The Devil's Own Desperado by Lynda J. Cox

thing that would keep him alive would be his ability to draw a gun faster and shoot more accurately. And where was his mother when he had been cast into the world, little more than a child? Why that undercurrent of pain at the mention of her?
    “I couldn’t stop shaking after I’d killed him. I was shaking so badly I couldn’t even put my revolver back into the holster. And then I started puking, right there in the street. I puked until I thought I would turn inside out.” Colt lifted his head. His lean features were twisted and his mouth was a bitter gash. “I still get the shakes, but at least I don’t puke.”
    He came to his feet. “Trust me, Amelia, I will not do anything to encourage Saul to ever pick up a gun. It’s not living. It’s surviving.” He bowed his head. “Taylor’s right. I’m nothing but trouble for you and those two kids you’re raising.”
    “I don’t see it that way.”
    Colt’s head snapped up, his mouth open.
    “I don’t think you’ve lost your conscience either. If you had, you would have told Saul the truth about who you really are, because you wouldn’t have cared that he’s enamored with being a shootist and you know that’s a sure way to shorten a young man’s life.”
    Colt staggered back and sagged against the wall, his face drained of color. Amelia leaped across the room and caught him as he slid down the wall. “Colt?”
    “I think I’ve been on my feet too long.” A lopsided grin flashed across his pale face. “You tried to tell me I’m not strong enough yet to be up and walking around. I admit it, you were right.”
    “Put your arm around my shoulder.” She wasn’t entirely sure that was the reason for his slide down the wall, but she was willing to let it go at that. She slipped her arm around his waist. “You need to rest for a while. I’ll help you get into bed.”
    “What an offer,” he drawled. “Be thankful I’m not myself, or I might even take you up on that.”
    “It is not an offer of anything other than assistance,” Amelia said, heat filling her face and coiling around her insides.
    As Amelia eased him down onto the mattress, Colt caught her wrist. “Look, Amelia, as soon as the sawbones takes this bandage off my shoulder, I’ll be gone from your life. In the meantime, I’ll try not to be too much trouble to you and those kids.”
    He rolled onto his uninjured shoulder, presenting his back to her. He curled his arm under the pillow, and drew a deep breath. Once more she knew she had been dismissed, that he needed to be left alone with the memories that obviously haunted him.
    Uncertain why the prospect of watching him ride away left her feeling so empty, Amelia left the room. She also realized that her questions of why anyone would choose to continue in such a way of life had gone unanswered.
    ****
    “Good morning.”
    Amelia spun around, a shock of hay dribbling off the end of the fork. “Hello, Colt.” She tossed the hay to Colt’s horse, and then propped the hay-fork against a wall. She wiped her hands down the front of her apron. “You were sleeping when I fixed breakfast, so I let you sleep.”
    He pulled his hand through his hair. “Thanks. Where are the kids?”
    “Saul took Jenny into town to go to church.” Amelia stroked the gelding’s warm neck. He was so soft and sleek. The horse pressed his head against her shoulder. She pushed him away and scratched his poll.
    “You don’t go to church?” Colt leaned against the doorjamb. “What do folks in this little town think of that, the preacher’s daughter not going to church?”
    “I haven’t been to church since my parents were ki—since they died.”
    “They were killed?” His brow arched. “Who killed your parents, Amelia?”
    The gentleness in his voice belied his glacial expression. Amelia shook her head. “No one knows. They were on their way home from town on a Saturday afternoon. Jenny was with them. When they still weren’t home by dawn on Sunday,