August 2012 BB Challenge words:

Official C&S words to use:  Buffalo, Stilton; plus 3 Additional words (cashing in my 3 tokens earned by using all the cowboy phrases in April), prompted by Monica, to officially meet the August C&S challenge: Anguish; Betrayal; Icicle

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8

“Drop that gun!”

Roy’s familiar voice behind him pulled Adam from his stupor. He swallowed, hard, to squelch the fear he’d felt rising like bile the instant he saw his little brother drenched enough to have gone swimming fully clothed, and so covered in blood it was impossible to tell exactly how—or how badly—he’d been wounded.

“I’ll kill you where you stand…” Adam said past the choking remnants of his fear; his voice sounded quieter, perhaps deadlier than the sheriff’s. “…If you don’t back away from him right now.” His eyes locked on the man threatening his brother until he thought he saw movement at the edges of his vision, beneath that man’s gun. Yes. Joe lifted his head. It wasn’t much, barely a fraction. Still, it proved Joe was alive.

The gunman pushed the barrel of his six-shooter deeper into the tangles of Joe’s hair, nudging Joe’s head down again. For Adam, that action nudged anger into rage by degrees that were growing almost beyond his control.

“Shoot ‘im, Buck!” shouted the man on the other side of the chair where Little Joe was bound.

Adam refused to turn his attention. Roy would handle that one. Adam needed to stay focused on the gunman in front of him…Buck. “Do it and you’re dead,” he said scarcely louder than before. The bile of his fear started to feel like an icicle lodged in his throat.

The man’s arm eased back, pulling the gun fractionally away from Joe’s head; but Adam didn’t dare allow himself any sense of relief.

The greatest danger is at the moment of victory.

“Why?” Buck asked. “This boy mean somethin’ to you?”

“Yes,” Adam hissed.

“Good!” Buck suddenly drew the gun completely away from Joe, loosely aiming it toward the window. “‘Cause those two out there mean somethin’ t’me. What’d ya do to ’em?”

Relief threatened Adam once more. He forced it back. Buck might have shifted his aim, but he was still armed. If Adam could just get between them, between Buck and Joe…. “Do they?” he asked, inching forward. “Buford seemed more afraid than fond of you and your brothers. Do you think Beau might feel the same way?”

Adam took one more half step before the devil stopped him cold. Yes, that’s what it was…what it had to be. The devil was looking out through Buck’s eyes—and the gun was now aimed right between Adam’s. Despite the fire in that haunted, hateful, evil glare, the icicle in Adam’s throat grew larger, colder. He could barely breathe.

“Buford’n Beau ain’t no business a’yours!” Buck hollered. “None a’my kin’s any business a’yours! Now go on an’ get afore I blow this boy’s brains out!” Once again, the man shifted his aim, pressing the gun barrel downward with enough force to push Joe’s chin nearly to his chest.

Adam’s icicle moved to his spine, locking it straight…lending strength like a splint against a damaged bone. “It’s my business, all right,” Adam warned before that strength could evaporate. “You and your family are on my property, threatening my brother. That makes you and your family my business!”

Buck smiled. “That so? Well, then; I’ll give ya’ some business. I’ll give ya’ my own special kind’a business. An’ this gun’ll seal the deal.”

“If you drop that gun,” Adam said, surprising himself with the calm sound of his voice, “and step away from my brother, I might just let you walk out of here. That’s the best deal you’re going to get.”

Buck laughed. “Whoo-ee! D’ya hear that, Chet? He might jest let us walk out. Shoot, ain’t that about the funniest thing ya’ ever hear’d?”

Then it was almost as though an icicle had plunged itself into the gunman’s heart. His laughter died in an instant. His eyes went dark, the devil’s gaze suddenly gone colder than the wind that had pummeled Adam during the frigid ride from Virginia City. And when he spoke, it was with the devil’s raw rasp of a voice. “If you want this boy to walk outta here or anywhere else ever agin’, it’s you who’s gonna drop yer gun!”

Adam tightened his grip on his own weapon. His jaw clenched so hard he was amazed he could get any words out at all. “I—will—shoot—you.”

