Devils on Horseback: Nate Page 12

  Folks tended to fill in the silence since Zeke didn’t talk very much, and when they filled in the silence, they filled in the details. There were two saloons in town. Not surprising. Although Grayton was one step above tiny, certainly with the number of cattle ranches in the area, there were a lot of cowboys who needed someplace to drink, let loose and have fun.

  He chose the nastier of the saloons because Jake would have. He felt more comfortable amongst outlaws and thieves since he was a thief. A good one, but still a thief. As Zeke secured his horse to the hitching post, he heard the tinkling of glasses and some low conversation inside. The Blue Bonnet saloon across the street had no horses in front. This one, the Stone’s Throw, had at least half a dozen. Definitely the better choice.

  Zeke walked in and made a beeline for the bar. The air smelled of cheap whiskey, cigars and sweat.

  The huge bartender had to be at least six and a half feet tall with shoulders and arms that had seen plenty of hard work. He had bushy hair and mustache and assessing blue eyes.

  “Afternoon,” Zeke said as he propped an elbow on the scarred wooden bar. “It’s been a helluva day. I needed to wet my whistle and have myself some good booze.”

  “Then you’re in the wrong place.” The bartender guffawed at his own funny.

  Zeke smiled. “I reckon that’s true. How about you just give me a shot of whatever you’ve got? I ain’t picky.” He slapped down four bits.

  The bartender poured him a shot in a questionably clean glass. Good thing Nate wasn’t here, he probably wouldn’t be able to drink from it. Nate was mighty particular about being clean. Zeke had seen Nate in front of the fancy white house and figured he was looking into the business with the Taggerts.

  Gideon didn’t give Zeke all the details, but he knew if anyone could find the truth, it was Nate.

  The bartender decided to be chatty. “Just passing through?”

  “Nah, just have a job hereabouts for Mr. O’Shea.”

  The bartender’s eyebrows went up. “And you’re drinking in here?”

  Zeke grinned tightly. “I didn’t say I worked for him. I said I had a job for him.”

  “Name’s Clem,” the bartender offered.

  “Zeke.”

  They shook hands and Zeke knew he’d been absolutely correct about the bartender’s strength. The man was enormous with a bone-crushing grip.

  “I’m looking for someone.”

  The bartender gestured to the two women standing at the end of the bar, scantily clad, who were talking together. They wore clownish pancake makeup with bodies to keep a man occupied for hours, and no doubt Zeke would enjoy every second with them. Dammit. Right now his first concern was finding Jake.

  Zeke shook his head. “Nah, I’m looking for my partner. Redheaded fella, tall, kinda thin, wears a flat-brimmed black hat.”

  “Doesn’t sound familiar.” Clem frowned. “I just got here. Sarah here was tending bar around noontime. She might have seen your partner.”

  “Thank you kindly.” Zeke shot the whiskey down his throat. The slow burn took the edge off the anger and frustration bubbling inside him. He set the glass down and sauntered over to the two women.

  “Which one of you is Sarah?”

  The blonde with frizzy corkscrew curls sticking out every which way and the best pair of tits he’d seen in years, frowned at him. “That’s not the way a true southern gentleman greets a lady. If you were a gentleman, you’d greet me properly.”

  The sweet sound of a woman with a Georgia drawl caressed his ears. This time Zeke’s smile was genuine.

  “Why, I beg your pardon, ma’am. Good afternoon, ladies.” He took off his hat and did a short bow. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Zeke Blackwood. How are you this afternoon?”

  The dark-haired one tittered like an idiot and wandered away. The blonde one, he assumed was Sarah, sketched a small curtsey.

  “Good afternoon to you, Mr. Blackwood. The pleasure is all mine.”

  “What’s a Georgia peach like you doing in Texas?”

  Shadows passed through her eyes. “I’d venture to guess the same as you.”

  Zeke understood. The war had been hard on everyone. They all did what they had to do in order to survive.

