Flynn woke to the whisper of embers still glowin’ warm beneath the ashes of the fire. The eastern sky was just startin’ to soften, pink and orange streakin’ the darkness like embers in a dyin' forge. He stretched slowly, rubbin’ sleep from his eyes and breathin’ deep of the fresh mornin’ air, filled with scents of dew and desert sage.

  Jed was already up, limpin’ around the fire, stirrin’ a pot of coffee that smelled strong. Luanne smiled at Flynn from near the wagon, rollin’ up bedrolls with nimble fingers. “Mornin’, Mister Flynn,” she called bright and easy. “Coffee’s hot if you’re wantin’ it.”

  Flynn touched the brim of his hat in thanks, steppin' close and pourin' a cup from the battered tin pot. He sipped, appreciatin' its bitter strength. "That's good coffee, miss."

  Jed chuckled from his spot on the buckboard, eyes twinklin’ beneath his bushy brows. "Girl makes coffee strong enough to shoe horses with, don't she?"

  Flynn grinned, takin' another long sip, feelin' it chase the mornin’ chill clear outta his bones. "Ain't complainin', Jed. I like coffee with a bit of iron in it."

  They shared a quiet laugh as Luanne handed him a bowl of leftover stew. She smiled warmly at Flynn, eyes sparklin’ bright as new copper. "You reckon we’ll make good time today, Mr. Flynn?"

  He ate thoughtfully, then nodded slow-like. "Road looks fair enough. Long as nothin' slows us, reckon we'll reach Paradise Valley without much trouble."

  Jed shifted slightly, still sore from the coyote tussle, but his spirits seemed better. "Son, what exactly you plannin' to do when we get there? Paradise Valley ain't exactly a bustling metropolis. Folks there have it hard."

  Flynn took another sip of coffee, careful-like, eyes narrowin' a bit. "Can't rightly say. Figure I'll take each day as it comes. Reckon Paradise Valley’s a good enough place as any to start figurin' things out."

  Jed eyed him thoughtfully. "Fair enough. Just wanted you to know what you're ridin' into."

  Flynn nodded slow-like, finishin' the stew, and stood up. "Better get movin', daylight's burnin'."

  They packed the wagon swiftly, and after helpin' the Westons secure their load, Flynn went to see to his horse. The buckskin stood quiet and steady, as though waitin' patiently for him. Flynn ran a practiced hand over the horse's neck, smoothin’ the sleek coat beneath his fingers.

  He glanced back at the wagon. "Hey, Jed, what's this feller’s name?"

  Jed chuckled. "Folks back at the livery called him Dusty. Good horse, steady an’ true."

  Flynn nodded appreciatively. "Dusty it is, then." He reached into the saddlebag, pullin' out a small, wrinkled apple—lookin’ dried and tough, but an apple all the same. He held it in his palm, studyin' it briefly. Strange how small and faded it was. He offered a slice to the buckskin, who took it gently, ears flickin’ forward in gratitude.

  "Well, Dusty," Flynn said quietly, rubbin’ the horse’s muzzle softly. "Reckon it's time we had ourselves a formal introduction. I'm Flynn, an' from here on out you an' me are partners."

  Jed watched amused from atop the wagon. "Good horse. Steady as they come, sure-footed too. He'll see you through."

  Flynn nodded, mountin’ easily into the saddle, feelin' a quiet confidence settle deep within him. "Let's hope you're right."

  With the wagon creakin’ gently behind him, they set out at first light, followin' the well-worn trail leadin' toward Paradise Valley. Even early, the desert sun rose fierce and hot, sendin' heat shimmerin' off rock and dust alike. Cactus and scrub brush dotted the flat, rocky landscape, stretchin' wide beneath an endless sky.

  They traveled steady and quiet-like, Flynn watchin' carefully ahead. The terrain was harsh, the road twistin’ around low hills and rocky outcroppings, but never tight enough to box 'em in. Still, somethin’ gnawed at Flynn—somethin’ like the feelin’ of unseen eyes trackin' their every move. His instinct flared sharp and uneasy.

  Flynn dropped back beside the wagon, his voice low, casual, eyes still focused carefully on the surroundin' hills. "Jed, ever have trouble along this stretch?"

