Free The Devil's Own Desperado by Lynda J. Cox Page B

Amelia out of the way. “You do anything to hurt her or those kids or do anything that puts them in harm’s way, and you will answer to me.”
    An insolent smile curled Colt’s mouth. He lifted his brow again and crossed one ankle over the other. With a jolt Amelia realized that even though he was shorter than the marshal, he had forced Taylor to look up at him by not stepping off the porch. “Answer to you, or answer to the badge?”
    “Whichever you want, Evans.” The marshal’s voice sharpened. “You do anything that threatens any one of the people I care about, and I’ll take it very personally. The last man who pushed me on that point ended up dead.”
    Amelia cringed with the arctic quality of Colt’s laugh. “And you despise me for never killing a man unless he’s already drawn on me? Were you wearing that badge when you killed him, just to keep it all legal?”
    Taylor’s frame grew rigid. “Yes, I was. He’s dead because he kidnapped my wife.”
    Amelia had no idea exactly what it was in Taylor’s words, but some of the chill melted from Colt’s expression. He dipped his head. “Good to know where I stand, then.” Colt turned on a heel and walked into the house.
    Taylor hesitated a moment, and then touched the brim of his hat. “You have any trouble, any at all, Amy, and you send Saul or Jenny into town or out to the ranch for me. I’ll be here as fast as I can.”
    Amelia forced a smile. “We’ll be fine, Marshal. Mr. Evans is not a danger to me, or to Saul and Jenny.”
    Taylor’s brow arched into his hairline. “He’s more dangerous than you can possibly imagine. Take my advice, Amy. Move him along as quickly as you can. He’s trouble for you and the kids, the likes of which you’ve never seen.”
    Colt was sitting at the table when Amelia came into the cabin. The white lines at the corners of his mouth matched the white of the sling around his neck. Cold, controlled fury shimmered in his eyes.
    Before she could say anything, Colt said, “Let me guess, he told you if you have any trouble with me, he’ll take care of it.”
    Amelia took a step back from the bitterness in his voice. “He said something to that effect, yes.”
    His laugh was harsh. “I can probably make a better guess than that, Amelia. According to him I’m nothing but trouble to you and he said he’d be here as fast as possible if you needed him, didn’t he?” Colt slammed his fist onto the table. “Damn it, does he really think I picked up a gun because it was how I wanted to spend my life?”
    “Doesn’t what you do ever keep you awake at night?” Amelia asked, needing to understand what the fascination with the power of life and death over another was.
    “What the hell do you think whiskey is for?”
    Amelia recoiled from the vehemence in his voice.
    “For nights after I’ve killed a man, I drink myself into oblivion. I learned real quick a conscience was a commodity I couldn’t afford.” Colt shook his head. “No, I sure as hell can’t afford a conscience,” he added, almost to himself.
    “Why did you pick up a gun, Colt?”
    His shoulders slumped. “Because I didn’t have a choice.”
    “There’s always a choice. Even if your stepfather made you leave, surely your mother—”
    “Leave my mother out of this.” There was a different pain in his voice at the mention of his mother. “When my stepfather threw me out, I got caught up with the wrong kind. Pretty soon, people were talking about how fast I was on the draw and how accurate. The next thing I knew, I got called out in some little one-horse town down on the Rio Grande.” He clenched his fists. “I was so damn scared I about wet my britches. After that, there was no turning back. I was fourteen the first time I got called out.”
    “Colt…” His posture, the tone of his voice and the ravaged expression lining his face allowed her to imagine that terrified fourteen-year-old boy, trying to face down a grown man and knowing the only