“I said, what are you gonna do about it, partner?” Challenge echoed deeper in the redhead’s voice. “Just stand there and think about it or actually do something before you moss over?”
“If you insist. Let the ladies be on their way and we’ll finish this.” Bass prepared himself for the inevitable. “Petula, take our bags and wait for me at the livery.”
“But—” Petula argued.
“Listen carefully. Do exactly as I say and you won’t get hurt.” Bass’s attention remained on his challengers but his words targeted the widow now. “Ma’am, it’s wise if you do the same. Take your little one and leave, please.”
The widow grabbed the gun away from her distracted daughter and moved in front of the child. “Mister, put your fists down. Nobody’s going to fight anybody. I apologize for everything that’s happened or been said.” She aimed the gun at each man including Bass. “We all say things when we’re on the edge and don’t mean them.”
Her amber-colored eyes widened with apology. “I’ve let my daughter go too far with this. It’s about to cause more trouble than she meant it to, isn’t it, Ollie?”
Ollie peeked around the widow’s skirt. “I guess so, but that sure looked like it was gonna be a great fight.”
The tyke’s humor caused a few chuckles, and Widow Trumbo’s efforts to quell the tension was admirable, but Bass didn’t drop his fists.
Ollie pointed a small finger at the rest of the cowboys in line. “Anyways, I learned plenty about these ones before ya got here, Mama. So I wrote one or two on my maybe-daddy list.”
Bass had wondered what purpose drove the little scamp’s hostage taking and now he understood. She wanted a new father. His gut twisted with knowing that, if this little girl was truly Knox’s child, and Banker Cardwell indicated she was, then he played a part in why she’d lost her daddy and needed a new one. He had to find a way to get her out of here safely and make it up to her and her mother somehow.
“They said they ain’t rich men but always got enough to get by on,” Ollie continued as if the grown-ups weren’t on the edge of battle. “So it won’t cost us nothin’ to feed ’em. And when I told them you like to run, Mama, they said they admired a woman who knows how to do that good. But him—” she stared at Bass “—I ain’t had time to ask him nothin’. He don’t say much. Figured I’d leave him for last.”
“Looks like he don’t do much, either.” With a flash of a hand, the winking cowboy drew a pistol from the holster strapped low around his right thigh. The other cowboys did the same and all aimed with deadly intent at the widow and her daughter. “Think a pair of fists are big enough to stop all of us, do you, dude?”
Bass tried to think fast. He couldn’t fight them all, but he might get most of the men down before anyone got off a shot. Down. That’s it. Get the women down first. He prayed Petula would listen to him this one time.
The widow pointed the gun directly at the winking cowboy, who seemed bent on a fight. “Stop badgering him.”
She had courage. Bass welcomed her bravery, but knew it might get her killed.
“Or you’ll do what, Widow? Take on all of us?”
“Mama, don’t try to shoot.” Apology filled Ollie’s face. “That gun’s empty on account of I didn’t find no bullets in Daddy’s old trunk. I was just foolin’ all y’all.”
“Hope you’re telling your mama the truth, little missy. Pardon me if I don’t trust you.” Winker’s weapon still aimed at the widow. “Just slide that gun this way, Mama. Do what I say...” His attention focused on Bass for a second. “And we’ll keep this easy.”
Bass made no move. He needed the perfect moment. Maybe the widow would provide it.
The redhead nodded at the banker. “Open that safe and hand me what’s in there. Don’t make any quick moves while you’re at it, either. Best keep your hands where I can see them or the kid’ll be nothing but a memory or maybe a funny story I’ll tell miles down the road. Who would’ve thought we’d be held up pulling our own bank robbery? And with an empty gun, no less.”
Bass hoped the widow was no fool. The man’s laughter was as serious as a hanging verdict. If she did what she was told it might give him the opportunity he needed. He waited, holding his breath, praying she showed the level head she appeared to have.
Slowly, she bent and slid the pistol across the room toward the winking cowboy’s feet.
“Drop now!” Bass shouted at the women, diving as the gun slid. Momentum carried his body straight into the leader, sending him and several cowhands falling like unstrung fence posts. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Petula collapse, either in reaction to his shouted order or in a dead faint. He made the mistake of turning slightly enough to check and see if the widow and the little girl had done the same. Both still stood.
Only one way to protect them now. His fists connected with flesh, echoing loud punches over the room.
Lord, let me prove myself more than the coward people think of me. Help me save my sister...
And give me time to set things right with the widow and her child.
Someone got off a shot. Another.
Instinctively, Daisy turned, threw her body over Ollie’s and rolled, pinning her daughter beneath her. A shotgun blast layered the air with the acrid smell of gun smoke, splattering a hole in the wall and raining slivers of wood everywhere.
Sam! Daisy remembered the shotgun behind the counter. He must have fired a round. She dared to look, but someone returned fire. The banker fell backward out of sight. Daisy screamed as her eyes slammed shut, praying he was still alive.
“Trouble at the bank!” yelled a voice outside, though it moved away from them instead of toward. “Somebody get the sheriff.”
The sound of flesh punching flesh, grunts and bodies scuffling continued as Petula’s brother tried to subdue the robbers with only his fists. Daisy prayed fast and hard for the brave stranger, asking God to protect the man who defended them.
“Get out of here now,” Winker ordered, his voice full of pain amid the bone-crunching blows. “Grab the money and ride!”
Another shot fired. The punches stopped. Daisy’s eyes flashed open, fearful of the fistfighter’s fate. A need to remember him, his face, his eyes, the trust she’d questioned earlier seemed important now to bring into focus. She willed him not to die though his slumped-over figure did not move.
A frantic scraping of boots and spurs sounded the retreat amid another hail of bullets. Daisy braced herself for the impact of hot lead, her hands frantically trying to protect Olivia from being hit. Help me, Lord. Keep her safe. Her prayer kept pace with her pulse. Don’t let me lose her, too.
Another volley of traded shots shattered glass from the door and windows, then a thunderous pounding of hooves eased into a silence so quick Daisy could hear her heart beating as if it was lodged in her ears. Her blood raced like the Guadalupe River at flood tide, her tongue drying as if it was a slab of jerky, leaving her unable to speak.
Daisy waited for someone to enter the bank. Anyone to assure her the shooting was over, the robbers away and the townsmen who