Colt tipped his hat back until it dropped behind to hang from the neck strap. He'd once had one pushed forward into his eyes by the wind, at just the wrong moment. He'd be dead now if the other guy hadn't been such a lousy shot.
"Now what're ya waitin' on?" Riley called impa-tiently from his position in the middle of the street.
"You that anxious to die?"
Riley thought that was funny. So did his friends. So did a number of spectators.
"That ain't no bow an' arrow you're packin', breed, or ain't ya noticed?"
This time the kid bent over double, he laughed so hard at his own sally. There was backslapping and eye-wiping going on on both sides of the street as just about everyone present joined in his humor — except the Spaniard.
Colt noticed Alonzo as he moved out into the street, then the Scot standing with him. So some of her peo-ple were present. It made no difference. They were merely spectators like the rest. And yet his eyes sud-denly ^scanned the covered boardwalks — and found her, that bright beacon of red hair hard to miss as she ran toward Alonzo.
Shit! Now he was pissed, well and truly pissed! He wondered who he had to thank for her presence, and when she stopped by the Spaniard, he knew. The look he gave the swarthy man promised retribution, but Alonzo, reading that look correctly, merely shrugged.
Looking at the duchess was out of the question. Colt gave his attention back to Riley, his indifference gone, his anger on the edge of exploding. If she tried to interfere…
Jocelyn was about to do just that. She took in the situation at a glance, understood that the two men standing out there in the street were at any moment going to start shooting at each other, and she couldn't allow it to happen. She knew firsthand how skillful Colt was with his revolver, but what if his young op-ponent was as equally skilled? She couldn't take the chance.
But as she lifted her skirt to step down into the street, Alonzo caught her arm and whispered near her ear, "If you distract him now, he is dead. The mo-ment his eyes turn to you, and they will, the young Riley will take advantage and draw his weapon. Had you come sooner you might have stopped it, but now is too late."
"But…" She bit her lip in indecision, staring at Colt. How could she watch and do nothing, when he might be wounded or worse?
But it really was too late to interfere. Even as she looked toward Colt's opponent to assess his readi-ness, the young man was reaching for his gun.
It all happened so fast, it was no wonder the spec-tators were collectively drawing in gasps of awe.
Colt's gun was already in his hand and aimed at his opponent. The young man, his hand only just grip-ping his own weapon, still holstered, stared incredu-lously and didn't move so much as another inch.
He looked rather sick. He obviously wasn't sure what to do now, whether to concede the fight or to take his chances and still draw. It was the silence of Colt's gurs that made him so undecided.
Colt wasn't waiting for him to make up his mind. With slow, purposeful strides he closed the distance between them until the nozzle of his Peacemaker came to rest against Riley's trembling belly. Riley had bro-ken out in a sweat by then, afraid to look down for fear he would see the trigger being squeezed, afraid to look anywhere but into those hard blue eyes that had never wavered from his.
Colt smelled his fear, saw it, but he wasn't feeling very merciful at the moment. "We tried it your way, you loudmouthed son of a bitch," he hissed low, so only Riley would hear him. "Now you'll accommodate me."
With that Colt removed the gun from Riley's belly, arched it to the left, and brought it across Riley's face in a backhanded swing. The kid went stumbling to the side, and when he touched his hand to his cheek, it came away bloody. He didn't understand. He still didn't, even when Colt holstered his gun and stood there waiting, fingers flexing.
Riley's friends didn't understand either, but they weren't so doubtful about what to do. One reached for his gun. Simultaneously, Alonzo reached for his knife, and Robbie took a step forward. Neither man's assistance was necessary, however, or noted by Colt. He had been keeping Riley's friends in his sights, and out came his gun again, this time to fire.
The bullet struck metal. The cowboy dropped his revolver to the ground with a cry, his fingers numb.
The other one spread his arms wide and backed away, unwilling to take Colt on by himself.
Again Colt put his gun away and locked eyes with Riley, who hadn't dared to move even with Colt's attention momentarily directed elsewhere. "Come on, kid, I ain't got all day."
"Come — come on what?"
"You wanted a piece of me. Come and take it."
Riley took a step back instead, his eyes flaring with alarm. "You mean fight you? But you're bigger'n me!"
"My size didn't stop you from shoving insults down my throat, did it?"
"So I made a mistake, mister. Whyn't we forget it, huh?"
Colt slowly shook his head. "I'd rather beat the shit out of you."
Riley took another step back, his eyes like saucers now. "Would — would you shoot me in the back?"
Colt scowled at that fool question. "No."
"Glad to hear it," Riley gulped out and took off down the street.
For a moment Colt simply stared at his fleeing back with a mixture of surprise and exasperation. He'd had men back down from gunfights before when he'd got-ten the draw on them, but they'd never turned tail and run when he'd offered them another out so save face, especially with so many witnesses present.
Witnesses usually made all the difference in the way a man re-acted, turning cowards into brave men, even if those brave men knew they'd end up being dead men.
He could have dropped a few bullets into the dust around those running feet, but since he doubted that would bring Riley back to face him, he didn't bother. He turned away in disgust instead, oblivious to the murmurings of many spectators who were experienc-ing a full gamut of reactions, from shocked amazement to bitter disappointment to jeering contempt for Riley's cowardice. But mostly they were wondering aloud who Colt was.
It was going to be a source of frustration for the storytellers of the town that they were doomed to never learn his name, for who in their right mind would dare to ask him outright after what they had just witnessed, and there was no one else willing to supply the answer. Jocelyn certainly wasn't, though she heard the question several times on her way back to the hotel. Nor would her people volunteer his name, accustomed as they were to keeping a low pro-file.
But overhearing a scorn-filled "He's a savage. What else is there to know?" in answer to the same ques-tion, brought Jocelyn up short.
Already upset from the scare she had just experienced, as well as frustrated that Colt had disappeared into the crowd before she could speak to him, she turned to the well-dressed young man whose remark managed to rub her on the raw.
"How dare you, sir!" she lit into him without pre-amble, to the surprise of both the man and his companion, as well as of Robbie and Alonzo, who were close behind her. "They went out into the street to kill each other. That neither is dead is the mark of a civilized man, not a savage."
Feeling a good deal better for having vented a small portion of her anger on the hapless stranger, even though it was Colt she really wanted to upbraid for his careless risk-taking, she marched on without the least notion of the agitation she left behind.
"Nice going, Miles, or hasn't it dawned on you yet that by that accent of hers, it's a safe bet to say you've just offended Lady Fleming herself?"
The sarcasm, delivered so scathingly, put Miles Dryden on the defensive. "Well, how was I to know?
The way the countess spoke of her, I was expecting a raving beauty." And then he groaned. "A redhead, and a skinny one at that! I'll never be able to go through with it."