Depending on the Doctor (Nevada Bounty Book 2) by Margaret Madigan Page A

But the men took him seriously, especially Lyle, and of course Clyde. Maybe there was some male thing in Emmett’s voice when he’d said it, like a challenge that only other men would pick up on, but the silence only lasted a moment before Lyle bolted from his chair, pulling his gun on the way up and aiming it in our general direction.
    “You were supposed to save him.”
    Emmett moved in front of me. “I never said I could do any such thing. His injuries were his own responsibility given how he got them. You were the ones who dragged me along assuming I could perform miracles.”
    “You know the price for letting Ernie die,” Clyde drawled, looking far too pleased at the prospect.
    “I do. And my life is cheap enough. I’ll willingly pay your price, as long as you let Lydia go. She had nothing to do with Ernie’s living or dying.”
    “Don’t much matter. I made a promise, and I always keep my promises,” Clyde said.
    “He was my brother, Clyde. Let me do it,” Lyle said, his gun hand shaking with determination.
    I watched Clyde. The twitch in his eye and the hard set of his jaw said he really wanted to be the one to pull the trigger, but maybe some gang code gave Lyle the right by blood. Neither option sounded good to me because either way we’d be dead. It didn’t matter so much who pulled the trigger.
    Finally Clyde shrugged as if Lyle were only asking to swat a pesky fly. “Fine. Just take them outside,” he said, waving us off. “I don’t want the mess in here.”
    Lyle stepped away from the table, and the rest of the men started to get up, as if to follow and watch the spectacle.
    “Wait,” I said, stepping out from behind Emmett and directing my attention to Clyde.
    “Lydia,” Emmett’s cold, sharp voice struck to my bones like a steel blade. He grabbed my upper arm and tried to shove me behind him again, but I refused to budge.
    I shook him off and faced Clyde.
    “What?” Clyde asked. The look in his eyes showed his interest, as much as he tried to look indifferent.
    My heart thundered in my throat. I was so far out of my element, and terrified, but I refused to die at the hand of some two-bit bandit out in the middle of the Wyoming wilderness; and even more, I refused to be responsible for Emmett’s death.
    “I’ll stay with you and be your cook,” I said.
    The interest in Clyde’s eyes dimmed, “We’ve gone this long without a woman to cook for us. Why bother now?”
    I looked at the rest of the gang and they seemed much more interested. I focused on Clyde again. “Looks like the rest of your men like the idea. Besides, who usually does your cooking? I’m guessing you take turns.” I checked the rest of them, and by their expressions, I’d guessed right, or come close. “How many of you enjoy cooking? Or are even good at it? Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone to do it for you, and who feeds you food you want to eat?”
    They liked the idea—a lot, but as much as their faces belied their desire for a personal chef, they were also conditioned to defer to Clyde.
    “She’s got a good point, Clyde,” Slim ventured. “It’d sure be nice to eat good.”
    “Billy ain’t such a good cook,” Jed said.
    So there was another member of the gang not with them, one who cooked, at least part of the time.
    “She’s probably better,” Dom added.
    Clyde turned his attention back to me, “What about the other?”
    He didn’t have to elaborate. I knew what he meant. I knew only the very basics about what went on between a man and woman in the bedroom, and I didn’t want Clyde anywhere near the parts of me involved in that activity. But if it meant saving two lives, how could I say no when saying yes would save Emmett? He was willing to pay a much dearer price to protect me.
    On the other hand, I’d learned a long time ago by watching Father that you never give your opponent what he wants most without getting what you want first. Beth, with her poker background, would call it