10

Hazel frowned at Strickland, "But why?"

Strickland flicked a glance at Shepard and cleared his throat before saying, "'Bout three weeks ago... Dynamite and his men took William Devereaux and them Haney and Wardell brothers to The Lilypad." He adjusted his position and scratched his right cheek before heaving a sigh. "What William said started out as a night of frivolity and ushering him into manhood... ended in murder."

"What?" Hazel gasped.

Shepard ground his teeth and averted his gaze. After tireless insistence on his part, Strickland had given him the whole story three nights ago. He'd hoped hearing the details might relieve some of the overwhelming guilt at not being able to protect his brother. It didn't.

He couldn't count the nights he'd lain awake thinking William might still be alive if he hadn't pursued Stanley Hastings in Nebraska. He'd been greedy going after that last bounty, wanting an even ten thousand dollars in his pocket to prove he'd succeeded. Hearing the retelling of that night made the guilt, rage, and heartache sink their claws deeper into his gut.

Strickland nodded. "After he attacked you, I kept Dynamite in jail till a circuit judge came through a couple months later, for all the good it done. Damn fool acquitted him. Said he had no doubt it was all some misunderstanding between you two that got out of hand, no harm done in the end, and poor old Quinn Fairleigh had doubtless learned his lesson to be a bit more mindful of his handling of the fairer sex, regardless of their unsavory profession."

"You didn't tell me that part," Shepard growled, clenching and unclenching his fist, wishing his hands were wrapped around the judge's throat.

Hazel stared at Strickland in complete shock, with tears of anger gathering in her eyes.

Strickland cleared his throat again and rolled his shoulders, "Soon as the gavel sounded, Quinn hightailed it out of town, probably afraid we'd try some other way of holding him in jail a mite longer; heaven knows that man's done plenty to deserve it. I had Deputy Hennessy keep an eye out for him, not knowing what might happen and certain there was bound to be retaliation... but a few weeks passed, nothing."

He paused, staring across the room with such a look of sadness upon his face that Hazel fought against the urge to reach out and comfort him or tell him he needn't say anymore.

"Then, that awful night—it had the feeling of something wrong. My Bertie even commented on it. Said it felt like something bad was in the air, waiting to happen. Thought maybe one of our boys or the grand-babies might be in trouble. Not long after Dynamite and the others arrived at The Lilypad, Mildred showed up in a state of panic and told me to hurry on over... Alice Mitchell, Marion Baker, and Glenys Odell all perished that night."

Hazel squeezed her eyes shut and wiped at her cheeks, feeling deep down she was responsible.

Strickland covered a wheezy cough and scratched his cheek, his voice low and mournful when he continued, "I apprehended young Devereaux and the Haney brothers, while Deputies Black and Hennessy lit out after Dynamite and his men that got away. Found my deputies 'bout a mile northeast of town, shot up beyond saving."

Rubbing a hand over his face, then back through his hair, he sighed. "We hung the Haney boys and William a week later...."

"I'm so sorry, Shepard," She whispered with tears cascading down her face.

"Then we got word a couple days after that Dynamite, and his men robbed a stagecoach south of Colorado Springs."

Wiping her cheeks with her wrists, she sniffled and shook her head, "I can't believe William had a part in something so terrible... he was always just the sweetest-" her chin wobbled, and emotion clogged her throat, making it impossible to say more.

They sat in silence for a moment before Strickland covered a cough and mumbled an apology. "So, I formed a posse—Shepard, myself, and four other men from town... set out after 'em, found 'em too by accident." Strickland snorted a self-deprecating laugh, "lost three of our men, but killed five of Dynamite's 'fore the damn fool got away...."

Hazel's gaze flew to Shepard, "My locket—that's how you... "

Shepard nodded and quietly recounted how they'd tracked her from Colorado Springs, keeping his eyes focused on the shadows caused by the folds of her skirt across the bend of her knees.

His emotions were too raw to attempt even a brief meeting of gazes with her; one look, and she'd know he was struggling to keep a tight rein.

"And the money?" Hazel asked, clenching her hands into tight fists in her lap, wishing Shepard would look at her.

Did he blame her for William's death? Would Alice and the others still be alive if she'd allowed Dynamite to have his way with her instead of fighting him off and running away, fearful he'd try again and succeed?

Bile burned the back of her throat at the thought.

"What money?" Strickland looked at her in confusion.

Shepard scowled. "I told you, it's yours. I don't want anything to do with it."

Hazel scowled right back at him and answered Strickland's question, "Along with my locket being in the winnings pot, Shepard gave me a roll of money with a bullet embedded inside."

Strickland turned to Shepard, "That from...."

Shepard nodded, "Elias."

Turning to Hazel, Strickland pursed his lips a moment, then covered a cough as he scratched his head and smoothed his hair. "Remember when I said our posse found Dynamite by accident?"

Hazel nodded.

"Well,... Elias Hennessy made a rather forceful objection to riding with The Devil. Took it upon himself to try alleviating us of Shepard's presence when the opportunity presented itself."

Hazel's gaze flew to Shepard's, her heart hammering in her chest at the thought he'd almost been killed, and became all too aware of the money roll she'd shoved between her camisole and corset.

