then made the joke Ed saw coming. “Well, he’s got Jessica, at least.”

Polite laughter followed the joke, and Ed rolled his eyes. “A true master of wit you are, Rooster.”

Jessica returned a moment later, muttering something about helpless men. A moment after that, all conversation ceased and the serious business of eating huckleberry pie began. It was truly another wonderful Easter Sunday.

***

Jessica and Ed watched Kevin busily washing the dishes. Ed smiled at his son and wondered how it was that one man could hold so much love in his heart. He looked at his wife and that love grew until it nearly burst him open.

He leaned down to kiss her, but without taking her eyes off of her son, she put a hand on his chest and pushed him away. “Uh-uh. Not until Kevin goes to bed. We talked about this.”

Ed wrapped his arms around his wife and teased, “But it’s good for a boy to see his parents show affection.”

“Yes, but you don’t show me affection, hamala, you show lust.”

“And affection.”

He leaned down to kiss her again, and again, she pushed him away. “Well, you can show me affection after he goes to bed.”

“Is that a promise?”

She rolled her eyes. “Less so with every passing second. Will you let me go?”

He shook his head. “Not until you kiss me.”

He leaned down again, chasing her as she tilted her head to the side, giggling as she avoided his lips. Finally, she pushed him away and said archly, “You may kiss me after he goes to bed.”

Ed nodded in defeat. “Hey, do you think he’d be really upset if I told him the lesson had to come tomorrow instead of today?”

She fixed him with a stern look. “Try it. See what that earns you.”

He laughed and put his arm around her shoulder again. This time, she allowed him. “You know I’m only teasing,” he said.

“I didn’t, actually,” she deadpanned. “I’ve only been with you for fifteen years. That’s not nearly long enough to get to know you.”

He smiled and kissed her cheek. He thought about pointing out that she didn’t protest that time, then decided he’d played that joke out enough.

Kevin dried the last of the dishes and rushed to his parents. “Okay, Pa! I’m ready!”

“Good,” Ed replied. “I refilled the washtub with warm water while you washed the dishes, and there’s a fresh bar of soap on the shelf. Make sure you say your prayers before you go to bed. It’s the Lord’s day.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. Other than his bronze complexion and dark hair, he was the spitting image of his father, tall and lanky with piercing blue eyes and hands and feet large in proportion to the rest of him. He rolled those blue eyes and said, “Come on, Dad. I’m twelve, not five. I’m not gonna fall for that.”

Ed frowned. “Fall for what? You finished washing the dishes. Now it’s time for bed.”

“Aww, gee, Pa, it’s not even dark out. If you’re going to try to trick me, you ought to at least put some effort into the joke.”

Ed blinked and stammered, bamboozled by his son’s blunt rebuke. Jessica threw her head back and released the full-bodied laugh that Ed had fallen instantly in love with the first time he heard it fifteen years ago. Ed glanced ruefully at her, then turned to his grinning son.

“You’re lucky I love you, boy. I wouldn’t put up with that kind of disrespect from any other man.”

Kevin chuckled. “So can I get the rifles?”

“Sure. Just be…”

Kevin was already gone before Ed could finish.

“Careful.”

“Oh, he’s fine,” Jessica said. “He’s not going to load and fire them in the house.”

“We’re talking about the same boy, right?”

“Yes. He inherited your enthusiasm, it’s true, but he also inherited my common sense. Thank God for that.”

Kevin returned a moment later with two Winchester rifles and a bag of ammunition. He handed one to Ed and rested the other one over his shoulder like a soldier marching for war. Memories of the war flashed through Ed’s mind, but he kept them from showing on his face. That war had ended long ago, long before Ed had met Jessica and learned that nightmares could fade.

“All right, son. Lead the way.”

Kevin bolted for the door, but stopped before Ed could shout at him to slow down. He turned sheepishly to his parents. “Night, Ma.”

“‘Night, Ma?’” Jessica repeated. “What are you talking about? The sun’s not even down yet.” She gave him a mischievous smile. “You know, if you’re going to try to trick me, you ought to at least—”

“All right, all right,” Kevin interrupted, rolling his eyes again.

