The Sapphire Gun by J. R. Roberts

against him.
    â€œThat’s better, isn’t it?” she asked soothingly.
    Franco nodded slowly. He didn’t need to look at the wound to know how bad it was. The bullet had passed through when it had been fired. He knew that much already. Since the wound was too jagged to be stitched up easily, he’d opted for the more painful method of using the iron.
    As Rosa pressed down and then removed the rag, she replaced it with another one. “Can you feel that?” she asked.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œGood.” Before he had too much time to think about what he did feel, she asked, “What are you going to do next?”
    â€œIn the morning, we will ride ahead to that bank. We shouldn’t have any trouble getting there before they do.”
    â€œWon’t there be a lot of people there?”
    â€œIt is a small town. We should have no trouble spotting them and picking them off before they reach a main street.”
    Rosa nodded and removed the rag to look at the charred flesh beneath it. The bleeding had stopped, and though the wound wasn’t very pretty, at least it was no longer open. “That could get dangerous.”
    Snapping his head around to glare at her with fire in his eyes, Franco knocked Rosa back and started to crawl toward her. “You don’t think I know that?”
    Scooting away from him and the fire, Rosa kept quiet.
    Although his draw was a bit slower than normal, Franco’s .44 still cleared leather in the blink of an eye. He pointed the gun straight at her at first, but then held it so she could see it from the side as he snarled, “You think I could have earned this without knowing how, where, and when to kill a man?”
    Rosa’s eyes were drawn along the etched nickel plating and lingered on the gem embedded in the handle. The sapphire was set into the grip amid a swirl of elegant carvings. The more she looked at it, the more it seemed the sapphire was floating in a pool of silver.
    â€œDo you?” Franco demanded.
    That brought her eyes back to his and she replied, “No.”
    Suddenly, Franco recoiled and lowered the pistol. He looked at her face and then quickly turned away. After that, he backed up almost enough for his boots to dip into the bottom of the campfire. “I apologize,” he said.
    Moving up behind him as if nothing had happened, Rosa draped her arms over his shoulders so she could brush her hands along the Spaniard’s chest. “You’re hurt and you’re upset,” she whispered into his ear. “I understand.”
    â€œI will not let them get away again. I underestimated Adams.” Gritting his teeth, Franco picked up a nearby twig and snapped it angrily. “Knowing what I know about him, I still underestimated him,” he said while pitching pieces of the twig into the flames. “That was just stupid.”
    Rosa’s hands slid under his shirt, which hung open loosely to reveal several old scars that looked just as twisted and melted as the new one. “You’re not stupid,” she purred.
    Franco closed his eyes and focused on the way Rosa’s fingers glided over his skin. He thought about the way her breasts pressed against his back and the way her legs slowly rubbed against him as she settled in behind him.
    The more she touched him, the more focused his thoughts became. By the time he turned and crawled on top of her, Franco could already feel his target’s blood on his hands.

THIRTEEN
    Dover Shallows wasn’t a big town by any stretch of the imagination, but it was pretty enough to look as though it had been painted rather than built. Four of the main streets formed a square, while a fifth street cut through the middle. Everything else was built around that simple design. There were some shops, a few restaurants, and only one saloon. And, located directly across from the marshal’s office, there was a bank.
    Shallows State Bank actually resembled one of the