Two

“Buenos días, señor!”

“Buenos días, Sonoma!”

“And what is Señor Harkner having today?”

Jake stepped up to the long, varnished oak bar in the Silver Saddle Saloon. “Just a beer. You know I never go much further than that, Sonoma.”

“Sí.” The young Mexican waitress began filling a mug for Jake, eyeing him as she did so and wondering if men came any more handsome than Harkner. He commanded attention when he walked inside a room, his six-foot-four frame and dark reputation making others turn and look without saying a word. He was Jake Harkner, after all, and everyone knew about his past…and the way he could use those guns he wore.

It always excited Sonoma on the rare occasions Harkner came into the saloon. She liked to fantasize about him taking her upstairs, but rumor had it that, unlike some of the other married men who came in here, he was totally devoted to his wife. Jake was half Mexican himself, and she liked that she could speak to him in Spanish. And those eyes—he had a way of making a woman feel beautiful just by the way he looked and smiled at her. His son was even more handsome, but equally unavailable. “And how is the handsome outlaw today?”

Jake dropped enough money on the bar to pay for the beer and leave a generous tip. “Sonoma, I haven’t been an outlaw for years, and I’m getting too old to be called handsome.”

“Ah, señor, some men get better with age, and you are one of them.” She set a mug of beer in front of him and smiled her best smile. “I am guessing your wife is still very pleased with you.” She came from behind the bar and sauntered closer, leaning over enough to expose ample cleavage. “I know I would be.”

Jake took a swallow of the beer. “Sonoma, you’re a beautiful young woman, but no thanks.”

Sonoma smiled with pride and pleasure.

Jake turned away to take a seat at an empty table. He noticed the saloon was more crowded than usual due to businesses being closed for a spring flower show. It was part of the reason Randy had chosen today to come to Boulder and shop for a few needed items. They didn’t come into town often, because of the nearly three days it took to get here, let alone the fact that Randy no longer cared for being out and about among strangers. Even so, he resolved to bring her more often this year. She needed the diversion, something exciting to help keep her from sitting around thinking about her ordeal.

A few local businessmen and a couple of ranchers sat at a nearby table, all of them eyeing Jake. Some looked with curiosity, some in genuine friendship, and a couple of them with outright animosity—including Brady Fillmore. Fillmore was a big bully of a man whose ranch was located at the southwest corner of the J&L, the sprawling, nearly eighty-thousand-acre ranch Jake shared with his son Lloyd.

Jake suspected Brady of stealing calves during spring roundup time, and once he and a couple of the other ranch hands had caught the man with a rope around a J&L steer. Brady had claimed it had wandered onto his farm and he was just returning it, but Jake hadn’t believed a word.

Brady eyed him now, and Jake could tell from his look he was already drunk. “Just one beer?” Brady asked with a grin. “Doesn’t the famous outlaw get drunk once in a while?”

Jake didn’t answer right away, reminding himself to keep his temper. He was still under scrutiny by a judge in Denver, thanks to nearly getting himself hanged last summer. Trouble was, Jake had no respect for Brady Fillmore. The man had done a little less every year and had taken to gambling, even losing some of his horses and cattle to others to pay gambling debts. And now he was going broke and obviously wanted to “borrow” more than a tool or a wagon from his “friendly neighbors.”

“The little wife give you orders not to get drunk, Jake?” Brady goaded. “What’s wrong with her, anyway? She acted awful strange at the big spring cookout at the Holmeses’ farm. Acts like she’s scared of everybody. You beat her or somethin’? Tell her she couldn’t look at other men?”

Jake took another swallow of beer, putting his foot up on a nearby chair and eyeing Fillmore with disgust. “What my ‘little wife’ says or does is none of your goddamn business, Brady. And what are you doing drinking and gambling in town? Shouldn’t you be tending your ranch? It’s time for roundup and branding. Your family has to eat, and you’re sitting here losing more money.”

“The wife and kid can handle things.”