Ed shook his head and sighed as he followed his son. “Boy’s getting too big for his britches. I ought to teach him how to muck out the stables instead of how to use a rifle.”

“I mucked the stables out earlier today,” Kevin reminded him.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t do it again,” Ed reminded him.

The two of them headed out the door and began their trek to the narrow draw just beyond their homestead. Their property rested at the base of a small but steep hill that rose above the plains. Just beyond the homestead was a one-hundred-yard divot cut right into the side of the hill with sheer drops on three sides. The draw ended in a granite cliff face, and in front of this cliff face sat a bench with a half-dozen empty bean cans set in a row on top of it. A half-dozen more waited underneath the bench.

“We’ll set up right here,” Ed said, gesturing to another bench at the front of the draw. “You’ll shoot first, then I’ll embarrass you and send you home in tears.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “You know, it’s a good thing you married Ma or I’d for sure become an outlaw.” Ed’s smile vanished, and Kevin’s followed suit. “I’m sorry, Pa. I didn’t mean it. I was only—”

“It’s fine,” Ed said tersely. He smiled again. “It’s my fault, anyway. I started it. It’s like you said, if I’m going to tease you, I have to think about it first. Go ahead and load your rifle.”

He watched as Kevin carefully loaded six gleaming brass bullets into his gun. Per his father’s oft-repeated instructions, he kept the barrel pointed down-range.

When he finished, Ed nodded and said, “All right. Now, what do you do first?”

“I aim the rifle.”

“Nope. Come on, boy, this was the very first thing I taught you.”

“Oh. I, uh, I get into my stance?”

“Yes. There you go. Ain’t no point in aiming if you don’t have a solid stance. Show me.”

Kevin carefully placed his left foot in front of his right and bent both his knees.

“Not so much,” Ed said. “You want a slight bend, but you don’t want to be squatting.”

Kevin straightened slightly and raised the rifle, keeping his elbows in and holding it stiffly against his shoulder.

“Relax,” Ed told him. “If you fire like that, you’ll jerk the weapon when you pull the trigger.”

“I’m just trying to keep my elbows in like you told me,” Kevin explained.

“I know. That’s good. But not stiffly. Take a deep breath, and when you let it out, relax.”

Kevin complied, and Ed nodded approvingly when he saw his son settle into a proper shooting position. “Good. Now, same thing—”

“Squeeze the trigger, don’t pull it,” Kevin interrupted. “I got it, Pa.”

Ed smiled slightly. “Oh you do, huh? Show me.”

Kevin took a deep breath and when he let it out, he pulled the trigger. He didn’t squeeze it. The bullet went wide, and a puff of dust erupted from the granite wall beyond the bench.

Kevin sighed and lowered his head.

“Uh-uh,” Ed said. “None of that. You know what you did wrong, so fix it this time.”

“But I don’t know what I did wrong,” Kevin protested.

“Show me how you squeezed the trigger.”

He took his hand off the trigger and hooked his index finger.

“Nope, that’s not squeezing. That’s pulling. Here. I’ll show you.”

Ed lifted his own finger and squeezed the tip toward his third knuckle. Kevin stared at him blankly.

“Isn’t that what I did?”

“Nope. Try it again.”

Kevin started to roll his eyes but thought better of it. Ed looked toward the targets and watched, waiting to critique his son’s shot.

“Okay. Now squeeze.”

The rifle sounded, but for some reason, it sounded a lot quieter than it should have. None of the bean cans fell, and no puff of dirt or dust indicated where it might have gone.

“Huh. Must’ve been a faulty load. Try again.”

Kevin didn’t respond. Ed turned toward him and froze.

Kevin was lying on the ground, blood trickling from just underneath his right eye. The flesh underneath the wound was—

“No,” Ed said calmly. “No, that didn’t just happen. Kevin, come on. Get up and take your next shot.”

Kevin didn’t respond.

Ed’s heart squeezed—squeezed, not pulled—in his chest, constricting until his vision narrowed to pinpoints.

His son’s dead body filled both pinpoints.

“But… no,” Ed said, confused. “That didn’t just happen.”

It might have been only his mind, but Ed swore he heard laughter echo between the canyon walls.

