Don't Poke the Bear!

By DonovanCreed

51.6K 2.5K 71

The saga of Emmett and Gentry continues in Don't Poke the Bear! the second book in the Emmett Love western ad... More

Dear Wattpad Readers
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Find Out More . . .

Chapter 35

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By DonovanCreed

WE ALL GO downstairs together, past the few men who just came in lookin' to play cards. Leah and Hester are standin' with 'em, takin' drink orders, tryin' to talk 'em into goin' upstairs now and playin' cards later. Rose enters the kitchen alone. Gentry and me listen from just outside the doorway, out of sight. Wing sees us from the other side of the kitchen, by the back door, where he's standin' guard with a shotgun. I put my finger to my lips so he won't speak. Rose walks over to the table where Bose can see her from inside the hole.

"Well, hi there, Sugar Britches," Bose says with a voice bathed in honey. What would it take to get you to just stand over the top of these boards?"

"Maybe if you rip your eyes out of their sockets," she answers, sweetly.

"It's a deal! Come on!"

"You first," she says.

"Oh, what I'd give to get inside your drawers!" he says. "I bet you got fire in them britches!"

"You have no idea."

"How about you slide that bolt and let me out of here?"

"If I did, what would you do?"

"Anythin' you want."

"Would you kill yourself?"

"Why, sure I would! Just get my gun and slide the bolt. If you want me dead, you can pull the trigger yourself."

"It wouldn't matter," Rose says.

"What wouldn't?"

"I couldn't shoot you."

"'Cause you got feelins' for me? Is that why you didn't let Emmett shoot me awhile ago?"

"I do have feelings for you, Bose. But all of them are bad."

"Aw, you don't mean that."

"What I mean to say is, your bullets won't work in Kansas."

"Excuse me?"

"It's a fact."

"If it's a fact, you shouldn't mind lettin' me have my gun."

"I don't mind."

"Really? You'd give me my gun?"

"I might."

"Don't tease me, sugar. Them townies are gonna come for me in a couple hours. That's how it works. They're off somewhere, drinkin' up some courage. In the end, Emmett'll stand aside and let 'em take me. I'm as good as hung if I can't defend myself."

"You'll never be able to defend yourself. Not in Kansas."

"Why not?"

I walk in and say, "Because she's a witch. And she put a spell on you, just like she put a spell on your horses last fall, when you got the drop on us near Copper Lake."

I close the kitchen door so Gentry can guard it from the main room.

Bose says, "There's no such thing as witches."

"Then you and your men must be the worst horsemen in the world."

"That was some sort of fluke," he says.

"You think?"

"I know."

I tell Rose to fetch me Bose's gun and gun belt. "Wing? Come here and lift the lid."

Bose suddenly gets nervous. "What're you up to, Emmett?"

"I'm gonna give you your gun."

"Bullshit."

I nod at Wing. He slides the bolt and lifts the floor boards up and swings them all the way back. The only thing between us and Bose is the second set of wooden slats. I nod and Wing unlocks that hatch, too, then lifts it out of the way. Now Bose's head is about two feet from our boots. Rose tosses him his gun belt and holster. He can see his gun in the holster.

"You're gonna shoot me and pretend I'm tryin' to escape!" he says.

I point to my gun. It's in my holster. I put my hands up.

"Shoot me," I say.

I'll give Bose credit for one thing. He can recognize an opportunity when he sees it. Before I got the words completely out of my mouth, he pulls his gun and makes it click three times. He frowns and checks to see if there are bullets in it.

"What've you done to my gun?"

"Nothin'."

"You've ruined my bullets somehow!"

"Nope."

Bose tries to fire three more times, turns the gun sideways, pops the cylinder, lets the bullets slide out, pulls six more from his gunbelt, takes careful aim, and pulls the trigger six times.

And gets six clicks.

"This is bullshit!" he says. But he holsters his gun and straps on his gun belt anyway.

"Try mine," I say, tossin' him my gun.

He catches it, turns it toward me and pulls the trigger.

Click. Click. Click.

"You think that's funny?" he says.

"I do. Toss it back and I'll show you how funny it is."

He tosses it back and I shoot a hole in the bottom of his holster. The sound is deafening. We hear Gentry outside the door, tellin' the folks in the main room, "Don't worry, Emmett's just shootin' a rat. A small one," she adds, "Not Bose Rennick."

I hear the customers laugh. If Bose is right, and a bunch of men come for him in a little while, these men won't be a party to it. They're steady customers.

I toss my gun back to Bose.

"You try it," I say.

He does. And gets two more clicks.

"Reload it with your bullets," I say.

He does.

"Shoot me a couple times."

He shoots twice.

Click. Click.

I hold out my hand. He frowns and tosses me the gun. I shoot his gunbelt again.

"Another rat!" Gentry calls out.

"Remind me not to order supper!" one of the customers shouts back, which causes a loud roar of laughter from the others in there.

The customers ain't worried, since Gentry ain't.

I toss the gun back to Bose. He tries to shoot it again, gets another click for his trouble. Then tosses it back to me.

"I don't know what type of trick you're playin'," he says, "but I ain't buyin' she's a witch."

"Wing," I say. "Toss him the shotgun."

He does. Bose turns it on me, cocks one of the barrels, pulls the trigger.

Click.
He opens the action to see two shells inside, shuts it, cocks the second barrel, and pulls that trigger.

Click.

"Toss him two more shells," I say to Wing.

He pulls two shells from his pocket and tosses 'em to Bose.

"Load 'em both, but just shoot one," I say.

He does, and gets a click.

I reach for the shotgun and he hands it over.

"You ain't gonna shoot my gun belt with that thing, are you?"

"Do you think this barrel will fire?"

He nods.

"How many bullets you need in your gun belt?" I ask.

He counts. "Eighteen."

I fetch a box of bullets from one of the kitchen drawers and toss it to him. "Load it."

"Why?"

"We're gonna let you escape."

"Why?"

"What do you care?"

He shrugs. "You're right. I don't care."

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