“Branding cattle? That’s hardly a woman’s job,” Jake sneered. “Or have you already lost most of your herd to gambling debts? Maybe you aren’t man enough to take care of what needs taking care of.”

Some of the men at the table scooted their chairs back, eyeing Jake warily.

“And how come you ain’t helpin’ out at your own ranch?” Brady asked.

“My son runs the J&L now. It’s more his than mine anyway. And we have plenty of good men, who we can afford because we do our job right. And we sure as hell don’t leave it to women.”

Brady threw in three cards and faced Jake squarely. “Your woman wouldn’t be any good for it anyway. My wife says she’s gotten so thin a good windstorm would blow her away. What happened to her, Jake? She all wore out from puttin’ up with her sonofabitch husband all these years? Ain’t she ten years younger than you? You makin’ an old woman out of her?”

“Shut up, Brady!” The local barber sitting at the card table grumbled the words. “A man’s wife ain’t none of your business.”

Other men inside the saloon stopped their drinking and cards to watch, all of them not sure what would happen. No man in his right mind goaded Jake Harkner. If looks could kill, Brady would be long dead.

Brady feigned an unafraid grin and turned away. Jake stood up, and the room quieted even more.

“Somebody go get the sheriff,” one man muttered.

“Leave it be,” another named Till Medley answered.

Jake walked over to Brady and braced his hand on the card table at the man’s side, leaning close behind him. “One more word about my wife, and I’ll shove those cards up your asshole, Brady. And I’ll use the barrel of one of my guns to make sure they’re in there nice and tight. These guns have hair triggers. I’d hate to see what would happen if the damn thing went off while it was shoved up inside you. I’ve put a gun in a man’s mouth and fired it, but up his ass would be something new for me.”

“You cocky sonofabitch,” Brady grumbled, still feigning bravery. He didn’t make a move.

“And don’t be coming around my ranch again, begging for tools or any other supplies. I’ve got no respect for a man who doesn’t take care of his own. And I’d better never catch you stealing J&L cattle again either, or my son and I will hang you! Understood?”

Brady glanced at the other men. “You hear that? This sonofabitch ain’t no reformed outlaw. He is an outlaw. The real man inside don’t never change.”

“Another word about my saint of a wife, and you’ll find out how right you are,” Jake told him, straightening.

Brady slowly rose from his chair and turned to face Jake. He was a big, burly man, but not quite as tall as Jake. “Saint? She married an outlaw!”

In an instant, Jake grabbed the man around the neck and shoved him back into his chair, then slammed his head down on the card table, breaking his nose. The rest of the men quickly got up and out of the way. Jake grabbed Brady’s collar and jerked him back to his feet, pushing him hard against the wall. Brady’s face landed sideways, revealing blood fanning from his nose.

“You have no idea how lucky you are to be alive!” Jake growled. “If I ever hear you saying anything more about my wife, or if I catch J&L cattle on your ranch, you’ll be hanged from the nearest tree, Brady. I’ll find ways to make you suffer before I put a noose around your neck!”

Jake let go of the man, and Brady straightened, raising his chin and wincing as he put his arm up to catch the blood pouring from his nose. “I ain’t afraid of you, Harkner. I ain’t armed, so you can’t use them guns of yours. Besides that, you’re old enough to be my father,” he sneered. “I ain’t worried about gettin’ in a fight with you, if that’s what you’re after.”

Jake stepped closer. “Be worried! Who’s the one standing here with a bloody nose?”

“Jesus, Brady, are you stupid or what?” The local pharmacist, Bill Tucker, had asked the question. “Get the hell out of here and let the man drink his beer. You’ve already lost most of your money anyway.”

Jake stepped back, fists clenched. Brady took a stance as though to fight him, then backed off. Jake could see the fear in his eyes. He dearly wanted to beat the man into the floor cracks for what he’d said about Randy. God, how he hated all the new laws that kept a man from dealing his own justice.