Chapter Two

Jessica beamed and carefully handed Ed the tiny squirming bundle. Ed took it just as carefully and stared in amazement at the pinched red face and the bright, inquisitive eyes staring up at him from underneath a tuft of jet-black hair.

“Your hair,” he whispered softly.

“What’s that?” Jessica asked.

“He’s got your hair,” Ed explained. “He’s got black hair.”

Jessica laid a soft hand on his shoulder. “He’s beautiful.”

“He’s perfect. He’s… oh my gosh.”

Jessica laughed. The sound caused Kevin to stir, and he released a squawk that reminded Ed of a gosling but was somehow still the most precious sound he’d ever heard. 

“Oh my gosh,” he said again. “He’s so perfect!” He grinned at Jessica. “You did good.”

“We did good,” she corrected. “Although I’ll admit that you had the easy part.”

Ed turned back down to the tiny, wonderful, perfect creature in his arms. His son.

“My son.”

 *** 

Ed flinched and stumbled backward as something hit him in the left arm just below the shoulder. He was aware of the pain, but he didn’t really feel it. He just stared down at that perfect little bundle and wondered why his son wouldn’t move.

“Kevin? What’s going on? Are you finished shooting? You still have three rounds. Come on. Come on and get up. Get up, Kevin.”

A voice spoke, but it wasn’t Kevin’s voice. It was his father’s. Henry Price spoke in his typical quiet but booming baritone. “Look behind you.”

Ed minded his father. He always minded his father. That was what good boys did. Kevin was a good boy. Why wasn’t he minding Ed right now?

Sunlight glinted off of something about three hundred yards in the distance. No, not quite that far. Maybe two-fifty.

That something was a rifle scope. That was unusual. Ed had only seen scopes twice in his life. Both times, they were carried by traveling performers who likely attached the ugly glasses to their rifles for show rather than practicality.

This man used his scope for practicality. He was aiming a Sharps rifle squarely at Ed’s chest. But why was he using a scope? The Sharps rifle was good up to a thousand yards with a good set of sliding iron sights. Scopes were expensive and unnecessary. They only served as a crutch for people who didn’t know how to shoot.

“Better do something, son,” Henry warned.

Ed’s rifle came to his shoulder almost of its own accord, but the stranger fired first. The bullet hit him on the right side of his chest, just underneath the collarbone. Once more, he wasn’t aware of the pain, but he was aware of the damage. His vision narrowed, and his breath came in halting gasps. He took two steps backward, and on his third step, he tripped and fell.

His head hit the ground next to Kevin’s. Turning to his son, he saw the horror the bullet had left behind.

 *** 

Ed cried out when he saw Kevin fall. He rushed for the prone figure of his four-year-old child, fearing the worst.

Kevin, of course, popped up with a huge grin on his round-cheeked face. “That was fun!” he cried, bouncing up and down next to the nonplussed horse. “Can I do it again?”

“Um…” Ed turned to his wife to see Jessica hugging her belly as she laughed, tears streaming down her own round cheeks. He felt heat climb his spine. “What’s so funny?”

She gave him a frank expression through her laughter. “Guess.”

He rolled his eyes, and Kevin giggled. “Can I do it again?” he asked, a little more urgently this time.

“Sure,” Ed said. “But this time, I’m going to hold the reins.”

“Okay!” Kevin agreed.

Ed set him on the back of the horse and the animal proceeded forward somewhat warily, looking back at the tiny human on its back several times to make sure it wasn’t going to try jumping off of him again. Gradually, Ed relaxed. He could see a bruise forming on his son’s forehead, but if it hurt Kevin at all, he didn’t let it show. It was almost as though it had never happened.

Kevin grinned at him and said the best words that had ever been invented. “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you t—”

Ed stopped when a burst of red flew out of Kevin’s cheek. A moment later, the left side of his face below his eye fell off. He continued to grin at Ed as he fell to the dirt.

Ed stared at his son’s body. “No. That didn’t just happen. Come on, Kevin. Get up and take your next shot.”

Then he heard laughter echo through the draw.

The draw? Why were they in the draw?

He looked down at his shirt and saw two red roses blossoming, one on his left arm and one on the right side of his chest. What the hell had just happened?

