Their Reckless Bride

Who the fuck was that kid and what had he been doing out here?
I stared down at two of the men who’d driven my every action since my father’s death. Who kept me from the quiet ranch life. They were pitiful. A waste of humanity. And I was leaving them behind. Crazy, I knew, but I had more important things to deal with right now.
“Don’t worry, we’ll send help,” I muttered, nudging my horse into motion, not looking back. God might send me to hell, but many people had suffered because of the Grove gang. I didn’t really give a shit they were hurting or bleeding out and I doubted Charlie did either. I might be the sheriff and strive for justice, but seeing them taken down like rabid dogs was justice. My father would have shot them dead. Ironic, as that was how he was killed.
“By morning,” Charlie added with a humorless grin. His money was—had been—in the Simms bank. Before he left England, he’d saved some from his military life, then added to it here, working in a copper mine in Butte, then becoming part owner. He had wealth now, something he’d told me he’d strived for his entire life. It was important to him, only in that his mind was at ease that he would never be without food or shelter. He could survive. We lived at Bridgewater, had a house big enough for the family we’d someday have. But it was our goal to add acreage, raise cattle. Work a ranch of our own. A simple life. Nothing more.
Maybe instead of shooting the Groves outright, I should’ve thrown them over the backs of their horses and led them to be patched up by the doc. They could be tossed in jail later since the circuit judge wouldn’t show up for a few days yet. They’d be found guilty, no question. But they could just bleed all over the ground and fucking wait. I had a more important thing to do: find the kid and discover why he made my dick hard. That shit wasn’t normal for me.
The groans and swearing fell away as we made our way north along the creek bank until the bluff lowered and met the flat land. Cutting across the water, we turned in the direction the gunman must have taken. There were no trees here, nothing to obstruct our view. There was nothing in front of us but miles of open prairie. He might be nimble and quick, but he wouldn’t have made it out of sight without a horse. Charlie turned and cut up along the bluff’s edge to where he’d have perched and fired. Even though it was a hot day, it had been a wet summer and the grass was tall and green still. We couldn’t miss the trampled path the kid had taken and we turned to follow.
“She’s fast, I’ll give her that,” he said, riding at a quick pace alongside me, but not too hard as to tire our horses.
I tipped back my hat. “Her?” I said.
He looked to me, raised a brow. Grinned. “The woman who saved us back there.”
Woman?
I sighed, more relieved than when I thought I’d been shot. “Oh, thank fuck.”
He barked out a laugh. “Bloody hell, man. You thought she was a he, didn’t you?”
“My cock had it right,” I said, shifting in the saddle as I remembered her standing above us, the gun in her hand. “Have you ever met a woman who wore pants? That’s not normal for a woman, even around here. Besides, we almost died. I’m allowed a little leniency.”
I felt the heat of embarrassment in my cheeks. I was the sheriff. I chased bad men. Saved people, not the other way around. If I couldn’t tell a man from a woman, it was possible I’d lost my balls.