“Wait until you hear her play,” Prentiss said.

Rachael began to play then. The piece, though Falcon didn’t actually recognize it, was Beethoven’s Piano Concerto Number One. The music spilled out from the piano in grand, crashing chords, but with a continuing and melodic theme, weaving in and out like a golden thread through a rich tapestry.

Falcon looked around at the customers and saw that all were so entranced by the music that none of them were drinking. He chuckled.

“It’s beautiful music,” he said. “But it can’t be doing much for your business.” He took in the nondrinking customers with a wave of his hand. “Nobody is buying drinks.”

“On the contrary, she is great for business. She draws people to the saloon just to hear her play,” Corey said. “Every night we let her play one or two pieces like that. Then she has to play ‘drinking’ music.”

Finishing the piece with a grand crescendo, Rachael got up from the bench to smile and curtsy in response to the applause.

“Saloon customers applauding a piano player,” Falcon said. “I don’t believe I have ever seen that. Most of the time, they don’t even know the piano player is there. The piano player is like an extra chair or a potted plant or something.”

“It’s impossible not to notice Rachael,” Corey said. He laughed. “You certainly noticed her fast enough.”

Falcon nodded. “Yeah, well, she’s definitely not a chair or a potted plant,” he said with a chuckle.

Sitting back down, Rachael began playing “Buffalo Gals,” and with the change in musical fare, the customers once again began drinking and visiting with each other.

“You’ve been standing here with your mouth open, listening to Rachael,” Prentiss said. “Would you like a beer?”

“Listening, hell, he’s been looking at her,” Corey said with a little laugh.

“I’ve been doing both,” Falcon admitted. “And, yes, I’d very much like a beer.”

When that song was over, someone requested that she play “I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen.” Rachael complied, and the music elicited more than a few tears as the patrons stood at the bar or sat at the tables, drinking. Now, business was brisk as bar girls moved quickly about the room, carrying drinks to those who ordered them.

“See what I mean about her being good for business?” Corey asked, pointing to the sudden activity.

“Yes, I see,” Falcon replied. “About this dinner we’re going to tonight. Do you think if we invited Rachael, she might come along with us?”

Corey laughed. “I think she might,” he said.

“Falcon MacCallister,” a friendly voice said. “I heard you were in town.”

Turning toward the sound of the voice, Falcon saw a tall, bearded man.

“Titus Calhoun, how are you?” Falcon said warmly. “Still wearing a star, I see.”

“Yes, I’m the city marshal here,” Calhoun replied.

“Let’s see, the last time I saw you, you were sheriffing down in Arizona,” Falcon said.

“That’s right,” Calhoun said. “And if you hadn’t stopped by for a drink that day, I’d still be in Arizona, lying under six feet of dirt.”

Falcon nodded as he recalled that meeting.

Picacho, Arizona Territory, two years earlier*

As he stood at the bar, a tall, broad-shouldered, bearded man stepped in through the back door. At first, Falcon wondered why he had come through the back door. Then he saw that a star was barely showing from beneath the vest he was wearing. The sheriff pointed a gun toward one of the tables.

“I just got a telegram about you, Kofax,” the lawman said. “You should’a had better sense than to come back to a town where ever’one knows you.”

“Let it be, Calhoun,” Kofax replied. “I ain’t staying here long. I’m just waitin’ around for the train to take me out of here.”

The sheriff shook his head. “I don’t think so. You won’t be catchin’ the train today,” he said. “You’re goin’ to jail.”

Kofax stood up slowly, and stepped away from the table.

“Well, now, you’re plannin’ on takin’ me there all by yourself, are you, Calhoun?” Kofax asked.

The quiet calm of the barroom grew tense, and most of the other patrons in the bar stood up and moved to both sides of the room, giving the sheriff and Kofax a lot of room.

Only Falcon didn’t move. He stayed by the bar, sipping his beer and watching the drama play out before him.

“You can make this a lot easier by dropping your gunbelt,” the sheriff said.

Kofax chuckled, but there was no humor in his laugh. “Well, now, you see, there you go. I don’t plan to make it easy for you,” he said.

“Shuck out of that gunbelt like I told you, slow and easy,” the sheriff ordered.

Falcon saw something then that the sheriff either didn’t see, or didn’t notice. Kofax’s eyes flicked upward for an instant, then back down toward the sheriff. Kofax smiled almost confidently at the sheriff.

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