  Jed squinted thoughtfully, scratchin’ his beard. "Now and again. Outlaws, mostly. But nothin' lately. Why?"

  Flynn glanced slowly toward the distant ridge, catchin’ a faint flicker of movement in his peripheral vision. "Just a feelin'. Reckon we keep our guard up, just the same."

  Jed nodded, adjustin' the reins carefully. "We’ll do that, son. If trouble comes, reckon there ain’t another man I'd rather have ridin' shotgun."

  Flynn nodded soberly, hand restin' easy near his revolvers. "Much obliged, Jed. Let's just hope we don't have to test that."

  Flynn kept his gaze rovin' cautious-like over the hills that rose jagged and dry on either side of the trail. Sunlight bounced hard off scattered boulders, castin’ stark shadows, makin’ it hard to pick out danger from the restless shimmer of heat. He’d long since figured that trouble was somethin’ that tended to spring up sudden-like from ahead, or from the blind sides. A man watchin’ his back trail too close was a man likely to get himself bushwhacked from the front.

  Behind him, Luanne’s voice rose sharp and worried, shakin’ him from his wary thoughts. "Flynn, Pa—look back yonder! Dust cloud risin’, comin’ up fast."

  Flynn twisted slightly in his saddle, squintin' against the harsh glare. Sure enough, a dark smear of dust billowed far back on their trail, risin' high against the sky and gainin' ground quick. Jed spat a curse, diggin’ quickly under the buckboard seat, pullin’ out a battered brass spyglass. Snappin' it open, the old man trained it on the fast-approachin’ riders.

  Flynn drew rein, holdin’ Dusty steady alongside the wagon. "Jed? You recognize ’em?"

  Jed’s weathered face paled beneath the layers of sun-browned skin, and his hands shook as he lowered the spyglass. He spat into the dirt bitterly. "Reckon I do, son. That's Bloody Bill Lark in front, ridin' hard. Damn the luck."

  Flynn saw Luanne tense, fear tightenin’ the lines around her eyes. "Pa, Bloody Bill?"

  Jed nodded slowly, weariness shadowin’ his expression. "Meanest outlaw this side o’ Paradise Valley. Runs that broken-down excuse of a ranch just south o’ mine. Wants all the land ‘round Paradise Valley for himself, an’ he ain’t shy ‘bout killin’ anyone who won’t sell."

  Flynn set his jaw tight, eyes fixed hard on the risin' cloud. "How many’s he got ridin’ with him?"

  Jed's voice tightened, his jaw clenched fierce-like. "Got his wife Liv ridin' to his left—an’ truth told, Flynn, she’s twice as deadly as he is. Woman's killed more men than cholera. Looks like four more trailin’ behind 'em. Every one o' them men colder'n a snake's belly."

  Flynn glanced ahead quick-like, gaugin’ their position. Trail was open country, sparse cover. Not much good for makin’ a stand. "How long you figure we got?"

  Jed shook his head, eyes narrowin’. "Not long enough, son. They're ridin' hard—reckon they'll catch up within the hour."

  Flynn tightened his grip on Dusty’s reins, feelin’ the leather creak beneath his fist. "Sounds like you an’ Bloody Bill got history."

  Jed spat again, bitterness plain. "He’s done everything he can to choke out Paradise Valley. Cut off trade, threatened folks, burned wagons. He aims to break us, son. And now he's fixin' to finish what he started."

  Flynn glanced sideways at Luanne, who met his gaze steady, fear there, but defiance too. He turned again to Jed, voice firm. "Well, reckon if he's comin’ for trouble, trouble's what he'll find. We ain't gonna outrun 'em, not with oxen pullin’ a loaded wagon. Our best chance is makin’ a stand, pickin' our ground."

  Jed looked at Flynn long and hard, weighin’ the younger man careful-like. Finally, he gave a single, sober nod. "There’s a rocky bluff not far ahead, rises high above the trail. Good place to hole up, good place to make ’em pay for tryin’ to run honest folk off the land."

  Flynn nodded grimly, reachin’ down to brush his fingers against the grips of his twin revolvers. "Then that's where we'll go. Best get movin’ quick."

