A Reason to Believe

by McKade, Maureen

  Slater lifted his hands, palms out. “I never said you did. But there’s a reason the good women steer clear of this side of town.”

  “Well, if she sings half as good as she looks, she won’t have to sell herself.” He shook his head and shrugged. “She’ll start dancing tomorrow night. After Frannie quit last week, I’ve been making less money on drinks. It’ll be good to have another girl working again.”

  “I never thought I’d see the day when you were more businessman than gambler.”

  “And I never figured you’d come back to gambling after you left to join the Pinkertons.”

  Slater rubbed his jaw, already feeling the rasp of whiskers despite having shaved less than four hours earlier. He remembered how he hadn’t been able to shave at Andersonville and how one morning he’d awakened to find a spider had taken up residence in his beard. And then there were the nits . . . He’d shave again before he started dealing, just as he did every evening. “Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”

  Andrew laid his forearms on the table and leaned forward. “When I took in that skinny sixteen-year-old kid and taught him how to play poker, I knew he’d be better than me someday. You were good, Slater. Damned good. But for you gambling was only a way to make some money, not a way of life. When that Pinkerton agent asked you to join, I could see that was something you really wanted to do.” Andrew paused to study Slater. “Why did you leave the agency?”

  When Slater had come looking for a job from his mentor three months ago, he’d told Andrew only the facts, that he’d been at Andersonville and he’d quit the Pinkertons. Being a gambler made Andrew more observant than Slater would’ve liked, and the older man had filled in some of the blanks himself. Of course, Slater had neither denied nor confirmed Andrew’s assumptions.

  Slater shrugged insolently. “I got tired of having them tell me what to do.”

  “There’s more to it than that.”

  Andrew wasn’t going to settle for anything less than the truth this time, and Slater wasn’t about to spill his guts. Not to anyone, not even the man who had saved his life.

  The saloon doors burst open and two drunken cowboys stumbled in, cussing and shoving one another and giving Slater an excuse not to answer.

  “It’s too early for this,” Andrew muttered.

  “Not when they’re moving cattle through and they only have a day or two to blow off steam.”

  Oaktree was beginning to grow because of the cattlemen and the herds they moved out of Texas. Slater suspected it was only a matter of time before Oaktree and other towns like it would be booming because of the cattle and coming railroad. Andrew Kearny had been shrewd to set up his place here, but with more business came more opportunities for dangerous gunplay among drunken men.

  With spurs ringing, the new arrivals strode to the bar.

  “What can I obtain for you gentlemen?” Dante asked courteously.

  “Two whiskeys, little man,” one of the young cowboys ordered.

  Slater gritted his teeth, angered by the slur against the dwarf even though Dante had once told him only smaller men than him resorted to insults.

  Dante poured two shots from a brown bottle. “That will be fifty cents.” He paused. “Two bits each.”

  Grumbling, the boys slapped down their coins and swallowed the rotgut without flinching. They turned to look around the saloon, and their lecherous eyes lit on Molly, who was trying to drum up some upstairs business. The smirking boys ambled over to her, their path not quite straight, and the shortest one tugged her off the man’s lap.

  “What’s goin—”

  “There’s two of us and only one of you,” the larger of the cowboys interrupted the man who’d been holding Molly.

  The man stood, his stance none too steady. “She’s mine.” He tugged her back against his side.

  “Now hold on, boys. Y’all are jest gonna have to take turns,” Molly said with a slow drawl and a coquettish smile.

  “We don’t wanna wait. Been a long time since I done dipped my wick,” the smaller and more belligerent cowboy said. He grabbed hold of Molly’s wrist and jerked her against him.

  “Now just take it easy, fellahs,” Molly said, trying to defuse the explosive situation. “You hurt me, and I ain’t gonna be able to do anything with any of you.” Her voice trembled beneath the bravado.

  Slater’s cards lay forgotten on the table as his hands clenched in his lap. He couldn’t abide a woman, even one like Molly who knew the ropes, being manhandled. Andrew had a bouncer at night to take care of rowdy men, but there had never been a need for one this early in the day.

  The short, wiry cowboy kissed her and held her struggling body in a punishing hold while her former “suitor” was held in place by the cowboy’s friend.

  Before he could stop himself, Slater stood. “I don’t think the lady appreciates your attention.”

  The cowboy lifted his head and wrapped an arm around Molly’s neck, shifting her around so her back was against his chest. “Sure she does.” He brought his mouth close to her ear. “Don’t ya?”

  Her face red, Molly nodded but spoke to Slater. “I’m all right.”

  Although she seemed to be fine, Slater didn’t like the way the cowboy’s arm tightened around her neck. Ensuring his sleeve gun was in place, Slater took a step toward them. “Let her go.”

  The cowboy squeezed Molly’s breast, and she gasped in pain. “Not until me and her take care of business.”

  “You’re hurting her.”

  “Why do you care? She’s just a whore.”

  Slater shook his head, keeping his anger tamped down. “It’s not right to hurt a woman, any woman.”

  “You ain’t gonna stop me, mister.” The cowboy started dragging Molly toward the stairs, moving closer to Slater as he did.

  Slater shot out a hand and grabbed the younger man, who released Molly as he struggled to escape. With his other hand, Slater punched the cowboy, dropping him to the floor like a sack of flour.

  “I wouldn’t,” Dante said.

  Slater jerked his head up to see the diminutive bartender aiming a sawed-off shotgun at the cowboy whose hand hovered near his revolver.

  Andrew stepped forward. “Get yourself and your friend out of here. I don’t want to see either one of you in my place again.”

  Without argument, the larger cowboy pulled his friend to his feet then half dragged him out of the saloon. The few other patrons turned back to their drinks.

  “Thanks, Mr. Forrester,” Molly said, her face pale except for two splotches of red rouge on her cheeks. She readjusted her breasts within her dress. “I ain’t usually afraid of liquored-up cowboys, but that one was a mean one.”

  “You’re welcome, Molly.”

  She tilted her head to the side and gave him a seductive look. “Let me thank you proper sometime.”

  Slater merely smiled and returned to his chair as Molly rejoined the man who’d been fondling her earlier. After a few whispered words, she escorted her customer up the stairs.

  Slater reached for the cards, but his left hand betrayed him. Instead, he picked up his coffee cup in his right hand while settling his left in his lap.

  “It’s nice to know some things haven’t changed,” Andrew commented, taking his previous place at Slater’s table.

  Slater feigned ignorance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Lady Jane.”

  Slater kept his expression bland although his memory supplied him with a picture of the young prostitute who’d nearly been killed by a knife-wielding customer. Slater had been passing by her room and had taken care of the perverted bastard.

  Maybe defending others was Slater’s way of trying to make up for not protecting a boy a long time ago. A boy who died because Slater was too frightened to help him.

 

 

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