Outlaw Love. Judith Stacy
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chill slid up Kelsey’s spine as she turned to find Jack Morgan standing beside her. Dressed in a white linen shirt with a brocade vest and dark jacket, he looked every bit the most prosperous man in Eldon. His eyes were warm, his expression was compassionate, but Kelsey saw past the benevolent facade he presented She knew the real Jack Morgan, and not just because he was her best friend’s father.
“Catching a husband is not high on my list of priorities, Mr. Morgan.” Kelsey struggled to sound pleasant
“Whatever you say, my dear.” He gave her a thin smile and slid his finger along the mustache above his lip. “What are we serving tonight?” ‘That he referred to the hotel as partly his rankled Kelsey no end. He didn’t own the place. Not yet. And she intended to see to it that Jack Morgan never took another thing from the Rodgers family again.
“Roast turkey. I’ll show you to a table.”
He smiled indulgently and gazed at the room. “No need. I believe I’ll have no difficulty in finding an empty seat.”
Stomach churning, Kelsey returned to the kitchen.
By dusk, business at the Watering Hole had picked up and Clay ordered his third beer. He made it a policy not to drink too much. A federal marshal was a temptation to a young gunslinger out to make a name for himself, or a local looking to liven up a Saturday night. Clay had to keep himself ready.
But today had been a hell of a day, so he indulged himself. He questioned that decision a few minutes later, when Deuce walked through the swinging doors. Clay dropped his hand to his side and rested it on his Colt.
Deuce spotted Clay and walked to his table. He stared at the floor for a minute, then took a deep breath. “I came to tell you that I’m sorry for what happened today.”
Clay rocked back in the chair. “Is that so?”
He nodded. “And I appreciate you telling Sheriff Bottom that it was mostly Luther that wanted to string you up.”
“He threatened to shoot you if you didn’t go through with it,” Clay pointed out. “I just told the sheriff the truth.”
Deuce’s cheeks grew red. “I appreciate you not mentioning to anybody that I threw up.”
Maybe it was the beer, or maybe it was the flash of memory from when he’d been sixteen himself, but Clay took pity on him. He pushed out the chair beside him. “Sit down.”
His gaze came up quickly. “No. No, I can’t.” Deuce glanced back over his shoulder, then looked at Clay again. “My pa was powerful mad at me when he got me out of jail. He whipped me good. I really can’t…sit down.”
Clay shook his head slowly. “I don’t think you’re cut out to be an outlaw, Deuce.”
He lifted his thin shoulders. “No, sir. Me either.”
“Did your folks give you that name, boy? Or was it just hung on you?” Clay took another sip of his beer.
“My name’s Dennis, but everybody calls me Deuce ‘cause I’m the second one. I got a twin brother.” He looked at the floor again. “We’re twins, but me and Jared don’t look much alike. He’s real big and strong, like my pa. That’s my pa over there.”
Clay peered around Deuce at the man standing by the swinging doors. Tall, with big, powerful arms and a full chest, a strong face set directly down on broad, muscular shoulders.
“He’s the blacksmith.”
“Holy Jesus…” Clay gulped down three swallows of his beer.
“Pa never let me work at the livery with him and Jared, ‘cause I’m so small. But he says now I have to work there everyday so he can see to it I don’t get into any trouble.”
Clay let out a heavy sigh and sat back in his chair. “If that were my pa, Deuce, I’d see to it I never got into a minute’s trouble again.”
Deuce’s father left his station by the door and crossed the saloon. He offered his hand to Clay. “I’m Ben Tucker.”
Clay got to his feet and accepted his iron handshake, the grasp of a man who worked hard for a living. “Clay Chandler. Glad to know you.”
“I wanted to tell you personal, Marshal, that I’m much obliged to you for putting in a good word for my boy with the sheriff.”
“I only told him what really happened.”
Ben nodded. “You can be sure Deuce here won’t be .hanging around with the likes of that Luther McGraw again. I put a stop to that today.”
Deuce grimaced and shifted uncomfortably.
Clay nodded. “I think he got in with the wrong bunch.”
“Well, it won’t happen again.” He gave Deuce a stem look. “That right, boy?”
He nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”
“I’m beholding to you, Marshal. You need anything from my livery stable, you just say the word. Is that your bay stallion outside the sheriffs office?”
Clay nodded.
“I’ll bed him down at the livery. No charge. The boy here will take your gear over to the hotel.”
They turned and headed out of the saloon. When they reached the door, Deuce ventured a glance at his father. Ben gave him a cold stare and walked out ahead of him. Deuce’s shoulders sagged, and he followed along behind.
Clay fell back in his chair and took a long drink of beer. Thoughts of his own father, his own family, floated through his mind, and for a moment he allowed himself to indulge in the memories. Happy times, filled with the love and closeness of a family. Times spent with… Rebecca.
Anger coiled in Clay’s belly. He pushed his beer aside and surged to his feet, knocking the chair to the floor. The saloon quieted, and gazes turned his way. Clay pulled his hat low on his forehead and kicked the chair aside. He didn’t like to remember. It always made him angry. But the anger was easier to endure than the guilt that ate at him. Guilt for his actions—and his actions alone—that forever guaranteed that those happy memories were a thing of the past.
The saloon patrons gave him a wide berth—and plenty of stares—as he made his way to the street again.
Dusk had fallen, and Clay felt tired. He’d seen the hotel when he rode into town this afternoon, so he headed down the street in that direction. Shops were closing for the night, merchants and customers hurrying home to their families. They paused long enough to give him and the star pinned to his vest a curious look. He ducked into the alley, unwilling to be the object of any more idle gossip today. At times, the badge was a heavy load to carry.
Kelsey swept the last of Etta Mae’s meal preparations from the floor and dumped them into the bucket of dirty water waiting beside the back door. She straightened and groaned softly in the silent kitchen. The guests were all upstairs, and Etta Mae had gone home, leaving Kelsey to close up for the night. She didn’t mind cleaning the kitchen alone. Tonight, fueled by thoughts of her encounter with Jack Morgan, the work had gone quickly.
Kelsey wiped her hands on the linen towel and draped it over her shoulder as she looked around the room. Spotless. She carried the bucket onto the back porch. In the fading light, she saw the small stable and paddock across the dirt alley and reminded herself to take the mare to the blacksmith first thing in the morning, before its owner was ready to check out. Early, before prying eyes noticed.
A cool breeze stirred and Kelsey shuddered, anxious to finish her chores and get into bed. She drew back the bucket and tossed the dirty water into the alley.
At that instant, a man turned the corner of the hotel, and the water hit him square in the belly.
“Jesus Christ!”
Clay roared like a wounded tiger as the water