WM02 - Texas Princess Read Free

gun.
    No one would ever force him to do what he didn’t want to do again. They’d hired two Apache men to help a month later, and the brothers had worked from sunup to ful dark until the fences were in place. The McMurrays rationed their help after that, using men only in the spring, and al three brothers kept the habit of traveling armed.
    Tobin slipped from the back door of Elmo’s and walked to his horse, glad that he hadn’t had to pul his sidearm. He brushed the chest pocket of his coat, making sure the bottle was safe, then stepped into the saddle. He was ready to get back to the hil s and away from the stench of too many people.
    As he rounded the trading post, he found the cowhands waiting for him. Like hungry coyotes, they scurried off the porch and blocked his way. He counted ve on the ground, one on the porch.
    The redhead red a round from his rie, and the bay Tobin rode danced with panic while the horses close to the porch bolted and gal oped away.
    “So, tel me,” the stout man yel ed. “If you got the blood of a horse in you, maybe you got the brains as wel ?”
    Tobin leaned forward, whispering into the bay’s ear to calm her. He watched the men spread out, but he stil didn’t go for his gun. He’d practiced with his brothers and knew he was both fast and accurate, but six-to-one odds would never be good.
    The stout man grew braver. “You won’t mind if we have a look to see where that bul et went into your chest. Would you, McMurray?”
    Tobin bent low across his horse. He had no intention of talking with these men or of stripping like a curiosity for them. “Stand back,” he ordered.
    The man laughed. “Ain’t you al the bossy one now. I heard about how high and mighty you McMurrays al think you are. Just ’cause you own your own hunk of Texas don’t make you special.”
    The stump nodded toward the man on the porch. His friend raised the rie aimed at Tobin. “Unless you want another bul et hole in that chest, you’l cooperate. It ain’t nothing personal. I just got a bet on whether you was real y shot as a boy.”
    Tobin saw no need for further conversation. He leaned closer and whispered into his mount’s ear, then gave the animal her head.
    The bay bolted through the cowhands as if they were no more than rain. He passed the stout man so fast the cowhand didn’t have time to jump out of the way. Tobin saw the man spin and tumble into the steps with a hard thud as a shot rang out from the porch.
    Tobin was wel away when he felt something thick and warm soaking his shirt. For a moment he thought he’d been shot again. But there was no pain and Tobin would never forget the agony of a bul et ring through him. He pushed harder not daring to slow until he reached cover.
    Memories poured into his mind like lava . . . He’d hurt so badly nineteen years ago that even breathing made him ght screams. The bul et must have passed through him, a hair’s width from his heart. His horse died beside him that day, with Tobin too injured to help. The men who’d shot them both kept circling, kept ring. He’d gripped his rie, feeling their bul ets hit the horse he hid behind. Blindly, he raised and red, reloaded,
    red again, and again, until nal y he heard his brothers cal ing his name.
    Tobin shoved the memory aside. He’d been so young, a lifetime ago, but he stil remembered every detail of the day he’d been ambushed. At six he’d almost died.
    He pushed harder toward home. Wel within the trees, he glanced back to make sure he wasn’t fol owed, then nal y pul ed the reins. Sliding his ngers into his coat Tobin felt glass cut a thin line along his thumb. He pul ed out what remained of the medicine bottle. Glory’s last hope.
    When he reached the shelter of the rocks, he climbed down near a stream and washed off the medicine. He’d rather face the cowhands again than go back and tel Sage he’d broken the bottle. She’d give up.
    He could tel her the mail