Even, white teeth set behind a full, expressive mouth. Broad, sturdy shoulders.
“I didn’t notice.”
Holly shrugged. “We’ve probably seen the last of him.”
“I hope so.” Mallory urged her horse to a faster pace. “A lawman is nothing but trouble.”
“Cold and heartless,” Holly added.
Kelsey felt the gazes of her friends upon her, but couldn’t bring herself to agree with them. They hadn’t seen the marshal the way she did. They hadn’t felt his breath on her face when she cut the noose from around his neck, or sensed the raw power he possessed when she freed his hands. They hadn’t seen the steel gray of his eyes melt into pools of blue when he realized she’d come to rescue him.
Kelsey touched her heels to the horse. “We’ll have to hurry to make it to Flat Ridge in time.”
She pushed the image of the marshal from her mind. The lives of too many people rested on her shoulders for her to waste time on such thoughts. She couldn’t allow herself to think of him. Not now.
She had a stage to rob.
Clay pulled off his black Stetson and sat down on the rickety chair across the desk from Deputy Billy Elder.
“So them two ambushed you, huh?” The deputy’s amusement was thinly veiled, in the guise of taking down Clay’s report. “They got the drop on you. Bushwhacked you. Then tried to string you up. Is that about it?”
The chair creaked under Clay. “Yeah, that’s about it.”
Seated under the gun rack across the room, Sheriff Roy Bottom rubbed a cleaning rag over the barrel of a Winchester. Gray hair bristling from beneath his hat, he appeared content to let. his young deputy handle the paperwork.
Billy looked up from the report on his desk. “And it was only them two. Just Deuce and Luther. They were the ones who bested you.”
Around twenty, Clay guessed his age to be, with the look of an arrogant kid who ought to be taken down a notch or two. Clay had disliked him on sight. “Yeah, just the two of them.”
Billy consulted his report again. “And you’re a United States marshal, sent here on special assignment to clean up the gangs. Have I got that right?”
“You got it right.” Clay lunged to his feet and threaded his fingers through the dark hair at his temple. He’d had enough of Deputy Elder. He headed for the door.
“Chandler… Clay Chandler.” Sheriff Bottom stroked his chin and propped the rifle against the wall. “I heard about you. Brought in Cecil and Cyrus Reynolds, and the Fields gang, as I understand it, all on your own. You’ve got quite a reputation for yourself, marshal. Who are you trailing now?”
“Scully Dade.”
Billy snorted. “Shoot, the Dade gang makes the Reynolds boys look like ladies at a quilting bee.”
Cold determination hardened in Clay’s belly. “I’ll bring him in.”
Sheriff Bottom nodded slowly. “If what I hear about you is right, I believe you’ll do just that.”
Billy mumbled his disbelief and shuffled his reports into the desk drawer.
“Appreciate your help on this one.” Sheriff Bottom nodded toward the cells down the hallway. “At least that’s two less to worry about. Doc says Luther’s shoulder will mend in a few weeks. I’ll hold him here till the circuitjudge gets around again. Deuce’s pa will be by soon. He’ll probably beat the tar out of the boy. You can be sure he’ll stay in town till the judge gets here.”
“Who’s riding the circuit around here?”
The sheriff shifted. “We lost Kingsley.”
Clay had crossed paths with Judge Kingsley a time or two in the past “No loss. Most judges practice law from the bench. Kings ley did it from somebody’s back pocket.”
Sheriff Bottom shrugged indifferently. “We got a new judge now. Some fella name of Winthrope.”
The name coiled a tight knot in Clay’s belly. “Harlan Winthrope?”
He nodded. “Could be. I never met the man. He ain’t been out this way yet. You know him?”
Clay’s stomach churned. “I know him.”
“You’ll be gone before he gets here, huh?” Billy asked.
Clay nodded. He definitely intended to be gone from this town before Harlan Winthrope arrived. “I’ll be here a few more days, that’s all.”
He opened the door, then turned back. “Do you know about a gang called the Schoolyard Boys?”
“I sure as hell do.” Billy rose and swiped his blond hair back with his palm. “Them boys are making a name for themselves around here.”
The sheriff nodded wisely. “They hit the stage at Flat Ridge just this afternoon.”
“This afternoon? You sure it was today?”
“’Course I’m sure. Why?”
Clay nodded toward the cells. “Luther claimed it was the Schoolyard Boys that shot him.”
Billy’s brows drew together and he sucked his teeth. “Now let me besure I got this straight, Marshal Chandler. You were tracking Scully Dade, but lost him and got ambushed by Deuce and Luther and nearly hung. Then you came across the Schoolyard Boys, but they slipped through your fingers and robbed the stage coach not an hour later. Is that about the size of it?”
Clay pulled his hat low on his forehead and gritted his teeth. “That about sums it up.”
Billy nodded slowly. “Much obliged, Chandler. Good having you federal boys on the job.”
Clay turned and left the office. He strode down the boardwalk of Eldon’s Main Street, his gut churning.
He didn’t like being made a fool of. It was one thing that Scully Dade—a hardened lifelong outlaw—had eluded him. And even the likes of Deuce and Luther getting the drop on him could be palated. But he couldn’t abide being made a laughingstock by a bunch of kids—school-age kids, with a woman among them, at that.
Clay pushed his way through the swinging doors of the Watering Hole Saloon. He caught a few curious stares from the sparse afternoon clientele as he made his way to the bar. The badge on his chest always attracted attention.
“Beer.” He tossed a coin on the bar and took the mug the bartender slid his way. Clay settled in at a table in the corner, his back to the wall. He took a long drink and ran his fingers across the rope burn on his neck.
Clay pushed his hat back and rested his boots on the rung of the chair beside