  Jed snapped the reins sharply, urgin’ the oxen forward with a shout. Flynn fell back alongside the wagon, eyes narrowin’ as he cast one last glance toward the approachin' dust cloud. Bloody Bill and Liv Lark. Flynn hadn’t met 'em yet—but he reckoned that soon enough he’d be makin’ their acquaintance, face-to-face, with hot lead between ’em.

  Flynn rode on uneasy beside the wagon, eyes scannin’ the harsh terrain ahead, scoutin’ for the bluff Jed had described. He stole quick glances back toward the dust risin' steady behind, each cloud pullin’ closer, makin' his jaw tighten and his nerves hum like a taut wire. Beside him, the wagon creaked along, but Luanne had disappeared beneath the canvas cover, makin’ all sorts of rustlin’ noises Flynn couldn't rightly place. After a minute or two, she popped back out, and Flynn blinked in mild surprise.

  Gone was the frilly dress, replaced by sensible trousers that hugged curves just enough to make a man notice, and a loose, faded cotton shirt that moved easy with her. A battered hat, its brim shaped careful by wear and weather, shadowed her face. She’d tied back her auburn hair with a scrap of ribbon, pullin’ a dusty bandana snug ‘round her neck like she was born wearin’ trail gear.

  Flynn studied her sidelong and felt an honest appreciation. He reckoned the woman looked finer in rough trousers and trail-worn boots than she ever had in lace and ribbons. But it was what she had in her hands that brought him up short. Instead of passin’ the old Henry rifle to her pa, like Flynn figured she would, Luanne settled down easy beside Jed, pulled a rag slick with oil from her pocket, and started cleanin’ that rifle with the kind of practiced grace Flynn had only ever seen in seasoned hands.

  She worked methodical, checkin’ the leveraction careful-like, her eyes sharp and steady beneath the shadow of her hat. Flynn’s eyebrows lifted slow, but he held his tongue, watchin’ quiet as she finished loadin’ the rifle with smooth precision, then reached behind the seat and pulled out a bandolier thick with cartridges. She slung it casual over her shoulder as easy as if she'd done it a thousand times. Jed didn’t bat an eye. He handed the reins to Luanne, reachin’ down under the seat to pull out his double-barrel shotgun, goin’ through the same practiced motions as his daughter. Flynn found himself wonderin’ if he’d stepped into somethin’ more than he'd reckoned on.

  Curiosity gettin’ the better of him, Flynn leaned slightly in the saddle, startin' to open his mouth. "Luanne, you sure you—"

  Before he could finish, she cut him short with a single steady look, green eyes flashin' clear and bright. The sharpness in her gaze stopped his tongue faster than a rattler's strike.

  "Reckon I know what you're fixin’ to ask, Flynn," she said, her voice even but firm. "And the answer's yes. I can handle this rifle just fine."

  Flynn raised his hands slightly in surrender, a faint grin tuggin' at the corners of his mouth. "Fair enough, ma'am," he replied respectful-like. "Reckon I'll keep my fool questions to myself from now on."

  Jed chuckled dryly, snappin' shut the breach of his shotgun. "Son, you'd best take my advice: never question my daughter's aim. She shoots straighter than most men I've met, myself included."

  Flynn nodded once, appreciatin' the sentiment, watchin’ as Luanne gave him one more confident glance before focusin’ her attention back down the trail.

  Ahead, the rocky bluff rose clear and proud, promisin’ a fair place to make their stand. Flynn nudged Dusty forward, feelin’ respect—and somethin’ deeper, he couldn’t rightly name—settle into his chest. If Bloody Bill and his crew were expectin’ easy pickin’s, they were about to be sorely disappointed.

  ****

  Flynn stood quiet-like on that rocky bluff, watchin' Jed directin' Luanne carefully as they tucked the oxen and wagon into a sheltered niche behind a formation of boulders. Dusty nickered softly, ears flickin' uneasily, pickin' up on the tension in the air. Flynn gave the horse a reassurin' pat, then stepped over to Jed. The old man studied the lay of the land, eyes squinted thoughtful-like beneath the brim of his battered hat. Finally, he looked up at Flynn, a trace of his younger self glintin' fierce in his eyes.

  "Son, pistols ain't gonna do us much good at range," Jed drawled slow, eyes narrowin' shrewdly as he studied Flynn's gun rig. "An' my scattergun ain't much better. We gotta plan smart, or Bloody Bill'll have our hides quick-like."