Overwhelmed by it all, she stood and paced the entire length of her workroom. She rubbed her forehead in a pitiful attempt to ease the ache settling behind her eyes.

"You're gonna wear a hole in your floor, worrying like that," Shepard murmured while watching her.

She glared at him and continued pacing.

"Has anything suspicious happened in town lately?" Strickland asked, perching his elbows on his knees.

Hazel shook her head, then stopped suddenly, her eyes narrowed as she stared at the stove. "Thomas said Simon Turley found one of his heifer's butchered and left to rot the day before yesterday. Thought at first it might have been a mountain lion or wolf that did it until they found a campfire and remnants of a charred hindquarter on the outskirts of his property this morning."

Shepard cast a worried look at Strickland, who pursed his lips and frowned.

"Do you think it might be him? Dynamite?" Hazel whispered, watching them.

Strickland lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug, "Could be... might also be unrelated." He held silent for a moment, nodding to himself when he added, "I'll have a word with Sheriff Douglas in the morning, see what he thinks."

Hazel snorted and resumed pacing.

"What?" Shepard asked, frowning.

"The Sheriff's a snake in the grass," Hazel grumbled. "A lot of people around here give him a wide berth... he's about as helpful as a trapdoor in a rowboat."

Shepard snickered and bit back a grin.

Strickland choked on a laugh and pounded a fist against his chest as he cleared his throat, his eyes watering. "Heaven's Miss Hazel, I forgot you're not one to mince words."

They fell silent for a minute before Hazel said, "Is Dynamite riding alone?"

Strickland shook his head, "Oso's with him."

Hazel's lips curled in disgust, remembering the things the girls at The Lilypad had told her the Spaniard requested his women to do before and during intimacy that soon had them refusing to accept his coin.

Furious, Hetty forced the newest girl, Pauline, to take him upstairs and see to his needs. Fifteen minutes later, they sent for the doctor to tend Pauline's wounds, and Oso was barred from the premises.

"We're not gonna let either one of them near you, Jonesy," Shepard murmured, his gaze intense as it locked with hers.

"You two have a plan then?" She arched a brow and waited for one of them to answer. But, when neither one spoke up, she scowled, "That's a hell of a promise to make, Shepard Devereaux, when you don't even know how or if you're going to be able to keep it."

Shepard frowned but didn't know what to say, considering she was correct.

"In both our defense," Strickland said, his voice stern but gentle at the same time, drawing Hazel's attention, "devising a plan got pushed to the wayside the moment we got shot and lost four of our posse."

"I'm sorry," Hazel whispered, her tone and expression contrite. "I didn't mean... " she shook her head, unable to voice her thoughts for fear the words would come out wrong.

"From the moment it became apparent you might be in danger, our priority became finding you, hopefully unharmed," Strickland added, coughing as he stood to his full height with a wince.

He rolled his injured shoulder and went to his coat and boots in front of the stove. Looking at Shepard, he nodded to their drying gear with his chin, then set about tugging on his boots. "I think we've overstayed our welcome for the night."

Shepard heaved a sigh and crossed to the stool holding his coat, grimacing when it was still damp to the touch.

Hazel chewed on her bottom lip, her right hand seeking out the derringer in her pocket at the thought of being alone while Dynamite was somewhere nearby. She'd never be able to sleep tonight; of that, she was sure.

"Make no mistake, Shepard, and I aim to see to it Dynamite and Oso get what they deserve, but your safety and wellbeing come first." Strickland buttoned up his coat and waited for Shepard to pull on his boots.

He glanced at Hazel, then approached and took her by the hand. His eyes gentled as he said, "I've procured us a couple of rooms at the Morning Glory... if you need us for any reason at all, just holler, and we'll come running."

Shepard's gut twisted with unease at the thought of leaving her alone, and he tried to think of a plausible excuse to stay. However, nothing came to mind that Hazel would readily believe. If anything, it would only make her more determined to send them away in some irritating attempt to prove she wasn't afraid.

"Do you think," She began, then paused, choosing her words carefully before continuing, "what are the chances he isn't aware you were trailing him?"

Strickland pursed his lips and frowned, "Honestly?"

At her nod, he sighed and said, "I believe a man like him knows when he's being tracked. As far as he's concerned, Shepard and me are like two flies buzzing around his old spider's web; he's just watching, waiting for the right time to make his move." He patted her shoulder, a fierce look of determination settling on his face, "The thing to remember, Miss Hazel, is even the sneakiest, most vile of spiders eventually gets crushed under a boot-heel."

"Or the spider sucks its victim's lifeblood out while it encapsulates them in his web," Hazel stated, her brows arched as though daring him to contradict her.

Strickland bobbed his head from side to side in an apparent loss for words. Then, shrugging his shoulders, he muttered, "Even so...."

Hazel didn't look comforted in the least, and neither was Shepard. But not wanting to make matters worse than they already were, he held his tongue on the issue.

"Be sure to lock up tight, Miss Hazel."

She nodded, but her brow creased in a worried frown. "You can bet on it."

Waiting for Strickland near the door, Shepard lifted his hand in an awkward wave before Strickland said their goodbyes and ushered him outside.

