Chapter 24

Slade flicked the brim of his hat up and swept the pile of chips to his edge of the table.

The ruddy-faced older man watched his money disappear. "Going home awful rich, son. It strikes me you're a trace too handy with the cards."

"Hope you aren't suggesting I cheated you." Slade sat back and took a sip of whiskey. "'Cause it's far too easy winning it from you to bother."

"Why you..." The man lunged across the table at Slade, sending his chair clattering to the ground. The gun was already in Slade's hand.

Slade had seen that same blinking dazed look on too many men's faces. The man was staring straight into the barrel, his face mottling purple. The man's friend, a far more gracious loser, grabbed hold of his arm.

"Now, Bart, there's no need to accuse anyone. The boy won fair and square. Let's call it a night before there's any trouble."

Bart snarled a curse and yanked his arm free. Slade watched the man wind his way between the tables. His gait was unsteady, though, he'd only been drinking coffee all night. A Peacemaker will do that to a man, Slade thought, as he replaced his gun.

Bart's friend grabbed his few remaining chips and lifted his hat with a trembling hand in a polite farewell to Slade.

Slade noted that the two remaining players were eyeing him like a coiled rattler. He very much doubted, he'd be able to interest them in another round. A shame, Slade thought, as he pulled on his black duster. One of the men still had a healthy pile of chips stacked in front of him.

"I'm calling it a night, gentlemen." He tucked his earnings into his pocket.

Slade stepped out of the gaming hall and crossed the deserted street. He listened for footsteps and watched the shadows. Men like Bart were cowards when confronted face to face, but they became awful brave when they were afforded the opportunity to shoot a man in the back.

The gaming hall was a helluva lot more inviting than the dingy hole-in-the-wall bedroom he was returning to. Slade wondered if he should have insinuated himself into another game.

Something was definitely not right, he thought, as he concentrated on making his own footfalls soundless. The odd thing was he wasn't getting that creeping feeling at the base of his neck. His sense for trouble had helped him survive as a bounty hunter and was the instinctual edge he needed in the gambling world. Either whoever was following him meant no malice, or he'd gotten soft tending cattle.

The moonlight cast a man's shadow on the bank wall across the way. Whoever was following him was a short block behind. Slade ducked quickly between two buildings. He lightly fingered the handle of his gun.

The shadow disappeared and reappeared as the person neared the building he leaned against. As the figure passed him, he reached out and grabbed a handful of cloth. He slung his other arm around the man's chest, restraining his shooting arm.

The man clawed at him.

"Christ, Slade. It's me, Tait."

Slade released his hold and spun Tait around.

"You nearly broke my ribs."

"You're lucky I didn't shoot you. What the hell are you doing skulking around here at this hour?"

"I had to see you, Slade."

He grabbed the front of Tait's shirt and nearly lifted him off his feet. "Something happen to Lacey?" Slade was finding it impossible to break himself of the habit of worrying about her.

"No, she's fine. Now let go of me."

Slade released Tait so abruptly, he rocked back on his heels before landing solidly on his feet.

They climbed the fragile stairs at the side of the saloon. Slade signaled for Tait to stay a few steps below the landing. He palmed his gun before unlatching the door. He stood to the side of the threshold and listened for a moment before reaching his arm around to get the lamp. He struck a match and lit the wick. The weak glow easily illuminated every corner of the cramped room. Slade took these same precautions every night. He knew he wasn't the most welcome man in town. A man winning big at cards rarely was.

Tait hesitated in the doorway for a long moment. He looked afraid to enter and not because he worried that some sorry loser would be waiting to ambush him. Slade could hardly blame him. The room reeked of mold. The walls were blackened by years of smoking, and a rat-eaten woven rug was the room's only adornment.

The gapping floorboards invited in the noise from the bar below. Slade had actually grown used to the ruckus beneath his feet.

"Is this where you're livin'?" Tait grimaced as he shut the door behind him.

"It's not exactly a palace, but it's home to me."

Slade jerked off his duster and threw it over the three-legged desk. He flipped open the floorboard beneath the desk with the heel of his boot. Crouching, he emptied the contents of his pockets into the hollow. He dropped the board back in place.

After tossing his Stetson onto a hook on the wall, he plopped lazily onto the bed. His feet hung off the edge. He stacked his hands behind his head. "I'd offer you refreshments, but I wasn't exactly expectin' houseguests."

"I can see that," Tait said as he flicked a pile of dirty clothes off the lone chair and straddled it.

"Does Dora know you're here?"

"Hell no! She'd kill me if she knew I went to town alone. I told her I was spending the night in the barn to keep an eye on a mare about to foal."

