Justice Never Sleeps (The Texas Riders Western #12) (A Western Frontier Fiction) Page 3

  If it had been him or Renny or even Lester up for interrogation, Gilbert wouldn’t have worried. His men could hold their own against a nosy sheriff, but Eric wasn’t part of his gang. His cousin was a rancher with a bit of a bad streak but nothing too bad. He’d last five minutes if the sheriff came poking around.

  “We won’t kill him,” said Gilbert. “We’ll run him out, make it so that he up and leaves all on his own, then we’ll swoop in and take his land.” The way they should have in the first place.

  “How are we supposed to run him off his own land?” asked Eric.

  But that was the easy part. Gilbert knew exactly what to do.

  * * *

  chapter 0 3 ✪

  * * *

  Sebastian hurried to the doctor’s home on the outskirts of downtown Blackgate and knocked loudly on the door. It opened a minute later and Dr. Joe Harper greeted him.

  “Tom Wylde’s sick,” said Sebastian, getting right to the point.

  Dr. Harper frowned. “How sick?”

  “Sick enough that I’m here.”

  Sebastian stood on the doctor’s doorstep with his muscles tensing. He didn’t know Tom well, but he knew him well enough to know he was a good man. He wanted to make sure he got to those Georgia beaches he’d been so looking forward to.

  “Give me five minutes,” said Dr. Harper then disappeared inside. He emerged a few minutes later with a black medical bag and his coat. They rode back to the house to find Tom still in bed, sweat dripping down his face despite his insistence that he was freezing.

  “I’m fine,” said Tom. “I shouldn’t be here. I must go.” But he did not even try to move, he simply lay there, his breath raspy and gargled. Every time he coughed, flecks of red came up out of his mouth.

  The doctor examined him then pulled Sebastian aside. “He can’t be moved.”

  Sebastian nodded. “I figured that already.”

  “An infection has set in deep inside his chest. We need to let fresh air into the room. I’m going to send over some medications for him and have the apothecary make up an ointment that should be applied directly under his nose, where he can breathe it in.”

  Sebastian nodded, taking in everything the doctor said. “I can do all that.”

  “He can’t be left alone for long like this. You might want to write his family and prepare them for the worst. If he’s not showing signs of improvement in the next two or three days, he may not get there.”

  Sebastian felt his heart pinch. Maybe it was only because Tom was older that he reminded him of his father, but he swore to himself he would not let the man die. He would write Tom’s family, but he would wait a couple of days to do it. He would not send bad news unless necessary.

  “I’ll do everything I can for him,” said Dr. Harper.

  Sebastian thanked him and showed him out, then brought a chair to Tom’s bedside and sat down.

  “I’m gonna die, aren’t I?” Tom asked. His hand trembled. “It’s been a long life. I only wished I could have seen the ocean first. My daughter says it’s like God himself painted it.”

  Sebastian leaned forward and took Tom’s hand. The shaking stopped. “You’re not gonna die. I won’t let you.”

  Tom looked at him. “You know something? I almost believe you.” Then his eyes closed and his raspy breath grew softer. For a moment, Sebastian thought it might stop altogether, but it continued through the night.

  * * *

  Bridget arrived in Charbury with her back aching and her feet hurting even worse. She had not eaten in almost two days, and her stomach rumbled loudly as she smelled food from the local diner. She stared at it a moment, then held her breath and went inside.

  A waitress with an apron tied around her waist looked up when she came in. “Sit anywhere you like,” she said and poured some coffee for two men with sour expressions and tired eyes.

  Bridget hesitated. “Actually, I wondered if there wasn’t something for me to do here?” Her throat felt dry. Her parents had opened their diner when Bridget was just a child, and she’d worked there from the time she was small. She’d never had to ask for work.

  The waitress looked at her with a confused expression. “Something to do? What do you mean?”

  Bridget licked her lips and urged her stomach to quiet down. “My parents owned a diner. I can sweep floors or wash dishes or even work as a waitress.”