Grateful that the rain had stopped, even if the wind continued to howl, Shepard looked at Strickland. "Was that bit about the spider and the fly supposed to calm her worries or something?"

"What kind of question is that?" Strickland grumbled, watching where he stepped in the muddy road on their way back to the Morning Glory. "I gave her my honest opinion on the matter and told her the problem of Dynamite would be handled."

"Oh, is that what that was?"

Strickland scowled.

Shepard shrugged and shook his head. "I just think you might have chosen a different analogy; Hazel hates spiders."

"So...," Thomas drawled, leaning his left shoulder against one of the Morning Glory's porch posts facing the road, "you gentlemen are old friends of Miss Isadora's, huh?"

"Yup," Strickland said with a brisk nod as they stepped onto the boardwalk.

Shepard grunted, inwardly groaning at possibly having to make small talk with the man. Even on a good day where he was comfortable with his surroundings, he despised the prospect of mundane, polite conversation. He much preferred people getting to the point and speaking what was on their mind, tactful or not. Anything else was a waste of time.

Maybe he could sidle along the perimeter and escape into the saloon, leaving Strickland to deal with the unwanted encounter. Shepard was inches away from victory, the batwing doors within arm's reach when Thomas blocked his escape.

Shepard muttered a curse and leveled a scowl at the short, curly-haired would-be suitor.

"You looking to cause trouble, mister?" Thomas growled, puffing out his chest as he planted his fists on his hips and braced his feet wide, daring Shepard to challenge him or force his way past. "Old friend or not, a feller with your reputation is the sort who oughta steer clear of Miss Isadora."

Shepard arched a brow and folded his arms across his chest, "Oh, really?"

Thomas nodded, mimicking Shepard's posture.

"And what sort of reputation is it you think I have?"

Thomas hesitated, "It's a mighty thin line between bounty hunter and murderer..." he swallowed and licked his lips before quietly adding, "some folks might say they's one and the same."

"Some might," Strickland agreed, stepping between Thomas and Shepard, forcing the shorter man to back away. "But then, most of them folks ain't never been face to face with an outlaw willing to do anything to escape being brought to justice. Tell me, mister...?"

Thomas cleared his throat, "Carr, Thomas Carr."

"Well, Mr. Carr... you ever dealt with any outlaws?"

Thomas shook his head, "Not to my knowledge, no."

Strickland clucked his tongue and nodded. "Let's hope it stays that way. But seeing as I doubt it will should you ever find yourself staring one in the eye, and you're standing between him and his way out, wondering if you oughta pull the trigger or hope he'll run past ya and leave you be..." he watched Thomas, then leaned in close and said, "You best put a bullet between his eyes, cause he sure ain't gonna hesitate to do likewise to you if you give him a chance."

Thomas noticeably paled and swallowed, "Be that as it may... I'd appreciate it... if Mr. Devereaux kept his distance from Miss Isadora."

"Why is that?" Shepard quietly asked, taking his first real good look at Thomas.

What any woman might find pleasing about the man was beyond Shepard's understanding. From curly brown hair to his dirty shoes, Thomas had to be one of the most boring-faced men Shepard ever met.

Barely scraping five feet six inches with boots on, the top of his head—not including the thick cloud of brown curls, which Thomas no doubt fluffed each morning in an attempt to lend himself the illusion of two more inches—only reached Shepard mid-chest.

Built like a sickly bulldog, Thomas's shoulders slumped forward, and his massive head rested on his body as though he had no neck. If Hazel had any romantic feelings for the oaf, Shepard would willingly eat his hat in the hopes he would choke and be put out of his misery so he wouldn't have to see them together.

But loath to examine too closely why he harbored such deep sentiments where Hazel's romantic feelings may or may not be involved, Shepard ignored the sudden flare of possessiveness toward her. "You afraid I'll ruin any prospect you believe you have at claiming her for your own?"

Shepard didn't know why he even asked the question when the answer was written clear as day upon the man's homely and overly round face.

Thomas scoffed but ruined any portrayal of confident male dominance by licking his lips and casting a furtive glance at the saloon entrance in search of someone to come to his rescue.

"Well," Strickland loudly yawned.

He made a big show of acting tired, stretching it out until Shepard bit back a grin and arched a brow. Then, winking at Shepard, Strickland turned his attention to Thomas, "If you'll excuse us, we've had a long couple weeks in the saddle and could sure use some shut-eye."

Slapping a hand on Shepard's left shoulder, he nodded his hat at Thomas and then ignored him altogether as he ushered Shepard through the saloon doors and over to the staircase.

Strickland grunted and shook his head, mumbling unintelligibly under his breath as he dug around in his right coat pocket and withdrew a key. He held it out, "It's best not to let men like him get your dander up, Shepard. All bark and no bite, trying to mark his territory where Miss Hazel's concerned."

Shepard took the key and snorted a laugh, "You worried I'm gonna go plant my fist in his face while you're sleeping?"

"The thought crossed my mind."

"Think you know me so well now, huh?"

Strickland covered a cough and started up the stairs with a tired chuckle. "Damn straight, I do."