“Go on. Get out,” the bar owner, Clete Russell, told Brady.

After glaring at Jake a moment longer, Brady suddenly looked almost ready to cry. “I’ll leave,” he finally said, “but only because I don’t want to break up your saloon, Clete.”

“This place will be just fine, Clete,” Jake roared. “Nothing gets broken when all you have to do is pick a man up and throw him out into the street, except maybe a few of that man’s bones!”

Brady looked at Jake. “I’m complaining to the Cattlemen’s Association about the J&L,” he warned. “Us ranchers ought to help one another out, and you won’t even share a little meat.”

“You’re no goddamn rancher, and by sharing meat, you mean rustling my cattle! You go right ahead and complain, Brady! The Cattlemen’s Association has asked me more than once to be range detective. Maybe I’ll take the job. I could keep a lot better eye on your place and make sure you don’t steal some of our grassland or water. If they found out I’d already caught you leading one of my steers to your place, I wouldn’t have to hang you myself. They would do it for me!”

“Haven’t you heard what happened to seven cattle thieves on Harkner land last year?” Sonoma asked Fillmore, swaying her hips as she stepped from behind the bar. “You don’t mess with the Harkners, especially not this one.” She looked Jake over seductively, but his attention was fully on Fillmore.

“They tried to steal Harkner cattle and soon regretted it,” Bill Tucker explained. “If I was you, I’d get the hell out of here. The last man that messed with Jake got his head blown off last summer in Denver.”

Brady Fillmore gave Jake one more dark look, feigning a brave challenge. “You’re a fucking murderer, that’s what you are! You killed your own pa!” He quickly left after his last remark.

The room hung quiet for several seconds before Jake finally glanced at the men who still stood around the card table. “You know, boys, I just came in here to have a beer while my wife does some shopping. Damned if I don’t always run into trouble without asking for it.”

A few laughed nervously.

“No problem, Jake.” Till Medley pushed Brady’s chair away from the table with his foot. “Have a seat. We’re all proud to know you—and to take your money in a card game.”

More men laughed, and most returned to their chairs as Jake sat down. “I don’t have time to get into a game, but thanks for the offer.” He leaned back and took his beer from where he’d set it on another table. “And that thing in Denver…that was a bad situation. My son had been shot point-blank, and I thought he was dead. The man I killed deserved what he got. My son wasn’t even armed.”

“Oh, we all followed that story closely. Nobody at this table blames you for what you did, although it’s not exactly something the average man would do.”

“Yeah, well, most people say I’m not your average man.”

The other men laughed again, still obviously nervous.

“There’s an understatement,” Bill Tucker commented.

Till Medley dealt out more cards. “Jake, before you came in here, me and some of the others were wondering if you’d be interested in a little shooting contest we’re planning for the big fund-raiser in a couple of weeks. We heard you were in town, and one of us was going to look you up.”

Jake glanced at the doorway where Brady had gone out. He was worried Randy might run into the man, and he’d say something hurtful to her. “No thanks.” He finally faced Till Medley. “I appreciate the invite and your intentions, but I don’t get into things like that. Believe me, it only brings trouble, and that statement is from experience. And I sure as hell don’t need any more trouble.”

“Oh, it will be well managed. Hell, you’re famous now, Jake. You’d be quite an attraction. The money is for a good cause, you know—the modernization of Boulder. Bring in famous speakers, actors, singers—real culture.”

Jake slugged down his beer, suddenly anxious to find Randy. “Thanks for the offer and the compliments…or at least I think that’s what you meant.”

The card players all laughed again. “Yes, that’s what we meant,” Medley told him.

Jake set down the empty beer mug. “Yeah, well, I don’t think watching an ageing ex-outlaw shoot off his guns has much to do with culture. I’ve never been one to be linked to modernization to begin with.” He rose. “I’m old school, boys. Still getting used to electricity and to seeing those damn motorized buggies running around town. Things are changing, and there’s not a lot of room for men like me. I’ll stick to the peaceful life on the J&L.”