  The waitress blinked. “I see how it is, you’re after my job.”

  Bridget immediately regretted her choice of words. “No, I only wanted some food. Anything at all. I can work for it.”

  The customers were watching her with disdain now. “Get out of here,” said the waitress. “Don’t come begging around here again or I’ll have you arrested.”

  Bridget’s heart sank. She drew in a deep breath but did not give up. “What if I just sweep? Isn’t there a little something I could have? Even some crumbs would do.”

  “The garbage is out back,” snapped the waitress. “Whatever you find in there, you can have. Now shoo!”

  The customers laughed, a few of them scowled, but they all looked away. Bridget rolled her shoulders back and kept her head high as she walked out, but as soon as she was out of sight, the tears came. She walked around to the back of the alley and found the trash pile the waitress had mentioned.

  It was filled with rotting, stinking food. She held her breath then dug through it, searching for anything at all that might be salvageable, finding a half-eaten sandwich. The bread still looked fresh, the lettuce wasn’t even wilted.

  She grabbed it and a rat jumped out at her from behind it. Bridget screamed and jumped back. She dropped the sandwich and ran out of the alley, straight into a man who was walking briskly past it. She fell down in the dirt, and he reached out to help her up.

  “Are you all right, miss?” He was dressed nice but not too nice. A working man.

  She nodded, hardly able to speak. The tears came too fast for her to wipe away. “Fine,” she said and turned to go.

  He put one hand on her shoulder, stopping her. “You don’t look fine.”

  She trembled lightly, then shook her head. “I haven’t eaten in two days,” she confessed in a whisper.

  The man looked at her and his face hardened. “Come with me.”

  He started walking, and she hesitated to follow. But then he turned back to her, and the smile on his face was so reassuring her hesitation vanished. “Don’t be afraid. My name is Murray, and I only want to help you.”

  He motioned that she should follow, and Bridget went. “Where are we going?” she asked after they’d been walking for a few minutes.

  “Right here,” he said and turned toward a saloon, holding the door open for her. “I own this place. If you’ll agree to help out around here, I’ll give you a decent meal and a place to sleep.”

  Her heart soared. “Thank you, yes. I’ll do anything.”

  He smiled at her. “That’s just what I thought you’d say.”

  * * *

  Sebastian held the cup of water to Tom’s lips, propping his head up so that he could drink it without dribbling all over himself. Tom coughed on the first two sips, but then the coughing ceased and he was able to swallow the liquid.

  It had only been three days, but Sebastian was certain the doctor’s medicines were helping. He applied more of the ointment under Tom’s nose and fluffed his pillow a bit. The window was open, but the curtains were closed since the light only hurt Tom’s eyes.

  “I’ll write your daughter today,” Sebastian said. He felt now that he could deliver hopeful news instead of tears.

  Tom nodded with his eyes shut. “You’re a good man. If I’d had a son, I’d want him to be like you.”

  The comment warmed Sebastian’s heart more than he’d thought possible. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he stood up and took the cup. “I’ll get you more water.”

  Out in the kitchen, Sebastian looked out through the window. The afternoon was sunny and warm. The newly installed gl
ass reflected the light so much that it almost hurt Gilbert’s eyes.

  He turned away from it just as a rock came crashing through the window, shattering the glass into a million pieces. Had he still been looking at it, he might have gotten some in his eyes.

  Gilbert ducked and avoided the rock, but flecks of glass landed on the floor and in his hair. He brushed it off himself then drew his gun and hurried outside. There was no one there. Whoever had thrown it was already gone.

  Back in the house, he checked on Tom, who’d slept through the event, then grabbed a broom and started sweeping up. The rock was heavy, about half the size of a milk jar. When he picked it up, he noticed a piece of paper tied to its back and unfolded it.

  Get out now.

  Sebastian drew in a sharp intake of air. He had no idea if this was meant for him or Tom or both of them, but he didn’t like it. He went outside again and checked around the house. Nothing.

