warmth through both their clothes.
“Hello, Belinda.”
“Been a while since you came to see me.”
He didn’t want to tell her that he only came around when he was depressed, and that he’d had a few good weeks until now.
“Been busy.”
“Too busy for me?” She stuck out her lower lip and blinked her eyes. She was a few years older than him, and while he liked her, the little girl trick didn’t suit her.
“Don’t do that,” he said. “You look silly when you do that.”
“Ooh,” she said, removing her hips from his, “somebody’s in a bad mood.”
“Foul,” he corrected her. “I’m in a foul mood.”
“Well,” she said, “I’ll leave you alone, then,” and she flounced away.
Belinda was pretty enough, but not tonight. Tonight it would take a lot to change his mood—maybe even a miracle.
5
Thomas had kept his mood from James all day. Since he was the older brother, he believed he had to be strong for the younger. He knew that with Matthew gone, James needed him even more. But it was hard, being strong for somebody else. Sometimes you just needed to get away and give in to your mood.
He also didn’t want his father knowing how he felt. Dan Shaye had enough on his mind. He’d lost a wife and a son. Thomas recognized that the deaths in their family had been hardest of all on his father. So when he felt down—or foul, as he felt right now—he came to this side of town, usually to this saloon, and drank alone.
And, as long as people left him alone, there was never any trouble.
Cardwell wanted a saloon with a lot of activity. He and Davis kept walking until they reached a more lively part of town. With several saloons to choose from, he picked the Road House. It was the biggest, the brightest, and the loudest.
“Now, this is my kind of place,” Davis said, looking around. “Look at all the women.”
“Don’t get into trouble, Sean.”
“How would I do that?” Davis asked innocently.
“By treating every woman you meet like a whore.”
“Ain’t they?”
“No,” Cardwell said, “they’re not. If you want a whore, then go find a whorehouse.”
“Later,” Davis said. “I want to try this place out first.”
“There’s a table,” Cardwell said. “I’ll grab it, and you go to the bar and get two beers.”
“Okay.”
Davis went to the bar, which didn’t have much in the way of elbow room. He decided to force his way in, and by doing so, spilled some of Thomas’s beer.
“Hey!” Thomas yelled. “Take it easy.”
“I need two beers!” Davis shouted at the bartender, ignoring Thomas.
“There’s room for everyone, you know,” Thomas said. “No need to push.”
Davis looked at Thomas and said, “Stay out of my way and you won’t get pushed.”
“Look, friend,” Thomas said, “I’m just tryin’ to give you some advice—”
“Keep your damned advice to yourself,” Davis said.
“Hey, mister,” the bartender, Al Baker, started, “you don’t want to be talking to him that way, he’s—”
“This man owes me a beer, Al,” Thomas said. “Draw three and he’ll pay for them.”
Davis turned to face Thomas. Some of the other men at the bar sensed the trouble and backed off, giving the two men room.
“I’m only payin’ for two beers,” Davis said belligerently. “You pay for your own.”
“I did pay for my own,” Thomas said. “And you spilled it. That means you owe me one.”
“I don’t owe you shit!”
Baker set three mugs of beer on the bar and looked at the two men, wondering who was going to pay for what.
“Look,” Thomas said, “I tried to do this nicely, so now I’m tellin’ you—pay for the three beers.”
Davis looked Thomas up and down. He saw a big man in his mid-twenties, at least ten years younger than him. He wasn’t about to let some young punk tell him what to do.
“You know how to use that hogleg?” he asked, nodding at Thomas’s revolve.
“I’ve been known to.”
“Is it worth usin’ it for a beer?”
Thomas spread his feet and planted them firmly beneath him. “It’ll be worth it to teach you a lesson,” he said, “and it might ease my bad mood.”
“I’ll take care of your mood—” Davis said, taking a step back. Before he could do anything else, though, Ben Cardwell stepped between the two men and planted his right hand against Davis’s chest.
“Back off, Sean,” he said with authority. “You did spill the man’s beer. I saw you.” He looked at Thomas. “My friend is clumsy. I apologize.” Then he turned to the bar and tossed some coins on it. “That cover the three beers?”
“It covers it,” Al Baker said.
“Enjoy your beer,” Cardwell said to Thomas.
“What the hell—” Davis began.
“Let’s sit down!” Cardwell snapped at him. “Now!”
He grabbed Davis by the arm and literally dragged him across the floor to their table.
“I thought he was gonna draw his gun for sure,” Baker said to Thomas.
“He was,” Thomas said. “He would have, if his friend hadn’t stopped him.”
“Then you would have killed him.”
Thomas looked at Baker, picked up his beer and said, “Yes.”
“Over a beer?”
Thomas put his elbows on the bar. “It would have been more than that.”
“What the hell did you do that for?” Davis asked after Cardwell had forced him into a chair.
A large, ham-handed man, he easily pushed the slighter, shorter man into his seat.
“You didn’t recognize that man?”
Davis looked across the room at Thomas, who had his back to him now. “No, should I?”
“We saw him earlier,” Cardwell said. “He was wearing a badge.”
“One of the deputies?”
“That’s right. We don’t need you gettin’ into trouble with the law tonight, Sean.”
Davis looked across the room again, but some of the men who had spread out to give them room to resolve their conflict before had closed ranks again, and he couldn’t see the lawman.
“But…he wasn’t wearin’ his badge.” The long, slender nose that gave his face the look of a weasel twitched.
“I noticed that.”
“You sure—”
“I’m sure,” Cardwell said.
Davis drank down a quarter of his beer.
“I would have killed him, you know.”
“Probably,” Cardwell said, “but that would have caused us a lot of trouble we don’t need right now. So drink your beer and get used to the fact that you’re not killin’ anybody…not tonight, anyway.”
