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“Whatever are you doing?” Her question was sharper than she intended, betraying her nervousness. She took a breath and mentally counted to ten, maintaining her composure through sheer force of will as, with an embarrassed mumble, the red-faced kid shoved the money hard enough into her skirt pocket to tip her sideways. The guffaws following her small teeter set her nerves to screaming again. The only reason this crowd hadn’t turned on her was they were enjoying the show, but that could change any second. She needed to finish what she started and get out of here fast if she intended to get out of here at all
Elizabeth took two cautious steps back. “Good riddance, Brent.”
“I’ll see you back at the ranch, Elly,” Brent retorted. His confidence in his rights was supposed to scare her, she knew. Snap her back in line like a cur who’d forgotten its place. It just went to show how little Brent knew her that he actually thought it would work.
As the warning hung in the air, floating on the smoke-filled haze, Elizabeth knew all eyes were upon her. She could feel them, like hands reaching out of the murk. Some laughing, some goading, but all of them waiting for her to flinch or back down. She wasn’t doing either. She’d been expecting the threat. Someone as blindly selfish as Brent would never take a woman seriously. The knowledge didn’t prevent a shiver of fear from snaking down her spine when she thought of what would happen if Brent ever got his hands on her again. Her finger tightened on the trigger. The only thing that kept the bullet in the chamber was the scorn-laced memory of her father’s voice saying, “You lose control, Elly, you lose everything.”
She had no intention of losing ever again.
When her face muscles felt rigid from the effort to appear unconcerned, she pushed conviction into her voice. “If you set one foot on Rocking C land, you’ll get a bullet between your eyes.”
“I don’t think so.”
The confidence in his voice started a quiver of uncertainty deep inside. She took a breath and immediately regretted it. The smoke that had collected in the musty interior burned her lungs. She suppressed a cough and regrouped. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t show weakness. She would, however, tighten her grip on the gun and finish what she’d started; undoing the mistake of the day before. “Stay off my land, Brent.”
She wrapped each word in precise enunciation for maximum effect. She might as well have saved her breath. Not by a flicker of an eyelash did Brent let on she’d so much as scratched his arrogance. Instead, he wiped a fresh trickle of blood from his lip with the back of his hand. His teeth bared in a savage, confident smile. “You won’t shoot me, Elly.”
Why did men continually believe that because she was female, she was as inconsequential as dandelion fluff?
“You’re wrong,” she informed him. She was close, so damned close to pulling the trigger that her fingers ached with the effort not to squeeze. She hated him for turning her wedding night from anticipation to terror. She hated him for being weak when she needed someone strong, but mostly she hated him for betraying her faith in her own judgment.
“If you kill me, Elly,” he went on, dabbing at the blood on his shirt, “then you’re back where you started, the ranch going to hell, the bank note coming due, and no husband to turn the situation around.”
God! Had she really thought this man’s clothes and speech had put him a step up on the local men? “I imagine I’ll find a way.”
“Not in time, you won’t,” Brent inserted the taunt smoothly into the conversation. “Coyote Bill loved that ranch more than life itself.” The glance he shot her was calculating. “What would he think of a daughter who, in an attack of bridal jitters, lost the Rocking C?”
“I have no intention of losing anything,” she responded calmly. Of that, she was certain. She wouldn’t lose the ranch. She may not have been the boy her father had wanted, but she’d shed blood for that land. Worked it as hard as any man before Coyote Bill had discovered she’d had other uses as a woman. The Rocking C was hers. As much a part of her as her mother’s intelligence and her father’s determination. She would surrender it to no one. Least of all a wastrel like Brent. The weight of the gun made her arms ache. She raised the muzzle so it was back on target. “I have absolutely no intention of losing, period.”
“If you continue with this lunacy, you will,” Brent’s calm equaled her own. “As your husband, I can sell it anytime I want.” His voice lowered, became harsh. “Just like I can take you across that street anytime I want and teach you a woman’s place.”
