A few minutes later, though it seemed like an eternity, Ben and Heath led the other man downstairs, his hands held straight up, the risers creaking under the weight of the three of them. There were scratches on the man’s face, four of them,like someone had raked their fingernails against the skin. They no longer oozed, but still looked raw and painful. Below the scratches, a bruise was starting to form.
Evie turned toward Lucy. Pride made tears spring to her eyes, knowing her niece had defended herself, proving she was no helpless miss. She’d learned well, growing up with three brothers.
Lucy grabbed the second rope from Charley’s hand and moved toward the man. She handed the rope to Ben as soon as the trio left the staircase. “Tie him up. Let’s see how he likes it.”
Ben made quick work of tying the man’s hands behind his back, as Heath holstered his gun. Lucy stared at the man, her anger seeming to stifle the air around them. “I told you your plan wouldn’t work. I warned you what would happen.” Then, without another word, she slapped the man across the face, the sound like a crack of thunder as hand connected with flesh. The man staggered from the force of the blow and growled low in his throat but didn’t say a word.
Evie watched the tableau before her still watering eyes, surprised their haphazard plan had worked so well. On the heels of that thought, she yelled, “Jake!”
“Go!” Teddy told her. “We’ll meet you at the saloon. Don’t go in. Don’t distract him in any way.”
“I’ll go with you,TiaEvie.” Heath offered, as he patted the gun in its holster.
Teddy nodded. “That’s a better idea.”
Evie didn’t wait for Heath, she simply strode toward the front door, her heart hammering in her chest, and flung it open. Antonio, the Marshal, and his deputies stood on the front porch, ready, it seemed to enter the house. She jerked her thumb toward the interior of the house then took off at a run, praying Jake was still alive.
Jake pushed open the batwing doors just as the clock at the Town Hall struck noon, and entered the Silver Spur Saloon. Every muscle in his body thrummed with anxiety. He glanced around, the hair on the back on his neck standing up straight. Aside from King, who sat at one of the felt-covered tables in the middle of the room, a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses in front of him, the place was empty. Not even the bartender was in sight, but that didn’t mean one of King’s henchmen wasn’t waiting in the shadows. King never went anywhere without his ‘protection.’
Dread made his stomach twist, and he tightened the grip on the valise he carried as he took another step into the room, allowing the doors to swing closed behind him. “King.”
The man had changed since the last time Jake saw him—older, grayer, thinner. The only thing that hadn’t changed was the look in his eyes and the arrogant expression on his face. He shuffled the cards in his hand one more time, then laid them on the table, but his intense stare was on Jake. “Did you really think I would let you walk away without giving me the chance to win my money back?” He gestured to the valise. “Is that my money?”
“Every last cent.”
“You ready to lose it?” His chilling smile widened just a bit.
Jake didn’t answer the question but advanced into the room and dropped the valise on the table. He saw movement to his left and his suspicion was confirmed. King wasn’t alone, but it wasn’t one of his henchmen moving out of the shadows. It was Oscar, wearing that same arrogant smirk he always did. Jake stiffened, every muscle in his body taut, and he clenched his hands into fists, wanting to wipe the sneer from his face.
“Surprised to see me,bastardo?” Oscar gloated as he approached the table, then stopped to King’s right. His chest puffed out, as if proud of himself.
Jake said nothing. His jaw clenched tight though he tried not to let Oscar—or King—see how rattled the man’s presence made him. It didn’t stop the questions from colliding in his head though, questions he barely had time to answer. Had they known each other before, or had they just met and decided to both exact revenge at the same time? It didn’t matter. The odds of him walking away, win or lose, decreased dramatically. If King didn’t kill him, Oscar might.
King laughed without humor, and the chilling smile that intimidated more than one man across the poker table appeared on his face. “I see you already know my associate. Oscar here was instrumental in telling me so many things about your new life.”
“I owe you for my broken nose—” Oscar stepped closer, close enough for Jake to smell the pomade he used on his mustache. “And for stealing my woman.” His dark eyes seemed to snap with delight at the prospect of revenge for wrongs real or imagined, but his hand trembled as it rested on the handle of the Colt holstered in the gun belt around his waist.
He hadn’t known Oscar could shoot. The question remained—would he? He glared at the man and answered his own question. Yes, Oscar would shoot him, without giving it a second thought. He’d probably enjoy it—that is, if Jake gave him the chance. He wouldn’t.
Dismissing Oscar, Jake faced King once more, eyeing the man he’d come to loathe.
Movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. He saw Esteban come in from the back of the saloon and stand silently next to the long mahogany bar, his hands hanging loosely by his sides, his stance relaxed, but his eyes were alert, encompassing the whole room. He, too, wore a gun belt,the leather worn and supple, the pearl handles reflecting the lamplight. Some of Jake’s anxiety eased. Esteban would have his back though it surprised him that Esteban even had a gun belt. Surprised him even more to learn the man was a crack shot.
King noticed his entrance as well and leaned back in his chair, eyeing him. “Who’s that?”
“A friend.”
“Hmmm, I’m surprised you have any friends, Hannigan.”
Jake didn’t respond to the insult. He pulled out a chair opposite King but didn’t sit. “The terms,” he stated, his voice surprisingly calm though he felt anything but, “I play this one game, all or nothing, for exactly the amount you lost and I never want to see or hear from you again.”
He then focused on Oscar. “As for you—” He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t have to. The threat was quite clear, and the man backed up a step before he stopped himself. Fear passed over Oscar’s face, but it was fleeting, replaced quickly by an expression of derision.
Jake returned his attention to King. “One game and one game only. Win or lose, Lucy goes free.”
The gambler committed to nothing. Jake didn’t think he would, given the man’s outsized ego. But the game hadn’t been played, and he still had a card or two up his sleeve. If he remembered correctly, King wasn’t given to physical pursuits—he preferred to let others do his dirty work. Jake could take him out with one well-placed punch to the face. Oscar, too, if need be. He just had to be patient, though he didn’t feel as if he had an ounce of patience in him.
“Sit. Deal the cards.”
