Slocum and the Hellfire Harem (9781101613382) by Jake Logan Page B

is . . .” Ruth looked at Slocum. “I don’t recall your name.”
    â€œThat’s because I never offered it. Nor you yours.” He tucked the rifle under his arm and doffed his hat. “Ma’am. I’m John Slocum. Just passing through when this young lady got the drop on me. I’m afraid my horse bolted.” He settled his hat back on his head. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just take my horse from out back there and be on my way. I was explaining to Ruth here that I am tracking a man and don’t want to lose any more time.”
    He sidestepped toward the corner of the house, wanting nothing more than to get on the Appaloosa and ride on out of there. Quick as lightning, the twins cranked their rifles, the girl drew her side arms and cocked them, and the old woman ratcheted back the hammers on her double-barrel shotgun. “Course she did.”
    Slocum sighed, leaned the rifle against the house, and slowly slid his Colt into his holster. “Pardon me, ma’am?”
    â€œI said course she got the drop on you. You’re a man.” The last word was pronounced much as Ruth had said it back on the ledge.
    â€œThere’s no denying it,” he said, careful to keep his hands raised. “Is that why you’re so hostile toward me? A stranger? I have no truck with you. All I need is to move on and I aim to do that right now.” He’d had enough of this fresh batch of fools. He turned to head down the side of the little house when a shot spanged the dirt inches in front of his left boot. He stopped. One of the twins, looking a bit pleased with herself, glared at him, a smirk breaking out at the edges of her perfect lips.
    The old woman cackled. “You lucky that was Mary. ’Cause Angel don’t miss.”
    Slocum glanced over at her and the old lady was bent double, yucking it up as if she’d told a real thigh slapper. And she seemed not to pay any heed to the cocked shotgun she waved near her offspring.
    He stood less than two strides from the chipped corner of the little adobe house. All he had to do was dive, tuck into a roll, and he’d make it out of their way long enough to draw his Colt Navy. But what if he didn’t? What if each one of these she-devils was equal to Mary’s shot? Or better, as the old lady had hinted at?
    â€œWe’re traveling women,” said Ruth, still standing halfway between him and the others on the porch. When the rifle had been fired, the children had all clustered together at the far side of the house.
    Slocum nodded. “Uh-huh, okay. So, where are you all traveling to?”
    Ruth started to speak, but the old lady cut her off. “My daughter has a big mouth sometimes. Where we all are headed is none of your business.”
    â€œWhy are you here, then? Planning on staying for long?”
    The old lady sighed. “Again, stranger, I just don’t see where that’s any of your business.”
    â€œYou got me there, ma’am. I’m just the curious type.”
    â€œOur wagon’s busted.”
    â€œRuth! You shut that blamed mouth, daughter!” The old lady shook a hard fist at the woman near Slocum.
    Could be an in, he thought. A way to calm these women down enough for him to make his departure. “I have fixed wagons a time or two in the past. I’d be happy to take a look at it. No promises.”
    â€œWe don’t need no charity from strangers, and we darn sure don’t need no help from a man. You hear me, Mr. Slocum?”
    From the corner of his eye he saw Ruth fidgeting. Then she bolted toward him. He slicked out his Colt from his holster, expecting her to try some harebrained ambush. But she stood close to him, facing him, her hands loosely around his waist. She was protecting him from one of her trigger-happy siblings or from her mother.
    Ruth glanced up at him briefly, then shouted over her shoulder. “We do need help, Mama.