Wanted

Chapter 2

Inside the air was cooler and filled with the coppery scent of alcohol. The barkeep was Billy himself, a polished old man who nodded at the outlaws as they entered. Diego took a seat at an empty poker table, cutting the deck of cards already at the center and shuffling them easily between nimble fingers. Joey Jr. headed for the bar and a soiled dove he favored by the name of Marie, a pretty girl a few years older than himself who winked as he sat down at the bar. She giggled when he pulled her into his lap, one hand sliding beneath her petticoats to rest high up on her thigh. Crazy Kit plopped into a chair at Diego’s table and raised his hand, catching Billy’s attention.

Within minutes Billy had a bottle of Scotch in front of the ringleader of the Rustlers, along with three shot glasses wiped clean. Diego waited for Kit to fill two of the glasses before he took the bottle and drank straight from it. Jesse sat down at the table and downed his shot of Scotch as he surveyed the room.

It was late afternoon, the saloon already filled with ranch hands from the local spreads, in town for a night of fun. A few of the more daring men glanced at the outlaws, but the majority of the room ignored them, carrying on their conversations as if the Rustlers who stole the cattle they worked so hard to corral weren’t even there. To do otherwise would invite death, and no one wanted to die by the Rustlers’ guns.

By his third shot of Scotch, Jesse let Diego deal him into a game of poker. Jesse wasn’t good at cards, but Diego knew him well enough not to play for money, since Jesse had already lost his last few coins to his friend earlier in the week in a bad spell of faro. At the time, Diego had denied the cards were marked, but Jesse suspected otherwise. Tonight he was playing just until some of the locals drank up enough courage to come over and challenge Diego to a few rounds—Diego could see through the cards, it seemed, and he never lost a game.

As dusk fell, Billy lit the oily lamps in the saloon, casting shadows into the corners of the room. Jesse was nursing another Scotch and frowning at the full house in his hand, unsure if he was imagining things or if he was really going to win against the fabled Diego this time around, when the doors swung open and a tenderfoot came into the saloon. He looked impossibly young, lips and cheeks a rosy pink from hard riding, and when he slipped off his derby hat, his hair was a mess of bronze curls that caught the light from the lamps and shone like newly minted coins. With wide eyes the color of roasted chestnuts, the newcomer looked around the room, trying to take in everything at once.

Jesse watched him over the fan of cards in his hand, admiring the slim build beneath that store-bought duster jacket and the newly cracked riding boots. When the stranger’s gaze settled on Billy, he made his way to the bar, a smile already spreading across his face. Jesse strained to hear the stranger’s words as he cleared his throat. There was a hint of the South in his voice when he spoke. “Glass of water, please, sir.”

Jesse suspected that sir was the first time anyone had addressed ol’ Bill with anything approaching respect. It drew a round of guffaws from the cowboys nearest the bar, and those on the other side of the room joined in the laughter, muttering, “Sir,” beneath their breaths as if daring the stranger to turn around and challenge them. From the corner of his vision, Jesse could see the stranger’s pinked cheeks turn a shade darker, but he kept his back to the cowboys as if he couldn’t hear their taunts.

When Billy placed a glass of water in front of him, the tenderfoot drank it greedily, then glanced around the room. A few cowboys in the corner were still snickering, and Joey’s w***e winked at the stranger, causing his cheeks to turn redder still as he looked away. He turned his attention to Diego’s table.

Jesse met his curious gaze with a bold look that the stranger returned openly. There was no fear in those dark eyes, no hint of knowing who it was he stared down. Jesse let the corner of his mouth pull into a half-smile, and the stranger smiled back like the sun. A man could fall hard for that smile, so hard he wouldn’t even feel the ground rise up to meet him on his way down.

Jesse sure didn’t.

Turning to Billy again, the stranger asked, “Do you hire entertainment for the night?”

“She’s it,” the barkeep said, jerking a thumb to indicate Marie, “and she’s taken.”

The stranger shook his head. “No, I mean…” He gestured with one hand and frowned. “I can carry a tune. I was wondering if maybe you could let me sing for a few coins?”

Billy looked around the bar at the rowdy crowd and shrugged as he wiped down the bar. “Why not? These guys like a lively tune.”

The stranger held out a hand for Billy to shake. “Ethan Phillips. I’ve heard there’s a city in California with streets of gold just begging for entertainers like myself, so I’m headed that way. But my horse pulled up lame a few miles out of town and I need a place to stay while she heals. I’d appreciate the chance to ply my trade for the honest folk of…” His voice trailed off.

“Defiance,” Jesse said, his voice low and soft.

