Emmett & Gentry (an Emmett Love Western)

  Emmett & Gentry

  (An Emmett Love Western - Volume 3)

  John Locke

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  EMMETT & GENTRY

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  Copyright © 2011 John Locke. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled,reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

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  Cover Designed by: Telemachus Press, LLC

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  Published by: Telemachus Press, LLC

  http://www.telemachuspress.com

  Visit the author website:

  http://www.donovancreed.com

  ISBN: 978-1-937387-80-8

  Version 2011.09.01

  John Locke

  The New York Times Best Selling Author

  #1 Best Selling Author on Amazon Kindle

  Donovan Creed Series:

  Lethal People

  Lethal Experiment

  Saving Rachel

  Now & Then

  Wish List

  A Girl Like You

  Vegas Moon

  The Love You Crave

  Emmett Love Series:

  Follow the Stone

  Don’t Poke the Bear

  Emmett & Gentry

  And:

  How I Sold 1 Million eBooks in 5 Months!

  Acknowledgments

  This book is dedicated to the fans of Emmett Love, whose loyalty to the character and series has become legendary. I want to thank you for poking, prodding, and urging me to take the time to write this third book in the series. I agree with you, Emmett and Gentry’s story needs to be told. Because of you, both of the previous books became the #1 westerns on Amazon/Kindle.

  In this modern age of high tech weaponry and special effects there is only the smallest space reserved for westerns. But it is here my best friends gather…

  Emmett & Gentry

  Prologue

  Two Years Earlier…

  I

  FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD Faith Coulter moved through the thick fog of an east Texas dawn with tear-stained cheeks. Two hours ago she walked out the front door of her parents’ farmhouse like she always did at five a.m. to milk the cows, only this time she walked right past the barn, climbed over the fence, crossed the crick, and never looked back. Just put one foot in front of the other and soldiered on. Didn’t start bawling till she got within hollering distance of the steep bluffs of the Red River, where she intended to take her life.

  Why was she throwing her life away?

  Loose bowels.

  She had loose bowels four months ago, what her father referred to as “the drizzlin’ shits.” That night Faith had found herself in dire straits shortly after supper. By midnight, fearing her lower gut might explode, she ran to the outhouse and spent the next twenty minutes sitting on the wooden toilet bench making more noise than most would consider polite. Under such miserable circumstances, she was happy to be alone.

  Till she heard a man’s voice.

  “Ever been to Kansas?” he said, from the other side of the door.

  Faith’s body tensed and she gasped loudly. She’d been startled, but wasn’t frightened because the voice outside was so friendly and conversational she instinctively knew there was nothing to fear. Of course, she was embarrassed about her condition and the sounds she’d made. Had he heard her? Yes, of course he had. That’s how he knew she was in the outhouse in the first place.

  But should she answer? Or pretend she hadn’t heard him? If she remained silent, he’d probably move along. She decided not to answer.

  But he spoke again.

  “Sounds like you’re feelin’ poorly. No need to be ashamed, we all get sick now and again. Take your time. When you finish up, I’ll escort you back to your door safely.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Faith said.

  “Normally, I’d agree,” the man said. “But I’ve been trackin’ a scoundrel more than 400 miles, and know him to be in these parts. You’ll want to trust me when I say he’s not a moral man.”

  Faith normally wiped herself with summer leaves from the pile on the outhouse floor. But on this occasion she knew her bottom was particularly messy, and it was dark in the outhouse, which meant using leaves would soil her fingers and require a journey to the crick. That’s what she’d expected to do, use the leaves, then wash her hands in the crick. But it wouldn’t be right to make the man wait. Her alternative was to use her father’s old sock that hung from the nail on the side wall. She could use that, and wash it in the morning. Perhaps her father wouldn’t be upset, knowing how sick her stomach had been.

  She reached for the sock and wiped her bottom carefully, then hung the soiled sock back on the nail.

  “I don’t know your voice,” Faith said. “Who are you?”

  “Emmett Love. Sheriff, Dodge City, Kansas.”

  Faith got her nightclothes situated, sniffed her fingers to make sure they were clean, then said, “I’m coming out now, sheriff.”

  When she opened the door he stood to the side to let her pass. As she did, he grabbed her from behind and said, “Make a sound and I’ll kill you. Then I’ll kill your parents.”

  II

  FAITH WAS SO startled she began screaming before his words registered. But to her surprise, the only sound that came from her throat was a hiss. She felt his bicep between her neck and right shoulder, his arm across her chest, and his hand gripping her left armpit. She felt his hip pivot and dig into her back, and suddenly found herself tilted backward and moving, her heels dragging the dirt as he pulled her behind the outhouse. Moments later he kicked her legs out from under her, and she hit the ground hard. He lay on top of her, placed his left hand over her mouth, lifted her nightshirt and despoiled her right there in the dirt. When he was done, he told her to wait five minutes before going back in the house.

