8

"Now, hold it right there, Davin," someone else from the table said in a calming and slightly patronizing tone. "That there's a threat not a one of us will tolerate."

"Hush up, Thomas," Davin sneered in a southern drawl, "this ain't none of your business." He jerked his finger once more at the person across from him and doggedly demanded, "Roll up your sleeves. I know what I saw."

Silence met the angry command. Tension in the air grew so thick, it could have been sawed and felled like a tree.

"What'd I miss," Strickland murmured, dripping rain on the table as he pulled up a chair beside Shepard. "How's the grub?"

Shepard glanced at him and whispered out the side of his mouth, "Food's good, and someone's been accused of cheating at cards."

"They fight yet?" Strickland asked before shoveling in a mouthful of stew.

Shepard shook his head.

Strickland grunted.

"Did the Sheriff know where to find Hazel?"

Strickland nodded and swallowed, then leaned in and whispered, "Said to try her dress shop. I told him we checked there first; he said she lives above it; if she ain't there, she might be gone."

Shepard looked at him, a worried frown creasing his brow. "Gone where?"

Strickland tore into a roll, closing his eyes on a moan as he chewed.

Shepard nudged him and repeated, "Where?"

Strickland sighed, "He wasn't sure; apparently, he hasn't seen her in the last two days."

Foreboding whispered across Shepard's skin and settled in his gut like a lead weight. "Do you think-"

"It's a possibility," Strickland murmured, not letting Shepard finish. "But, this roll makes me believe things might not be as terrible as we think they are. We'll recheck her place after we're done here and take it from there."

"Do you honestly expect me to roll up my sleeves, Mr. Porter?" A woman asked in a dulcet voice that sent Shepard's heart to hammering like mad in his chest.

She stood, and Strickland choked on his food.

Reaching for his drink and looking red-faced and teary-eyed, he nudged Shepard in the ribs as he took a swig and nodded with his chin at the striking, raven-haired beauty.

"Miss Hazel," he wheezed, coughing again before taking another long guzzle.

Shepard stared at her in stunned disbelief, watching as she wove her way around the table as graceful as a dancer to stand eye to eye with the tall man she'd called Mr. Porter. The hairs on the back of Shepard's neck rose in warning, and without thinking,

he withdrew his revolver.

Keeping her attention focused on the fuming blonde standing in front of her with angry daggers shooting from his green eyes, Hazel ignored the flutter of nerves in her belly and made a big show of stretching out her right arm.

Slowly, to ensure he saw every move she made, she unbuttoned all three mother of pearl fasteners at her wrist. She then mimicked the sultry movements she'd seen Alice do countless times at The Lilypad and peeled back the ochre and navy calico sleeve to expose her naked forearm.

Hazel arched a brow in feigned surprise. "Still think I'm a cheater, Davin," she whispered, watching a healthy blush stained his cheeks.

Davin growled low in his throat, his fingers curling into tight fists at his side as he bit out, "Now the left one."

"That's enough," Thomas Carr, her champion from earlier, called out as he marched over and stood between Davin and Hazel. He had to tip his head back to meet the much taller man's angry stare, but Thomas didn't seem to care.

Planting his fists on his hips, he braced his feet wide, "I'll not sit here a moment longer and allow you to besmirch Miss Isadora's character. How dare you insinuate she would stoop to cheating?" He shook his head, his tone when he continued dripping with scorn, "You're a poor loser and even more abysmal at cards."

Hazel swallowed in fear at the hatred and rage visible in Davin's eyes as they bored into hers over Thomas's curly brown hair. She reached into her pocket and settled her hand around the grip of her snub nose derringer for comfort. After Dynamite's attack, she'd never gone anywhere without it on her person.

"Get on home now," Thomas said, taking a threatening step forward when Davin refused to back down. "Or perhaps you'd prefer we had the Sheriff settle this matter."

Davin's lips curled in a sneer seconds before he spat on Thomas's right boot. Then, without another word, he grabbed up his hat and coat draped over the back of his chair, turned on his heel, and marched from the Morning Glory with thunderous steps.

As soon as the batwing doors swung behind him, the music and chatter resumed. But Hazel stood rooted to the floor, reminding herself to breathe and ignore the trepidation in her gut at having made an enemy of one of the most vindictive men in town.

She should be upset with Thomas for his part in it but knew he hadn't set out with that intention in mind. More than likely, he mistakenly believed his efforts at being a hero would win her affection, and she'd reconsider refusing his marriage proposal that morning—the fifth one in the last three weeks.

Hazel sighed and buttoned her sleeve, tugging it into place as her eyes collided with a dark-haired stranger sitting two tables away. Air left her lungs in a whoosh, and her stomach fluttered at the sight of him.

She hadn't seen such a handsome man in a good long while. Six years to be exact, and considering the man involved had only been a boy of seventeen at the time, she wasn't quite sure it counted.

By the wet hair plastered to his neck and the droplets rolling off his jacket, it was evident he'd been caught in the storm. But somehow, instead of making him look like a drowned dog, it heightened his rugged allure.