Looking up, he saw his father staring at him. Henry Price appeared as he had when Ed was a boy, tall and strong and serious. Ed was glad for that. He hated thinking of the frail, delirious man Pa had been when he died of consumption the year after Ed came home from the war.

“Listen to me, son,” Henry said. “You’re under attack. They’ve killed your son, and they’ve nearly killed you. If you don’t wake up and do something now, they’ll kill Jessica, too.”

Ed shook his head. “Not Kuan-kue. No one would want to kill her. She’s the best woman who ever lived.”

Henry gave his son a look that was half compassion, half pity. “I can’t help you with this, son. You have to do it yourself.”

Ed nodded. “That’s what I always tell Kevin. That’s what I always…”

 *** 

Ed blinked. When he opened his eyes, Kevin was twelve years old, and he was dead. The left side of his face below his eye had been blown out by a rifle bullet, and he was dead. His bright blue eyes—Ed’s eyes—stared dully at Ed, and he was dead. They had killed him.

Ed turned his head away from his son, who was dead, and looked ahead. The man with the scoped Sharps rifle wasn’t on his knees anymore. He was on horseback with three other figures on horseback.

Ed knew who they were now. The leader—the man with the Sharps—rode a pale horse. That made him Death.

“And Hell followed with him,” Ed whispered.

He looked back at his son, who was dead, and emotion built within him. It wasn’t exactly rage, and it wasn’t exactly grief, and it wasn’t exactly fear. It was just a white-hot rush of something that cut through his shock and filled him with energy.

He inhaled deeply and shouted, “Jessica! Help!”

Laughter echoed from the men on horseback, but the sound cut off abruptly when the man riding the red horse—was that Pestilence or was that War?—fell to the ground, felled by Jessica’s rifle. The other three Horsemen of the Apocalypse flinched, and a moment later, the white horse—that was Pestilence—fell to join his companion.

Death cursed and said, “Hey! The house! Watch the house!”

Ed tried to get up, but a wave of dizziness washed over him. He sighed and fell back, chest heaving but not drawing in air. He heard the crackle of gunfire from rifles and pistols and lifted his head again.

The remaining two horsemen were taking cover behind a stand of trees just past the draw. Ed would have been encouraged, but he saw that Hell had indeed followed with Death. He counted a dozen riders. Three were brave enough to try to rush the house, but when all three fell, the nine remaining joined their masters in the trees.

Five shots so far. That meant Jessica had eleven more. One for each rider. That was good. She was an excellent shot, every bit as good as he was. She could stop them. He could rest.

He lay his head back down and closed his eyes.

***

Ed opened his eyes and they widened immediately. The face that shone down on him was that of a goddess. It was round like the moon and soft like a breeze. The goddess’s eyes were black as night, but they blazed with the fire of her spirit.

He didn’t dare look at the rest of her. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to handle any more of this ethereal beauty. “Who are you?” he asked wondrously.

The goddess smiled, a bit drily. Could goddesses be dry? “I’m Kuan-kue,” she replied in perfect English, “but you can call me Jessica.”

“Jessica?”

He blinked, and when he saw her again, she was just a woman.

Of course, calling her just a woman was like calling Abraham Lincoln just a man. She was…

He risked looking at the rest of her. She was stout and sturdy. She had the same curves all women had, but they were more pronounced, stronger. A phrase came to mind, and he was grateful as hell he didn’t say it out loud.

Earth-goddess. The Natives here believed in an Earth goddess who gave birth to life. The rivers flowed from her womb and brought life to the world. Or was it her tears that formed the rivers? Maybe her breasts?

That was when he realized he was staring at Jessica’s breasts. Like the rest of her, they were strong and sturdy, but also soft and supple, gently curving and—

He snapped his eyes up to Jessica’s face to see her smile was indeed dry. “Did you get a good look?” she teased. He reddened, and she laughed, a sound that was full and beautiful and perfect.

  ***

“Ed!”

The sound cut through Ed’s dreams and pierced straight to his core. The fog in which he had lain since seeing his son shot vanished at the sound of his wife’s voice.

With a cry of pain, he propped himself up on his elbows and looked out on the scene unfolding in front of him. One more of the outlaws lay in front of the trees, felled by Jessica’s bullet, but the rest maintained cover and fired on the house. Jessica didn’t return fire, wisely conserving her ammunition.

