Chapter Eight

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Chapter Eight

Gill had hoped that a ride into town would give him time to think and sort through the tangled mess of confused and jumbled emotions and conflictions in his head but, instead, he found himself unable to think on all that much at all as he laughed and watched Wyatt and Pete arguing loudly and attempting to communicate.

"Dammit, Wyatt, you get to running that jaw and a man can't get a word in edgewise, can he?" Pete demanded with a grin.

Wyatt laughed soundlessly and Gill did his best to distance himself a bit more. Damn, this wasn't the job he wanted!

He liked Wyatt! He liked Craig! He liked Jane! He liked Billy! He wasn't too sold on Willie yet but he didn't seem to be a bad man and Jeb.....

Gill's blood heated, his lips tingled and his cock twitched when he let his mind wander to Jeb and the near kiss they'd shared at he riverbank. Jeb was dangerous and a hazard to the mission that Gill had been told to complete....and Gill wanted him something fierce.

Could Gill give in to those urges and still do his job when the time came? That was the fine line he was going to have to tread carefully during his time with the gang.

As they rode closer and closer to town, Gill saw a change come over Wyatt. His animated features and silly antics gave way to slumped shoulders and downcast eyes and when they rode onto the muddy main road of town, Gill saw that he did not meet anyone's eyes and seemed meek and nervous--not at all the Wyatt that he knew from the camp.

Pete seemed to notice too but didn't say a word. Pete pointed his horse toward the mercantile. "I'm gonna go pick up a few things."

"I gotta head to the land office and send a message out," Gill added. "Wyatt, why don't you head on into the saloon and get those drinks and a table ready. We'll be in shortly."

Wyatt appeared apprehensive for a moment before sighing, nodding and heading toward the saloon. Gill just shook his head and stepped into the land office. He found a piece of paper and pencil beside the counter and wrote out a note to the captain telling him that they had found the gang, been accepted in and were now waiting to learn all they could and find a time when things would be settled for a while before calling in the Rangers.

He paid to have the letter sent as quickly as possible before stepping out into the midday sunlight. Whistling a quiet tune, Gill headed toward the saloon, eager to have that beer. Beer always tasted better when it was free of charge.

It only took Gill seconds upon entering that saloon to realize that there was a problem. Wyatt sat at a back table, staring down into the beer in front of him while four men stood around him, laughing down at him and taking turns shoving him roughly in his chair.

"The damn mute negro shouldn't even be allowed in here with the rest of us!"

"Come on, you ignorant bastard! Why don't ya speak?"

"Cat got your tongue boy?" One demanded before spitting into Wyatt's beer. "Take ya a swig of that, negro."

Wyatt shook his head and the man who had spit grabbed him by the neck and shoved his face toward the beer as the others laughed. "I said to drink it, boy!"

"I don't believe the man's that thirsty," Gill spoke up as he stood in the doorway with his arms crossed over his broad chest and his legs spread wide, his feet planted firmly upon the wooden planks.

"Look!" the man who had a grip on Wyatt's neck exclaimed. "The mute negro has a little negro pal who does the talkin' for him!"

"Why don't you let go of my friend's neck there and we can all just get back to enjoying our day?" Gill offered, his voice smooth and hiding the anger that was boiling inside of him. He hated jackasses who thought they were better than someone else simply because of the color of their skin--or their lack of a voice.

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