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From what Asa could see of the bottom line, Brent had fouled up big time as a husband, and Elizabeth had gotten a bit of her own back. While he didn’t think the two had a shot at making a peaceful marriage, this game was about played out. Someone had to give, and he didn’t think it was going to be Brent. Elizabeth had her husband backed into a corner. From the way Brent was sitting, shoulders squared, fists at the ready, Asa figured he was planning to come out fighting. Asa couldn’t tell if Elizabeth saw, or if she was so disappointed in her choice of husband, she just didn’t care, because, to his amazement, she kept driving her point deeper.
“If I were to need an annulment, Jesse Graham informs me that’s all the cause I’d need.”
“You went to a son of a bitching lawyer?”
Asa returned the front legs of his chair to the floor. He might have been off in his assessment. If the gambler wanted to come out of this with some skin left on his pride, he might want to withdraw and regroup in private. Elizabeth was one resourceful woman. Unwelcome admiration cozied up to the arousal humming through his blood. Damn. He didn’t need to be in the middle of this.
“A woman has so few options, she can’t afford to be ill informed,” Elizabeth stated simply. “Especially when she has the poor sense to take up with a pathetic excuse of a man such as you.”
With a roar, Brent came out of the chair. He made it halfway to his feet before a stool broke across his face, pole-axing him to the floor where he struggled to find up from down.
Like everyone else in the saloon, Asa found himself sitting in slack-jawed amazement as the pristine example of a lady dropped the remains of the stool, turned, and deftly whipped a six-shooter out of the holster of a man who was wisely scrambling for safety. With a familiarity that eased his mind, she checked to be sure it was loaded, cocked the hammer, and aimed it dead center between her husband’s eyes.
“If I were you,” she said in a very soft, very controlled voice. “I’d stay put.”
“Damned bitch.” Brent swore, holding his bleeding nose. “I’m going to beat you black and blue for this.”
“No.” Elizabeth adjusted the aim of the pistol a little to the left until it lined up with the freckle on the corner of Brent’s eyebrow. The one she’d once viewed as his perfect imperfection. “You’re not.”
He was never going to touch her again. Of that, Elizabeth was sure. She’d die before she allowed that to happen.
Brent pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the blood from his nose. “Who’s going to stop me?”
Her lips didn’t quite make it into the confident smile she was struggling for. Elizabeth could feel them hang up somewhere in the range of a grimace. She hoped the resulting expression wasn’t too pathetic. She didn’t need to be showing weakness in front of this crowd. “For sixteen years before I was the Miss Elizabeth Coyote you claim to love, I was Coyote Bill’s wild daughter. And, I assure you, four years back East in a fancy finishing school hasn’t done much to smooth my rough edges.”
“I knew she looked familiar,” an old timer at the far end of the bar crowed, slapping his thigh.
Brent looked at her over the bulk of the handkerchief he held to his nose, the wad of bloody linen doing nothing to diminish his skepticism. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“It means you’d best watch your back, gambler man, if you’re the one who blacked Wild Elly’s eye,” the old timer hooted.
Brent didn’t take his eyes off the gun aimed at his head. “Shut up, you old fool.”
“Appears to me you ain’t the one in charge right now.”
“I will be.”
“How very like you to be a braggart to the humiliating end.” Elizabeth cut in, taking a step forward. “I cannot believe I was so stupid as to think grammar and dress made the man.”
It was a mistake she wouldn’t be making again.
With her elbow, Elizabeth indicated the pile of money still lying on the table. “Could someone count two hundred and twenty dollars out of that pile?”
“Hey,” Brent protested as a young cowpoke hastened to help out. “You said two hundred before.”
“That was before I had to reimburse the owner of this fine establishment for a chair.”
“Here’s your money, ma’am.”
“As my hands are occupied, could you put it in my pocket? Without stepping between me and my almost-husband,” she tacked on as the young man made to step in front of her.
For a few minutes, everyone watched as the kid fumbled in the vicinity of Elizabeth’s right side, too shy to actually touch her skirt.