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  Flynn nodded, arms crossed thoughtfully over his chest. "Agreed. They’ll be comin' hard, and I reckon they'll be shootin' from horseback at first. We'll need cover."

  Jed grunted in agreement. "In my younger days, back in the army, had myself a few standoffs just like this—back when natives roamed fierce an' proud through this country. Learned a thing or two about pickin' a fightin' spot. Reckon our best chance here is keepin' you movin' light an' fast, hittin' from the edges while we hold ground right here."

  Flynn frowned slightly, shootin' a wary glance toward Luanne, who knelt steady-like, eyes narrowed as she tested her sights on the distant trail. "Ain’t so sure I like the idea of leavin' Luanne unprotected," he murmured.

  Jed clapped him on the shoulder, a rough hand squeezin' firm. "Don't you fret on that count. Girl handles that Henry better'n most fellers handle a spoon. She’ll keep 'em honest at range, and if things get tight—well, that's why the good Lord invented shotguns."

  Flynn raised an eyebrow, glancin' at the shotgun Jed cradled comfortably against his arm. "You sure you're spry enough, Jed? Movin' ain't easy when lead starts flyin'."

  Jed chuckled dryly, eyes twinklin' sharp beneath the brim of his hat. "Spry I ain't, son—but I can still sit tight an’ pull a trigger, sure enough. You do your job, I'll do mine. You stick to that guerrilla-type fightin', dartin’ in and out where your pistols can do most good. Let me an’ my girl handle the rest."

  Flynn sighed slightly, seein' the old man's sense, though he still felt uneasy. "Alright then, Jed. Reckon that's the play we'll make. But you holler loud if trouble closes in too tight."

  Jed gave a single, solemn nod. "You got my word on that, Flynn."

  With nothin' left to say, Flynn tipped his hat once to Luanne, who gave him a steady nod in return, eyes fierce with determination. He moved quiet-like to the edge of their cover, crouchin' low behind a rock that jutted out from the bluff, his pistols drawn and restin’ easy in his grip.

  Flynn crouched low behind a sun-baked boulder, binoculars steady in one hand while his other rested easy on the grip of his Colt, fingers loose but ready. Waitin' grated on him somethin' fierce—always had, truth be told—but he knew patience could mean livin' or dyin' on a day like this.

  Through them lenses, Flynn could see Bloody Bill’s riders pullin' their mounts up short, haltin’ atop a small rise about a quarter mile back. Bloody Bill barked sharp commands, wavin' a gloved hand forceful-like. He was a stocky feller, short and thickset, wearin' a dark broadcloth coat dusted heavy from the ride. Even from this distance, Flynn could tell the man had power in his shoulders and arms, strength built from long years of bullyin’ folks weaker than himself.

  But it was the woman standin’ beside him that drew Flynn’s attention quick and uneasy. She was taller by half a head than Bloody Bill, lanky and thin as fence-wire, but tough as boot-leather. Her black hair was drawn up severe-like beneath a wide-brimmed hat, sharp angles in her face catchin' the harsh sunlight like broken flint. Her eyes gleamed coldly, and Flynn reckoned if she traded out that rifle of hers for a broom and topped herself with a pointy hat, she'd pass easy for a witch from some old bedtime story.

  "Lord Almighty," Flynn muttered under his breath, givin’ his head a slow shake, "reckon Bloody Bill must've married her for her shootin', 'cause it sure weren't for her looks."

  He adjusted the binoculars as the couple paused, still barkin’ orders to the four riders fannin' out ahead. Bloody Bill reached over, grabbed his wife's arm, drawin' her close, whisperin' somethin’ sharp and pointed-like into her ear. She nodded once, curt and fierce, then unexpectedly turned toward her husband, grabbed the front of his shirt, and kissed him hard enough to rattle the man's teeth. When she pulled away, she flashed a wild, deadly grin, let out an eerie whoopin' laugh, and spun toward Flynn’s direction, raisin’ her rifle high with cold authority.

  Flynn lowered the binoculars, feelin' a chill run slow down his spine. "Well, I'll be damned," he said softly, shakin' his head. "I reckon there's someone out there for everyone."

