The Gunslinger's Untamed Bride

Fall 1876

California Foothills

“Juniper Barns!”

Juniper’s horse crested the last rise of swaying yellow grasses as his name carried back on the breeze in an angry shout. He reined in, his gaze locking on five riders mounted in front of the ranch house that had been his sanctuary for the past six years.

Sprays of light from the setting sun glinted off their guns, raising the fine hairs on the back of Juniper’s neck. Sensation tingled in the tips of his fingers. He forgot about the exhaustion tugging at his muscles and the sweet scent of freshly baked bread that had been calling him home for supper. His free hand flexed, his palm burning for the grip of his gun concealed beneath his range coat.

A kid didn’t shoot thirteen men into their dusty graves without making enemies. He’d known there’d be a day when the demons of his past would come to call.

One of the men shouted Juniper’s name toward the house as he dismounted.

That day had come.

“He’s not here!”

The woman who’d raised him from the age of fourteen stood on the covered porch, baby Isaac in her arms. Rachell’s four-and five-year-old daughters huddled against her skirt. May’s ebony braids set her apart from her younger sister, April, whose hair was as red as her mother’s.

Juniper urged his horse forward. His gaze homed in on the man at the base of the stairs. As Juniper neared the house, the stranger turned toward the sound of his approaching horse.

Flat forehead, square chin, dark beady eyes … features similar to that of Dan Yates.

He hadn’t forgotten a single face of the men who’d fallen to his guns. They rose up in his mind at odd times, haunting him.

He tugged on the reins, slowing his mare as she crossed the yard.

“Stop where you are,” the man called, raising his rifle.

May’s scream pierced the air.

“June!” her little sister shouted.

“It’s all right,” he called out, wanting to calm his sisters. “Go on inside with your mama.” His gaze flickered toward Rachell. She glanced out at the golden hills stretching toward the Sierras. Juniper prayed Jed and the others would take their time getting back. As much as he valued their protection, he didn’t want to see any of them get hurt on his account.

Rachell’s fearful green eyes met his gaze.

“Go on,” he urged.

June, she silently mouthed, hugging her infant son to her chest.

“Wait just a damn minute!” Yates shouted.

“Go,” he said, before turning his attention to Yates. “No sense in scaring the girls.” June shifted the brim of his hat up over his blond hair to keep a clear view of the other four riders. He felt a rush of relief as the door closed behind Rachell and her children. “Your business is with me.”

Narrowed dark eyes moved over him. “I doubt that. I’m looking for a gunfighter from Missouri way. Goes by the name of Juniper Barns.”

June leaned forward, crossing his wrists over the saddle horn. “You found him.”

Low chuckles rumbled from the men mounted behind their friend. Yates only scowled. “Like hell.”

Juniper wished he could deny the fact. No matter how badly he wanted to, he couldn’t erase his past, and he refused to hide behind those who would defend his actions. He’d done what he’d had to, and he held himself accountable.

He dismounted slowly, keeping his hands in clear view, though the men before him didn’t seem to recognize him as a threat.

“You related to Dan Yates?” Juniper asked, facing the man standing a few yards away from him.

Dark eyes widened in surprise. “I don’t know what your game is, kid.”

Nearly twenty years old, Juniper was hardly a kid—no more a kid than he’d been at the age of thirteen when his uncle had shoved him into the street, forcing him to draw his guns to stay alive.

“I’m looking for the man who shot my brother down six years ago in Mason, Missouri. I don’t care if I have to beat that information out of you or the woman.”

Tension coiling through his shoulders, Juniper widened his stance.

“Just tell me where to find Barns and there’ll be no need for you to come to harm.”

“If you didn’t intend harm, you wouldn’t be here. If you had any sense, you’d never have come.” He brushed back the edges of his range coat, tucking the heavy canvas behind the weight of a double holster he’d worn every day since his father had died at the hands of outlaws.

The man’s gaze landed on the matching Colts, his eyes widening with recognition of the twin pearl grips.

“This family doesn’t deserve trouble from my past. You want to have it out with me, fine. Name the place.”

Sheer hatred hardened the man’s expression. “I spent five years in prison waiting to get out and avenge my brother’s death. It took me a year to find you and I’ll damn well shoot you where you stand.”

The men mounted behind Yates stepped down from their saddles. Yates raised his hand. “Stay back,” he ordered, keeping his gaze trained on Juniper. “He’s mine.”

“Don’t make your brother’s mistake.”

“My brother is dead!” Yates shouted.

“By his own doing,” Juniper felt inclined to point out. “I warned him to walk away from my uncle’s bet. He didn’t listen.”

They never listened.

“You think those fancy pistols make you some kind of special, don’t you?”

“Mister, I wish to God I’d never strapped on a gun. I’ll tell you exactly what I told your brother. I got no will to kill you. You can walk away right now.”

Yates tossed his rifle aside. “Your luck just ran out. No one’s ever outdrawn me, and I’ve been hunting you for a long time.” The man hunched forward, bending at the knees, his elbows hiked high.

Juniper had to wonder if Yates was giving his impression of a giant crab.

“When I’m done with you,” Yates said, his fingers flexing above his holster, “I’ll be sure to show your family the same respect you showed mine.”

Rebelling against a lash of fear, a numbing calm settled over Juniper as he accepted the challenge. Keeping his gaze on Yates, he noted the position of the four armed men standing behind him. Killing didn’t take any great skill. For Juniper, it was merely reflex.

His senses keen, his arms idle yet poised, he waited, in no more a hurry to kill than he was to die.