Alfred raised his gun at Roy, aiming not at his chest but point blank, the center of his forehead. As Roy stared down the barrel of the gun, his life flashed before his eyes, but not in the way he had always imagined. Instead of seeing his past, he saw his future—the future that was, for the briefest moment, within reach. He saw a life with Cora on the ranch, holding hands on the porch watching the sunset, children running through the yard while Cora rocked a baby on her lap. He saw Cora decades down the road, her golden hair turned gray, her face etched with wrinkles, still more beautiful than ever.
He was struck with grief that this future would be taken from him before it ever began, and he prayed that Cora would be okay, that his death would give her the chance to escape, and that one day she would find love again and live all her dreams.
Alfred advanced on Roy, and he knew the end was near, so he closed his eyes and silently prayed his father’s favorite Psalm: “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Cora could not breathe as she stared at the gun in Alfred’s hand. She knew she had to do something; she couldn’t just stand there helpless and watch the monster who shot her father kill the man she loved.
Suddenly, as if by providence, Cora’s eyes landed on a metal object on the floor, on the other side of her father’s body from where Roy was standing. Her father’s gun must have fallen out of its holster when he hit the ground, sliding halfway beneath one of the living room chairs. She quickly averted her eyes away from the gun. She couldn’t risk Alfred following her gaze and discovering it.
But Alfred wasn’t paying attention to her. His eyes were focused on Roy, and his finger was on the trigger. Alfred had said just moments ago that he wanted to kill Roy first so that Cora could watch the man she loved die before her eyes, and in that way, he would inflict the ultimate suffering on her. She was the one Alfred hated the most—the obstinate woman who dared to defy his wishes and, in doing so, made the ultimate fool of him. He wanted a woman who was weak and powerless, and the knowledge of that reality gave Cora an idea.
She would buy herself and Roy time by giving him what he wanted.
“Please, Alfred, please, I’m begging you!” Alfred and Roy both turned their heads to her in surprise at her sudden outburst. Since the moment she had sunk down against the door, she had been deathly quiet. Alfred grinned menacingly and repositioned the gun under Roy’s chin, forcing his neck upward.
“Does this hurt you, Cora?” Alfred asked, venom dripping from his voice. “Does it hurt to see your ‘lover’ in this position, his life at my mercy?”
“Yes!” Cora shrieked, dropping to her hands and knees and crawling to her father’s side—the side opposite where Roy was, where the gun lay mere feet away. “How can you even ask that question? Have you no soul? Look what you’ve done to my father! I’ve already lost enough, please don’t hurt Roy too!”
Alfred’s eyes sparkled with glee, relishing in her despair without realizing that he was playing right into her hands. She needed to both distract him but also get him to look away from her so she could reach for her father’s gun without his noticing.
But if he took his attention off her, then he might have time to shoot Roy. It was a delicate balancing act, and every second mattered.
“I’ll marry you!” Cora blurted, scooting backward on her knees like she was kneeling in prayer to Alfred, positioning herself parallel to the hidden gun. “If you just spare Roy, I’ll marry you as soon as you want. I’ll tell everyone that the broken engagement was a huge misunderstanding, a mistake on my part, and your honor will be intact.”
Alfred still had the gun pressed under Roy’s chin, and he was pressing harder, tilting his neck up further. Nevertheless, Roy was able to watch Cora from the corner of his eye, and as their eyes met, Cora could tell that Roy knew she was up to something. Even in this dire moment, there was a connection between them, a silent communication.
Alfred stilled, pursing his lips as if he were considering the offer. “Are you saying that all I’d have to do, to get you to do what you should have done all along, is spare the life of this scoundrel?”
“Yes!” Cora said, nodding fervently, keeping her eyes fixed on Alfred. She was terrified that one subconscious glance to the side would cause him to discover her trick—and the location of her father’s gun. “I never meant for any of this to happen. I just was too confused to know what I wanted. I should have never resisted marrying you. I’m so sorry, Alfred. Just please don’t let anyone else suffer for my foolish behavior.”
Alfred kept his gaze on Cora but hissed his words to Roy. “You hear that, Burns? Sounds like Cora’s supposed ‘love’ for you isn’t as unwavering as you thought if she’s so willing to marry me at the first sign of trouble.”
Roy didn’t respond, but Cora saw his Adam’s apple move up and down in his throat, indicating that he was swallowing hard. She prayed that she was correct in her thought earlier, and that he knew that this was all part of a trick.
“Just take your gun off of him, and we can end this peacefully. No one will have to know what happened with my father. We’ll tell everyone there was a robbery, and he got away. Roy will go home, and you and I can get married. Everything will be resolved. Please, Alfred.”
“And by home, you mean back to Wheats Ridge, right?” Alfred confirmed, digging the gun further into Roy’s skin.
“Yes, to Wheats Ridge! He will never bother us again!”
Suddenly, Alfred cackled, and it was an almost inhuman sound, and Cora’s heart sank at the realization that he was never considering her proposition, that he was stringing her along.
“Do you really think I believe any of this?” he asked, turning back to Roy, still laughing. “Can you believe that your lady is stupid enough to think—”
But while he was busy mocking her intelligence, Cora found her opportunity and seized the moment, reaching under the chair for the gun, her arm moving quicker than it ever had before.
She didn’t have much experience with firearms, despite her father being the sheriff, but as soon as her hand grasped the weapon, she was transported to another moment in time. She was about ten years old, and her father had taken her to a secluded part of the woods on the outskirts of Lakewood to teach her how to shoot. She didn’t have many of these memories with her father, the two of them bonding over an outdoor activity the way he might have done more often if she were his son instead of his daughter. Nevertheless, one sunny day thirteen years ago, he had told her what to do with a gun.
“So what you want to do is grip it firmly with both hands, but keep your hand off the trigger. Your finger doesn’t go anywhere near the trigger until you are absolutely certain you are ready to shoot. Then you want to identify your target, and only then are you ready to pull back on the trigger. Don’t jerk it—that will throw off your aim—but pull back on it slowly…”
The deafening sound of an explosion shook the room as Cora followed her father’s instructions to the letter and aimed at the wall beside the front door. The noise startled Alfred, and instead of instinctually shooting in her direction, as one might expect someone armed to do when they heard opposing gunfire, his knee-jerk reaction instead was to lower his hand and loosen his grip on the revolver. It became apparent in that moment, from that small but significant lapse in judgment, that Alfred was entirely unused to doing his own dirty work. He was able to act tough when a gun, but when push came to shove, his first response was to falter.
Alfred seemed to notice his mistake and recover his stance and position, but Roy’s reflexes were quicker. He pulled the gun from Alfred’s grasp before he had time to react. Then Roy aimed the gun directly at Alfred, whose triumphant expression melted into terror.
“Get down on your knees,” Roy ordered in a deep, guttural growl. Alfred acquiesced, all semblances of arrogant courage gone now that he was unarmed and on the other side of the barrel.