  At that very instant, Luanne’s rifle barked sharp and clear, echoing off the hills like thunder. One of the approachin’ riders jerked stiff in his saddle, then pitched to the dirt and didn't move again.

  Flynn stood smoothly, the heaviness of waitin' fallin' away from him quick-like, his fingers brushin' gently against his pistols. "Alright," he murmured, eyes narrowin' with calm focus, "reckon the waitin’s over."

  The sharp echo of Luanne’s rifle faded quick in Flynn’s ears as she levered another round smooth as butter into the Henry. Up ahead, them riders weren’t greenhorns, not by a long shot—they slipped quick-like off their saddles, horses scatterin’, men dartin’ to cover like rattlers slitherin' for shade.

  Flynn spotted two men breakin’ off fast to his right, dashin' hard toward a line of jagged rocks. He knew their game quick as breathin’: flank the defenders, catch ’em in a deadly crossfire. Flynn felt a faint, grim smile tug at the corner of his mouth as he drew his Colts slow and easy, pistols heavy and reassuring in his grip. Time to go to work, he reckoned. But before he could move, a cacklin’ laughter cut the air, harsh and grating as a rusty saw blade. Flynn glanced quick toward the ridge, spyin' Liv Lark—standin' tall and thin as death itself—rifle blazin’ away reckless toward Luanne's blind.

  "Come on out, girl!" Liv howled, voice shrill and ugly as nails on slate. "Yer daddy can’t hide you forever! You reckon that rifle makes you a tough? Hell, I bet you can't hit nothin' twice in a row!"

  Luanne snapped back immediate-like, voice hard as forged iron, firin’ back steady from behind her cover. "Why don't you step a mite closer, Liv? Reckon I'll show you exactly how good my aim is!"

  Bloody Bill bellowed from his position farther back, voice thick and gravelly with hate, carryin’ over the sharp cracks of gunfire. "Jed Weston! You're a damn fool holdin' out! Your daughter ain’t gotta die today! Give it up, ol’ man—I’ll see she’s took care of!"

  Jed spat back furious-like, voice thunderin' with outrage as his shotgun blasted toward the rocks. "Take care of her, Bill? Hell, you'd sooner feed a rattler with yer bare hands! Yer a liar and a coward!"

  Bill answered with a bark of angry laughter. "Suit yerself, Jed! I’ll bury you both right here!"

  Flynn ducked low, movin' swift along the base of the rocks, eyes sharp and ears keen to the sound of boots scrapin’ sand and gravel ahead. His heart beat steady-like, his fingers easy on the triggers of his Colts. Reckon Bill's boys thought they'd catch him sleepin'—but Flynn planned on teachin’ them just how wrong they were.

  The way Flynn figured it, Bloody Bill and his boys were ridin’ blind, thinkin' they only had Jed and Luanne pinned down behind them rocks. They didn’t yet know about him, and Flynn aimed to keep it that way. He crept forward slow-like, boots glidin' careful as whispers across the gritty desert floor. A man learned quick out here—movin’ quiet kept you breathin’. He preferred a straight-up fight, honest and clear, but today’s game wasn’t about honor; it was about survival.

  Just then, that strange voice spoke soft in his ear again, gentle and reassuring as ever, the words driftin' across his vision like smoke from a distant fire:Flynn shook his head slightly, dismissin’ them strange words quick-like and easin’ forward again. Not more than twenty paces away, he spotted one of Bloody Bill’s crew slinkin’ low, eyes fixed on the rocks ahead, utterly oblivious to Flynn’s presence. The man was a rough-lookin’ sort, scraggly beard, sweat-stained hat pulled low over mean, sharp eyes. Flynn couldn't spot his partner, but he reckoned he wasn't far off.

  He drew a slow breath, steadyin’ his nerves, and gave a gentle, quiet whistle. The feller spun around quick as a cornered rattler, pistol comin’ up sharp—but Flynn was quicker.

  His Colts spat hot and swift, two quick shots that echoed like thunder off the canyon walls. The outlaw staggered backward, shock wide in his eyes, then crumpled slow-like to the dirt, lifeless as stone. Flynn watched the outlaw crumple slow-like into the dust, eyes wide an' blank, body slack as a worn-out saddlebag. The sound of his Colt still echoed sharply off the rocks when a shimmerin' haze rose up sudden-like from the fallen man's body, flowin' toward Flynn like water down a dry creek bed.