“Adam?” Joe’s voice was less than a whisper, almost too soft to hear and easy to ignore. Somehow it reached Adam even so…it reached him like a blanket, wrapping around muscles locked tight by that damnable icicle.

It was the worst thing that could have happened.

The greatest danger is at the moment of victory.

The blanket of Joe’s voice snuffed Adam’s tension, turning muscles from stone to cotton and almost dropping him to his knees at his brother’s side. He caught himself quickly, strengthening both his stance and his grip. But he was not quick enough to keep Buck from using the reaction to his advantage.

Buck moved too fast. He fired before Adam could even see what was happening.

He didn’t need to see. He knew. In his heart, he knew Joe was already dead.

And then Adam started shooting, although it was already too late. He pulled the trigger over and over again until there was nothing left but the click of one empty chamber after another.

Other shots were fired around him. People were shouting, cursing. Whoever they were, whatever they said, it had no meaning to him. He just didn’t care. He couldn’t bring himself to care. Nothing mattered except…Joe was dead.

And then, between one breath and the next…silence.

A hand wrapped around his arm. “Adam?”

Hoss, he realized. Hoss was there. How could Adam tell him? How could he tell Hoss that Little Joe was dead?

“Adam?”

Adam opened his eyes—when had he closed them?—and looked into Hoss’s trusting gaze.

“No,” Adam said, softly. Anguish…sorrow…betrayal…that’s what he should see in Hoss’s eyes. Adam had failed him. Worse, he had failed Little Joe. “Joe….” He couldn’t say it. He just…couldn’t.

“Joe’s gonna be just fine. You are, too. Don’t you worry about anythin’. I ain’t gonna let nothin’ more happen to either of ya’.”

“Joe?” He looked deeper into rich, blue eyes that had always been so clear, so honest. He looked deep enough to see Hoss was anxious about something, but…he was not distraught.

“There ain’t nothin’ to worry about now,” Hoss said.

“But…you are.” Adam was confused. There was nothing in Hoss’s gaze to suggest he had seen Joe dead. Something else was there, instead. Hoss was worried.

“Don’t you fret none. Ya’ hear me, Adam? We’ll get Doc Martin up here quick as we can. Storm’s near blown itself out anyhow.”

“Buck?” Why was it so hard to talk? It was almost as though that icicle…no, a whole block of ice was sitting on Adam’s chest.

“Dead, thanks to you.” Hoss made the quirk of a…relieved?…smile.

And then…something moved past Hoss…an animal, a beast so huge Adam felt the need to shout out a warning; but he wasn’t sure if he could. Besides, he didn’t dare. It was too close. What was it? A buffalo? A bear? No. A…man.

Simon. Simon Bullnose Walker had shed himself of his fur cloak. He was laying it down across…Little Joe.

“Joe!” Adam tried to push himself to his elbows, but a stab of pain—and Hoss’s hand—held him back. For a moment, the block of ice was back on his chest. It wouldn’t let him suck in any air at all. Blackness swirled around him.

“Easy, Adam. I told ya’ Joe’s gonna be just fine. All you need to do is stay put until we can see about that bullet.”

Bullet? He managed to gulp in one, quick breath. The blackness began to lift. And then Adam followed Hoss’s gaze, looking down to where his coat lay open, exposing the shirt beneath. His shirt…. Adam’s shirt was wet. And red.

The bullet…. Buck’s gun had been aimed at Adam, after all.

Joe’s gonna be just fine, Hoss had told him.

Laying his head back, Adam took a deeper breath, one that invited the blackness to return. It didn’t matter. Joe’s gonna be just fine.

The voices Adam heard around him gained substance then. Roy said Clem would send a posse up here soon, now that the storm had calmed; someone could ride out to meet up with them and send the fastest rider back for the doc. Hoss said they couldn’t wait for that. Simon mentioned something about a doctor who’d been riding the stage when it had reached Stiltonberg Station.

But…none of that talk mattered to Adam. He let it all slip past him as he drifted into the swirling blackness.

Joe’s gonna be just fine.

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