  Why would someone want him or Tom out? He frowned and went back into Tom’s room. Maybe Tom had some enemy Sebastian didn’t know about. When the man awoke, he would ask. And tonight, Sebastian would sleep with his gun under his pillow.

  * * *

  chapter 0 4 ✪

  * * *

  Bridget happily ate her meal at a table in the back of Murray’s saloon. He sat opposite her, not eating himself, only watching her. It was just meat and potatoes, but she had never tasted anything so wonderful before.

  “Here, you can wash it down with this,” Murray said and handed her a tall glass of whiskey.

  Bridget was not a drinker. Her father had always taught her such things turned smart people into fools. She looked at the glass of amber liquid with distrust.

  “Thank you, but I’ll stick with water, I think.”

  For a second, Murray looked as if he were angry, and she was afraid she’d insulted him. But then he took the glass and drank it back himself in two quick swallows.

  Bridget finished her last forkful of food and stood up. “Where shall I wash this plate?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that,” said Murray. “I’ve got more important things for you to do here tonight.”

  His eyes drew together and darkened, and he looked her up and down. For the first time since meeting him on the street, Bridget felt uncomfortable. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself.

  “Where do you keep your broom?” she asked.

  He cocked his head to one side. “Broom?”

  She hesitated. “Yes. Don’t you wish for me to clean? To earn my keep?”

  He stood up now and went over to her, wrapping one arm around her waist in a way she did not care for. She shook him off, but he only put his arm right back where she did not want it.

  “I don’t have any redheads here, do you know that?” said Murray.

  “How would I know that?” Bridget asked.

  Murray laughed out loud and started pushing her toward the back rooms. The ones where the saloon girls sometimes disappeared with their male customers for ten or fifteen minutes, or sometimes even longer.

  “Men like a little variety. You’ll do nicely here,” Murray said. “First, we must get you cleaned up. You may wash up back here and change out of those rags you’re wearing. When you’re done, let me know. I like to test out all the new girls before I send them out amongst the customers.”

  Bridget’s stomach churned. She stopped in front of the door Murray meant for her to go through. “I... I appreciate the food. I’m not... I don’t... I’m not a saloon girl. I can sweep and clean and—”

  Murray’s hand flew out and struck her. The slap was loud even in the busy saloon and turned several heads. A few of the scantily dressed saloon girls laughed. A few others gave her looks of pity.

  “You ate my food, now you’ll do what I say,” said Murray. His hand gently touched her cheek where he’d hit her and left his imprint. He caressed her skin now, and she held her breath, trying not to show him how scared she really was.

  “Are you a virgin?” he asked in a low voice.

  Her bottom lip trembled, and thoughts of Shannon ran through her mind. It had been months since she’d last seen her daughter. She was five now, and last they’d seen each other, she’d had to pretend they were cousins.

  Bridget did not blame her parents, nor her aunt and uncle, for the situation. She did not even blame the man who’d seduced her. She blamed only herself.

  Murray must have caught a bit of the truth in her eyes because his grin widened. “Don’t worry, I like a girl with a bit of experience. You’ll find no judgment here. Now go on in and pick out any dress you see hanging.”

  He slapped her bottom then and pushed her toward the door. She went into the room and shut the door behind her. On the other side, Murray called out to her. “You’ve got five minutes.”

  Bridget’s heart pounded. The dresses in the room were hardly dresses at all, more like lacey pieces of fabric that would barely cover her. They were hanging on a rack at the front of the room. At the back of the room was a bed. The sheets were stained and pushed back.

  Opposite the bed was a small dresser with an equally small washtub and several used rags sitting around it in a puddled mess. Did Murray really think dirty rags were a good way to clean yourself?

  At the very back of the room, pressed into the wall, was a single window with curtains drawn over it. Bridget tried to open the window, but it stuck. She checked to make sure it was not nailed shut, but there was nothing preventing her from opening it except her lack of strength.

  Murray pounded on the door. “Are you ready yet?”