He stared back at her with brazen, warm brown eyes, the color resembling pools of whiskey in the lamplight. His full beard was in desperate need of a trim; the raindrops caught in its curly texture glinted like diamonds and made her wonder what features the wild mass concealed. Did he have a weak chin or misshapen jaw?

"You up for another hand, Miss Isadora?" Thomas asked from his chair, trying to sound charming and carefree as he shuffled the cards and gazed at her with hopeful adoration.

Pasting a smile on her face, Hazel nodded and tore her gaze from the stranger as she returned to her seat, forcing the altercation with Davin from her mind. "Sure, Thom... provided you're up for losing again," she teased with a wink.

Thomas blushed and chuckled, and the other four men gathered at their table joined in, helping to ease the tension lingering in the air.

Forgetting Davin became an exceedingly simple thing to do when the stranger from across the room swaggered over and asked, in a voice that made her body tremble with an achy, foreign need, "Mind if I join in?"

Thomas hesitated before grudgingly motioning to the empty seat and then started dealing out the cards.

Hazel looked at the newcomer through her lashes and swallowed past the breath caught in her throat. Dear heavens, but the man was even more good-looking up close. Her heart hammered, threatening to leap from its boney cage.

She reached out to pick up her cards, mortified to find her hands trembling, and quickly hid them in her lap. Then, taking a deep breath, she slowly exhaled and tried to calm her nerves before succeeding in claiming her cards. She glanced at them as she attempted to push all other thoughts from her mind. It wasn't a terrible hand, but it wasn't the best, either. Hopefully, her winning streak would continue.

"New in town?" Thomas asked the stranger as he settled into the flow of the game.

Shepard nodded, unable to form a coherent word or look away from Hazel. He didn't know what cards he held and didn't plan on changing that fact anytime soon. His mind seemed to still be in a state of shock, desperately attempting to reconcile the raven-haired beauty across from him with his memories of her as a pretty fifteen-year-old girl.

He would almost believe they were separate individuals if not for her eyes proclaiming, they were miraculously one and the same.

The sadness she'd always tried to disguise still lurked within their brown-sugar depths, calling out to his heart to be soothed. He didn't know how long he watched her, unable to take his gaze off her no matter how hard he tried.

"I fold," the musty-smelling man to Shepard's right muttered, laying his cards face down and reclining back in his chair. He had a thick film of dirt coating his clothes that cracked with each move he made, sprinkling flecks of dust onto the floor around his chair.

One by one, the other players folded until only Hazel, Shepard, and Thomas remained.

Hazel was first to place her bet after a moment of hesitation.

Shepard dug in his pocket, withdrew a wad of loose bills, and placed them on the table.

Thomas studied his cards and muttered, "I fold."

"You're making this too easy, Thom," Hazel whispered with a smile as she pushed money into the center of the table. "I'll raise you three dollars."

Shepard grinned, "I'll see your three... and raise you another four."

Thomas crossed his arms over his chest and muttered something unintelligible under his breath, scowling at Shepard as though he'd done a dastardly deed he ought to be ashamed of.

Hazel arched a brow and tried to ignore the thrum of giddy excitement coursing through her veins as she murmured, "I'll meet your seven dollars... and raise you another two."

Shepard reached into his pocket once more and added the contents to the cash on the table, "All in."

Low murmurs from the men around them hummed through the air. Hazel adjusted her seat in the chair, her stomach flipping and her heart racing. As far as she knew, the stranger hadn't looked at his cards once the entire time, and yet he'd just placed an enormous bet.

Thomas shook his head, his eyes pleading for her to fold.

Meeting the stranger's gaze, Hazel found herself saying, "Call."

Shepard grinned and showed his cards, a pair of fives.

Hazel swallowed and held his gaze as she set her cards on the table, "Full house." Her lips curled in a satisfied grin, stretching from ear to ear when she reached out and gathered her winnings.

Shepard thought about saying something witty to reveal his identity, but nothing came readily to mind. Unsure what to do, he winked at Hazel before returning to Strickland, who stood with arms crossed over his chest and a look of surprise on his face.

"She say anything to you? I couldn't hear a damn thing over that man hollering for more whiskey at the bar," he scowled over his shoulder at the cowboy in question, his hand settling on his holstered gun. "I've half a mind to go over and pistol-whip him for being a nuisance."

Shepard snorted and shook his head, "I don't think she realized it was me."

Watching Hazel, he took a deep breath, hoping it would make his heart slow to a normal pace. It didn't.

"I put the locket in the pot... guess we'll see how long it takes for her to find it and put the two together," he murmured as he picked up his rain-soaked hat and settled it on his head.

Strickland covered a deep cough, staring at the broken chain glinting in the lamplight as it swayed back and forth in Hazel's hand, peaking out between several crumpled bills.

Shepard held his breath when Hazel began shuffling the paper money into some semblance of order, stuffing the loose coins in her right pocket as she quietly talked and laughed with the curly-haired man she'd called Thomas.

