Bushedwhacked Groom Read Free Page B

your butt inside that coach!”
    In short order, Lucky found himself inside the dusty stagecoach, his tall form doubled over on the floor boards as he felt Grover binding his feet, then tying them to his hands. The door slammed and he heard his assailant’s mocking voice. “Happy trails, partner.”
    “Holy hell, you can’t mean—”
    “Good riddance, you sonofabitch.”
    Oh, God, Lucky thought desperately, this couldn’t be happening! But it was. Even as he cringed in horror, the stagecoach creaked into sickening motion, then went tumbling off the embankment, crashing repeat edly as it careened down the long stairstep expanse of dike.
    “ Sheeeeee-it!” Lucky screamed, his body mercilessly banged and jostled and pitched. Then, even as he thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse, he felt the entire crumbling conveyance being launched into sheer, thin space, and then   . . .
    Everything went black.
    ***
    The bastard had it coming.
    This was Grover Singleton’s vengeful thought as he watched Lucky Lamont plunge to his death as the stagecoach crashed into the gorge below in an explo sion of dust and noise. His sister Misti would be tickled pink to hear the no-good scoundrel had met his maker. Besides, Misti had offered to buy him an an tique Winchester rifle he’d coveted for ages if he’d only give the SOB his comeuppance. And he had, in spades.
    Now to be sure . . .
    Gingerly Grover maneuvered his horse down the steep embankment into the gorge, then quickly gal loped over to the old stagecoach’s final resting place. Dismounting, he approached the pile of rubble and moved aside several boards, searching for his victim.
    Shit! What was this? No body. Nothing at all but shat tered wood and twisted metal. His gaze scoured the wall of dike above him, but he spotted no sign of a corpse anywhere. Sneezing at the rising dust, he began rummaging again. He checked through the stack of de bris several times but still found no hint that a human being had ever been there. What the hell? What would he tell Misti now? Where on earth was Lucky Lamont? Had Lucky gotten lucky after all?

 
     
     
    Chapter One
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    Mariposa , Colorado , 1911
     
    “I’ve just about had my fill of your tomfoolery,” Cole Reklaw scolded his children as he paced the parlor.
    Molly Reklaw cowered on the long horsehair sofa along with her four brothers, all of them watching their irate father prowl about while lecturing them soundly. In his mid-fifties, Cole Reklaw was a daunting figure with his tall, lean frame, graying dark hair and grim though handsome features. At the moment he was more menacing than a snorting bull, with boots shaking the floorboards and hands gesturing passionately. Even Ma and Grandma seemed wise enough to keep their distance; both women peered in anxiously from the corridor.
    How Molly wished she had a hole to hide in! For the five Reklaw children had gotten in real trouble this time. Molly’s four older brothers looked a sight to behold and reeked of stale tobacco and cheap whiskey. Zach, the eldest, had a black eye; Vance sported a cut on his chin, Matt had bandaged knuckles and Cory a swollen nose. The four had stayed out all night, getting into another fight at the local saloon and landing in the county jail.
    As for eighteen-year-old Molly, usually she was the apple of her daddy’s eye; but this morning things hadn’t gone particularly well for her, either. Even as Pa was busy paying the saloonkeeper for damages and convincing the sheriff to release her brothers from jail, Grandma had caught Molly out behind the shed smok ing a cigarette. Molly’s pleas—that this was, after all, the year 1911, and surely women would soon get the vote—had fallen on deaf ears. Grandma had hauled Molly inside by her ear—and thus the five Reklaw chil dren were receiving their tongue-lashing in unison.
    “I can’t believe I’ve raised such a bunch of rascals,” Cole ranted. He pointed an accusatory