  “Clem tells me”—he jerked his thumb toward the bartender—“that you were tending bar around dinner. I’m looking for my partner. His name is Jake. He’s a tall redhead with an easy smile.”

  Sarah grinned. “I remember him. Sweet, charming. Nearly made this old whore blush.”

  “That’s him.” He could practically taste the information.

  “He came after dinner at Arnie’s and had a couple of whiskeys. We talked for a bit. He told me he had to go buy some supplies.”

  Zeke sensed there was more to Sarah’s story. “Where is he?” It wasn’t his way to be anything but blunt particularly when a friend’s life could be in danger.

  “I hear tell there’s an Army captain in town, a Yankee.”

  Zeke’s gut rolled at the thought of Jake in Nessman’s hands. They’d been there and lived, but he didn’t know if they’d survive again. Especially since Jake was alone.

  “Do tell.” Zeke slid a dollar bill under his hand on the bar to her.

  She eyed it. “Word is that Marvin caught your friend stealing at the store and that Yankee captain put him in the jail. Said that he was part of a gang that had been bamboozling folks, possibly rustling.” Her blue gaze probed his. “You part of that gang?”

  Zeke swallowed the howl that threatened to escape. “There is no gang.” He contemplated how much to tell Sarah. Since she was a fellow ex-Georgia resident, he felt he could trust her.

  “That Yankee has been dogging us for months. He’s looking, inventing reasons to put us behind bars. We’re the only prisoners who escaped his camp during the war. He’d do anything to get us back under his thumb.” Zeke shook with rage even thinking about Nessman.

  Sarah nodded. “I was thinking it was something like that. I saw him down at Arnie’s yesterday, gave me the creepy crawlies. You’ll find your friend in the jail down the street. If you’d like, I can introduce you to Sheriff Turner. He’s, ah, a friend.”

  “That would be much appreciated, Miss Sarah.”

  She inclined her head. “My pleasure, Mr. Blackwood.”

  Within ten minutes, Zeke and Sarah stood outside the stone jail. She pulled at the bodice that cupped her generous tits, then gave him a raised brow for looking. Zeke held up his hands.

  “Hey I’m just appreciating the view.”

  “Hmph,” she snorted. “Now, Jimmy is getting a bit long in the tooth but he’s still up for a little flirting now and then. You let me get him distracted and then you can get your friend out.”

  As she opened the door, Zeke put his hand on her arm. “Why are you doing this?”

  Her guarded expression became fierce. “I’m sick and damn tired of people like that captain taking advantage of folks just because they fought on the losing side of the war. That Yankee is an example of men who should never be given a sword to wield. Besides, your friend was cute.”

  Zeke didn’t know whether to be appreciative of the support or stung by the compliment to Jake. Well, she hadn’t mentioned him. He knew his blond hair and brown eyes were kind of boring, but he thought he’d at least be considered passably good-looking.

  He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Thank you, Sarah.”

  “Oh don’t worry, cowboy, when I need you, I’ll let you know.”

  When they stepped in, Sarah was once again the sexy kitten that he’d seen at the saloon. The sheriff rose, knocking his chair back. He stood about Zeke’s height, thin as a rail with steel gray hair and beard. The tin star gleamed on his blue shirt.

  “Miss Sarah!”

  “Well, hello there, Jimmy Turner. You haven�
��t stopped in lately. I’ve missed you.” She sashayed over and Zeke moved back to enjoy the show.

  “Who’s your friend?”

  “Oh, that’s Mr. Blackwood. He’s come to pick up your prisoner. Apparently some sort of mix-up with Marvin and the store. I just met Mr. Blackwood at the door while I was on my way in to see you.” She smiled widely.

  “Mix-up? There was a mix-up?” The poor sheriff appeared completely confused. He peered at Zeke, who took his hat off and did his best to look trustworthy.

  “Afternoon, Sheriff.”

  “What kind of mix-up was it?”

  Sarah flapped her right hand in the air. “Oh, you know Marvin. He’s always looking for an excuse to poke fun at someone or tell some gossip.” She sat on the edge of the desk and leaned forward.

