Page 22 of Follow the Lonesome Trail
Caroline Weston, gambler, horse-trader, stagecoach driver, alleged gold expert, and would-be partner in Carstairs’ claim, bristled with hostility.
“You’re the one who puthim,” Caroline jerked her head at Brogan, “onto our trail! If you would just stop showing your uncle’s map to every jackleg you talk to, we wouldn't have been bushwhacked!”
Ben glowered. “And how wasIsupposed to know he would ‘bushwhack’ us, as you call it?You’resupposed to be the expert out here. And if we’re going to talk about blame, shall we talk about howyouwere the one who roused that crazed bear yesterday? Itoldyou to leave him alone but you never listen to me. Even if I survive this—”
“You won’t,” Brogan interjected grimly, fingering the butt of his pistol.
Ben forged on, too angry to be silenced. “You’ve completely turned my life upside down. You have forced me to do and say things I would never have dreamed of. You’ve driven me to the brink of ruin!”
“So?” Caroline huffed.
“So—” Ben paused. “I love you.”
He and the now-interested Brogan waited in the suddenly awkward silence. Ben could barely believe what had just come out of his mouth, but as incredible as it seemed, it was the truth. Somehow, during all of these ridiculous disasters, he had fallen in love with this beautiful, incorrigible troublemaker, and now it was finally out in the open and he found himself waiting,hoping, to hear those words repeated back to him.
Finally, Caroline sniffled.
Ben couldn’t stand the silence anymore. “Well? Don’t you want tosayanything to me?” He was breathing very fast now,and noted with a touch of annoyance that Brogan appeared to beholdinghis breath.
“Me?” Caroline mumbled.
“Yes, you!” Carstairs fumed.
“Well . . .” Caroline coughed. “Eh . . . no.”
Ben exploded. “Of all theproud, pigheaded…I should have never said anything! To think that I could ever care about—”
Brogan waved his pistol at them like a teacher trying to get the attention of an unruly pair of schoolchildren. “All right now, that was more than enough last words.” Ben and Caroline glared at him, united once more in their mutual annoyance, and Brogan shook his head.
“I declare”—he looked just about as tired and fed up as Ben was feeling right now—“you two fight worse than a pair of wild hogs!”
“I resent that comparison very strongly,” Ben protested hotly.
Brogan rested the barrel of his pistol against Ben’s temple. “Shut your mouth. I have a gold mine waiting for me and a claim to see to.”
He pulled back the hammer.
“Carstairs, I love you!” Caroline screamed, and Ben felt her fingers close over his bound hands as he braced himself, preparing himself to die even as something joyful flared to life inside of him.
He squeezed her fingers and shut his eyes.
There was a long silence.
Ben had heard that getting one’s brains blown out didn’t hurt, but he had at least expected to hear a noise, however briefly.
Cautiously, he opened his eyes to see Brogan staring at his prisoners, looking strangely moved.
“Dadgum,” Brogan said speculatively, tipping his hat back with one hand. “I just can’t stand to kill a young couple in love.”
Ben had to swallow several times before he could form a coherent word. “Really?”
He sensed Caroline about to say something sarcastic and he elbowed her. It would be just like her to mock Brogan and get their heads blown off at the moment he was about to show mercy.
Brogan scratched his head and surveyed them with a perplexed expression.
“You really love him?” Brogan asked Caroline.
“Yes,” Caroline admitted.
