“For the love of God,” Rose says to Maria. “You gonna berate her all day, or can we silence ’em?”
“You expect me to kill my own daughter?”
“Why not? You had no trouble letting me kill yer husband.”
“I had it all planned out, my future set,” Maria says. “And yet . . . now that my flesh and blood is standing before me, everything’s looking different. My, my, this do present a problem.” She shakes her head in mock concern. “All this gold finally back in my hands and two extra brains knowing where to find it.”
“Christ, just shoot ’em or I’ll do it for you!” Waylan Rose snarls.
“I don’t think yer understanding me,” Maria says, voice thinning. “One.” She motions at Jesse, then turns to Rose and looks him dead in the eye. “Two.”
“We had a deal,” he says. “If’n I bring you the journal, I leave with as much gold as I can carry.”
“I know,” she says, sighing, “but I just changed my mind.”
She aims and he aims, and Jesse and me drop to the ground, covering our heads as the bullets fly.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
When I look up, Maria is dragging herself toward a stout rock for shelter, one leg hanging limp. Already her trouser thigh is red. But somehow, ’gainst all odds, she were the quicker shot, ’cus Rose is in worse shape. He’s dropped to his knees, fingers touching the front of his coat. When he pulls them away, they’re wet with blood. He topples backward so he’s splayed to the sky, legs bent beneath him.
I dart forward.
A gunshot cracks from where Maria’s hiding, and I swear I feel a bullet whiz by my ear. So much for not wanting to shoot her own daughter.
I see Jesse dive for her out of the corner of my vision. He tackles her to the ground, and I can hear their scuffle as he attempts to restrain her, but I don’t pause to watch. The only thing in my sights is Waylan Rose.
As I bear down on him, he’s breathing shallow, trying to hold his blood in even though it’s already seeping from his chest and between his fingers.
He raises an arm, but I stomp my boot on his wrist, pinning the pistol—my pistol—to the earth. I pry it from his bloody fingers. His free hand raises the other Colt, and I react. No thinking, all flow.
Cock, aim, fire.
He drops the pistol, recoiling in pain. My bullet went right where I intended: the meaty part of his arm.
I lean forward as he cringes. My shadow falls over him. My Colt’s humming as I bring the barrel in line with Rose’s forehead.
I got him, Pa. It’s gonna end right now. I’m gonna make everything right.
“I’m worth more alive than dead,” Rose says through a grimace.
“Yer already dying, and I don’t want a single dollar from you. You ain’t worth nothing. Even the buzzards feasting on you will be a better fate than you deserve.”
He starts laughing, a shrill, haughty wheeze.
“You gonna do it, honey? Or you gonna stand there jawing me to death?”
As I reach for the trigger, he coughs up a heap of blood. His teeth are stained red. His blue eyes don’t look vicious no more. They’re scared and wide and so damn desperate. Is this what Pa’s eyes looked like when he gazed up at his killers?
“Do it,” Rose says. A gurgle of blood reaches his lips. “Please.”
He’s far beyond saving, and for a moment I consider walking away. ’Cus it would make him suffer more. ’Cus he deserves to feel every ounce of this pain. I want it to last a million years. I want him to burn for eternity. I should carve a damn rose in his forehead first so he knows just how rotten he is.
But then I’ll be just like him.
I’ll be like Maria.
I’ll be more bad than good, more revenge than forgiveness. And I wanna be like Pa, a person who believes most people mean well deep down and will help a soul in need. I wanna start living again without this boiling, vile blackness inside me, this scar that feels like it’s never any closer to healing. I wanna move on.
So I do the merciful thing, even though he don’t deserve it.
I cock my Colt and press the muzzle to Rose’s forehead.
“God help you,” I says, and pull my trigger.
A well of blood surges on his forehead, trickles down his face. His eyes stay rooted on the sky overhead, as blue as ever but wide and lifeless. I snatch the second Colt from where Rose dropped it, gripping the twin pair tight.
I got him, Pa. It’s over.
A scuffle back near the mine pulls me from the moment. Maria’s still got both Jesse’s guns. She throws an elbow, catching him off guard. As he takes a step away, trying to catch his balance, she raises one of the pistols. There’s a smile on her lips.
And even though I know I ain’t quick enough, even though I know I’m beat and Jesse’s already doomed, I lift my Colts. I imagine it another way, a different ending. I aim, cock, and fire faster than I’s ever done in my life. My right Colt, then the left, then the right again.
And in that moment, time seems to slow.
I see every last strand of Maria’s graying hair drifting on the breeze. I see her finger stretching for the trigger. I see the barrel of my pistols flare. My first bullet misses. The second nicks her arm. The third strikes her just below the shoulder.
Time snaps to speed.
She drops one of the Remingtons, stumbles backward. She touches her bloody shoulder and her gaze jerks to meet mine. Before I so much as blink, she raises the second weapon.
There’s a blast and I buckle, grabbing at my chest. Feeling, searching. But I breathe deep and it don’t hurt. My fingers come away from my shirt dry.
I look up. The pistol slips from Maria’s grasp, clattering to a standstill at her feet. A patch of red blooms over her heart.
Jesse stands not a few paces away, his arm extended and the Remington still smoking in his grasp. He musta grabbed it when my shot caused Maria to drop one of the guns.
Maria teeters, staggers away. Her hip hits the rocks bordering the mine, hard, and like a flower blasted off a cactus, she loses purchase. Her momentum sends her back, over the rocks, falling headfirst into the funneled pit.
Soon as she disappears from sight, Jesse races for me, but I shove past him in a trance. Move to the mine. Peer in.
I can no longer see Maria Tompkins. She’s somewhere at the base of the pit, broken and buried with the gold she loves so much. Afternoon sun filters into the shaft, lighting up the walls. Veins of gold glint and sparkle, snaking thick as they dive from view. It’s mesmerizing, almost peaceful.
I slide my Colt into my holster, wedge its twin between my belt and waistband. Then I breathe deep, turn.
Jesse’s standing where I left him. He’s got a bloody nose and a faint pink line on his shirt. His cut must’ve opened during the struggle.
“I’m sorry,” he says, expression pale. “I only meant to disarm, but I had to fire so fast and . . . I didn’t have a choice, Kate. She was gonna shoot you.”
I glance at the mine. I feel . . . I ain’t sure what I feel. “She weren’t my mother,” I says finally. “Not the one I remember.”
Jesse checks the bandages on his chest, wipes his bloody nose on his sleeve. Then he toes the body at his feet.
“You got Rose,” he says.