  The sheriff was treated to a clear view of the cleavage that nearly spilled from her bodice.

  “When are you going to come over and see me?”

  While the sheriff’s eyes were glued to her chest, she picked up the keys from the desk and held them out behind her. Zeke gratefully took them and walked to the back, hoping he didn’t appear too anxious.

  “Well, you know Sally doesn’t like me going to the saloon, especially if I go to play poker. She likes her pin money.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Jimmy. I surely have been missing you.”

  Zeke smothered a chuckle as he stepped into the back of the jail where the cells were located. There were four of them. One held a snoring, dirty man on a cot. The other, a grinning Jake who clutched the bars.

  “About time one of you got here.”

  “We had a piece of luck running into Miss Sarah at the saloon. If it weren’t for her I wouldn’t be here with the key in my hand.”

  “Hurry up then.”

  “Hold your water, Sheridan. I’m coming.” Zeke unlocked the cell and Jake darted out.

  “Thank God. Thank God.”

  Zeke politely ignored the trembling in his friend’s hands. He understood more than most people would how hard it was for any of them to be in a cell, to be behind bars.

  “Let’s get going before the sheriff gets his face out of her tits.”

  Jake snickered as they walked out. Sarah held out her hand and Zeke returned the keys to her palm.

  “Thank you kindly, Sheriff. Hope you have a wonderful evening,” Zeke called out.

  When the door closed behind them, Zeke held his breath, waiting for the lawman to shout. All he heard was the tinkling of Sarah’s laughter.

  “Let’s get you the hell out of town.”

  “Don’t have to tell me twice.” Jake stretched and smiled broadly.

  They returned to the saloon at a brisk pace. “Where’s your horse?”

  “I heard the sheriff tell that bastard Nessman that he put it up at the livery.” Jake curled his lip in anger.

  “Take my horse and head back to camp. I’ll get yours. No need for you to be in town one second longer than necessary.”

  Jake’s blue gaze locked with Zeke’s. “I don’t know how to tell you how much…I mean, I didn’t know…”

  Zeke put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Once a Devil, always a Devil. Now get moving before anyone sees you. That red hair of yours is like a goddamn bonfire.”

  Jake grinned. “I can’t help it. My daddy liked redheads.” He hopped on the horse and did his best to hurry down the street without actually galloping.

  Zeke made sure Jake was out of sight and on his way back to safety before heading down to the livery to get Jake’s horse. Later on, Zeke would have to come back and give Sarah a proper thank you.

  Nate rode as fast as he could push Bonne Chance. He was a good horse, but he did have limits. Nate didn’t feel comfortable leaving things the way they were in Grayton. Jake unaccounted for, Gideon recovering from a gunshot wound—a minor one but still a gunshot wound—and Elisa putting her entire future in Nate’s hands.

  Not a neat and tidy situation. All of it made Nate’s skin itch. He wanted to put some things in order, so many things were as yet unfinished and confusing. He hoped that his trip to Bellridge would be just the thing to get everything back to where it needed to be.

  By the time he made it to the city, it was past six o’clock in the evening. No hall of records would be open at that time of day. Even if it was closed, Nate took the time to locate the hall of records, which happened to be in the same building with the county courthouse. It was near the center of town, with plenty of businesses surrounding it.

  Nate knew he’d have to bunk down and wait for the morning. He decided to spend a little money and get a room at the hotel he found near the hall of records. After paying a dollar for a room and bath for the night, Nate headed for a drink in a saloon, anything to calm his nerves, to try to get rid of the jittery feeling that wouldn’t leave him.

  When he returned to the hotel room, he lay in bed staring at a stain on the ceiling. For a reason that baffled him, he couldn’t stop thinking about Elisa and the last time they’d been together. The way she’d ridden him had brought him intense pleasure. It was the same act he’d done with various women, but it felt different. Very different.

  Nate was afraid he was falling in love with her. After he admitted that to himself, panic sank its claws into him.