The odds weren’t on her side, though. The outlaws could conceivably waste their ammunition, but Ed doubted they would be that stupid. Even a fool knew it was a bad idea to run out of bullets before your enemy.

And they had numbers on their side. If they charged all at once, she wouldn’t get all of them before they got to her. If they kept to cover, they would reach her with minimal further losses.

And that was apparently what they planned to do. Ed heard the leader call out, “Follow me!” before darting out of the other side of the trees and heading around the hill. He was going to ride behind the hill and flank the house from the north side. The trees were far closer to the house on that side. They could be within fifty yards by the time Jessica had a shot.

Ed had maybe ten minutes if they ran their horses at the fastest safe pace. He struggled to his feet, but he forgot to wait until the outlaws were out of view. One of them shouted and fired at Ed before he rode after his fellows. The bullet struck Ed in the thigh, and he went down hard.

Laughter echoed through the canyon, and though Ed didn’t look at his body, the image of his dead son came to his mind. Hot tears squeezed out of the corners of his eyes, partly from the pain but mostly from the grief.

“Damn you,” he whispered hoarsely. “Damn you all.”

“Ed! Ed, are you hurt? Answer me!”

He had to get to Jessica. The worst thing she could do right now was try to come to him. If they were both caught in the open, she would be done for.

“Hold on!” he called. “I’ll come to you!”

He planted his elbows on the ground, groaning as pain spiked through his arm and collarbone. He gritted his teeth and pulled his knees under his hips. A fresh jolt of agony coursed through him at the movement, and he gasped and clenched his fists.

He was soaked in blood. He hadn’t lost enough to kill him, not yet, but if he didn’t get help soon, he would surely lose his life.

That didn’t matter, though. All that mattered was Jessica.

With a cry, he forced himself to a kneeling position. His wounded left leg and arm spasmed, but he remained upright. His breath came in ragged gulps, and his vision swam dangerously. He fought to steady himself, and when Jessica called his name again, he picked up his rifle, pressed the butt into the ground, and forced himself to his feet.

His vision swam again, and a wave of nausea overtook him. He stumbled and nearly fell as cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He had lost more blood than he thought.

He took one last look at his son and grief washed over him, sharp and sick and heavy. He let out a choking sob and took a step toward Kevin, intending to fall over his body and die with him.

Then Jessica called for him again. He still had a loved one to protect.

He took a deep breath and released it in a shuddering sigh. “I love you, Kevin,” he whispered. “I love you so much. I’m sorry.”

He tore his eyes away from his son, and a part of him tore off as well. The Edward Price that stumbled away from his son’s body was not the Edward Price that had led him there a few minutes ago. He didn’t know how much he had changed, but that was something he could worry about later.

Right now, he needed to get to his wife and avoid losing the last good thing in his life.

He shuffled toward his house, battling occasional spasms and bouts of weakness and nausea. Heat and cold fought for dominance of his body, and his vision tilted and swirled.

But he kept moving. His home stood in front of him, the beacon on which he set his compass. Inside was his wife, his Kuan-kue, and he would make it to her before the enemy did.

His vision narrowed, and he felt himself about to pass out again. To avoid this, he sucked in his cheek and bit hard. The pain pushed the shadows away just enough that he was able to reach the porch steps, but when he did, he wasn’t able to lift his feet to walk inside.

The door flew open, and Jessica came out. She wrapped her arms around her husband’s waist and lifted him up the steps, showing no strain at the weight she was carrying.

“Kevin…” Ed whispered. “He’s…”

“I know,” Jessica said. “Save your strength to punish his killers.”

“I’m… I’m sorr…”

“Hush, love.”

She opened the door and dragged him inside. The door closed behind them, and the darkness enveloped Ed’s vision. He fell again.

***

Jessica held Ed’s hand as she led him down the steep path from the camp to the sea. The sun hadn’t yet risen, but though Ed could barely see in front of him, she seemed perfectly assured of herself.

He looked at her as she led him forward and thought what a strange and fascinating thing it was to fall in love. He’d always known he’d fall in love someday, but he’d put that off while he’ dealt with the various gangs and gunfighters that inhabited the land he and Matt Wilson had chosen for their town of Rio de Roja.

