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He looked down at the dirty hat in his hands with distaste and gingerly put it on his head. It smelled like…well, like it had sat on the head of a sweaty, dirty little boy who spent his time rolling in God knew what. On the bright side—well, “bright” was a bit bold—on the slightly optimistic side, the hat, and therefore Adam, would stand out less. And with Quick Shot Woodson roaming the streets of Desolation, that was a good thing.
His scraggly beard would help conceal his face. He could guarantee Woodson had never seen him with such growth before. No one had. His mother would be horrified if she saw him now. He should have listened to her and stayed in Boston and become a banker or lawyer or some other respectable citizen. Instead, he’d gone west, when he was barely old enough to shave, in search of adventure. He’d learned quickly enough that adventure wasn’t everything it was cracked up to be. All it had left him with was a dark past he couldn’t escape and a deep and abiding distrust of damn near everyone.
“Let’s get this over with,” Woodson said. “I don’t have all day.”
Adam flinched at the harsh voice of one of the men who’d instilled that deep and abiding distrust in him. And the last thing Adam wanted to do was let the bastard know he was in town. Before he could change his mind, he bent to rub his hands in the dirt at his feet…and then smeared it across his cheeks. His nose wrinkled, and he glanced down at his hands, fairly sure there had been something more than dirt on the ground. He shook his hands a bit and then sighed and rubbed them down the front of his shirt. If he was going to attempt the filthy hermit disguise, he might as well fully commit.
“All right, everyone who’s goin’ to, gather around. You all know the rules,” Woodson said.
There were nods and murmurs of assent all around him, and Adam had to keep from raising his hand like an absentminded student who’d missed the teacher’s instructions. What rules? He hadn’t made it over to the sheriff’s to find out what they were yet. He almost laughed again as he realized that Woodson would have been the one greeting him at that office, and Adam probably wouldn’t have gotten two words out before he was tasting iron.
No matter. This whole thing had been a horrible idea. He pulled his hat down farther. Time to get the hell out of town. Not that he had any other place to go. Maybe he could come to some terms with Woodson. Or maybe he should just slip out while he still coul—
A grown man’s body hit the ground near Adam’s feet, causing several people to turn toward the sound—towardhim—and he cursed the unlucky star he was born under.
Chapter Two
Nora Schumacher blew her hair out of her face and glanced up at the man currently staring at her. In fascination. Or maybe it was horror. Those brown eyes were wide enough, the whites showed all the way around them, so really it could go either way.
“Sorry,” she muttered, turning her attention back to the heap of man at her feet. Otherwise known as her father.
She’d managed to haul his considerable ass out of the tavern after several minutes of trying to rouse him had killed the hope he’d get up and walk out on his own. As a last-ditch effort, she’d even taken the remains of his beer and dumped it on his head. He hadn’t even twitched. So she’d looped her arms around his chest and dragged him out of there. Barely. Getting him into the back of the wagon was another matter.
She let out a long-suffering sigh. Apparently, she’d need to get someone’s attention after all, and she’d really hoped to avoid that. The pity that inevitably followed was more than she could stomach even on a good day. And today was not a good day. She was strong, but lifting his dead weight was a little more than she could handle on her own. But she’d have to wait until the town’s little get-together wrapped up.
She sighed again, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.
“Looks heavy,” the man in front of her said, having apparently recovered his delicate sensibilities enough to speak.
His eyes raked over her, from her trouser-clad legs to the open vest and tucked-in gingham shirt she’d swiped from her father’s wardrobe, in what she could have sworn was abject—and unusual, in her experience—appreciation before he returned his gaze to her face. He tipped his hat, flashing her a brilliant, gleaming smile that was completely at odds with his dingy—and stinky—exterior.
“Excuse me?”
He pointed to her father. “You’ll put your back out trying to lift that.”
She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or curse at him. “Noted. Unfortunately, I can’t just leave him in the street.”
He frowned and rubbed his chin. “I suppose not.” He looked her father over like he was appraising a side of beef at the market. “Husband?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Father.”
“Ah.” He scratched at the scraggly beard on his chin. “It’s never the skinny ones who get sozzled, is it?”
She choked out a sharp laugh. “No.”
“Any chance he’ll wake up and climb back there of his own accord?”
“Going by past experience,” she said through a grunt, “also no.”
The stranger nodded, his face set in dismayed but determined lines. “No one else around to help you?” His eyes darted to the lingering crowd forming to their right.
“They’re all busy,” she said.
“No help for it, then,” he said with a grimace. “I’ll have to give you a hand.”
She folded her arms. “I wouldn’t want you to trouble yourself,” she said, laying on the sarcasm as thick as his comment deserved.
“Truthfully”— he leaned in a bit and lowered his voice, like he was the town gossip telling her a secret—“I wouldn’t under normal circumstances.”
