said.
Before she could respond, s omeone dropped a glass across the parlor and it smashed to the ground. Rose put down her beer and grabbed a rag, but Emmett stopped her. “No, I got it.” He winked at her, and then grabbed the rag out of her hand. “Better finish your drink. I have a feeling it's going to be a long night.”
She took another sip and smiled, savoring the moment as Emmett turned and left the bar to clean up the broken glass and spilled beer. As Rose finished the dregs of her beer, the saloon doors opened and a tall slender man strolled in with a badge on his chest, Sheriff Timothy Pickett. He was a man in his fifties, wearing a white cowboy hat, sharp black boots and well-ironed pants.
Rose pulled a tall glass of golden beer, poured off the foam, and placed it on the counter just as Pickett reached the bar. He tipped his hat, like any gentleman would to such a beautiful young woman, and grabbed the beer.
“Thanks , dear,” he said with a sweet smile. He took a deep drink, and then wiped beer from his gray mustache. “Boy…now that's a good beer,” he commented, holding the beer up to the light as cool beads of condensation ran across his hand. He took another long drink and wiped his mustache, again. “How's the doc?”
“ Better I suppose.” She cleaned a dirty glass and placed it on a small shelf behind her. “He’s still in shock, sleeping upstairs in one of the rooms.” She sighed and grabbed another dirty glass. “Did you check out his story?”
Pickett nodded and took an even bigger drink. “Yup. Sure did.”
“ And?”
“ Oh. Um. Well…looks like the doc wasn't lying.”
“ Oh my god. So, Rebecca really is dead?”
“ I sent Deputy Markley down there to take care of the body.”
Rose placed both hands on the counter and braced herself against the bad news. “This is horrible.”
“ Ain’t it though?” Pickett took another drink.
Rose followed his lead and poured another small beer for herself. “What should we do?” she asked, and drank the beer in one long gulp.
“ Well…not much you can do at this point.” He finished off the beer and wiped his mustache one last time. “Though, I’ll admit that the doc certainly has a few questions to answer.” He rubbed his wet fingers on his shirt and placed a coin on the counter. “But that can wait til' mornin'.”
He turned to leave, but paused. “By the way, I heard some stranger had a run-in with a few of the boys earlier. Got into some kind of scuffle here in the bar.”
“Yes . He's staying here for the night.”
“ Where is he now?” he asked. “I need to talk to him before he leaves town.”
“ Haven't seen him for a while.”
“ Well, alright. Stay safe, dear.”
“ Good night, Tim.”
“ Good night, Rose.” Pickett tipped his hat and left the saloon, but not before taking one last glance around the parlor. Like any good Sheriff, he always kept an extra eye on the people in the saloon, more to make sure they wouldn’t hurt themselves than anything else.
• • •
The Gunman meandered farther down the boardwalk, hung his arms over a low railing, and stared at the brilliant full moon hanging low against the blackened sky. The clouds had cleared and the dark silence overtook him. He used this quiet moment to reflect deeply on his own thoughts.
He heard footsteps on the boardwalk behind him, so he slid his fingers against the cold grip of his revolver and slowly cocked it. He was on edge and couldn’t shake the feeling that he had earlier.
The figure moved closer behind him and remained in the shadows. The footsteps stopped. The Gunman didn’t move. The cigarette clung to his moist lips and hung loosely from his mouth.
“ You left your drink on the table,” Rose said, holding the Gunman’s beer.
He turned around and saw Rose standing there on the boardwalk. He removed his hand from the gun and hung his arms back over the railing. Rose stepped out from the shadows into the
Before she could respond, s omeone dropped a glass across the parlor and it smashed to the ground. Rose put down her beer and grabbed a rag, but Emmett stopped her. “No, I got it.” He winked at her, and then grabbed the rag out of her hand. “Better finish your drink. I have a feeling it's going to be a long night.”
She took another sip and smiled, savoring the moment as Emmett turned and left the bar to clean up the broken glass and spilled beer. As Rose finished the dregs of her beer, the saloon doors opened and a tall slender man strolled in with a badge on his chest, Sheriff Timothy Pickett. He was a man in his fifties, wearing a white cowboy hat, sharp black boots and well-ironed pants.
Rose pulled a tall glass of golden beer, poured off the foam, and placed it on the counter just as Pickett reached the bar. He tipped his hat, like any gentleman would to such a beautiful young woman, and grabbed the beer.
“Thanks , dear,” he said with a sweet smile. He took a deep drink, and then wiped beer from his gray mustache. “Boy…now that's a good beer,” he commented, holding the beer up to the light as cool beads of condensation ran across his hand. He took another long drink and wiped his mustache, again. “How's the doc?”
“ Better I suppose.” She cleaned a dirty glass and placed it on a small shelf behind her. “He’s still in shock, sleeping upstairs in one of the rooms.” She sighed and grabbed another dirty glass. “Did you check out his story?”
Pickett nodded and took an even bigger drink. “Yup. Sure did.”
“ And?”
“ Oh. Um. Well…looks like the doc wasn't lying.”
“ Oh my god. So, Rebecca really is dead?”
“ I sent Deputy Markley down there to take care of the body.”
Rose placed both hands on the counter and braced herself against the bad news. “This is horrible.”
“ Ain’t it though?” Pickett took another drink.
Rose followed his lead and poured another small beer for herself. “What should we do?” she asked, and drank the beer in one long gulp.
“ Well…not much you can do at this point.” He finished off the beer and wiped his mustache one last time. “Though, I’ll admit that the doc certainly has a few questions to answer.” He rubbed his wet fingers on his shirt and placed a coin on the counter. “But that can wait til' mornin'.”
He turned to leave, but paused. “By the way, I heard some stranger had a run-in with a few of the boys earlier. Got into some kind of scuffle here in the bar.”
“Yes . He's staying here for the night.”
“ Where is he now?” he asked. “I need to talk to him before he leaves town.”
“ Haven't seen him for a while.”
“ Well, alright. Stay safe, dear.”
“ Good night, Tim.”
“ Good night, Rose.” Pickett tipped his hat and left the saloon, but not before taking one last glance around the parlor. Like any good Sheriff, he always kept an extra eye on the people in the saloon, more to make sure they wouldn’t hurt themselves than anything else.
• • •
The Gunman meandered farther down the boardwalk, hung his arms over a low railing, and stared at the brilliant full moon hanging low against the blackened sky. The clouds had cleared and the dark silence overtook him. He used this quiet moment to reflect deeply on his own thoughts.
He heard footsteps on the boardwalk behind him, so he slid his fingers against the cold grip of his revolver and slowly cocked it. He was on edge and couldn’t shake the feeling that he had earlier.
The figure moved closer behind him and remained in the shadows. The footsteps stopped. The Gunman didn’t move. The cigarette clung to his moist lips and hung loosely from his mouth.
“ You left your drink on the table,” Rose said, holding the Gunman’s beer.
He turned around and saw Rose standing there on the boardwalk. He removed his hand from the gun and hung his arms back over the railing. Rose stepped out from the shadows into the
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