Saving the Gunslinger

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Zachary threw the saloon doors open with enough force to have them bouncing off the walls. The resounding echo had the piano player ceasing his pounding on the keys and the bartender Otis, dropping the glass he'd been wiping out, shattering it on the floor.

"Thomas Williamson!" Zachary roared, wondering if the goddamn bastard would have the balls to come out of whatever hole he had crawled into and face him.

Apparently, he did. Thomas came out of the storeroom behind the bar and approached Zachary warily. "What the hell are you doing here? I was told you'd left town..."

Zachary didn't waste time on words. He had used enough of those on Thomas Williamson. So, instead of speaking, Zachary simply took three large strides forward, clenched his fist, and swung. Shockwaves were sent through his arm and up into his shoulder as his fist made contact with Thomas' jaw. Thomas' head snapped sideways. He stumbled back, tripped over a chair behind him and fell to the ground.

Zachary glared down at the pitiful excuse of a man. "I warned you, Thomas. I warned you to leave that goddamn woman alone."

Thomas's small dark eyes seemed to have trouble focusing and he mumbled a few incoherent words as he laid on his back on the dusty floorboards. Zachary slid his knife from the sheath on his leg and stepped toward the man. Thomas whimpered and attempted to scoot away as Zachary came down on him, straddling him and gripping the collar of his shirt in his free hand. He jerked Thomas' head off the ground.

Zachary pressed the cold metal blade against the pounding pulse in the saloon owners' neck. "I warned you what would happen if you didn't leave that woman alone." Zachary had lost too much in his life. He wasn't going to have to worry that every time he turned his back, Thomas Williamson was going to be cornering his woman in alleys or laying those angry fists on her.

"Don't kill me..." Thomas whimpered, those dark beady eyes widening

His plea's fell on deaf ears. Zachary tightened his hold on the knife. It broke skin. Red blood oozed along the edges of the steel blade. Thomas screamed, he whimpered, he begged, he pleaded, he thrashed in a desperate attempt at escape but Zachary held firm. No one would harm Samantha. No one would take anything else from her—or from him.

Just as Zachary was preparing to slide that blade deeper and slice Thomas' neck wide open, a body suddenly slammed into his side, throwing him off Thomas and sending him sprawling to the floor. Zachary was back on his feet in an instant, with that knife ready to handle whoever had attacked him...

...Only to find Timothy standing between him and Thomas—who was now sitting up and seemed to be struggling to get to his feet.

Zachary frowned. "What the hell are you doing, Tim?"

Timothy rammed his hand through his hair and shook his head. "Stopping you from committing cold blood murder, you idiot. Jesus Christ, Zach, what the hell are you doing?"

Zachary gripped the bone handle of his knife just a little harder as he stepped forward, hoping Timothy would get out of his way. No such luck. Timothy stood firm, keeping himself between Zachary and the bastard that deserved to die. "I won't let him hurt her, Tim. I won't lose her!"

Timothy motioned toward the door. "She's just fine."

Zachary let his gaze go in that direction. There Samantha stood with her arms wrapped tight around herself. Her lips were parted and her green eyes were wide. Was that fear in them? Fear of what? Of him? Without a word, Samantha turned on her heel and all but ran from the saloon.