  He felt a rush of warmth flood through him, sweepin' through his veins, fillin' him with somethin' fierce and wild, yet steady. Right before his eyes, that strange cartridge belt unfolded itself again, hangin' there all ghostly in front of his vision. The belt shone faintly, bullets droppin' neat into their empty loops, each one glistenin' bright as polished silver.

  But it wasn't quite enough to fill the belt—not yet, at least.

  Flynn gave a quick shake of his head, willin' that strange vision away, and the cartridge belt slowly faded from sight like a desert mirage at sundown. He drew a deep, steady breath, lettin' the feelin' settle down within him. He didn't rightly understand this D?o thing yet, but he reckoned he was learnin' quick. Whatever the strange energy was, it meant he was still alive, still drawin' breath, an' still fightin'. An' at the moment, that was all that mattered.

  Flynn ducked sideways, vanishin’ behind a cluster of rocks just as the other feller came runnin' reckless from cover, hollerin' his partner’s name and lookin' wildly around, fear and anger twistin' his face. Flynn sank low, breath steady and calm, eyes narrowed patient-like as he waited for the right moment to finish what Bloody Bill's men had started.

  Flynn moved again pressing himself against the cool, gritty stone, feelin' his heart poundin' slow and steady as he listened careful-like. The second gunman who’d dashed over hollerin' was no lovesick fool; he took cover right quick, duckin’ low, callin' out with a voice edgy as rusted iron:

  “Bill! Dammit, Bill! Chester's down! They got another shooter up here in the rocks, slick as a snake in grass!”

  Bloody Bill hollered back, voice gruff and impatient from behind his own cover. "You tellin' me Jed Weston got himself another hired gun?"

  The outlaw spat back quick-like, a trace of fear cracklin' in his words. "Reckon so! Didn't see him clear, just a coward's back duckin’ into them rocks. Bet it's that no-good gambler-killer from town—the one what shot yer brother in cold blood!"

  Flynn tightened his jaw, grippin' his Colts a mite tighter. He hadn't known the gambler was Bill's brother, and that changed things plenty. He braced himself, listenin' as Bloody Bill stepped out cautious-like, eyes squinted hard at the spot where Jed hunkered down behind the wagon.

  "Weston!" Bill shouted, voice mean as a cornered wolf. "Who’s that yellow-bellied gunslick you got ridin’ shotgun for ya? You tell that back-shootin' snake he killed my kin, an' now he's gonna pay. I don't take kindly to folks murderin’ my kin."

  Jed hollered back without hesitation, voice edged sharp and fierce as jagged flint. "Your brother died fair, Bill! He pulled first and tried to ambush him—like a dirty cheat. This feller just put him where he belonged."

  Bloody Bill barked a bitter laugh. "Don't much care if he cheated at cards or killed a preacher—he was blood. Reckon your hired killer’s breathin’ his last today, Weston. An’ soon as we put him in the ground, you're next."

  Jed’s voice rose again, hard as hammered iron. "You're welcome to try, Bill! Reckon you're used to threatenin’ farmers an’ scarin’ off womenfolk. This man's a different breed."

  Bill’s voice dripped with venom, loud and spiteful. "Different how, Jed? A coward who shoots a man in the back ain't different from any other skunk I've shot down. You know me, Jed—I ain't merciful to cowards!"

  Flynn felt his blood rise at that, fingers tightenin’ around his pistol grips. He wasn't the sort to kill a man without lookin' him square in the eye. But he knew Bloody Bill wouldn't be listenin' to reason—not now, not ever.

  Jed's voice cut through sharp and clear, loaded heavy with scorn. "A coward? Takes one to know one, Bill! Come on up here if you ain't yeller—I'll introduce you proper!"

  Jed's shotgun barked loud and thunderous, sendin’ echoes bouncin’ around the canyon walls, makin' it clear the talkin’ was done. Flynn drew a slow breath, eyes cold as river ice. Bloody Bill and his gang were spoilin’ for a fight—and Flynn reckoned it was time they learned just what sort of man they'd decided to cross paths with.