Those gangs were gone now, but they had nearly taken Ed with them. He’d woken in Jessica’s father’s tent a week ago, but his side still burned from the bullet Clive Harris had put there, and the bruises hadn’t quite faded from his head and arms.

But they were gone. Matt had visited two days after Ed woke and told him the gang was being shipped to Houston to stand trial. It was a certainty that they’d be hung. Rio de Roja was free.

And now he could fall in love. That was a good thing, because the moment he saw Jessica, he didn’t have a choice. He was in love whether he liked it or not.

Jessica stopped him and held her hand for quiet. She pointed ahead, and when Ed saw it, he gasped.

“The haitnlokn come here to breed every year around this time,” she told him. “It’s the only time you can ever see more than one of them.”

Ed stared in awe at the hundreds of bright green turtles that swam lazily through the iridescent waters of the sea. As he watched, the sun burst through the clouds and shone off of their scales. They blazed with radiance, and Ed felt a peace and joy settle over him that was unlike anything he’d ever known.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Jessica said.

He turned to her. She looked like a goddess. “Yes,” he agreed. “Beautiful.”

She smiled at him, and when he pulled her lips to his, she kissed him back.

***

Ed gasped and opened his eyes. He had passed out again. He couldn’t do that. Not yet. He could die when the outlaws were dealt with, not sooner.

He felt a cool hand on his brow and looked up at Jessica’s concerned face. “No time,” he grunted. “They’re coming from the hill. The other side. They’ll flank us on the—”

A bullet splintered the shutters in the parlor window, and Jessica ducked instinctively.

“Damn it,” Ed growled. “They’re here.”

“I know,” Jessica said coolly. “Can you shoot?”

Ed forced himself to his feet and picked up his rifle. “I can.”

She picked up her own rifle. “Then let’s avenge our son.”

Her eyes were fierce and proud and noble. She stood tall and beautiful and strong, and despite his grief, Ed was overcome with love for the woman who had shared his bed and his home these past fifteen years.

Another volley of fire shattered the rest of the shutter, and the two of them turned to the window to see the eleven remaining outlaws rushing the house. Their rifles lifted and they returned fire. Two outlaws dropped, then another, then another. The charge broke, and the seven remaining bandits rushed in different directions to avoid the death the two of them rained down on them.

Jessica felled one more, then tossed her rifle to the side and picked up her handgun. Ed felt another rush of pride as she took aim.

Then she gasped as a bullet pierced her heart.

Chapter Three

“Do you think we’ll be together forever?” Jessica asked.

Ed looked over at his bride and smiled wryly. “I’m pretty sure that’s what I meant by ‘till death do us part.’”

She shrugged. “I know, but things happen, right? People change. Events occur that we can’t control.”

He rolled onto his side and looked deeply into her eyes. “Kuan-kue, I promise you from the bottom of my heart that I will never leave you.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know that, but… what if you’re taken from me? What if I’m taken from you?”

“Who’s going to take you from me?” he challenged. “Or me from you? I don’t mean to brag, but some hard men have tried to take this town and this land from me, and I made sure they couldn’t do that ever again. Imagine how much more fiercely I’ll fight for you.”

She smiled at him. There was love in that smile, but there was a hint of sadness as well. She caressed his cheek and said softly, “I know you will.”

Then she pulled him down to her, and when their lips met, there was no doubt in Ed’s mind that he would kiss those lips every day for the rest of his life.

***

Jessica was dead.

When Kevin died, Ed’s eyes refused to believe what they saw. He refused to accept that his son could have been so vibrant one moment and not there the next.

When Jessica died, Ed’s mind offered him no such shield. He knew the moment she gasped that she was dead. In her last moment, she turned to him, her eyes pleading for comfort, for reassurance, but he had none to give. She was dead, and he watched her fall, knowing he had failed. Everything he had ever loved was lost. She had been taken from him, just as she’d feared. They wouldn’t be together forever. He wouldn’t kiss her lips every day for the rest of his life.

Except yes, he would. Because his life would end today as well. His son and wife were dead, and there was no reason for him to remain alive.

