Creek: Gun For Hire Sweet Western Romance #1
A ten-book Multi-Author Series
ISBN: 979-8-99121249
Epitaph Press
A mysterious man with only one name and secrets that gnaw at his soul.
Creek has a reputation as a gunslinger, a lawless man—one to be feared. So, when an orphaned eleven-year-old girl in this rough border town claims she’s his daughter, it jolts the very fiber of his being. For a man making a living with a gun, he’s not father material in any sense of the word. And he has serious doubts he ever met her mother.
Yet Willa July stands firm. Creek has the mark on his wrist that proves her claim. When she’s taken by a crazed killer from his past, Creek is propelled into a desperate chase. He alone understands the depths of this monster’s evil mind.
Time is his enemy as he races to save her. But if he succeeds in getting the girl back, can Creek tear down his walls and embrace the role he never dreamed possible?
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EXCERPT
Chapter One
El Paso, TX 1890
Late Summer
The early morning sunlight shone golden on the rocky incline as Creek navigated his big appaloosa gelding through a narrow pass in the Franklin Mountains. He paused, looking down at the rough border town of El Paso. A mountain man and friend in New Mexico territory named Dutch had once warned of El Paso’s inhospitable nature and mentioned that it was only fit for men like him who lived by the gun.
“Ain’t no place for peaceful men,” Dutch had grated out in a gravelly voice. “It’s the six-shooter capital of Texas an’ that ain’t no joke.”
The dense saltbush and desert willow rustled. Creek jerked his gun from the holster and swiveled in the saddle only to watch a majestic eagle take flight and rise into the clear blue sky. Off to his left a crow danced on the hot rocks, releasing a loud caw as though finding him funny. Creek gathered a wad of spit and let it fly toward the bird. Screeching, it took hurried wing.
It paid to be jumpy with his kind of reputation. He’d put too many men six feet under in the attempt to keep breathing for one more day.
Creek had drifted this way over ten years ago seeking refuge. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to return. But a friend, maybe the only one he had, had sent a cryptic message asking him to come. He knew it was something important—perhaps this would provide answers to questions that haunted his mind. He’d ride to the ends of the earth to find the elusive peace explaining who he was and why he only had one name. Hopefully, he’d achieve that before a bullet found him. Only something in the message whispered a warning that the sand in the hourglass was running out.
He released a weary sigh. Sliding his Colt back into its place in the holster, he patted his appaloosa’s neck. “Ready, General? Time’s wasting.”
The gelding shook his head and stamped the packed ground. The appaloosa had been a gift when Creek turned fourteen and had seen him through a lot of hard times. Most appaloosas were white with black spots but General was a chestnut with a blanket of white spots on his rump. Sixteen hands high was a lot of horse for a boy but not for Creek. General had seemed to understand that he’d needed something to cling to when few gave two cents about him.
He sharpened his gaze at the town below and wiped the sweat from his brow with a bandana then tied it around his neck. A light tap of the heel of his boot to General’s flank urged the horse forward.
They trotted slowly forward until they reached the dirt-poor town. Though the morning was early, a lot of folks milled about on the main packed earth street. Some stared as he rode slowly, looking left and right. Most wore traditional Mexican dress with sombreros and serapes thrown across their shoulders. False front businesses lined the street. He’d worry about taking a room later. His belly grumbled from lack of food and a small café up ahead looked promising.
Coffee would hit the spot but as he passed an alleyway, he heard a shrill cry for help that could only come from a child. Creek stopped and backed up. A group of four were roughly passing a young girl from one to another, laughing at her futile attempts to escape.
“What’s the matter, darlin’,” said a tall Anglo. “Ain’t no need to be inhospitable. We’ll show you a good time. You’re a little young and all but we aim to teach you.”
Another in a bowler hat laughed. “Settle down and enjoy the party. Let’s see if you can kiss.”
“Let me go!” she yelled. “Leave me alone.” She twisted and kicked then suddenly swung and landed a fist to the moron’s nose. Blood spurted.
The girl had plenty of grit. But when he backhanded her and she sprawled motionless on parched ground, Creek dismounted with his Colt in hand. Measured steps took him to the group. He knew he looked intimidating, especially with a low-slung holster, large knife at his hip, and leather wrist cuffs. Then if that wasn’t enough, he had a close-cropped beard and his Stetson pulled down low. Most men gave him a wide berth and that saved him from conversation.
