first woman since Lily had died that had caught Josiahâs eye. This woman wore an elegant, tall, dark blue velvet hat with several white and gray bird feathers sprouting from the center. Her jacket covered a blouse of scalloped lace, with a standing pleated collar, and she was wearing a long skirt the color of which perfectly matched her blue hat. She was a fine-looking lady, well put together, probably waiting for a Butterfield to points unknown.
The Darcy Hotel was a three-storey affair, an example of perfection and high manners rarely seen in such a small town as Comanche. Josiah wouldnât have noticed the stateliness of the lobby and the hotel itself if it wasnât for the woman and child, who was probably about twelve, near the age of his oldest daughterâif she had lived.
âSorry, maâam,â Josiah said, slowing to doff his sweatsoaked brown felt Stetson.
The woman stepped back, fear frozen hard on her face as she gripped the little girl tighter.
Josiah stopped for just a second to get his bearings, looking for a way out of the hotel. âIâm not here to cause anyone harm,â he said, making eye contact with the girl. The thought of causing a child any undo stress was unthinkable to Josiah.
âYou will have to leave this instant, sir!â A mousy clerk yelled from behind the marble counter just inside the door.
The clerkâs collar was pressed into high wings, a black ribbon tie pulled tight at the neck, making his Adamâs apple bulge unnaturally. He looked proper, well scrubbed, like heâd been a fixture at the hotel for a long time. For all Josiah knew, the man was the owner.
But it didnât really matter.
Josiah took a deep breath and ran directly toward the clerk, propelling himself over the counter with one hand, trying his best not to land on his injured leg, making sure at the same time he didnât lose the rock.
The clerk screamed and went tumbling backward, trying to avoid Josiahâs perceived attack.
The noise from the clerkâs mouth sounded more like something that would have come from the womanâs daughter than a man. His rimless glasses went flying into the air, the shattering of the lenses mixing with the commotion as the glasses smashed to the floor in a thousand tiny pieces.
Josiah stumbled over the man and yelled in pain as he landed on his ankle. He quickly righted himself and kept on going, rushing through a curtain that led to an office and, hopefully, to the outside of the hotel.
Just as the curtain was about to fall and close off any sight of what was behind him, Josiah looked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of Clarmont, followed by two more men, pushing into the lobby, causing even more fright to the woman and child. They had rifles in their hands now, as well as their six-shooters, drawn and ready to fire.
Sweat dripped from Josiahâs forehead. His heart was pounding a mile a minute, and worst of all, he was leaving a bright red trail of blood with every step he took.
Once he ran out of the office, Josiah suddenly found himself in a long hallway. He ran toward the back of the hotel, disregarding the shouts and screams behind him to stop. He expected a bullet to pierce his back at any second.
CHAPTER 6
The Chinaman held no emotion on his face at all. He stood at the door of the kitchen, a collection of pots boiling on an iron wood stove filling the air with the aroma of simmering chicken broth, mingling with the pungent odor of bread set out to rise. The yeast was not so stinging to the nose, since it was offset by the sweetness of the broth, but the smell of food of any kind was an unwelcome encounter for Josiah. His last bit of food had been early in the morning when the world had been right, when Red Overmeyer still had the ability to smile and laugh aloud, and did so frequently.
It looked like the Chinaman, who was dressed in traditional black garb, with shaved head, pigtail and all, was standing
The Darcy Hotel was a three-storey affair, an example of perfection and high manners rarely seen in such a small town as Comanche. Josiah wouldnât have noticed the stateliness of the lobby and the hotel itself if it wasnât for the woman and child, who was probably about twelve, near the age of his oldest daughterâif she had lived.
âSorry, maâam,â Josiah said, slowing to doff his sweatsoaked brown felt Stetson.
The woman stepped back, fear frozen hard on her face as she gripped the little girl tighter.
Josiah stopped for just a second to get his bearings, looking for a way out of the hotel. âIâm not here to cause anyone harm,â he said, making eye contact with the girl. The thought of causing a child any undo stress was unthinkable to Josiah.
âYou will have to leave this instant, sir!â A mousy clerk yelled from behind the marble counter just inside the door.
The clerkâs collar was pressed into high wings, a black ribbon tie pulled tight at the neck, making his Adamâs apple bulge unnaturally. He looked proper, well scrubbed, like heâd been a fixture at the hotel for a long time. For all Josiah knew, the man was the owner.
But it didnât really matter.
Josiah took a deep breath and ran directly toward the clerk, propelling himself over the counter with one hand, trying his best not to land on his injured leg, making sure at the same time he didnât lose the rock.
The clerk screamed and went tumbling backward, trying to avoid Josiahâs perceived attack.
The noise from the clerkâs mouth sounded more like something that would have come from the womanâs daughter than a man. His rimless glasses went flying into the air, the shattering of the lenses mixing with the commotion as the glasses smashed to the floor in a thousand tiny pieces.
Josiah stumbled over the man and yelled in pain as he landed on his ankle. He quickly righted himself and kept on going, rushing through a curtain that led to an office and, hopefully, to the outside of the hotel.
Just as the curtain was about to fall and close off any sight of what was behind him, Josiah looked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of Clarmont, followed by two more men, pushing into the lobby, causing even more fright to the woman and child. They had rifles in their hands now, as well as their six-shooters, drawn and ready to fire.
Sweat dripped from Josiahâs forehead. His heart was pounding a mile a minute, and worst of all, he was leaving a bright red trail of blood with every step he took.
Once he ran out of the office, Josiah suddenly found himself in a long hallway. He ran toward the back of the hotel, disregarding the shouts and screams behind him to stop. He expected a bullet to pierce his back at any second.
CHAPTER 6
The Chinaman held no emotion on his face at all. He stood at the door of the kitchen, a collection of pots boiling on an iron wood stove filling the air with the aroma of simmering chicken broth, mingling with the pungent odor of bread set out to rise. The yeast was not so stinging to the nose, since it was offset by the sweetness of the broth, but the smell of food of any kind was an unwelcome encounter for Josiah. His last bit of food had been early in the morning when the world had been right, when Red Overmeyer still had the ability to smile and laugh aloud, and did so frequently.
It looked like the Chinaman, who was dressed in traditional black garb, with shaved head, pigtail and all, was standing
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