  “You can tell your parents if you want to,” he said. “But if I hear about it, I’ll kill them.”

  He pulled his pants back up, started to leave. Then turned back, got down on one knee and said, “I’m sparin’ you because you got grit. You never cried out once, though I know it was your first time.” He paused a minute before adding, “I’m sorry this happened. I mean, that it happened to you instead of someone else. But you’re gonna be alright.”

  But Faith wasn’t alright.

  He’d got her pregnant.

  That much became clear within two m
onths. Her response was to double her work load on the farm, hoping her increased labor would kill the baby. But it didn’t, and now she was starting to show. Soon her ma would know, and then her dad, and Faith could deal with them knowing, but it wouldn’t stop there. Her father would eventually strap on a gun and ride off to find Sheriff Love, and get himself killed in the process. And she’d still have a bastard child to raise, one whose presence would remind her every day that her father had lost his life because of her loose bowels.

  Faith could let all that happen, or simply take her life.

  She stopped crying and worked her way through the bull pines till she came to the edge of the highest cliff. From there, she looked down at the river. It was a sixty foot drop and she couldn’t swim. She figured to die from the fall, but took comfort knowing if she didn’t, at least she’d drown. She closed her eyes and wondered what drowning would feel like. Deciding she had nothing to compare it to, she bent her legs and prepared to jump.

  A voice behind her said, “Don’t!”

  Faith gasped, opened her eyes, turned her head. Saw a young woman sitting on a large rock, twenty feet away.

  “It’s okay, Faith,” the woman said. “I’m here.”

  Faith was stunned to hear her name coming from the woman’s lips.

  “Who are you?” she said.

  “I’m Rose. I know everything about you, and I’m here to help.”

  Faith turned her head back toward the river.

  “Don’t do it,” Rose said.

  “I-I have to.”

  “No.”

  “You don’t understand,” Faith said.

  “I understand everything. But it’s okay. I have a plan.”

  Faith bit her lip.

  “I have a plan,” Rose repeated.

  Faith paused a moment, then took a step back.

  “What do you know about me?” she said.

  III

  “THE MAN WHO got you pregnant,” Rose said.

  “Emmett Love. Sheriff of Dodge City, Kansas.”

  “It wasn’t Sheriff Love.”

  “It was! He told me his name. That’s why I trusted him.”

  “Come,” Rose said. “Sit.” She patted the empty space on the rock beside her. Faith moved closer, but remained standing. Rose said, “Emmett Love is a decent man. He’s my friend, captured four months ago by the Union Army at Fort Bend, Kansas.”

  “Then who attacked me and left me with child?”

  “Bose Rennick.”

  Faith gasped. “The outlaw?”

  Rose nodded.

  “How do you know all this?” Faith asked.

  “You’ll think me crazy if I say.”

  Faith searched Rose’s eyes, and said, “Please. Tell me anyway.”

  Rose said, “I’ve waited more than two hundred years for this to happen.”

  1.

  Emmett Love.

  Present Day…

  THE HARDEST PART about walkin’ to Dodge City in the middle of the night is keepin’ Rudy from followin’ me. I mean, this is one hell of a lonely bear.

  I don’t know how long he’s been out here all alone, and it breaks my heart to leave him. But I can’t take him with me, since I don’t know what to expect in Dodge. So after playin’ a few games of tag, I try to force him back to the woods.

  But he keeps followin’ me.

  I push him harder, but he’s determined to come. I yell at him and push him some more, and he finally sits on the ground and pouts like a child. When I turn to leave he starts cryin’. I hate walkin’ away from him, but I do, and he makes it worse by bawlin’ somethin’ pitiful. After a half mile I can still hear him in the background, and each cry is more sorrowful than the one before, and each tugs at my heart. But I need to find Gentry, and hope Rudy’ll stay in the general area till I come back to get him. And I can’t do that till I know why Gentry or someone else brought him here in the first place.

  I walk on.

  As I do, I think about the life Gentry and I had in Dodge City twenty-eight months ago when we owned the Lucky Spur. I ran the saloon and card emporium, and she ran the five whores upstairs. We’d just hired a Chinese cook and handyman named Wing Ding, and I’d recently become sheriff of Dodge, when I shot and killed Sam Hartman, one of the most notorious outlaws who ever lived. Sam traveled with a stone-cold killer named Bose Rennick, who’s tried to kill me numerous times for various reasons. I’m sure I ain’t seen the last of Bose, since he and Sam were rumored to have kinfolk all over Texas, Oklahoma, and Kansas.

