Marshal Law
Marshal Law Copyright © 2014, Kris Norris
Also Available from Resplendence Publishing
www.resplendencepublishing.com
Marshal Law
A
Tombstone
Story
By Kris Norris
Resplendence Publishing
R·>♦<·P
www.resplendencepublishing.com
Gems of Romantic Fiction
Marshal Law
Copyright © 2014, Kris Norris
Edited by Liza Green and CJ Slate
Cover Art by Kris Norris
Published by Resplendence Publishing, LLC
1093 A1A Beach Blvd, #146
St. Augustine, FL 32080
Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-809-1
Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Electronic Release: September 2014
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
A town with a notorious reputation…
Tombstone, Arizona, has seen its share of gunfights. And if McKenna Buchanan has her way, she’ll stop at nothing to add a few more to the ranks. She’s out to right a wrong and won’t stop until she’s challenged every last member of the Wilson gang to a duel.
A secret buried deep…
Wolf shifters Ethan McClaren and Jude Davenport’s lives are complicated, but their job is simple. As federal Marshals, they’re determined to find the vigilante gunning down outlaws across the wilds of the western states so justice can be served. The last thing they expected was a woman with more honor than most men—who willingly risks her life to save theirs.
A claim that can’t be denied…
Falling in love with two lawmen never crossed McKenna’s mind—not with her name topping the most wanted list. She’s simply doing what’s right—preventing more bloodshed when she’s already seen a lifetime’s worth. The fact she’s drawn to Ethan and Jude as much as they seem to be to her is purely circumstantial. But she’s not the only one harboring secrets and when the truth finally emerges, it’s going to take more than marshal law to settle the dust.
To the wonderful readers who still romanticize the old west like I do, and love a hero who’s got a bit of a wild side.
And to my kids for living on pizza and Mountain Dew for far longer than I’ll ever willingly admit to. I love you guys with all my heart. You rock!
Chapter One
McKenna Buchanan stood in the middle of the street, buckskin hat tilted low over her face, oilskin jacket billowing in the strong breeze blowing eddies of dirt along the barren road. Sweat beaded her skin, the unrelenting sun glaring overhead. She blinked back the salty drops that stung her eyes, hands poised by her hips, fingers grazing the handles of her revolvers. She watched the far side of the road, the long shadow of the clock tower wavering on the parched surface. The bell rang, the mournful tone shattering the silence as people gathered along the covered walkways, gazes focused on the man who moved out from the crowd, boots kicking up more dust. He stopped several yards away from her, his mouth lifting into an arrogant smile. He glanced back at the clock then turned to her as he dragged the cigarette from between his lips, a smoky trail lingering in the air.
Noon.
He nodded at her, brushing one side of his coat back, exposing the white handle of his gun. It gleamed in the light, the polished surface bright against the black fabric of his pants. He tossed the cigarette on the ground, crushing it beneath his boot as he readied his stance, his gaze centering on her.
He openly assessed her, shaking his head as he arched his brow. “You sure you’re up for this, darlin’? Seems a shame to have to kill you, especially when I’m sure we could come to some other kind of
…
agreement.”
“Your inability to keep your hands to yourself and your pants buckled is why we’re here. All we need is someone to count to three for us.”
“Have it your way, though I’m not the kind of man who kills a defenseless woman.”
“No. You’d much rather rape them and leave them for dead.” She lowered one hand, palming her gun. “And I’m not defenseless.”
The cowboy glared at her. “Fine. West doesn’t have room for bitches like you, anyway.” He pointed to one of the men in the crowd. “Mayor. You do the honors.”
The gray-haired gentleman shuffled onto the edge of the street, hat clenched between his fingers as he held it at his waist. He looked at each of them, fear widening his eyes. “You know Ralston doesn’t condone gunfights
—
”
“Just count to three, old man, or I’ll shoot you first.”
The mayor pursed his lips, glancing at her. She gave him a curt nod, shifting her focus completely to her opponent. The murmur of the crowd faded away, the bastard’s presence occupying her attention. The oily hair poking out from under his hat. The shadow of stubble shading his jaw. The way his hand twitched against his gun as he snarled at her, crooked teeth beneath thin lips.
“Very well.” The mayor’s voice strained against the sudden howl of the wind. “One. Two. Three.”
She drew, the smooth glide of the wooden handle along her palm grounding her. The weapon slipped free of the holster, a puff of smoke following the pop of the round as she fired, her hand recoiling slightly from the force. The man jolted backwards, his eyes widening in surprise as he managed to fire once before crumpling in a billow of dust. Pain flared along her arm as his bullet grazed her skin, tearing a path through her clothes. She clenched her jaw, biting back the scream that welled in her throat as she paced over to his limp body, kicking his torso as she judged his response.
The mayor scurried across the road, kneeling down beside the man before turning him over. Blood darkened the caked ground, the gunman’s shirt stained red. McKenna sighed, then turned, heading for her horse.
The mayor yelled after her, his footsteps sounding behind her before he fell into step with her. “That was some piece of shootin’. Never thought I’d see Will Tanner go down like that. Man must have killed a dozen or more cowboys in gunfights just like that one.” He grasped her hand, pulling her to a halt. “Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”
She glanced at her arm, waiting until the man let go before striking off again. “The West is a dangerous place
—”
“
Taylor. John Taylor.
