William Johnstone - Dead Before Sundown

It had taken him a lot of years to learn it, but he had come to the realization that no man can predict the course of his life … and it was a fool’s errand to try.

There was nothing wrong with planning for the future—that was only good sense—but a man had to live with the knowledge that those plans might never come about.

He smiled to himself as he realized how deeply he had sunk into this reverie. Being surrounded by nature had something to do with that, he supposed.

It was beautiful here. These Canadian Rockies were some of the most spectacularly beautiful country he had ever seen.

But they held plenty of danger as well. Beautiful or not, carelessness could get a man killed in a hurry here.

As he walked along the creek between the trees, he saw birds and small animals, but no elk or moose. He decided he had come just about far enough and was about to turn around and go back to camp when he heard something.

The crackle in the brush behind him made him spin around and bring the rifle to his shoulder, ready to fire.

“Frank, wait! It’s me!”

He found himself staring over the Winchester’s sights into Meg’s blue eyes, which were wide with surprise and even a little fear right now.

Biting back the curse that sprang to his lips, he lowered the rifle and said, “Blast it, Meg, you know better than to sneak up on me like that.”

“I didn’t sneak up on you,” she protested. “I was just walking along behind you. I’m surprised you didn’t hear me before now.”

So was he. Surprised and angry, mostly at himself. He had let himself get caught up in contemplating his lonely past, and if Meg had been an enemy, he would probably be dead now.

“I thought you were going to gather some firewood,” he said in a gruff voice as he dropped the rifle to his side.

“I did. Then I decided to come after you.”

“Something wrong back at camp?”

Meg shook her head. “No, not unless you count Salty’s snoring.” She came a step closer to him. “I just thought you might want some company.”

It would have been rude to tell her that he didn’t, so he just said, “I was about to start back. Didn’t see any game worth shooting.”

Meg looked around and took a deep breath. “It sure is lovely here,” she said. “And the air smells wonderful.”

“That’s because of all these evergreens,” Frank said. “And because there’s no town close by to foul the air.”

He was trying not to think about the way her breasts had lifted underneath the soft buckskin of her shirt when she inhaled deeply like that.

“You don’t care much for civilization, do you, Frank?”

He shrugged. “I like civilization just fine.”

“Then it’s the people you don’t like.”

“I like people, too. Just not some of the things they do. Most folks are too greedy, and they’re too quick to judge other folks.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?” Meg asked with a twinkle in her eyes.

Frank had to chuckle. “I reckon you’re right.”

“Anyway, you shouldn’t hold people to your standard. Not everybody can be as perfect as Frank Morgan.”

He grunted and shook his head ruefully. “I’m a long way from perfect. That just goes to show that you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

“I know that most men would have had me in their bed a hundred times in the months that I’ve known you, Frank. I’ve pretty much thrown myself at you.”

He looked away, fastening his gaze on the stream that danced and bubbled merrily a few yards away.

“We don’t need to talk about that.”

“I think we do,” she insisted. “Damn it, if you don’t know by now that I love you, you’re a lot dumber than I think you are.”

“I’m smart enough to know that I’m twice your age.”

“But not smart enough to know that I don’t care about that?”

Frank sighed. He was going to have to put it to her plain.

“Listen. I’ve been married twice. I don’t intend to ever get married again.”

“Who said anything about getting married?” Meg shot back. “You see a preacher anywhere around here? I don’t. But I see a nice, thick bed of grass on that creek bank, and I see mountains and blue sky and all the beauties of nature. I’m just saying we ought to add to those beauties, Frank, and if that shocks you, I’m sorry. I just don’t believe there haven’t been other women in your life besides the ones you married.”

“There have been,” he admitted. More than he could remember, really. In those days, he had taken comfort where he could find it and then ridden on without regret, taking with him only memories … and those always faded.

“Then why is it a problem?”

“Because, blast it, I’m too damned old for this!”

“I don’t think so.”

How had she gotten so close to him without him noticing? He couldn’t answer that, but suddenly she was close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath against his face. She lifted her arms and put them around his neck before he could pull away.

Did he even want to pull away? He sure wasn’t trying very hard to do so.

He didn’t put up a bit of a fight when she lifted her face to his and pressed her lips against his mouth, either.

He had the Winchester in his right hand. His left arm came up and went around her waist. He wasn’t thinking now. It was an instinctive reaction when he pulled her closer to him. She came eagerly, her body molding to his.

In the cool mountain air that surrounded them, the heat of her kiss seemed searing to Frank.

Why not? The part of his brain that was still working asked that question. Demanded an answer.

He didn’t have one. Other than the ones he had already stated, he didn’t have a single good reason not to give Meg what she so obviously wanted.

Then he heard something besides the thudding of his own heart.

The clink of bit chains, followed by a man’s voice.

With the arm that was already around her waist, Frank picked up Meg, drawing a started gasp from her, and hustled her away from the creek, deeper into the shadows underneath the thickening trees.

“Quiet,” he told her in an urgent whisper. “There’s somebody out here.”

Chapter 10

Frank listened intently, but the sounds didn’t grow louder. In fact, he heard voices only a couple more times, and then they faded away. Wherever and whoever those pilgrims were, they weren’t coming closer to Frank and Meg.

“Who was it?” Meg whispered to him.

Frank shook his head. “No idea. Sounded like several horses and men, though.”

“Do you think it was Palmer?”

That was an interesting possibility. As far as they knew, Palmer had been alone when he fled from Powderkeg Bay. He could have run into some other outlaws and joined up with them, though.

“I don’t know, but I intend to find out,” Frank told Meg. “Come on. Let’s get you to camp. We need to tell Salty about this so he’ll be on his guard, too.”

With Frank setting the pace, they moved quickly but quietly through the trees, heading back to the spot where they had left Salty. Frank hoped that nothing had happened to the old-timer while they were gone.

As they neared the camp, he heard snoring and knew that Salty was all right. A feeling of relief went through Frank. They emerged into the clearing and saw him slumped against the rock where he had been sitting earlier.

Frank nudged Salty’s foot with a booted toe. That caused the old man to come awake sputtering and thrashing. Salty’s hand moved toward the butt of his gun before Frank said, “Take it easy. It’s just us.”

Salty took his hat off and ran his fingers through the tangled thatch of white hair.