when he’d forgotten what month it was, let alone the day of the week.
Matthew pulled up in front of the unimpressive law office, dismounted, and tethered his horse to the hitching rail before stepping up onto the weathered wooden walkway. The door proved to be unlocked, creaking open with a light push of Matthew’s thumb on the lever. Though a fire crackled in the rust-streaked potbellied stove and a dented blue pot on one of the burner plates emitted the scorched smell of overboiled coffee, the room and single cell at the back were empty. Shit . The last thing Matthew wanted was to waste more time trying to find the lawman. Where the hell was he?
Turning and closing the door, Matthew angled a look across the street, settling his gaze on the bat-wing doors of the saloon. Piano music tinkled from within the establishment, and an occasional burst of laughter trailed to him on the afternoon breeze. It struck Matthew as being mighty early in the day for folks to be imbibing, but who was he to judge? One thing was for sure: There was no better place than a local watering hole to get information.
Before striking off across the muddy thoroughfare, Matthew tethered Herman to the hitching post beside Smoky so he could reach the water trough. A little liquid refreshment would do all three of them a world of good. Matthew decided he might even buy himself a jug for the trail. When he killed the Sebastian brothers, there would be cause to celebrate. It’d be a hell of a note if he had no whiskey to mark the moment.
The interior of the saloon was undistinguished, a mirror reflection of a thousand others he’d seen over the last three years, complete with the requisite oil painting of a nude lady hanging above the bar. Ironically, the saloon’s piano key tapper was playing “The Fountain in the Park,” a romantic ballad with sappy lyrics that Matthew hadn’t heard since leaving Oregon. A sporting woman in a faded red dress belted out the words, flinging her arms wide as if she were performing onstage for a huge audience.
“‘While strolling in the park one day, in the merry month of May!’” She smiled and homed in on Matthew, her gaze a bloodshot blue that spoke of too many whiskey-soaked nights. “‘I was taken by surprise by a roguish pair of eyes! In a moment my poor heart was stole away.’”
Matthew ignored the invitation. He couldn’t waste time in an upstairs room right now, even if he’d felt so inclined—which he didn’t. The woman looked like she’d been ridden hard and put away wet. Matthew had enough troubles without catching the clap. He turned his attention to three older men who sat at a corner table playing poker.
“Can one of you tell me where I might find the marshal?”
“You’ve found him.” The portliest of the three men turned on his chair, the bulge of his belly rubbing the table’s edge. “How can I help you?”
Matthew’s heart sank. The man was old, for starters, and to top it off, he appeared to be more than a little drunk. Pulling out a chair, Matthew turned it around to straddle the seat. After three years in the saddle, he no longer felt comfortable sitting the proper way. As quickly as possible, he told the marshal about the train holdup.
“The Sebastian Gang, you say?” The elderly lawman rubbed his balding pate. “How can you be so all-fired sure it was them?”
“Because I’ve been tracking them for three years. Trust me, it was the Sebastians.”
“They’re a dangerous bunch, by all accounts.”
More dangerous than this old fellow could imagine. “Yes, sir, they’re very dangerous. Luckily for you, they’re long gone by now, so you won’t have to deal with any of them.”
“Why you tracking them?”
Matthew found it difficult to talk about what had happened to Olivia. “I’ve got my reasons.”
“You aren’t thinking about taking the law into your own hands, are you, mister?”
Matthew ignored the question and pushed to his feet. After glancing
Matthew pulled up in front of the unimpressive law office, dismounted, and tethered his horse to the hitching rail before stepping up onto the weathered wooden walkway. The door proved to be unlocked, creaking open with a light push of Matthew’s thumb on the lever. Though a fire crackled in the rust-streaked potbellied stove and a dented blue pot on one of the burner plates emitted the scorched smell of overboiled coffee, the room and single cell at the back were empty. Shit . The last thing Matthew wanted was to waste more time trying to find the lawman. Where the hell was he?
Turning and closing the door, Matthew angled a look across the street, settling his gaze on the bat-wing doors of the saloon. Piano music tinkled from within the establishment, and an occasional burst of laughter trailed to him on the afternoon breeze. It struck Matthew as being mighty early in the day for folks to be imbibing, but who was he to judge? One thing was for sure: There was no better place than a local watering hole to get information.
Before striking off across the muddy thoroughfare, Matthew tethered Herman to the hitching post beside Smoky so he could reach the water trough. A little liquid refreshment would do all three of them a world of good. Matthew decided he might even buy himself a jug for the trail. When he killed the Sebastian brothers, there would be cause to celebrate. It’d be a hell of a note if he had no whiskey to mark the moment.
The interior of the saloon was undistinguished, a mirror reflection of a thousand others he’d seen over the last three years, complete with the requisite oil painting of a nude lady hanging above the bar. Ironically, the saloon’s piano key tapper was playing “The Fountain in the Park,” a romantic ballad with sappy lyrics that Matthew hadn’t heard since leaving Oregon. A sporting woman in a faded red dress belted out the words, flinging her arms wide as if she were performing onstage for a huge audience.
“‘While strolling in the park one day, in the merry month of May!’” She smiled and homed in on Matthew, her gaze a bloodshot blue that spoke of too many whiskey-soaked nights. “‘I was taken by surprise by a roguish pair of eyes! In a moment my poor heart was stole away.’”
Matthew ignored the invitation. He couldn’t waste time in an upstairs room right now, even if he’d felt so inclined—which he didn’t. The woman looked like she’d been ridden hard and put away wet. Matthew had enough troubles without catching the clap. He turned his attention to three older men who sat at a corner table playing poker.
“Can one of you tell me where I might find the marshal?”
“You’ve found him.” The portliest of the three men turned on his chair, the bulge of his belly rubbing the table’s edge. “How can I help you?”
Matthew’s heart sank. The man was old, for starters, and to top it off, he appeared to be more than a little drunk. Pulling out a chair, Matthew turned it around to straddle the seat. After three years in the saddle, he no longer felt comfortable sitting the proper way. As quickly as possible, he told the marshal about the train holdup.
“The Sebastian Gang, you say?” The elderly lawman rubbed his balding pate. “How can you be so all-fired sure it was them?”
“Because I’ve been tracking them for three years. Trust me, it was the Sebastians.”
“They’re a dangerous bunch, by all accounts.”
More dangerous than this old fellow could imagine. “Yes, sir, they’re very dangerous. Luckily for you, they’re long gone by now, so you won’t have to deal with any of them.”
“Why you tracking them?”
Matthew found it difficult to talk about what had happened to Olivia. “I’ve got my reasons.”
“You aren’t thinking about taking the law into your own hands, are you, mister?”
Matthew ignored the question and pushed to his feet. After glancing
Similar Books