"How is Dora?"

"Truth is, Slade, Dora's worried sick about you. We all are." Tait removed his hat and rotated the brim through his fingers. "Grady doesn't know anything about running a cattle ranch. Shoot, it ain't even a ranch without you."

Slade laughed and then fell silent when he saw the serious expression on Tait's face.

"C'mon, Tait. You know, as well as I, that I can't go back. Besides, I've been considering buying a ranch of my own."

Tait's eyes lit up. "You better take me on when you do."

"What'd you think, little brother? Of course, I will."

"Lacey ever mention me?" Slade asked, hoping that he didn't sound too desperate.

"I wished you'd left her alone, Slade." Tait's voice grew angry as his eyes moistened with tears. "You knew she belonged to Grady, but it didn't seem to matter to you."

Slade glared at him, but it didn't stop Tait from continuing to speak his mind. "Just like it didn't matter to you ten years ago. And we all had to suffer for that, too."

Slade swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He walked over to the dirt-layered window. The town below was barely visible. He stared outside in to the blurry darkness.

"What do you know about ten years ago, Tait? You were only a small boy."

"Yeah, and small boys aren't supposed to miss their fathers, right? Grady told me all of it. He told me you stole Sheriff Talbot's wife. Then Pa tried to ward off the sheriff and got shot for his troubles." Now Tait was crying. He buried his face in his sleeve and made loud snuffling noises.

Slade silently cursed himself for ever returning to Colorado.

"Ten years ago, I was an impulsive fool. I've been paying my whole life for that mistake. No one's sorrier than I am about what happened to Pa."

Tait swiped his tears with the back of his hand, leaving a streak of dirt across his face. "I know you are, Slade. Everyone knows you loved him the most. Hell," he smiled a weak smile, "everyone knows he loved you the most."

"It's not the same this time, Tait. It's different with Lacey."

"I know that, too. I have a damned big mouth, is all. It's just...things were startin' to go so good at the ranch." Tait offered a weak smile. "I don't know women much, but I don't think Lacey even wants to marry Grady. She's not eating. Not talking much, either. She mopes around all day."

"'S that right? Women are sure a puzzle." Slade tried not to read too much into Tait's words. Lacey hadn't even entertained his offer to leave. "Go on, Tait. You'd better head back home before someone notices you missing."

Tait stood up abruptly and walked to the door. He plopped his hat onto his head. "By the way, I'll be in town on Friday. Have to bring Lacey to do some shopping. Maybe, I could—"

"You're bringing Lacey into town?" Christ, he sounded pathetic. Slade couldn't believe the effect just hearing her name had on him.

"Yup. Dora's sending her to the supply store to buy flour and sugar for the wedding cake." Slade's shoulders stiffened. He clenched his fists hard. "Dry goods only. Stuff that will keep," Tait added quickly. "Ma won't have any celebratin' 'til the Sheriff finishes his investigation. Grady ain't happy 'bout it, but Ma's the one person he'll heed."

Slade had a crazy notion of confessing to a lie just to put himself behind bars. Maybe Dora would hold the wedding off forever.

"What time do you expect to be here?"

Tait looked hopeful. "I don't know. Around noon, I imagine. Why?"

"No reason. Now, don't get any fool notion of visiting me again. Dora wouldn't want you anywhere near here."

"If you say so." Tait turned his back on him. "I guess, I'll see you around then, Slade."

* * * *

Slade scrubbed at the filthy pane with his bandanna, hoping to give himself a better view of the General Store. He'd been watching the entrance for hours. His head still throbbed from a late night of card playing and cheap liquor.

The creak of a wagon drew his attention to the street below. His heart pounded fiercely the instant he saw her slim figure perched atop the wagon seat.

She was wearing the red calico dress, his favorite. Her beautiful, black hair curled around her face in its usual state of messy elegance. She looked thinner and more fragile. One thick strand blew across her lips. He watched as she tucked it behind her ear. It was then he realized he'd been holding his breath.

He jealously watched Tait take her soft hand and help her to the street. His brother glanced in the direction of his window.

"Dammit, Tait, don't make it too obvious," Slade muttered, as he shifted to the side to make himself less visible. Slade hoped the caked on dirt masked his presence.

Wanting to see what Tait was staring at, Lacey tilted her face up to the pane. Slade forced himself to move away. Damnation, but she was beautiful. He flung the chair across the room, smashing it to splinters. Why did he choose to torture himself like this? Without a doubt, if he wanted to survive the night, he'd have to drink himself into a stupor.