stupid holster he was wearing. Then he thought of John Shea and his missing earlobe. Christ, they weren't real, were they?
"A duel." Kitty confirmed, eyeing him with such hostility that Dylan was pretty sure that if it did come down to a shoot-out, she wouldn't be aiming for something as innocuous as his ear.
The crowd was circling them, Old West style.
The hot sun beat down on his head, and Dylan started to sweat. "Miss Kitty, I, uh..."
Without looking away from him, she held out a hand. "Spenser! Jeremy!" She snapped her fingers. The ostrich feather in her hair waved imperiously.
Over the crowd, Dylan caught sight of Spenser and Jeremy, who - unlike him - didn't appear caught by surprise. Traitors. One of them should have given him a heads up! Jesus, what was the point of being the town hero if no one treated him with proper respect?
He unfastened the button at his throat, doing his best to fake unconcern. "What exactly are the, uh, terms?"
Just then the people closest to him parted, and Jeremy and Spenser were let into their circle, each dragging long cloth-and-metal contraptions - hoses? - behind them.
"The terms?" Kitty repeated. "The terms are fire hoses at forty paces."
Uh-oh. Bad news. When he'd been making his plans, so had Kitty.
She smiled at the crowd as she grasped one of the wide-mouthed hoses with both hands. "In 1861, Hot Water held its first 'bulletless duel.' The sheriff thought then that it was a fine way to settle differences without bloodshed." She lifted an eyebrow Dylan's way. "So how about it?"
Oh, the sneaky little thing was full of surprises. Secret marriages, sex appeal, fire hoses. And she didn't leave him any choice, as usual. Dylan squared his shoulders. "I'm all for handling disagreements with nonviolence," he replied, reaching for the hose Jeremy held out.
He'd kill her later.
Method four-thirty-two.
As Spenser paced off the necessary distance, Dylan tried to figure out what he was going to do. Depending upon the pressure, he might hurt Kitty or, at the very least, sweep her too roughly off her feet with the force of the water.
"Don't worry, sir," Jeremy assured him as he showed Dylan the brass fitting that would release the water. "We've held duels like this during the last five Independence Day celebrations. The hoses are booked to two old pump trucks. No one will get hurt."
Last July fourth, Dylan had spent the day at the Witherspoon estate, letting Honor pry out of him more stories about Hot Water, its eccentric people, its old-fashioned traditions. He looked down at the hose in his hands. Some new traditions had started without him.
Shaking off a weird sense of loss, he faced Kitty. The crowd was lined up closely on either side of them. It was roasting outside, so the tourists probably hoped for a little cooling overspray.
"Sheriff Matthews." Kitty's voice traveled easily through the hot, dry air. "Do you accept the challenge? Whoever's left standing is the acknowledged winner?"
"Just a minute," he yelled back. "If you're the victor, you get to stay out of jail. If it's me, what do I win?"
She tossed her head, and her hair slid out of the bun on top of her head and fell to her shoulders. Gold threads shone brightly in the sunlight. "Why, me, of course."
The crowd cheered. He barely managed to stop himself from doing the same.
"On three." Good ol' Spenser held his red bandanna in the air. "One ... two ... three!"
Unwilling to chance Jeremy's assessment of the water pressure, Dylan aimed just short of Kitty's feet as he twisted the nozzle. Not as considerate, her hose was pointing straight at him.
Water started trickling out of his first, with just enough force to jump a foot or so.
She grimaced and twisted faster.
The first spurt from her hose kicked up a splash of mud onto his cheek. His adrenaline jumped and he twisted again. Water leaped from his hose ... another disappointing three feet.
Water from Kitty's hose suddenly sprang forth, catching him squarely on the knees. The crowd cheered again, she whooped, and he dug his heels into the new mud at his feet.
His hose continued to sprinkle like an elephant with a leak.
Wearing a triumphant grin, she played her spray over his body. The water was strong, enough to sting if he wasn't clothed, but he grimly stood fast, vainly twisting at his hose's fitting, which now seemed frozen.
He - wasn't - going - to - let - her - win. But she