He knelt down over her and brushed her hair from her face. He kissed her gently and said, “Nayi ka awa, Kuan-kue. I love you, duckling.”

He kissed her forehead and continued to stroke her hair, staring into her sightless brown eyes. He heard voices outside the house.

“Be careful, Quinn. He could still be alive.”

“Oh, he’s alive,” another voice—Quinn, Ed supposed—replied. “He’s just got no reason to fight anymore.”

“Good thing you got his woman,” the first voice opined. “That one was hell on wheels with that rifle.”

“I say we tear her apart,” a third voice said. “She killed half our crew.”

“Ain’t no need for that,” a fourth voice remonstrated. “You’d just be playing with meat like a dog. You a dog, Linus?”

“No, Gus, I’m not a dog,” Linus replied sourly. “I’m just mad. She cut my brother down.”

“And we’ve cut her down,” Quinn reminded him. “An eye for an eye.”

Ed heard the conversation, but he couldn’t muster up the anger he knew he should feel. He couldn’t muster up anything but grief for the woman who lay dead in his arms and the child that lay dead in the draw a hundred yards west.

Someone knocked on his door. “Hello? Edward Price?”

Ed didn’t answer. The outlaws snickered, and a moment later, Quinn said, “Sheriff Price? It’s Quinn Valentine. Do you mind if we come in?”

There was more snickering, but Ed still didn’t answer. In a moment, they would kill him, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

“Now I don’t like to be impolite,” Quinn said, “but when people are impolite to me, it makes me feel a kind of way. You understand me?” When Ed still didn’t answer, Quinn’s voice dropped and hardened. “Open the goddamned door, Sheriff.”

Ed traced a finger around the soft curves of his wife’s face. When the door splintered inward, he didn’t so much as flinch but continued to stroke his wife’s hair.

Linus snickered and said, “Look at that. The sheriff’s playing with meat, too. Does that make you a dog, Sheriff?”

Ed didn’t respond.

“Hey! I’m talking to you, you little—”

“Relax, Linus,” Quinn interrupted. He stepped forward. Ed could smell cigarette smoke wafting his way. “Do you know who I am?”

Ed didn’t answer.

“I’m Quinn Valentine.”

Ed still didn’t reply.

Quinn shifted his feet. “That mean anything to you, Sheriff?”

No answer.

“Hey. Hey, Sheriff!” Quinn stooped in front of Ed and snapped his fingers. “Hey! I know you can hear me. I don’t like when people ignore me. You’re still alive, but that can change at any moment, so answer me. Do you know who I am?”

Ed remained silent.

Quinn’s lips curled downward and he bared his teeth. “You’ve earned yourself a world of hurt.”

Linus stepped toward Ed, but Quinn held his hand up. “Not right now. Get the others and go through his stuff.”

“They’re already burning down the barn,” Linus replied.

Quinn’s eyes snapped to Linus. “What? Now? Before they took the valuables?”

Linus paled. “Well… we thought… I mean, what could be valuable in the—”

Quinn’s hand moved at lightning speed, striking Linus with an open palm. Linus cried out and stumbled against the wall. He pressed his hand to the red welt forming on his cheek and stared at Quinn with wide, frightened eyes. “I’m sorry, Quinn.”

“Damn right, you are,” Quinn growled. “Get your ass out there and stop them. You’d better hope we didn’t lose anything or it’s coming out of your cut.”

Linus paled further and rushed out the door, much to the amusement of the other two men in the room. One of the men grinned at Ed, and Ed noticed his perfect white teeth. He turned to Quinn and said, “In his defense, he did just lose his brother.”

Ed now recognized that voice as belonging to the man Linus called Gus.

“In my defense,” Quinn replied irritably, “his brother did the exact opposite of what I told him to do. I said find cover, and he rode straight toward the house. What did he think the squaw was gonna do, let him run up on her?”

“I know,” Gus said patiently. “But Linus ain’t the brightest star in the sky, either. It might be too much to expect of him to remember simple instructions.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” Quinn said, “but please shut up.”

“Of course,” Gus replied cheerily.

A moment later, Linus walked through the ruins of Ed’s door, followed by three other men. “I caught them before the fire started in earnest. The left side’s pretty charred, but we saved the horses and tack.”

