Saving the Gunslinger

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Stepping into the warehouse, Zachary took a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the sudden change in light. He saw a short, plump man with a clipboard walking down a row of crated goods and approached him.

"Can I help you, sir?" the man asked, his grip on the clipboard tightening when he noticed Zachary coming his way.

Zachary was accustomed to being feared. Folks tended to find him imposing. "I was expecting a delivery on the train today. Can you tell me if it came?"

"Of course, sir." The man offered a bit of a shaky smile. "Name?"

"Zachary Marston."

His eyes widened slightly at the name. Zachary had no idea who this man was but apparently he'd heard the Marston name. It made Zachary wonder exactly what he'd heard. Flipping through the papers on his clipboard, the man eventually tapped one with his index finger. "Right here. Yep, it came yesterday evening actually. It's quite a big order, sir, do you have a wagon?"

"It's parked out front with a gray shire mare hooked to it."

"Thank you, sir. I'll get the men to load everything up for you."

Zachary walked back out into the sunlight and made his way to his wagon. Leaning against the rough hewn boards of the warehouse wall, Zachary pulled his hat low, let his gaze drop to the ground and lost himself in thought with the sounds of town bustling around him.

Samantha.

Since he'd carried that woman out of the saloon she had taken up residence in his mind. Nearly any time he let his mind wander it took itself in her direction. The last five years of Zachary's life had been about vengeance and survival. He'd seen horrors most folks couldn't imagine and he'd been lost in a darkness that he'd had to claw and crawl his way out of—that he was still clawing and crawling his way out of.

But Samantha? She was... she was light.

What was her story? He still didn't know. He still had no idea what had led her to Hackney and that saloon. He had no idea why she was skittish and afraid the way the doctor had stated. Or why a horse was all she had left in the world. What he did know was that she had an innocence and a strength about her that made him want to know more.

He wanted to help her. He wanted to see her protected and safe. The sight of those healing bruises on her face—bruises that Thomas Williamson had placed there—caused Zachary's gut to burn. He'd seen softness brutalized far too often and yet, somehow, he never became hardened to it—it turned his stomach and riled his temper every time.

Part of him knew he should keep his distance from her. People would talk. He did have a reputation and he was the subject of countless rumors. Not only that but there was always a chance that Zachary's past could come riding back into town to finish what it had started—though Zachary doubted that would happen.

He had chased the bastard that had slaughtered his family for years and never once had that son of a bitch had the strength of spine to face him even as Zachary killed countless men riding for him.

Realizing his thoughts were taking a dark turn, Zachary was thankful when the men arrived wheeling crates and carrying lumber to load onto his wagon.

After his things were stored safely on the wagon, Zachary rolled his aching shoulder and hopped into the driver seat to head toward the doctor and the woman who would be waiting there.