  Her heart stumbled. “Just a few more minutes,” she called out to him.

  “Well, hurry up.”

  She drew in a breath and pushed on the window with every ounce of strength she had. It rose up, and her heart rejoiced. It was only a short hop down to the ground.

  Bridget made the jump and hurried away from the saloon without looking back. Blackgate was not so very far, perhaps she’d have better luck there. The one thing she knew was that she would never step foot into another saloon so long as she lived.

  * * *

  Sebastian sat in his chair at Tom’s bedside holding an empty water cup and watching Tom spoon soup into his mouth. He was feeling better today, and his color was much improved.

  “Did you write my daughter?” Tom asked.

  Sebastian nodded. “Sure did. I don’t imagine she’s got it quite yet though. Georgia’s a bit of a ride from here, and the post can only move so fast.”

  Tom nodded and continued with his soup. Sebastian set the water cup down on the side table and licked his lips, trying to think how he might ask his question without alarming Tom.

  The other day, when Sebastian had told him about the rock coming in through the window, the man had grown rather agitated by it. He’d yelled for a while about the broken window then acted terrified someone was going to break in and kill them while they slept.

  Sebastian was sure most of Tom’s reaction had been due to the illness. The fever he’d had was pretty strong and had only broken last night. Delusions and ramblings were commonplace when you were as sick as he’d been.

  Now that Tom was feeling better, he was hoping to try talking to him about that rock again. Especially after what he’d found outside this morning.

  There were tracks all around their house, circling it. Men’s tracks. At least three sets of them. Sebastian had been able to follow them for a while, but eventually, he’d lost them. It was a windy morning and impossible to stop the tracks from disappearing in the dust and dirt blowing all over the place.

  Still, they’d been there, and Tom had to figure out what that meant. Who was making them, and why had they singled out this place?

  “Do you remember me asking you about that rock the other day?” Sebastian asked, starting things off.

  Tom’s spoon paused halfway to his mouth and he screwed his face up. “Rock? What rock?”

  Sebastian sighed. He was gonna have to
go through this all over again. But then Tom’s face brightened. “Oh, you mean that one that came through the window. Had some kind of note on it.”

  Sebastian nodded. “That’s right.” He ran a hand over his chin and felt the scruff growing there. “Any ideas who might’ve thrown it? Anyone got it in for you?”

  Tom shrugged. “No one I can think of.” He finished his soup in a few more swallows and Sebastian took the bowl from him. “We haven’t gotten another rock through the window, have we?”

  Sebastian shook his head. “No.” He wasn’t sure he ought to tell Tom about the tracks after all. He didn’t want to upset him and risk the illness returning, but he supposed he had a right to know. Sebastian broke the news as gently as possible. Tom took it pretty good.

  “How many guns do you have?” Tom asked.

  Sebastian hesitated. “Just the one.” He touched the Colt Navy hanging off his hip and didn’t mention all the guns he had back at his house in storage.

  Tom looked at him in a way that made Sebastian think he knew better, but if he did, he didn’t say anything. “I’ve got a few packed up in my things that I was gonna take to Georgia. Why don’t you get them out, just in case? I can polish them up.”

  “You need to rest.”

  “I’ve rested long enough. Cleaning and polishing a gun’s not hard work, I can do it in bed. It’ll give me something to do with my morning and make me feel useful again.” His voice cracked ever so slightly, and Sebastian could not help but give in to the man.

  He opened the traveling bags and fished out an 1860 Colt Army model revolver with blue steel, a Henry Deringer pocket pistol, and an 1851 Colt Navy .36 single-action revolver that looked well-used and well cared for.

  There were also several boxes of .44, .31, and .36 caliber bullets, all stacked neatly together. Some of them were only half full, but there were at least three full boxes too, one for each caliber bullet.

  Sebastian pulled it all out and set them on top of the bed. He got Tom some cleaning cloths and oil and let him get to work after a quick warning not to overexert himself, which Tom waved off.