"Well," Strickland sighed, sounding disappointed when the locket remained undiscovered, "I'm gonna check on the animals, see how they're holding up in this rain."

"I'll join you," Shepard mumbled, "some fresh air sounds right nice about now."

Strickland chuckled and rested a hand on Shepard's shoulder as they left the Morning Glory, "It'll dawn on her any minute, just you wait and see. She hasn't forgotten you, son. I'd bet my life on it."

"Anyone interested in another hand," Hazel laughed.

Thomas grunted and stood, "And give you another chance to bleed my pockets dry?"

"I can't help-" whatever else Hazel meant to say escaped her the moment her eyes fell on the locket she'd believed lost to her since the night of Dynamite's attack.

Stuffing the remainder of her cash winnings into her pocket, she swallowed and blinked against the sting of tears as she brushed her left thumb across the polished hummingbird engraving.

Her gaze flew around the room, searching for the stranger, and a gasp escaped her when she couldn't find him. Ignoring Thomas and everyone else nearby, she hurried to the batwing doors, worried he would run away before she could confront him.

With a firm grip on her hidden gun, she burst through the doors and slipped on the wooden plank floor before quickly catching her balance.

The rain hadn't let up from earlier, falling in a torrential downpour that instantly soaked the front of her to the skin when she stepped onto the boardwalk and came face to face with the stranger.

Raindrops rolled down her face, dripping from her nose and chin in never-ending streams as she stared at him. Anger and panic coiled into a tight knot in her gut. Was he one of Dynamite's men? Did it mean they'd found her?

"Where'd you get this, mister?" She demanded, holding the locket up in her left hand as she withdrew her weapon and took a threatening step forward, pointing her gun at the man's chest. "And why did you have it in the first place?"

Shepard took a step back, slowly raising his hands to show he wasn't a threat, "Bought it for twenty cents at the mercantile in San Luis six years ago, Jonesy...."

Hazel blinked in confusion and slowly shook her head, believing somewhere in the last two minutes, she'd lost her mind.

It was the only explanation that made any sense.

The alternative meant Shepard Devereaux—the boy her heart had been set on for the better part of her life—stood across from her, had played a game of poker with her, shared the same air, and if not for the return of her cherished locket, she never would have known it.

Her brow lowered in a heavy frown as she studied him from head to foot. He was tall and undoubtedly handsome enough to be Shepard. But there was a guarded hardness in his face and general posture that hadn't been there before, an unspoken air that warned he was the sort of man to approach with caution.

Drenched or not, he looked nothing like the boy she remembered. It couldn't possibly be him, could it? There was only one way to prove it and trust the answer. Without warning, she grabbed his right hand and gasped at what she found.

Between his thumb and index finger, there was a brown star-shaped birthmark precisely as she remembered it looking. Her heart lodged in her throat, her stomach dropped to her toes, and her gaze flew to his, "Shepard Devereaux?"

Shepard swallowed and nodded, surprised when a strangled cry escaped her throat as she dropped her small gun and threw her arms around his shoulders and neck. His arms lifted automatically to return the embrace, and he pulled her tight against his chest, pleasantly surprised to find her there.

In the next instant, before the thought of how good she felt in his arms could settle firmly within his mind, Hazel pushed him away and backed up until she bumped into the awning post.

"Excuse me, sorry, I must apologize," she stammered.

"I believe you've done just that three times over now, Jonesy."

"Done what?"

"Apologize," he grinned.

She blushed clear to her roots. "I'm not sure what came over me."

Hazel stared at him and licked her lips, clutching the rough wood behind her as she tried to calm the mad pounding of her heart and the swarm of butterflies fluttering in her gut. How in the world was the handsome bearded man standing before her the same Shepard Devereaux from her youth?

"You've sure done some growing up since you left, haven't you, Shepard," she whispered.

Shepard's lips curled in a soft smile as he made a show of appraising her from head to toe, "I ain't the only one, Jonesy."

Hazel swallowed and blushed, enjoying the way his warm gaze hungrily caressed her.

"Nice to see you safe and well, Miss Hazel," Strickland said, smiling.

She tore her eyes from Shepard and stifled a gasp when she noticed Strickland. "Jeremiah?" Without thinking, she rushed forward and wrapped her arms around him in a quick embrace. "What on earth are you doing here?"

He'd always been a man she looked up to and admired and the closest thing to a fatherly figure in her life since the day she and her mother met him when they arrived in San Luis. Their first week at The Lilypad had found him there more often than Hazel could count.

One such time, he'd seen her sitting by herself on the stairs in the back, trying her best to keep out of everyone's way. He'd stepped away from an angry Hetty and a bloody cowboy that the deputy was fitting with shackles and walked straight toward her.

Hazel still remembered worrying he was going to clap her in irons too, until he handed her a wrapped butterscotch candy from his pocket and sat on the stair beside her, putting her at ease as he ensured she hadn't been harmed in the dispute.

Strickland gave her a fatherly pat on the back, "You sure were a tough filly to track down, Miss Hazel."