Free Jake by Cynthia Woolf Page B

It would be so easy to give in, to let him make love to her, but she wanted so much more. She wanted it all. Everything he had to give. And she would give all she had in return. But was it enough for a man like Jake? He’d loved before and lost her, he might not be willing to try it again. Might not be able to loveagain. Some folks were like that. She hoped he wasn’t one of them because, even with his overbearing attitude toward her and her safety, she’d fallen in love with him. What was she to do now?
    “Hi,” he said as he walked up to her. “We’ll be working on the cliff tomorrow. You gonna to be ready to help out?”
    “Sure.” She grinned at him. “It’ll be nice to stay dry for a day or two.”
    He reached out a hand to help her up from the log where she sat pulling on her waders. “Dry tomorrow. Wet today. Let’s go get started. We need to make enough for Billy so he’ll leave you alone. Although I wouldn’t mind if he wanted to make trouble. The way I’m feeling it would be nice to be able to beat him, or for that matter anyone, into the ground.” He punched his fist into his palm with such gusto she thought he might have hurt himself.
    “You need to cool off. Put your rubber waders on and let’s go make some money.” She said, sliding her feet into her own boots.
    Jake pulled his boots on, and they walked down to the river together. He worked about fifty yards downstream from Becky, at the very end of his brother’s claim. He didn’t want Billy claiming any of the gold he panned for Becky, as his own. He focused, paying attention to every flicker, every flake and nugget that appeared in the bottom of his pan. This was what mattered. The sooner this was over the better.
    To be free. To be able to live my life on my own terms. It was a heady thought.
    Becky was concentrating on panning the gold. So much so that she didn’t see the riders until they were almost right upon Jake.
    “Jake,” she yelled over the roar of the river. He didn’t hear. “Jake! Behind you.”
    The riders were galloping down the embankment when Jake finally looked up and saw them coming. He dropped his pan and pulled his Colt revolver from its holster.
    Becky waded out of the river as fast as she could and then ran down the creek edge toward Jake, her Colt drawn.
    The men bore down on Jake one of them getting close enough to take a swipe at him with the butt of his rifle. They apparently didn’t want him dead because neither one shot at him and they’d had plenty of opportunity.
    Becky stopped, held her gun with both hands and fired. The first rider fell from his horse into the river not twenty feet from Jake. The second rider, a big man, kept coming but had drawn his gun and aimed at Becky. Jake shot him and he fell off his horse onto the bank of the river.
    Both men were down, wounded, but not dead. Becky had shot her man in the shoulder. He waded out of the river where he’d fallen and went for his sidearm and she shot him again. This time he didn’t move.
    The man Jake shot lay face up on the ground. The wind knocked out of him and a wound in his belly. He was going to die. Belly wounds meant slow dying with agonizing pain. Being gut shot was the worst way to die.
    Jake walked up to the man. It was the bounty hunter from the bar.
    “Why didn’t you shoot me?”
    The man didn’t answer.
    “You know you’re gut shot. It’ll be a slow death because I’m goin’ to just leave you where you lay. The animals will come around and gnaw on you and you’ll still be alive.” He leaned down, his face directly in the bounty hunters. “I can help with that.”
    The man groaned. “Poster says wanted alive. Couldn’t take the chance that we’d miss and kill you.”
    “What poster?”
    “Wanted poster out of Missouri.” The man groaned in agony. “Now help me. Get me to a doc.”
    “Were you working with Billy?” asked Jake, while he prodded the man with his boot.
    “Who?”
    “Billy Finnegan. How do you