”
She sighed.
“
No names, Mayor. And it only makes sense to learn how to protect yourself.” She stopped at the side of her horse, checking the saddle before reaching into her pocket and handing the man some coins. “That should clean up the mess I made. I’d appreciate it if you’d see to it that Mr. Tanner gets a proper burial.”
“The man was an outlaw. Might be a nice reward for killin’ him if you’d be willin’ to stick around.”
She looked at the older man over her shoulder. “Not interested. In being a sheriff, either. I just settled a score. Besides, I thought your fine town was getting itself a Marshal.
”
“
There
’
s been talk, but we
’
re still waitin
’
. The Marshal over in Bisbee drops in every week or so, but we could use someone like you. To keep the peace.”
“Not much peace to be had these days. Men like Tanner own these parts. Think they can take whatever they want because no one’s willin’ to stand up to them. I suggest you use that reward money to secure yourself a sheriff worth havin’.”
She wedged her boot into the stirrup, levering her other leg over her horse. The mare whinnied, shaking her head as McKenna eased back on the reins, moving the animal around.
The mayor motioned to her arm. “At least let our doctor take a look at that wound.”
“Nothin’ more than a scratch.” She tipped her hat. “Thanks for the hospitality. Don’t suppose there’s a way of keepin’ this from getting back to that Marshal you mentioned?”
“If you were willin’ to stay
…
”
“Thought as much. Nice meetin’ ya.”
She nudged the animal’s flank, coaxing it into a fast trot. Another town. Another one of Bret Wilson’s gang eliminated. Just the brothers left, though the bastards had surely acquired new men by now, not that it mattered. They’d just be more bodies. More detours she’d have to make before ending this. She stared at the horizon, angling west, keeping the line of hills off to her left. With any luck, she’d make Tombstone by tomorrow night. Get an idea where Bret and Frank were holing up. Maybe treat herself to a bath.
McKenna glanced at her arm, hissing at the constant throb that robbed her breath. She’d been careless. Hadn’t reacted quickly enough when the bastard had moved before the mayor had reached three. Two traits guaranteed to get her killed. And there wasn’t a chance in hell the Wilson brothers would abide by the rules. Though knowing she’d be dead before she hit the ground eased some of the tension fluttering her stomach. At least she wouldn’t have to endure having them touch her
…
or worse.
Images scratched at her consciousness, the fleeting memories dulling the pain, helping her focus. She’d stop and patch the wound once she’d put some distance between her and Ralston. Ensure none of the townsfolk suddenly had a change of heart. Then she’d ride until dusk. Find a place to make camp for the night.
A grim smile touched her mouth. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d stayed more than a day or two in one place. Had stopped long enough to learn someone’s name
—
she didn’t like names. They carried weight. Gave others something to use against her. Meant she cared, had something other than her own life to lose.
She nudged her horse, letting the wind across her face soothe the raw ache in her chest. She just needed to make it to Tombstone. Clean the stench of death from her skin. Hell, clean her soul.
* * * *
McKenna eased onto the stool, letting the tension of the ride slowly fade. She’d pressed hard, only stopping long enough to rest her mount before moving on, wanting to reach Tombstone by nightfall. She’d trotted down the dusty street as the blazing sun had sunk behind the distant hills, staining the clouds blood red.
She’d watered her horse, bought some feed then headed for the saloon, hoping to lose herself amidst the mass of drunken cowboys and working girls. She’d pushed her way through the crowd, avoiding direct eye contact as she’d headed for the far corner, taking a seat that offered her some protection. Then she’d ordered a shot of whiskey and a bowl of stew.
The barkeep dropped both offerings on the wooden counter, heading off to yell at one of the men. She ignored the brawl starting off to her right, taking a small taste of the thick broth. The warm liquid soothed the dry feeling in her throat, removing the taste of dirt and sweat. A large man tripped onto the floor behind her, and she lifted her bowl as he crashed onto the bar, swiping her whiskey onto the floor.
The guy muttered an apology, grabbing another man by the shirt and tackling him into a table. She waited until they’d moved the other way before lowering her bowl and continuing her meal. Didn’t matter what town she ventured into, the men were always the same. Loud. Oppressive. Angry. And those that weren’t avoided her, judging her character by the clothes she wore.
She glanced at her reflection in a mirror behind the bottles of liquor. A fringe of blonde hair framed her face, the tousled strands wild about her head before disappearing in a thick braid down her back. Dirt creased her forehead, a smear of mud along one side of her cheek. Her white cotton shirt masked her feminine attributes
—
her knee-length oilskin jacket covering her pants. She looked every inch the gunslinger she’d become, only empty. Even she saw the hollow reflection in her eyes, the years on the open trail etched in the fine lines around her mouth, and she knew her past was slowly killing her. Eating away at anything left of the girl she’d once been.
McKenna released a weary breath, spooning up more broth when two men approached the bar, nodding at the barkeep as they glanced at her out of the corner of their eyes. She took another sip, eyeing them in the mirror as they shuffled closer to her, each draining a glass of whiskey. She studied the guy nearest to her
—
tall with thick brown hair, his features looked ruggedly handsome, a distinct shadow of stubble lining his jaw. His dark eyes gleamed with intelligence, the brown depths sending a sliver of awareness skittering down her spine.