He strutted like a peacock as he came down the aisle again.
"Every bit of this is your fault," he snapped. "If there's killing done, you're responsible. I want every pound due me. I can't go after the money the old fool left to her charities, but I can take back what she set aside for you and the twins."
"How do you plan to accomplish that?" she asked. She didn't give him time to answer. "Let me guess. It won't be your fault or your responsibility, but I'm still going to have to die. Is that it?"
"I'm only doing what you forced me to do."
"Where did you get the money to hire gunfighters?"
"My daughter," he answered. "She sold her jewels. I'm giving her half of the inheritance. Jane sends her regards," he added with a chuckle.
"They hang men for murder around here," she told him.
Malcolm unbuttoned his jacket and reached into his pocket. Her hand was on her gun, but she didn't pull the weapon out of her apron. She didn't want to kill him unless she was forced to.
He had a gun tucked into the waistband of his pants. It was squeezed between his belt and his roll of fat. He didn't reach for his weapon, however. He pulled out a handkerchief instead and began to wipe the sweat from his forehead.
"It's hot as hell in here," he muttered.
"Taylor!" Lucas bellowed her name. The glass in the windows shook from the force of his shout.
Malcolm went running to the window. He hid by the side and peeked out to see who was there. He didn't stand directly in front of the glass, for he didn't want to be a target.
"Who is it calling you?" he demanded in a low whisper.
There was laughter and relief in her voice when she answered him. "Lucas."
"No!" He howled the denial.
"Yes," she repeated. "Would you like me to answer him?"
"Shut your mouth, girl. Let me think," he ordered. He peeked outside once again, then flattened himself against the wall to stare at her. "They must not have gotten to him before he took off for town. Yes, that's it. They'll be on their way any time now. I'll keep him busy worrying about you until they get here. Answer him, damn you. Call out to him so he knows I haven't killed you yet."
"Do you expect me to help you?" She sounded incredulous. "God, you're despicable. You look like a cornered rat. You are cornered, you know. You might as well give up. Walk out of here while you still can."
"Answer him," Malcolm shouted again.
Taylor was going to refuse, but Lucas called her name again and she knew he must be worried about her. Men who loved their wives would worry. Lucas wasn't any different.
"Yes, Lucas?" she shouted.
"Are you all right?" His voice shook with terror.
"Yes," she shouted back. "I'm quite all right."
A full minute passed before Lucas called to her, again. "I'm coming in."
Malcolm struggled to get his gun out of his waistband. He wasn't paying any attention to her.
"Tell him to stay where he is," he shouted,
"You don't need to come inside," Taylor called out. She pulled the gun out of her apron and took aim.
Lucas didn't know what to do. He was so scared inside and in such a rage he wanted to tear the door down and kill the bastard with his bare hands. All the way into town he blocked the possibility that she could already be dead, and when she called out to him and he knew she was still alive, his knees had gone weak and his heart had felt as though it had exploded inside him.
"Lucas, you're an easy target standing in the middle of the street," she shouted.
Malcolm was looking out the window again. He had his gun in his hand but down by his side. He hadn't taken aim yet. And that was the only reason he was still alive.
"I'm coming in," Lucas shouted to her again.
"You don't need to," she assured him.
She didn't sound frightened. Lucas didn't know what to make of the realization. And then she cleared it all up for him with a simple reminder.
"Why the hell not?" he wanted to know.
"I'm wearing my apron."
Malcolm didn't understand until he heard her cock the gun. He slowly turned toward her, raising his own weapon as he moved.
She shot the gun out of his hand. He let out a howl of pain and fell back against the wall. The front door exploded into fragments. Lucas used his shoulder to break down the barrier. Then the back door crashed to the floor, and Roily came storming inside.
Lucas glanced at Taylor to make certain she was all right, then turned to Malcolm. He lifted him up, slammed his fist into his jaw, and threw him backward. Malcolm went flying out the glass window and landed in a heap on the walkway.
He wanted to kill him. Taylor wouldn't let him. At first she thought justice would be served by sending him back to England. The life he would have to endure living as a pauper would be punishment enough. He was a broken-down, ruined man. But he still had the same appetites, the same sick cravings. No child would be safe as long as Malcolm roamed the streets of London.
And the children must always come first. Always.
She wanted him locked away for the rest of his life. Lucas finally agreed with her. He decided putting a bullet through Malcolm's black heart wouldn't be a good idea after all. He wouldn't suffer enough.
The entire town had gathered outside the store and were staring down at their captive while they debated what they wanted to do to him. Malcolm was sitting in the dirt, whimpering and cursing while he dabbed at his hand where Taylor's bullet had clipped his skin.
Roily thought they should hang him then and there. Lucas wouldn't let him. He had his arm around Taylor's shoulders and was squeezing her tight against his side. She could feel him shaking, and from the look he was giving her, she thought he might be realizing he loved her. He looked ill.
Cleevis and Eddie stepped forward with the offer to take Malcolm to the sheriff in Rosewood. Lucas agreed.
"What happened to the four men Malcolm hired?" Taylor asked.
Lucas had killed two when they tried to ambush him and let the third crawl away with a bullet in his gut. He wasn't going to give Taylor any of the details, however.
The gunfighters had set up their trap near the stream. While Hunter kept them busy with his gunfire, Lucas worked his way around to the side. He'd been consumed with panic, for Taylor always crossed over the path where the men were hiding on her way back from town. If she'd come home when she was supposed to, she could have gotten killed.
But she was late. She was always late, and Lucas thanked God for the blessed flaw. He vowed he would never criticize her again.
"Lucas, what happened to the four men Malcolm sent?" she asked again.
"I only counted three."
"I counted four."
Hunter made the comment from behind her back. She turned and smiled at him.
She had refused to look at her uncle. He'd called her name twice. She ignored him both times.
"I want to go home now," she whispered to her husband. "Frank? If you'll order glass for your window, my husband will be happy to pay for it."
Lucas let go of her and spoke to Hunter in a low voice. She couldn't hear what he was saying to his friend. She didn't wait for him. She suddenly needed to get away from Malcolm and breathe fresh air. She said her farewells and started walking home. Lucas caught up with her at the bend in the dirt road.
She told him what Malcolm had said to her. "He has never taken responsibility for anything in his entire life. He was very clever making others feel as though they were somehow at fault for what he did."
"Marian?" he asked.
"Yes. She believed she had done something wrong. Will Malcolm be locked away?"
"The charge will be attempted murder," Lucas told her. "Yes, he'll be locked away. Taylor?"
"Yes?"