Chapter 2
Ned couldn’t focus, and each glass of rye water made his attention lapse further. The dark-eyed stranger coursed through the room, chatting to the loose girls, the old piano player, the saloon keeper, making himself at home as if he were native to Beaver Springs and had never stepped beyond its boundaries.
His confidence lured the locals into a sense of security, and they didn’t seem to question who or what he was, even though his coloring reminded Ned of the Pawnee Indians he’d encountered a few times in the past. The Natives weren’t welcome in the town, but the man had come here with two whites, who sat by a corner table sipping whisky, and his features didn’t strike Ned as particularly different from those of his companions. If he had any Indian blood, it was diluted.
While not the biggest man in the room, the stranger was one of the tallest, and his well-tailored outfit did its job of emphasizing his masculine physique of a trim waistline and wide shoulders. Who could he be to wear clothes this fine yet pack the kind of muscle no bank clerk or merchant could pride himself with?
The stranger’s lips were a dusky pink shade, thin but always smiling, and eyes with lowered lids kept stealing glances at Ned, as if he were trying to communicate something without words. Even though each and every saloon girl had approached him by now, flocking to a rich and handsome stranger like the vultures had to the freshest victim of the stagecoach robbery, the man had dismissed them each time.
Should Ned have recognized him? He had a star-shaped scar on his left cheekbone, which Ned didn’t recall, but that could have been acquired in the past two or three years. The man in black seemed to be about his age, but the silver buttons on his jacquard vest and the glint of his pocket watch chain suggested wealth Ned couldn’t dream of. Even the boots he wore had a scaly texture unlike any Ned had seen before.
Someone this sleek in appearance shouldn’t have fitted in with the simple folk in country clothes, nor in the dusky saloon where the air smelled of liquor, smoke, and sweat, and where tables were so dirty glasses stuck to the wood. Yet he was here, feeling at home while Fortune was intent on proving to Ned that this wasn’t his day.
A cuss left Ned’s mouth when he lost another few cents to his opponents at the poker table and tossed the useless hand of cards onto the stained wood.
The stranger’s gaze focused on him again, as if his narrow, hawk-like nose smelled Ned’s anger. He pulled off his wide-brimmed hat, as black as the rest of his clothes, and combed his fingers through the thick, shiny hair. Was he enjoying the show?
“Why don’t you empty your pockets into me bag already? No need for all ‘dis foreplay,” said Black-Eye Jimmy, called so due to the large birthmark on his left cheek. He grinned and looked up when Lucy, one of the younger saloon girls, placed her dainty hands on his shoulders, presenting her white bosom to the winner. He did have to spend his earnings somewhere, so why the hell not between her legs?
There had been bad blood between him and Jimmy since the bastard lassoed Ned years ago—a grown fucking man taunting a kid. But the indignity of being hogtied and left on his uncle’s porch was less humiliating than this pathetic streak of gambling losses suffered while the stranger in black watched.
He would not lose again.
Ned gestured at Lucy, asking for another drink even though his head was buzzing already. He needed all encouragement he could get.
“Go on, open that empty bag of yours and I’ll piss in it.” Ned shrugged and put the rest of his money on the table. No one needed to know that was all he had.
Jimmy let out an ugly snort. “You’re gonna leave this place butt-naked when I’m done with you, sucker.”
Behind him, the stranger pushed his hat back on and leaned against an empty table with a drink of his own. His lips touched the rim of the glass when Ned met his eyes. Somehow, the black eyes alone intoxicated Ned more than any firewater he’d ever tasted.
Arthur, one of the other players, distributed new cards before placing the deck on the table and looking at his own set with a face of stone.
Ned kept a scowl at bay. While not completely mismatched, his hand wasn’t anything to write home about, and the taste of upcoming defeat prickled the back of his throat already. Bluffing was his only chance.
His gaze lifted from the stained cards, about to read into the tiniest twitch on Jimmy’s face, but it followed the trail of the stranger’s whisky glass instead. The man gave the faintest nod, and hid his mouth behind the amber-colored liquor.