Outlaw Love

Clay pulled off his black Stetson and sat down on the rickety chair across the desk from Deputy Billy Elder.

“So them two ambushed you, huh?” The deputy’s amusement was thinly veiled, in the guise of taking down Clay’s report. “They got the drop on you. Bushwhacked you. Then tried to string you up. Is that about it?”

The chair creaked under Clay. “Yeah, that’s about it.”

Seated under the gun rack across the room, Sheriff Roy Bottom rubbed a cleaning rag over the barrel of a Winchester. Gray hair bristling from beneath his hat, he appeared content to let. his young deputy handle the paperwork.

Billy looked up from the report on his desk. “And it was only them two. Just Deuce and Luther. They were the ones who bested you.”

Around twenty, Clay guessed his age to be, with the look of an arrogant kid who ought to be taken down a notch or two. Clay had disliked him on sight. “Yeah, just the two of them.”

Billy consulted his report again. “And you’re a United States marshal, sent here on special assignment to clean up the gangs. Have I got that right?”

“You got it right.” Clay lunged to his feet and threaded his fingers through the dark hair at his temple. He’d had enough of Deputy Elder. He headed for the door.

“Chandler… Clay Chandler.” Sheriff Bottom stroked his chin and propped the rifle against the wall. “I heard about you. Brought in Cecil and Cyrus Reynolds, and the Fields gang, as I understand it, all on your own. You’ve got quite a reputation for yourself, marshal. Who are you trailing now?”

“Scully Dade.”

Billy snorted. “Shoot, the Dade gang makes the Reynolds boys look like ladies at a quilting bee.”

Cold determination hardened in Clay’s belly. “I’ll bring him in.”

Sheriff Bottom nodded slowly. “If what I hear about you is right, I believe you’ll do just that.”

Billy mumbled his disbelief and shuffled his reports into the desk drawer.

“Appreciate your help on this one.” Sheriff Bottom nodded toward the cells down the hallway. “At least that’s two less to worry about. Doc says Luther’s shoulder will mend in a few weeks. I’ll hold him here till the circuitjudge gets around again. Deuce’s pa will be by soon. He’ll probably beat the tar out of the boy. You can be sure he’ll stay in town till the judge gets here.”

“Who’s riding the circuit around here?”

The sheriff shifted. “We lost Kingsley.”

Clay had crossed paths with Judge Kingsley a time or two in the past “No loss. Most judges practice law from the bench. Kings ley did it from somebody’s back pocket.”

Sheriff Bottom shrugged indifferently. “We got a new judge now. Some fella name of Winthrope.”

The name coiled a tight knot in Clay’s belly. “Harlan Winthrope?”

He nodded. “Could be. I never met the man. He ain’t been out this way yet. You know him?”

Clay’s stomach churned. “I know him.”

“You’ll be gone before he gets here, huh?” Billy asked.

Clay nodded. He definitely intended to be gone from this town before Harlan Winthrope arrived. “I’ll be here a few more days, that’s all.”

He opened the door, then turned back. “Do you know about a gang called the Schoolyard Boys?”

“I sure as hell do.” Billy rose and swiped his blond hair back with his palm. “Them boys are making a name for themselves around here.”

The sheriff nodded wisely. “They hit the stage at Flat Ridge just this afternoon.”

“This afternoon? You sure it was today?”

“’Course I’m sure. Why?”

Clay nodded toward the cells. “Luther claimed it was the Schoolyard Boys that shot him.”

Billy’s brows drew together and he sucked his teeth. “Now let me besure I got this straight, Marshal Chandler. You were tracking Scully Dade, but lost him and got ambushed by Deuce and Luther and nearly hung. Then you came across the Schoolyard Boys, but they slipped through your fingers and robbed the stage coach not an hour later. Is that about the size of it?”

Clay pulled his hat low on his forehead and gritted his teeth. “That about sums it up.”

Billy nodded slowly. “Much obliged, Chandler. Good having you federal boys on the job.”

Clay turned and left the office. He strode down the boardwalk of Eldon’s Main Street, his gut churning.

He didn’t like being made a fool of. It was one thing that Scully Dade—a hardened lifelong outlaw—had eluded him. And even the likes of Deuce and Luther getting the drop on him could be palated. But he couldn’t abide being made a laughingstock by a bunch of kids—school-age kids, with a woman among them, at that.

Clay pushed his way through the swinging doors of the Watering Hole Saloon. He caught a few curious stares from the sparse afternoon clientele as he made his way to the bar. The badge on his chest always attracted attention.

“Beer.” He tossed a coin on the bar and took the mug the bartender slid his way. Clay settled in at a table in the corner, his back to the wall. He took a long drink and ran his fingers across the rope burn on his neck.

Clay pushed his hat back and rested his boots on the rung of the chair beside him. Here under special appointment from the governor, he and dozens of other marshals spread out across the country had been directed to get rid of the outlaws terrorizing honest, law-abiding folks, and make it safe for families and businesses alike. He’d been on the trail for months.

Clay took a long drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He’d asked specifically for this assignment. He’d bring in the Dade gang himself, and not just because it was his job.

Kelsey hurried down the boardwalk, doing her best to conceal the carpet bag in the folds of her pale blue dress, and slipped into the kitchen of the Eldon Hotel.

“Well, I wondered if I was going to have to cook this whole meal myself.”

Etta Mae Brown’s disapproving gaze met her when she stepped through the door. Kelsey untied her bonnet and hung it on the peg. “Like you’d let me help cook even if I were here all day long?”

Etta Mae giggled and stirred the boiling pots on the cookstove. “Oh, Kelsey honey, you know me too well.”

She smiled and darted into the small bedroom just off the kitchen. Quickly Kelsey dumped the contents of the carpetbag into the bottom drawer of her bureau and shoved it shut.

Kelsey hurried into the kitchen again. The large room held a massive cookstove, a pie safe, a sink, a sideboard and cupboards, with a worktable in the center. A pantry stood at one end, and a narrow service staircase to the second floor next to it. A small round table sat near the doorway to the bedroom Kelsey used when she stayed overnight at the hotel, which lately had been more than in her own bedroom at home.

“Smells delicious.” Kelsey made her way to the sideboard, careful to avoid the bits of dough, squashed peas and flattened potatoes that littered the floor. Etta Mae was a wonderful cook, but as messy as the day was long. She was short and stout from years of tasting her own creations, and her gray hair was streaked with white and arranged neatly on top of her head. Etta Mae had worked at the hotel since her husband passed away, over a year ago.

“Anybody new check in today?” Kelsey took a fresh apron from the drawer and tied it around her waist.

“Hmm?” Etta Mae looked up from the pots she tended. “Oh, no. No new guests.”

Kelsey sighed and mentally calculated the number of guests already in the hotel and the amount of income they generated. She hoped the supper crowd would be good.

“How’s things at the house today?” Etta Mae turned to Kelsey, water and greens dripping from her spoon.