An Outlaw's Weakness*Fifth in Crane Gang series*

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

He knew he needed to leave town, but Preston also needed supplies and his stomach was aching for a real meal. Maybe this town was a bit friendlier during the day than it had been at night.

Putting his saddlebags over his shoulder, Preston left his room, made his way downstairs, and checked himself out of the hotel. Stepping out into the early morning sunlight, Preston glanced nervously up and down the road, hoping he wouldn't see any of the men who had attacked him last night.

Thinking of that, led to him thinking about the dark-haired stranger who had saved him. Was he still in town?

Preston let out a breath, realized no one was coming to attack him right this moment, and headed for the diner. Very few patrons were in the place this time of morning and for that Preston was thankful. He sat down at a back table so he could see the door—his parents had at least taught him not to sit with his back to a door in a place that could be hostile.

After stomaching a disappointing breakfast of burnt bacon and watery eggs, Preston made his way back outside. Stepping into the dusty mercantile, it took Preston's eyes a moment to adjust and he walked up to a scar-faced man behind the counter.

"What are you doing here, boy?" the man demanded.

Preston sighed. "I'm not a boy. And I need supplies."

The man snorted. "Well excuse me. Tell me what you need."

Preston did and then he waited as the clerk gathered the things up.

"Well, well, we meet again."

Preston's back stiffened. He recognized that voice. Turning slowly, he saw the big man who had wanted him last night. Someone had stitched up the man's head and the skin was red and looked like it hurt like hell.

"Just leave me alone," Preston warned with false bravado.

The man chuckled but nothing about his expression was good natured. "I don't think I will."

He came toward Preston and Preston panicked. He saw a jar of canned apples on the counter and without thinking he grabbed up the jar and brought it down hard on the man's head as he neared him.

The man roared in pain and dropped down, holding his head which was once again bleeding. Preston swallowed hard. What now? The man looked up at him through pain-hazed eyes and reached out. Preston side-stepped, escaping his grasp.

"You damn bastard. I'm gonna have you," the man growled, slowly getting to his wobbling legs as blood dripped down his face. "Your big hero ain't here to rescue you this time."

"Doesn't look much like he needs me to rescue him."

Preston's gaze went to the door to find that the light coming through had been blocked by the dark-haired stranger from the night before.

"Goddamnit, why are you here?" the big man demanded. "You sweet on the boy or something?"

The stranger pulled a bandana from his pocket. "Clean yourself up. You're bleeding. Might want to get somebody to sew you back up."

Preston stood by the counter as the clerk returned with his sack of goods. The big man stood toe to toe with the dark-haired stranger, his hand inching toward his gun. "I reckon I'm thinking about killing you."

The dark-haired stranger shrugged one strong shoulder. "I reckon you can try."

After several tense moments the big man pressed the bandana against his bleeding head and stormed from the mercantile. Once again, Preston found himself looking up into the dark-haired stranger's light green eyes.