The kid stood and grabbed the railing to steady his shaky legs.
Deadshot’s stomach contracted, and he took a step back. The kid looked a lot like him when he was that age.
Chapter 3
Rider’s whole body was a nervous ball of panicked energy. His thoughts were scattered, and his legs felt numb. He had honestly thought that he was going to die. Focusing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he looked up at the man in front of him. He wasn’t particularly tall or big, but everything about him screamed danger.
“Who are you?” the man asked.
There was no time for introductions. Rider needed help, and if the man refused, he needed to find somebody who would be willing. A sheriff or lawman of sorts would be best. Given his dire circumstances, Rider was willing to settle for anybody who knew how to use a gun, though, and the man in front of him had that down.
“A gang of bandits attacked my family’s ranch,” Rider said, his voice catching in his throat. “There were so many of them.”
A strange look crossed the man’s face, but he didn’t say anything, so Rider continued. “My pa sent me to get help, butsome of the bandits followed after me. I was going to go to the sheriff in town, but the bandits cut me off and chased me all the way here.”
“Were it just these five that followed you?” the man asked. His voice was rough, matching his appearance perfectly.
Rider nodded as he scanned the area around them. He couldn’t see all of the bodies, just the two on the porch. “Yes, just five,” he confirmed. “There were a lot more at the ranch, and they had pistols and rifles, and...” He had to stop talking as the world around him started to spin. Tightening his grip on the rail, he closed his eyes for a second. It didn’t help. Images of the bandits holding his mother and sister flashed behind his eyes, and he quickly opened them again.
“I’ve been away too long. I need to get back to them,” he stated as he let go of the railing. He could lose his mind some other time; right now, his family needed him to be strong.
The man took a step back, allowing him to pass without objection.
“Are you going to help me?” Rider asked, hoping the man would agree. At that moment, he didn’t care whether the man was a lawman or a criminal. Hell, he would pay him with whatever his family had left at the ranch. He just needed help. “If not, at least tell me where I can find somebody who will.”
Rider’s legs didn’t feel steady underneath him as he walked to his horse. Well, technically, it wasn’t his horse. He had takenone of the bandits’ horses. He grabbed the animal’s reins and turned to look at the man.
“You’re not from around here,” the man pointed out. “Where’s your family’s ranch?”
“Lake’s Crossing,” Rider replied.
The man sucked in his breath, visibly stunned. “That’s more than twenty miles.” He walked over to Rider and grabbed him by his shirt. “Are you lying to me?”
Rider shook his head. “No.” His heart was pounding in his chest as his breathing sped up. “They chased me and kept blocking me from going anywhere else.”
The man let go of Rider’s shirt slowly, assessing the situation.
“I need to get back,” Rider insisted.
The man walked around Rider’s stolen horse. “He looks all right.”
“Please,” Rider begged. “Will you help me or not?”
The man sighed and then holstered his pistol. “Sure, why not?”
***
Deadshot wasn’t entirely certain why he had agreed to help the kid. Not even thirty minutes ago, he had been fast asleep and comfortable in his bed. He enjoyed going to bed at the same time every night and resting until morning. He didn’t always sleep well, with the nightmares and all, but his body appreciated the rest.
His knee was aching something horrible. The pain was worse than it had been in a long time. The last time it felt so bad, he had returned from a hunting trip and had to go to the doctor in town for pain medication. Deadshot was not a fan of doctors or admitting that he had fallen down a hill. Going with the kid was a bad idea. Lake’s Crossing was far away, and by the time they got there, the bandits would be long gone.
Admittedly, Deadshot hadn’t felt so alive in years. Taking out the bandits and getting to use his Colt for something other than target practice felt exhilarating. The shootout had woken something long dormant within him. It was the adrenaline surging through his veins that made him agree, but he was a man of his word, and sending the kid into town to find Sheriff Watkins would put him back another hour.
Deadshot had been looking forward to a good night’s sleep. He had been planning to harvest some vegetables the next day and to make a hearty stew. Listening to the kid’s story, he knew that none of that was going to happen.
“Follow me,” Deadshot instructed as he turned and headed toward his cabin.
He could hear the kid behind him. “What are we doing?”