“I don’t have a dog in this fight,” Creek drawled. “But it looks like the young lady can use someone on her side. Touch her again and you might find yourself in more trouble than you bargained for.”
The lowlife in the bowler hat snarled, “There’s four of us in case you ain’t noticed, mister.”
Creek took a few more measured steps and planted his feet wide. “I learned to count a long time ago, sonny. I’d go take care of my nose if I was you. You’re bleeding like a stuck pig.” He released a chuckle. “I should let the girl finish you off but that wouldn’t be too gentlemanly.”
The tallest of the group apparently found Creek’s glare a mite unhealthy and raised his hands. “I’m done. If you got a lick of sense, Ajax, you’ll follow me.”
The remaining three glanced at each other nervously, staying put.
“Okay, get yourselves killed.” The smartest of the four threw up his hands and stalked away.
The girl moaned and sat up, holding her jaw. She looked a little worse for wear. Tears bubbled in her eyes that she angrily wiped away and she appeared younger than Creek had first thought. Somewhere about eleven or so he figured.
One of the fools went for his gun and Creek fired, striking the weapon, sending it flying from the man’s hand.
Smoke curled from the barrel of his Colt as Creek sent a hard glare around the group, grating out, “Anyone else want to try?”
“Come on, Ajax. Let’s go,” urged one of the group.
“Go on, son,” Creek barked. “Your compadres seem to have decided this is a fine morn in which to die.”
“Who are you?” Ajax yelled.
“Your judge and jury. Hurry up and decide if you’re brave enough to draw because I’m hungry.”
A long moment passed in silence before Ajax threw up his hands and turned. The trio swaggered toward a nearby saloon.
Creek holstered his weapon and went to the girl, picking her up. “Where do you live?” he asked. “Point the way and I’ll see you home.”
“Thank you, mister. But I can walk. Nothing wrong with my legs.” She straightened her torn dress when he set her down. “Name’s Willa July Calder.” The girl stuck her hand out.
Creek shook her palm. “Nice to meet you, Willa July Calder. I’m Creek.”
The side of the girl’s face had darkened from the blow she’d taken but she had a rebellious spark in her brown eyes.
“Tell me where you live. I’ll explain things to your mother.” He picked up General’s reins from the dirt.
“Don’t have a mother. I live with Liberty.”
The words took Creek aback. He and Willa had things in common. “Okay. I just don’t want you to run into those men again.”
“They harass Liberty and me all the time. Mean to the bone.”
Creek hid a smile. The girl was a charmer, and they’d only just met. He liked her spunk.
“Lib and me want to move,” Willa said, “but where would we go? This is all we got.”
“I know what you mean.” They walked in silence a short distance to an adobe house that looked like many others on the dirt street. A large desert willow with purple flowers provided a thin shade.
A woman of Mexican descent hurried from the door and wrapped her arms around Willa. “Mija, I worry. What happened?” The woman’s gaze went to Creek.
He stepped forward, removing his worn Stetson. “Willa ran into some trouble, ma’am, and I came along before it got too far out of hand. She took a blow, but I think she’s okay.”
The woman murmured soothing words in Spanish then looked up at Creek. “I am Liberty Serrano, and I thank you for looking out for her. The streets are not safe. Bad men. Guns.”
Liberty spoke in a lilting voice that seemed familiar to Creek. He’d grown up with Spanish and Navajo women like her in Santa Fe where whites were a minority. Although it seemed a little odd that she had dark blonde hair and green eyes. In fact, a very unusual shade of green. She was a beautiful woman.
He nodded. “I just rode in, and it does appear they’ve taken over. Do you not have any law?”
“Texas Rangers sometimes but…” Her words trailed in frustration. “No law ever stays.” Liberty turned her attention back to Willa for a moment before glancing up again. “I’ll fix breakfast. Eat with us.”
“Well, thank you kindly. I admit I am a mite lean, but I can go down to a café. I saw one as I was coming in.”
“Please. You eat with us.” Liberty turned as though that settled it and went inside with a swirl of her colorful skirts around trim ankles.
Willa took Creek’s hand. “Come on. We got plenty and Lib wants to thank you.”
“Well, I’ll be mighty obliged.” He looped General’s reins around a post. Delicious smells of fried onions and peppers drifted through the door. Then he caught a sniff of coffee, and that settled it. Now was not the time to refuse hospitality. “Lead the way, Miss Willa July Calder.”
