Give My Heart to Kaitlyn (2nd in Outlaw Series)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

The sun was halfway across the sky when the four men rode into town. Their hats were pulled low, their holsters loose and their coats thrown back. The sun glinted off the metal in their guns and stirrups. The breath of the men and the horses alike, rose and swirled in the frigid January air.

The streets were surprisingly empty. Even the birds and the horses had fallen silent. Wandering townsfolks saw the four men riding in and they quickly scurried inside for cover.

The men's hard faces and sharp eyes contrasted with their relaxed posture atop their horses. Hooves sunk deep in the mud with every step they took and the horses snorted and shook their heads as if knowing something very important was about to take place here in the quiet town of Windfall.

"I'm gonna have to get a pad for my damn saddle," Jeremiah's voice broke the quiet. "My backside feels like I've been riding on a cactus."

"Since I'm fixing to get shot by someone else, I'll not say the first thing that popped into my head and get myself shot by you too," Marston chuckled.

Pete snorted with laughter despite his nervousness. Pete was full of anger and determination. Anger over what happened to Kaitlyn and determination to see that Vincent never laid another hand on his wife and died for what he'd already done.

The air was vibrating with tension when the four men hopped off their horses and hitched them at the saloon. "Hot damn!" Jeremiah rubbed his hands together. "I love the rush I get when I know I'm gonna kill somebody."

Pete shook his head. "I'm beginning to think I married into a family of crazy asses."

"Welcome to the asylum," Marston replied. "I need to warn you of some things before this goes down."

"Okay," Pete agreed.

"It's every man for himself, Pete. Don't throw yourself in harm's way expecting one of us to come to your rescue and get ourselves killed. We don't die for one another."

"I don't need anyone protecting me, Marston," Pete growled with irritation.

Marston nodded. "Good. Neither does Duke and Jeremiah. Neither do I. Remember that. No playing hero. I don't care if you are a damn lawman."

"You got it," Pete agreed with a tip of his hat. "You don't take any bullets for me and I won't take any for you."

"And then we'll all go home, eat some ham and live happily ever after," Duke chimed in.

"My home is not your home," Marston countered sternly.

Duke shifted his feet. "I was actually hoping to speak to you about that. After we're done killing these bastards of course."

Marston ran his hand over his face and grumbled. "Is it just me or does everybody have something they want to talk to me about these days?"

Jeremiah grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. "I don't ever want to talk to you about things, little brother." He chuckled. "Seems strange to call you little brother when you're a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than I am. You are a big bastard, you know that?"

Marston threw his brother an exasperated glance, shook his head in defeat and laid his hand over his revolver. "Let's go say hello to our friends."

Pete squared his shoulders and followed Marston into the saloon. Duke was behind him and Jeremiah brought up the rear. The saloon was empty other than the six dirty men currently occupying the bar. The bartender glanced up from the glass he was wiping and Marston dismissed him with a nod. He gratefully smiled and made a quick exit.