“Thank God for that,” Quinn muttered.

Ed lifted his head and examined the gang for the first time. Linus was a young man with a weak chin and dopey eyes. He cringed next to Quinn as though anticipating the next blow. Gus was a short and slightly-built individual who had a dazzling smile and handsome features. He was also the best-dressed of the group with denim jeans, a black cotton shirt, kid-leather boots, and a Stetson hat.

The others were all fairly average-looking men. They ranged in age from their early twenties to their late thirties—all younger than Ed but typically aged for outlaws. In the past, outlaws were almost exclusively young men, but as the West grew and the law organized, gangs were more varied with seasoned outlaws and desperate men fallen on hard times joining the young ne’er-do-wells and adventure-seekers. There were more men in their thirties and sometimes even their forties taking up for the wrong side of the law.

Their leader was both the oldest and the most physically impressive specimen in the group. He looked to be around Ed’s age of forty-five. He was tall, taller than Ed, with a wiry but sinewy build and large, strong hands. He had a rough, gray beard and when he took off his hat, Ed could see a full head of salt-and-pepper hair. His eyes were the color of a stormy sky, and they gazed on Ed with amusement.

Behind that amusement, however, was a hate as deep and powerful as the love Ed felt for his family.

His dead family.

A gust of rage blew through Ed’s mind, but it was only a reflex. He didn’t have the strength to hold onto the emotion. Besides, he was going to die in a moment. Then he would be with Kevin and Jessica, and everything would be all right.

He looked down at his wife and stroked her hair. “It’s all right, my love. I’ll see you soon.”

The outlaws found this extremely amusing. They laughed and clapped each other on the shoulder, jeering at Ed and mocking his pain. He ignored them. It wasn’t worth noticing. Nothing was worth noticing.

“We’ll talk about that,” Quinn said in reply. “In the meantime, Linus, why don’t you take Cletus and Jonah to the barn and gather up the tack and the stirrups. You can use some of his horses to carry it. Frankie?” The fourth man who had entered with Quinn, Linus, and Gus stepped forward. “You and Harvey go through the house. I want jewelry, money, and ammunition. You can leave the guns. We don’t need those.”

Frankie nodded and took one of the other outlaws into the hallway. A moment later, Ed heard them rifling through his and Jessica’s things.

When it was only Quinn, Gus, and Ed left in the room, Quinn sat at the edge of Ed’s upholstered chair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“All right, Sheriff. Let’s you and I talk.”

Ed didn’t answer. Quinn frowned and flexed his fists.

“Sheriff, I understand you’re grieving your wife and son, but they’re dead. I’m alive. Look at me.”

Ed didn’t.

Gus stepped forward, but Quinn lifted his hand. “All right,” he continued, his voice flat and deadly. “That’s fine. We’ll work our way up to that. To be honest, this kind of disrespect is what I expected. You’re well known for your haughtiness, Edward Price.”

Ed frowned slightly. Haughtiness? What was he talking about? How did he know Ed?

Quinn smiled, pleased to have finally gotten at least a modicum of Ed’s attention. “See, I know all about you,” he said. “I know all about the great sheriff of Rio de Roja. The official story is that you and Matt Wilson founded this town together, but we both know the truth. Wilson wouldn’t have been able to run a homestead without you to manage it for him. It’s a good thing you were a mentor to his son, or Nicholas would have turned out just as poorly as his father.”

Ed’s frown deepened. So they knew Matt and Nick as well. How? Ed didn’t recognize them, so how did they recognize him? Fifteen years ago, it would have made sense for an outlaw gang in southwestern Texas to know of him, but it had been a long time since Ed had been a terror to those on the wrong side of justice. He just hadn’t needed to be.

Rio de Roja had been safe ever since Clive Harris and his gang had been brought to justice. Ed had declined an offer to join the Texas Rangers and another to join the U.S. Marshals, so there was no reason an outlaw gang active now should care about him specifically. He’d never obtained the kind of fame that lawmen like Pat Garrett and Wyatt Earp had.

“Ed, I have to be honest with you. I’m real sick and tired of talking to myself. I’m pretty sure you can answer me, and you’re just choosing not to. It’s starting to really piss me off.”