The stranger looked over at him, surprised. “The honest folk of Defiance, then,” he said, that smile breaking through the clouds on his face again. Jesse thought it the prettiest smile he’d ever seen, and he’d seen quite a few in his day. “Thank you, sir.”

That sir again, the first Jesse had ever received. With a tip of his hat at Ethan, Jesse turned back to his cards. His voice was a quiet drawl that carried easily through the din of the crowd. “My pleasure.”

Across from him, Diego looked at the tenderfoot, then at Jesse, and he snickered as he threw another pile of chips into the pot. Jesse fought the urge to kick his foot out under the table—he knew what his old friend was thinking.

And damned if he wasn’t probably right.

“Another one for your collection,” Diego said in that mocking tone he used when he spoke to Jesse, as if afraid of his friend’s reaction but unable to keep the joke to himself. Jesse ignored him, head c****d so he could watch Ethan weave through the crowd to seat himself in front of Billy’s old piano. “You sure like them pretty, don’t you?”

“Shut up,” Kit mumbled from the depths of his liquor. “At least he don’t get us into trouble like that one…” He motioned to Joey with his glass, spilling Scotch onto the sawdust floor. “No paw’s gonna hold a shotgun to your back so’s you can marry his foolhardy son.”

Jesse laughed, looking over at Joey. Their friend was nuzzling Marie’s neck, ignoring the fact that she still flirted with a half dozen young men in the room. “At least Marie’s safe,” he said, shrugging. “He just needs to keep his hands off the cultured women, that’s all.”

“You mean the ones he favors.” Kit snorted into his drink. “That’s why he likes ‘em; he knows he can’t have ‘em.”

The first crystal notes from the piano filled the air as Ethan tested the instrument, and Jesse frowned at his cards when the noise in the bar seemed to increase. The more Ethan played, the louder the cowboys got, as if deliberately trying to drown out the music. When Ethan began to sing softly, his voice was lost in the ruckus around them, and Kit laughed. “He ain’t getting a penny in this shithole tonight.”

The cowboys teased the young tenderfoot, disrupting the song that quivered beneath their raucous catcalls and mocking words. Jesse could barely hear the sound of Ethan’s voice, a ray of angelic light cutting through the noise. “Stuff it, pretty boy!” someone cried.

Laughter followed as Ethan’s voice faltered on the opening strands of “Nearer My God to Thee.”

“Pick up the pace!” someone else shouted, and a few cowboys close to the piano leaned over Ethan, their fingers reaching for the keys. Discordant notes plucked from the instrument to strike the air, and Ethan blushed beneath the rough men pushing him aside. Someone else started up a round of a familiar drinking song, winking at Marie until she laughed like a bell in the crowd.

Jesse had had enough. Tossing his cards into the kitty, he stood and pulled his Colt .45 in one fluid move. Without taking aim, he fired a shot into the air.

The loud report silenced the room.

Diego and Kit looked up at him, Joey turned from Marie, and Ethan’s warm gaze enflamed Jesse’s senses. He dared another half-smile; the cowboys in the room shifted uncomfortably under the weight of Jesse’s pale blue eyes. “If you don’t mind,” he drawled, his voice dangerously low, “I’d like to hear this song.”

Someone tittered, and with lightning speed Jesse leveled his revolver at a lone cowboy, sitting with his back to the wall. “The next person who speaks, dies,” Jesse promised.

He slowly c****d the gun, drawing the sound of clicking metal out into the sudden silence of the saloon. When he was sure he had everyone’s attention, he lowered his weapon and nodded at Ethan. “I’d suggest starting over again,” he said, taking his seat. “I missed the beginning.”

Clearing his throat, Ethan ventured, “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Jesse said again.

He glared around the room, challenging anyone to meet his gaze or make a sound. None of the cowboys were that brave. Satisfied, Jesse picked up his cards and studied them as Ethan started playing the piano a second time. This time, his young, clear voice filled the saloon, and Jesse let the music fill the hollow places inside him.

Then he got a good look at his cards, and frowned at Diego. “I had a full house.”

“You lie,” Diego said softly, spreading his hand out in front of him. “I have a full house.”

Jesse sighed and tossed down his cards. “You cheat,” he said, but his voice held no threat. This was nothing new to him.

“You should watch your cards more carefully,” Diego pointed out, scooping in the pile of money and chips from the center of the table, “instead of letting yourself get distracted by a pretty face.”

Leaning back in his chair, Jesse bit his lip and watched Ethan. He didn’t hear the words so much as felt the melody crash over him in waves, and that sweet, soulful voice pierced through to the very heart of him. Suddenly he was no longer interested in cards, or Diego’s braying laugh, or the nervous rustling of the cowboys around him.

Some distractions were worth losing over.