Saving the Gunslinger

Chapter Five

Once again Zachary's fist silenced the saloon owner's angry tirade before it could begin. He signaled for another whiskey but before the bartender could fill a glass, one was placed in his hand. Glancing at the whiskey giver, Zachary was taken aback for a moment.

Timothy O'Neil. A man who had once been Zachary's best friend. They'd known one another since before they'd learned the alphabet or how to count to ten. Maybe they were still friends. Hell, Zachary didn't know. He hadn't seen Timothy in five long years—and those years had changed him.

Tipping his head in thanks to a grinning Timothy, Zachary threw this whiskey on Thomas' face and the man once again came up sputtering. This time he was wobbling as he got himself to his feet.

"Leonard... Arrest this man for assault!"

Zachary raised a brow as he studied the Marshall. Daring him without words to do as Thomas demanded. Leonard Oxley. The most crooked, alcoholic, worthless waste of breath that whoever created mankind had ever breathed life into. A bully—and a yellow-bellied, ground slinking coward.

Oh yes, Zachary remembered him well. And it was clear that Marshall Leonard Oxley remembered him too as the man simply stood there swallowing hard, his eyes darting around as if searching for the nearest exit.

Thomas swiped at his dripping face yet again and pointed at Zachary. "Marshall, do something!"

"It would be the first time that bastard ever has," Zachary announced. "And I don't think the Marshall wants to ruin his well-earned reputation just to arrest me for giving a woman beater what he deserved."

Marshall Oxley simply dropped his gazed to the scuffed up toes of his boots. Thomas was seething, that much was clear. He'd clearly thought the Marshall would be on his team and that Zachary would be put in his place. Clearly, Thomas didn't know Leonard as well as he'd thought.

Zachary crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring the ache in his shoulder as he popped his neck. "Let me make something clear to you, Thomas. Samantha doesn't work here anymore. I expect you to go fetch her belongings immediately. Also, that horse at the livery—the palomino mare—that's Samantha's horse and you'll drop any claim you're attempting to make on it."

Thomas sputtered as his face reddened and his mustache blew wildly with his breath. "Samantha owes me money for keeping her up the last week without doing anything to earn her keep! That horse is to cover the room and board."

Zachary nearly rolled his eyes. He scanned the room until his gaze found Roland Henderson—a farrier and horse trader. Zachary had recognized the man when he'd walked in. "Roland, do you know the horse I'm talking about?"

Roland stood up. "Sure do, Zachary. She's a fine horse."

Zachary nodded. "How much is she worth?"

"If I were to sell her, I wouldn't take any less than thirty."

Zachary let out a low whistle as he turned back to Thomas. "You must run one hell of a nice place here for a weeks worth of room and board to run a person thirty dollars."

Thomas seemed to realize he was alone and his game was finished. Whatever he'd been attempting to accomplish, whatever money he'd been hoping to gain off of Samantha, wasn't going to happen. No one was rushing to his defense—and the patrons were clearly enjoying the show. Zachary waited to see what the man's next move would be. Thomas licked his thin lower lip and met Zachary's gaze. "I demand some compensation for the week..."