Love for a Hired Gun

By Blair

A young widow headed west to help her sick brother has an affair with a hired gunman who saves her life. Ashamed of her behavior, she alienates him. As she learns of life and love in the west, she realizes her mistake. Ultimately, she turns to him again for protection and later, love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: House of Erotica
• Release date: Jun 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781783335640

Book preview

1988.

Part One

The stagecoach bounced down the dirt tracks, kicking up dust that made the heat of the afternoon even more uncomfortable. She looked at the man sitting right across from her, looking at her from time to time. He didn’t make her feel any more at ease. For the tenth time, Aimee Young took his card out of her bag and looked at it. Jason Sharp, Security Specialist it said.

I am not sure what my brother was thinking in hiring you, Mr. Sharp, she told him.

He stared out the window and she followed his gaze, wondering what he saw. She didn’t see much interesting and certainly nothing new - the same mountains seemed to have been in the distance forever and closer to them the hillsides dotted with saguaro cactus and odd rock formations. There wasn’t a hint of life that she could see.

He was thinking of your safety, Mrs. Young. At least that’s what his letter said, Sharp said. He didn’t like the idea of you traveling alone in this country. It can get dangerous."

For a woman, you mean, she thought angrily. I am quite capable of taking caring of myself.

In the city, perhaps, the man said. Life is a lot different out here. You can find yourself a long way from any assistance if you do need it, and your brother thought that my being along would be a good thing. I have to say I agree.

She looked at him. He was strongly built and wore a well-trimmed mustache. His suit, although dusty from the long trip, was of good quality. Although she had to admit she found him quite attractive, she didn’t think he looked much like someone who would be very much at home out in this wild country any more than she would be. And are you someone who understands the west, Mr. Sharp? I don’t mean to be rude, but I’d think a Baltimore security specialist might be out of his depth out here.

He smiled and ran his gaze over her as if he were appraising her. Not liking the way it made her feel, she turned her head away and looked out across the prairie, trying to pretend she didn’t know he was looking at her. She noted that his looks seemed to linger on her breasts. Since her husband had died and she’d gone back to work, she hadn’t had much social life and certainly no men admirers. Now she realized that part of what bothered her was that she found this attractive man’s admiring looks exciting, even if they were inappropriate. He was an employee, after all.

I work in the city part of the time, Mrs. Young, he explained, but a large part of the time my work is in the west. I am fairly familiar with it.

I see. And what sort of work does a security specialist do in the west?

More or less the same thing I do in Baltimore. The difference is really in the clients and their expectations.

What do you mean? she asked. Isn’t providing security a simple or at least basic thing?

He smiled. It’s a matter of style. In Baltimore they want me to wear a nice suit, look dignified and have good manners. In the west they prefer something more along the lines of a gunman. He smiled. At the end of the day, of course, they both want the same thing.

For you to protect their property?

He shook his head. Indirectly, and that is how most clients say it. If they are honest, however, they will say that they want me to kill anyone who threatens them or their property. But in the city we try not to say such things. So in the city I am a security specialist. When I come out here I am a hired gun.

She tried not to let him fluster her with his talk. And which title do you prefer?

I admire the honesty of saying I am a hired gun, to be truthful.

Blunt as well as truthful. So tell me, do you actually kill people?

He nodded. Yes Ma’am, I have.

She didn’t actually believe him. Some men thought acting tough and saying things that shocked women would make them seem more attractive. She believed he might have shot someone when he had to - sometimes circumstances didn’t give a person a choice and she knew that. But it was likely that mostly he arrested people. It was still a brutish, if necessary line of work, of course, but she doubted her brother would hire a killer - not even to protect her. It just wasn’t necessary.

My brother shouldn’t be wasting his money on your fee, she said. He actually can’t afford it. Not right now.

Why is now a problem?

Immediately she regretted her words. Not that she cared if people knew, but it wasn’t seemly to sit around discussing family finances with a hired gunman. But now that she had opened the subject she felt obligated to tell him.

Because we inherited a business and he hasn’t done well with it. We need to sell it, but the only offer he has gotten is awfully low.

And you are going out to help him run it?

No, no. I am an accountant. I worked for the bank in Baltimore. I’m afraid my brother knows nothing about bookkeeping or even running a business, for that matter. I intend to see that we get a decent price, the best price for it.

Sometimes there aren’t that many buyers for a place out here.

She sat up stiffly. If a business is good, and the books in order, there is always another buyer willing to make an offer. They will come from San Francisco to check it out if the opportunity is presented properly. But first the books have to be in order, everything correct.

You seem to put a lot of stock in correctness, he said.

She stared at him. I certainly do. Of course.

And they drifted into silence. She noticed he kept looking out the windows, first one side and then the other. Are you looking for something? she asked. I see you keep glancing out the windows.

Yes, Mrs. Young, I am keeping alert for trouble. That is what your brother is paying me for.

And do you see it? she teased.

He scowled. I’m not right sure. He turned his head. I feel it though.

The waystation is coming up ahead, the driver shouted down. We are right on schedule so there should be some food and a chance to stretch your legs in about an hour.

Thank God, Aimee said. She wasn’t sure if she was more sore from being bounced over the rough tracks or from not being able to stretch.

Jason stuck his head out the window, craning his neck to face the driver. Hey Roscoe, isn’t there a turn in the road where it goes around some rocks before we head into the station?

Sure is, he shouted back.

Could you slow down a bit just as you round the corner? I want you to arrive with just one passenger.

I can do that. If you want to walk a bit that’s fine with me.

What’s going on? Aimee asked him.

One of my funny feelings, Jason told her. Makes me think it is a good idea if I let you two ride in alone and I follow on my own.

Such foolishness, she said.

Maybe so, Mrs. Young, but in my experience hunches shouldn’t be ignored. So I’ll ask you, as a favor, to just humor me. Until you see me again at the waystation, if anyone asks, tell them you are traveling alone.

When she nodded, she thought she saw relief in his smile.

****

Aimee sighed gratefully when the stage came to a stop in front of the little cabin that served as a station. Roscoe jumped down from his seat on top to open the door for her and help her down from the stage. Food should be inside, Ma’am, he said. He nodded to some horses grazing peacefully in the nearby pasture. I’ll change the team and be right in.

Thank you, she said, and headed into the cabin.

She stepped through the door into the darkness of the cabin. Unable to see, she tried to get her bearings as a pair of rough hands grabbed her arms and held her, pinning her arms to her sides. Another pair of calloused hands shoved a balled up cloth into her mouth and held it there with one hand while he tied it in place with a piece of rope.

Just settle down and be quiet, girlie, and you won’t be hurt too much, a man’s voice said in her ear. Not yet. She could see a little now, make out that there were three of them. The one who had put the gag in her mouth was a short bear of a man. Even in the dim light she noted a ragged scar that ran down his cheek. The man behind her, holding her tight was invisible, but the third man, tall and gangly, stood peeking through the barely open door. The light streamed over him and she could see him smiling as the scar-faced man wrapped a rope around her wrists then pulled her hands behind her back and tied them together. The coarse manila rope cut into her wrists, burning them. She wanted to scream but could only manage a