No one moved.
"I said, pick up his gun." Dear God, Arnie, I mean it. I will shoot you. She moistened her lips, trying to keep her hands steady, afraid her too-quick breathing had betrayed her already.
Smith froze, not taking his eyes off Allie. "Abrams, get Mr. Gabriel's gun and—"
"No, Arnie," Allie cut him off. "You get it. You pick it up. And you put it in his holster." Her heart pounded so hard it hurt.
Smith eyed her for a few seconds, testing her. After a moment, he ducked his head and peered up at her from under his hat brim. "Well, now, Allie, I don't think—"
The shot whistled past his ear, nicking his hat, and knocking it to the ground.
"I don't give one bloody damn what you think, Mr. Smith. Do as I say or I'll put the next one in your kneecap."
The grin disappeared. He hesitated another moment, then strode to where the pistol lay and picked it up, breaking it open as if he meant to empty the chambers.
"Leave it loaded."
His head swiveled, his hazel eyes glaring with murderous intent. "He could kill us all if he'd a mind to!"
"If he'd 'a mind to,' Arnie," she said mockingly, "he could've done that in the very beginning. But he had more honor than you did, it seems. You leave it loaded, like I told you." She chocked the next round into the firing chamber. "And put it in his holster. Now."
The big man crossed the distance to where Brandon knelt in the street, and let the gun drop gently into his holster. He turned back to look at Allie. "Anything else, Miss Taylor?" he snarled.
"Get him on his horse. Zach, you go into your store and bring me some bandaging and whiskey."
"You – you got that rifle outta my place too, didn't you, Allie?"
He tried to sound as if he was just curious, but Allie knew what he was really after. What this whole town thought about constantly. The almighty dollar.
Idiot. Stupid idiot.
She swung it to bear on him briefly. "Any objections?" The terror that flashed in his eyes brought a smile to her lips. "I'll be returning it within the week. You can put the supplies on my bill. But not the rifle. It'll be coming back no worse for wear."
The nervous shopkeeper hurried past her, turning to call out, "How many bottles of whiskey?"
"Two," she answered, her rifle steady on Arnold Smith as he and two of the others lifted Brandon none too gently toward his saddle.
Allie could see Smith eyeing the bulging back pocket in Brandon's jeans where his wallet rested.
"He's got something of mine," Smith said.
"Are the Claytons gone?" Allie asked, her voice hard as glass. She took a step closer, hitching the rifle up a notch.
"Well, yeah, but—"
"Then he doesn't have anything of yours. Not anymore. Your bargain was sealed and met. Now, lead his horse over here."
Smith's lips thinned.
He was going to try for the wallet. Allie could see it in his oily features. When he made his move, she made hers. The rifle exploded as he tried to snag the top of the wallet. The bullet tore through Smith's pants imbedding in his right kneecap. He fell to the ground with a shriek.
Allie trained the repeater on Tom Carver. She nodded at the whip in his hand. "Put that glorious weapon down and lead his horse over here, Tom."
He hurried to comply, handing her the reins just as Zach Anderson reappeared from the store with her requested supplies in a burlap bag.
"Tie that around my saddle horn, if you will, Zach," she said matter-of-factly. When it was done, she backed to her horse and mounted lithely. None of the men made a move in the three seconds it took her to swing into the saddle and train the rifle on them again.
She tightened her grip on Brandon's reins, meaning to back his horse up alongside hers until they got clear enough to turn and ride out. Her palms were damp. Madness. They'd be caught in no time, if these men decided to follow, and she had Jay to think of. But first things first. She had to get Brandon to safety, and her place was far enough out of town that they'd be safe, for the time being. If they made it that far.
Brandon moved to reach for the reins. She handed them to him, not taking her eyes off the group of men who stood in front of the livery stable.
"Can you do it?" she asked in a quiet voice.
"Yeah. I…think so."
Allie had her doubts by the way he answered. He would damn well try, she knew, but he was in a bad way.
Her scathing glare touched each of the men. Some of them hung their heads sheepishly, now that Arnold Smith lay at their feet crying. Some of them watched with open curiosity to see what she would do next. Tom Carver and his saddlery business partner, Abe Johnson, regarded her with open hostility.