Saving the Gunslinger

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Adjusting his hat upon his head, Zachary Marston stood on the boardwalk outside the Montgomery Hotel and glanced up and down the bustling main street of Hackney Oklahoma. It had been five long years since he'd been home and he had very little suspicion he'd be recognized easily. He sure as hell wasn't that same nineteen year old boy he'd been the last time Hackney had been home—that person was long dead.

Rolling his shoulder to work out the ache that the bullet lodged within caused, he spared a glance toward the Hackney Saloon and Brothel. Instantly his mind pictured the red-haired woman he'd helped last night. Zachary had no idea who she was or why she'd been dressed as a serving girl but he hadn't believed for a moment she'd simply been acting unwilling—and after the things he'd seen in his life, Zachary didn't tolerate the mistreatment of women.

He wondered if the lady was okay this morning. He'd paid Thomas Williamson a healthy amount of money to see that she was left undisturbed in her room the remainder of the night—had the man honored the deal? There was something shifty and untrustworthy about that man that made Zachary have doubt. At one point in his life Zachary had taken every man at his word—but life had a way of doing away with such naiveté.

Pointing his boots toward the saloon, Zachary headed that way, dodging horses, wagons, and pedestrians going about their mornings. He saw several familiar faces but none that seemed to know him in return—most people avoided meeting his gaze all together. Several even went as far as crossing the street to keep their distance. He supposed the last five years had done away with any approachable nature he might have once had.

Stepping into the saloon, Zachary took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the lack of light in the dim interior. Dust mote floated in the sunlight streaming through a back window and Thomas Williamson sat at a table in the beam of light, writing in a leather journal.

"We're closed until noon," he announced without looking up.

"You'll take the time to speak to me," Zachary countered, resting his gloved hand on the handle of his .45 revolver.

Thomas' head snapped up, his gaze angry. "You again? I'll have you know the Marshall has already been spoken to about last night. Frank wanted charges pressed but I talked him out of it."

"I'm not gonna worry myself over some charges for knocking out a fat-bellied, would be rapist." Zachary shrugged. "And I ain't the least bit afraid of Marshall Oxley."

Thomas' eyes narrowed. "You know Leonard? I wasn't aware that you were from around here."

"I don't reckon I told you I was from around here. Can't see how that's any of your business."

"What's your damn name?"

"My business. Where's the lady?"

With a grunt, Thomas once again turned his attention to the journal on the table. "This is a saloon and brothel, sir. We don't have ladies here."

Deciding he'd wasted enough time speaking to someone unimportant, Zachary headed for the stairs. He knew what room he'd left her in the night before. Thomas shoved himself to his feet. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Without sparing him a glance, Zachary continued on his way. "Upstairs."

Thomas made the choice not to follow and Zachary was alone when he reached room 2C. He pounded one firm knock upon the door before crossing his arms over his chest and waiting. Several moments later, the door was opened and there she was.