  About the time I killed Sam Harman, my witchy friend, Rose, had a vision of a slaughter she believed would take place in Lawrence, Kansas. So she and Gentry headed there by wagon to warn the town. I left a day later on horseback, plannin’ to catch up to ’em on the trail. In Rose’s vision a former schoolteacher named William Clarke sacked the town and killed hundreds of men and boys. I did leave Dodge the next day, but was shot by some Union soldiers who mistook me for a horse thief. Next thing I know me and fifty rebel prisoners were forced to build a Union railroad. In a crazy twist of fate, yesterday, after twenty-eight months’ imprisonment, I was set free by the same man who killed all them people in Rose’s vision! Clarke told me I’d been held prisoner by the Union Army for twenty-eight months!

  No matter. I’m free, and walkin’ to Dodge ’cause it’s the likeliest place my Gentry would go to wait for me. In a perfect world she’d be servin’ customers at the Spur, and workin’ the girls upstairs, and makin’ lots of money. She’d be healthy, and happy to see me.

  But of course, it ain’t a perfect world.

  The north and south are at war, and Kansas is right smack in the middle of it. Rudy the bear was Gentry’s pet, and lived in our saloon. The fact that Rudy is now livin’ in the woods don’t make me feel the least bit good about what might’ve happened to Gentry and the Spur.

  I got a lot to worry about.

  I need to find Gentry, or at least find out what’s happened to her. I need to know what’s become of my best friends, Shrug and Rose. Shrug’s a capable scout, and Rose is quite possibly a witch. Between the two of ’em, they should’ve been able to find me these past twenty-eight months, had they been lookin’.

  Had they been alive.

  I’ve got other worries.

  I’m wearin’ Union pants, which means northern soldiers might take me for a deserter, while southern soldiers might take me for a yankee. I could get shot either way.

  And I’m wearin’ leg irons.

  The irons had been attached to each other with a three-foot length of chain I managed to chop in two with an axe after bein’ set free yesterday. I bound each length of chain to my legs with twine I found in a railroad car.

  Two years and four months. That’s how long I’ve been in leg irons. They’ve chafed my ankles unmercifully, and I’m ready to be shed of ’em. As hard as the chain was to cleave, I s’pect I won’t be able to get the leg irons off without the help of Dodge City’s blacksmith, Tom Collins.

  If Gentry’s at the Spur, I’ll spend the day in her arms and nothin’ else’ll matter. But I’m half expectin’ to learn she’s in Springfield, Missouri, with Rose and Hannah, the little orphan girl Rose is raisin’. If that’s the case, my first stop’ll be the Spur, to see what’s become of the place. If Gentry’s not runnin’ it, someone else will be, and I’ll give ’em a proper thank you, and put on a pair of my old pants and a clean shirt. I’ll pull some cash from the register, find Tom and get him to remove my leg irons. Then I’ll buy a gun. If there’s enough money I’ll buy a horse. If not, and Gentry’s for sure in Springfield, I’ll gladly walk the entire way, though it be 400 miles.

  It’s gettin’ close to daybreak when I see the hill where I saved Shrug a couple years ago after he got shot by three rowdies. Within minutes I’m crossin’ the field where Gentry and I started a picnic that same day. When I get to the tree where we tied the horses, I close my eyes and try to remember it.

  April.

  Not a cl
oud in the sky.

  Gentry had worn a burgundy coat with lots of buttons, and a matchin’ hat. The breeze was slight, unusual for that time of year. I open my eyes and look to the west, where I know the Arkansas River comes to within a hundred yards of this spot. But it’s hidden by trees, and still too dark to see much detail at that distance.

  I turn and look at the ground where Gentry spread the picnic blanket that day. I remember she sat on it with her back perfectly straight, like she was posin’ for a portrait. I walk to the spot where she sat, and drop to one knee. I know it’s impractical, but can’t stop myself from placin’ my palm on the ground.

  I sigh deeply. My heart aches. I stay there a few minutes more, tryin’ to capture that moment from long ago, but it don’t take. I’m itchin’ to find my woman, and these sentimental feelin’s ain’t gonna put me in her arms any sooner.

  Less than an hour later I’m standin’ on the low rise that overlooks the town. It’s daybreak, and I’m surprised there ain’t much activity goin’ on. Problem with Dodge, it’s on the old trapper trail, but twelve miles south of the east-west trail settlers began taking to Colorado a few years ago. Settlers that might be lookin’ for a couple evenin’s of fun will think twice before goin’ twenty-four miles outta their way.

  Despite the fact there ain’t much activity, my pulse is racin’. I could be minutes away from Gentry. I trudge steadily toward town, though the closer I get, the more obvious it becomes.

  Dodge City is practically a ghost town.

  2.