  What would he do if he fell completely in love with her? The Devils hadn’t planned on staying in Grayton very long. Getting involved with Elisa certainly complicated things.

  Nate didn’t like complicated because it was unpredictable, therefore out of his control.

  It seemed as though he’d just been able to fall asleep when the sun streamed through the window, calling him to wake up. Nate took extra care to make sure all of his clothing was neat and clean. He’d brought his best shirt and trousers, best of course being a relative word, and brushed his jacket clean.

  Although it was breakfast time, he didn’t think he’d be able to eat anything. As he left the hotel room with his saddlebags in hand, he reconsidered. He knew he’d have to have something in his stomach or risk it yowling at an inopportune moment. His mission was to appear as a successful business man. A successful businessman should not have a growling stomach.

  He headed downstairs and left the key on the front counter. “Much obliged.” He nodded to the desk clerk. “Room three.”

  The hotel conveniently enough had a restaurant attached to it. He was able to walk right through a doorway and into the dining area. He sat at a small empty table and tried his best to look as if he wasn’t worried to death. His stomach cramped and he forced himself to breathe in and out slowly.

  Those few precious minutes allowed him to seize control of the runaway panic that constantly threatened him. The waitress appeared, probably no older than Elisa. An average-looking young woman with curly brown hair and brown eyes, she likely didn’t worry too much about being murdered in her bed or having her cattle rustled.

  The pang of missing Elisa hit him straight in the gut. How he could miss her in such a short period of time was a mystery. This waitress didn’t even resemble Elisa, yet here was Nate acting like a lovesick idiot.

  “Good mornin’, sir.” Dammit to hell, she even had an Irish accent. Another reminder of the Taggert family.

  “Good morning,” he forced out. “Coffee please with two biscuits and jam.” He didn’t think his stomach would be able to handle anything more complicated than that.

  “Right away, sir.”

  As she moved off to fulfill his breakfast order, Nate fingered the copy of the bill of sale that he kept in his coat pocket. Hell he’d even slept with it under the pillow, just in case. He didn’t put it past O’Shea to have Nate followed. He’d checked as he traveled and didn’t see anyone. That didn’t mean anything other than if someone was tracking him, he had very good tracking skills.

  Nate’s breakfast arrived withi
n minutes. He ate the biscuits and drank the coffee without tasting anything, but it was enough to satisfy his body. Now he could get on to what he really wanted to do—get to the hall of records.

  As he paid for the food, Nate asked the waitress, “Do you know what time it is?”

  “Oh, it’s just past eight. I know that because Nonny, the man who brings by the milk, just left and he always gets here right before eight.”

  “Thank you. I hope you have a wonderful day.”

  A sweet shade of pink spread across her cheeks and Nate realized the young girl assumed he’d been flirting with her. She needn’t have worried. His mind and body could only focus on one woman.

  Nate walked to the livery where he’d stabled Bonne Chance. After removing his folio, he secured his saddlebags with his tack. Every successful businessman had a folio, but didn’t carry around his traveling bags. By the time he arrived at the hall of records, it had to be nearly eight-thirty.

  He hoped it was open. When he saw a man exiting the building, he breathed an inner sigh of relief. If someone was leaving, it meant Nate could finally get what he came for. He entered the building and found the records room without a problem.

  The person working behind the counter was an older man with graying hair, wiry sideburns, droopy eyes and a clean but wrinkled brown suit. He sat on a stool stamping documents. Several piles in various heights were arranged around him.

  Nate sized him up and formulated his battle plan to achieve his goal. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small paper bag of horehound candy. Smiling, he set down his folio with the candy sitting on top.

  “Good morning, sir.”

  “What? Oh, yes, yes, good morning. Are you sure you’re in the right place, young man?” The impatience in his voice matched the annoyance in his eyes.

  Nate glanced around. “If this is the hall of records, then I’m definitely in the right place.” He held out his hand. “Nathaniel Marchand of D.H. Enterprises.”