Saving the Gunslinger

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Forty-Nine

Samantha was barely hanging onto consciousness when she finally reached the main street of town. Eyes were instantly on her and shocked gasps and whispers filled the air. Samantha knew she probably looked quite scary. She was pale, covered in dirt and blood and barely holding her head up as her hair hung loose around her. Eleanor was still unconscious in the back of the cart and Creed let out tired whimpers whenever the cart hit a rut or bump in the road.

"Samantha!"

The sound of Gavin Jones' voice had Samantha finding a bit more alertness. She managed to raise her head just as he reached the cart and pulled Athena to a stop. His eyes were wide behind his glasses as he rushed to her. "Samantha, what happened?"

"We were attacked." Samantha's voice was barely more than a whisper. "Eleanor and Creed need the doctor."

"Hell, Samantha, you need the doctor!" Gavin exclaimed, his voice nearly hysterical.

"Probably do...."

"You men! Over here. Help me get these ladies to the doctor!" Gavin yelled at several men walking past. They were quick to come forward and Samantha nearly cried out with pain when two of them lifted her from the cart.

"Don't forget about Creed," she insisted, struggling to keep her eyes open, aware of men lifting Eleanor from the back of cart.

Gavin nodded and scooped up the whimpering pup. "I've got him, Sam, don't worry."

"Who the hell attacks a couple of women and shoots a damn dog?" One of the men demanded as they were carried toward Doctor Reynold's home.

"Somebody who wants Zachary Marston to rip their heads clean off their shoulders, that's who," Gavin replied. "Samantha, I know you're hurt but can you tell us what happened?"

She wanted to but she simply didn't have the strength as she rested her head against the chest of the man carrying her and her eyes slipped closed. Sleep. All she wanted was sleep.

"Samantha, stay with us!" she heard Gavin insist. She did her best to do as he wanted her to, but it was impossible. Unconsciousness claimed her.

***

That damn unease in Zachary's gut hadn't eased a bit—as a matter of fact it had simply increased with every hour that passed. He hadn't slept a bit the night before—without Samantha in his arms, sleep simply wouldn't come. Was she okay? His gut told him no. Zachary had ignored his gut since yesterday. He had told himself that everyone was right and that he was worrying for nothing and stuck in the past but it was getting harder to ignore. His instincts were practically screaming at him.

He rolled his aching shoulder, once again cursing the man who had shot that bullet into it. Zachary wished he could turn his mind off. But if he lost Samantha—if something happened to her because he wasn't there to keep her safe.... He would never forgive himself. Zachary had lost too much in his life—he couldn't lose Sam.

With a growl, Zachary grabbed his rifle, slung it across his back, shouldered his saddlebags and strode out of the hotel room. He went two doors down and knocked roughly on Timothy's door. He was raising his hand to pound on that chunk of wood when it was thrown open. Timothy looked like hell—it seemed his best friend hasn't slept either.

"What's wrong, Zach?" he demanded, coming alert instantly.

"We're going home."

"Home?" Timothy frowned, before rubbing at his face. "Don't we have contracts to sign today?"

Zachary shook his head. His gut was telling him this was right. They needed to go home. Their women needed them. "The damn papers can wait. We need to go."

Timothy seemed doubtful but there was fear creeping into his voice. "Zach...."

"Something is wrong, Tim. I've spent over five years living rough and the only reason I lived was because I trusted my gut. I've ignored my gut since yesterday when it told me not to leave Sam. I'm done ignoring it—something is wrong."

Timothy simply nodded and turned around. He went to the chair, grabbed his gun belt and slid it around his hips. "I'll go get the wagon."

"There's no time," Zachary shook his head. "The wagon will slow us down. We'll just get a saddle for Betty and get gone."

"Do you think it's that serious?" Tim asked as they practically ran down the hall.

Zachary felt his gut swim. He swallowed hard and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, it's that damn serious."

***

Clinton leapt to his feet when Winslow came riding into camp, his large frame hanging off his horse and covered in blood. "What the hell happened?" Clinton bellowed.

"They fought back," Winston grunted as he slid from the saddle and landed in a heap on the dirt at Clinton's feet. An entry wound went in his back and came out his chest. It was clear the man was dying.

Flashbacks of the last five years raced through Clinton's mind. So many of his men dying all around him because of Zachary fucking Marston.

"Zachary wasn't supposed to be there!" Clinton hissed.

"He wasn't," Winslow groaned as he lay there on the ground bleeding out. "I need a doc, Clinton."

"You're dying, Winslow. A doc can't help you."

Tex came running over and dropped down next to Winslow, laying a hand over the bleeding exit wound. "Who shot you? And where's LeRoy and Franklin?"

"Where's Samantha?!" Clinton demanded, kicking Winslow's leg. "You had one job!"

Winslow winced and took a rattling breath. "The women fought back. Damn blond whore shot Franklin in the leg. I was about to have my way with her but Samantha got away from Leroy and went for a gun. Franklin shot her and so Leroy shot him but that gave her time to get the gun and she shot and killed Leroy. I knew I was next so I hopped on a horse and rode like a bat out of hell but Samantha got a shot off on me...."

"And a damn good one," Tex lamented sadly. "You and Leroy was my best friends."

Clinton clenched his fists. "Samantha was shot?"

"Yeah, but it didn't look...fatal..."

Winston's words were becoming weaker and his eyes less focused. "Sorry we.. failed you boss..."

Clinton watched one of his last remaining men die in the dirt at his feet. Tex appeared near tears as he bowed his head. "Jenson was right. We should have just let Zachary live his damn life while we lived ours, boss."

Clinton roared with rage and shoved pulled his revolver, eager to do away with anyone who dared doubt him—but then he remembered that he only had three men left with him here and one in town. He couldn't afford to kill Tex. Not until Samantha was at his side.

He slowly holstered his gun, as Tex held up his hands submissively. "I'm sorry, boss. I didn't mean it. I just lost two good friends...."

Clinton nodded and strode to his tent. Throwing back the flap he entered it and paced the tiny interior. His Samantha had been shot! If Leroy hadn't killed Franklin, Clinton would have. Now she was wounded—if she were to die what would he do? Clinton couldn't bear to think it. Samantha was his. He would have her.

Now to figure out what happened next. Clinton had four loyal men left. One in town and three at camp with him. They would follow him to hell and he knew it. Zachary was still gone which meant he would be no threat. If Samantha was wounded, she would need a doctor which mean going into town.

Clinton could practically taste the woman on his tongue and he smiled before leaving the tent. He let out a sharp whistle.

"Come on, men! Samantha has gone into town and we're going after her. Zachary will come looking for his wife and we'll end this once and for all." And teach Zachary Marston what happened when you put you hands on something that belonged to Clinton Matthews.