“Can’t blame you for wanting some peace after all you’ve been through,” Clete said from behind the bar. “It’s the women who always want opera houses and schools and churches and such.”

Jake thought about Randy, how she’d educated their son and daughter, insisting they know big words and history and things he didn’t care much about. “I suppose.”

“Jake, you can’t blame us for asking,” Medley offered.

“I appreciate it.” He adjusted his jacket. “Sorry about that little skirmish, but Brady Fillmore rubs me the wrong way. I don’t normally even drink, but there are times when a man just needs a beer.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” Clete answered.

“Yeah, well right now my wife is probably looking for me, and I don’t want her coming in here, so I’d better go.” Jake tipped his hat to Clete. “Thanks for speaking up for me and chasing Brady out of here. I was about ready to get myself in hot water all over again.”

“No problem, Jake,” Clete answered, smiling. He walked closer and put out his hand. Jake ended up shaking hands all around the table.

“Any chance we could at least have a look at those famous guns?” Till Medley asked.

Jake grinned. “Sorry, boys. I wouldn’t want someone to get hurt.” He gave Sonoma a smile before he took a couple of long strides through the saloon’s swinging doors and stepped onto the boardwalk and into the chilly air. It should have been warmer than this in June, but sometimes the wind swept down from the snow-capped Rockies in the wrong way and brought cold with it.

Back inside the saloon, everyone looked at one another, all thinking the same thing.

“Remind me not to rub that man the wrong way,” Tucker voiced aloud.

Another round of laughter followed.

“Shit, the man is as fast with his temper as he is with his guns,” Clete commented.

“Yeah, I was a little worried for a minute he’d just take those guns out and shoot the hell out of Fillmore,” another joked.

“You can see it in his eyes,” Clete commented. “He’s an amiable man, but don’t cross him. God knows what all he’s done no one knows about—things that weren’t in that book, and things he’ll never tell.”

“Any man who can hold a gun to a man’s forehead and pull the trigger point-blank has to have a special darkness inside,” Till said quietly.

“Killed his own father,” Tucker added. “According to the book, his childhood was a nightmare. It’s a wonder he’s even in his right mind.”

“Yeah, well, the look in his eyes when he shoved Brady Fillmore’s head to the table wasn’t sane,” Clete told them. “A man would be best not to insult Jake Harkner’s wife.”

“I feel sorry for him,” Sonoma told them as she brought them fresh beers.

“You just want to sleep with him,” Clete told her. He took the beers from the tray and set them out for the card players, who all snickered.

“I don’t care what you think,” Sonoma told them, pouting. “He is a nice man. Maybe things just happened he couldn’t help. That man in Denver, he was one of those who raped his daughter. That same man showed up at that cattlemen’s ball and shot Jake’s son. Jake was only defending his family that night. The judge believed him.”

“Yeah, well, they say he had the man down and could have waited for the police. But he held a gun to his head and pulled the trigger anyway. That’s more than defending your family.”

Sonoma set the tray aside. “People say he and his son are very, very close. You have a son, Bill Tucker. What would you do if someone shot him right in front of your eyes? I think you would want to kill him, no?”

Tucker lit a cigar. “I would want to kill him—yes.”

“Get back to work, Sonoma,” Clete told her.

The woman sauntered away, and every man there watched her walk. They looked at one another and grinned.

“Ole Jake could have a good lay today if he wanted,” one of the others joked.

They laughed again as Tucker dealt a new hand.

“He has a beautiful wife,” Till commented. “Just beautiful. If I had a wife who looked like her, I wouldn’t need any whore on the side.”

“I think he is a bad man with a good heart,” Sonoma called to them from behind the bar.

“Is there such a thing?” Clete quipped as he carried the tray of empty glasses back to the bar.

“I think so.” Sonoma glanced toward the doorway. “And his name is Jake Harkner.”