Two weeks went by without any sign of Trent Carlin. Hank rode out every day to try to pick up his trail again, but after the second day of rain, he knew it would be useless.
"I'm sorry, Hank," Zeke said again as they rode slowly back into town. He had recovered well enough to leave the Sheriff's office after a few days, and had insisted on joining Hank on his last ride. The rain had let up a little but it was still sprinkling a bit and their horses' hooves sloshed through the mud as they rode to the livery.
"You say sorry one more time, I'm going to punch you. It wasn't your fault," Hank said, dismounting carefully in order to avoid as much mud as he could.
Zeke heaved himself out of the saddle and his boots sank a good couple inches deep. "I'm—" he started to say, then quickly took both of the reins and led the horses inside. "Trent's bound to show up soon," he said, rejoining Hank.
"He's taking his own sweet time about it," Hank muttered as he started walking in the direction of the saloon.
"Going to see Gina?" Zeke asked falling into step beside him. Hank nodded. It was frustrating waiting for Trent to make his move, but he was also glad to have the extra time to spend with Gina, dreading the day when he'd have to leave Silver Rock. Every day she asked if he'd found anything of Carlin, but neither one spoke about what would happen when he did.
"Good morning, sheriff."
"Hello, marshal."
Hank froze and slowly turned around to see the two people he was least interested in talking to. He had met the wives of the bank manager and mercantile proprietor at Zeke's church, one of two Silver Rock boasted, and had run into them a few times in town, always in each other's company. They apparently knew everything about everyone and had taken it upon themselves to take care of him.
"Mrs. Dunlop, Mrs. Peters," Zeke said, tugging on his hat. He started to say something else but Mrs. Peters brushed past him to address Hank.
"Still no sign of that outlaw," she said. It was a statement, not a question.
"Well, it's to be expected," Mrs. Dunlop added with a vigorous shake of her head. "You won't find him in the saloon."
"Unless your intention in going there is to gather information," Mrs. Peters said.
"It's not seemly, marshal," Mrs. Dunlop continued. "To be seen there too often, consorting with certain undesirable people."
Hank knew to whom she was referring. The last time he had run into the pair, Gina had been with him and the ladies hadn't had time to stop and chat.
"The sheriff assured us you were a church-going man," Mrs. Peters was saying.
"And it was quite nice seeing you at services last Sunday," said Mrs. Dunlop.
"But if you want to be blessed in your endeavors to catch that outlaw, you must take heed of what the good book says."
"For a harlot is a deep ditch, and a strange woman is a narrow pit. Proverbs 23 verse 27."
"Don't fall into the pit, marshal!"
"Ladies, please," Hank broke in at last, a strained smile on his face. He saw Zeke's look of embarrassment which didn't help, and took a deep breath. "Thank you for your concerns, but—"
"Oh yes, we are very concerned, marshal," Mrs. Dunlop started again, quite oblivious to the looks and sighs of her audience.
"But you must resist temptation," Mrs. Peters added. "Do not succumb to the lure of that...that..."
"Lady of the night," her companion supplied.
"Soiled dove."
"Fallen angel!"
By now a few curious people had actually stopped to see what was going on and Hank could feel his temper rising. At the final insult, he couldn't hold back any longer. "Gina!" he said, a bit louder than he'd intended, but it had the desired effect. Everyone stared silently at him and the two ladies stood open-mouthed, mercifully speechless. "Her name is Gina," he continued in a somewhat calmer tone. But he was not finished with them yet. He knew it wasn't the wisest thing to do but he was tired of having to defend himself and his actions. "She is not a fallen angel as you call her, she is my wife."
Before anyone could say a word, Hank pushed through the small crowd, his footsteps loud on the boardwalk.
He heard a couple gasps from Mrs. Peters and Mrs. Dunlop and a slurred exclamation of "The marshal's married?" and then everyone else started muttering, but Hank was already too far away to hear them.
Zeke was panting behind him, trying to catch up, but didn't say anything until Hank stopped in front of the saloon. "You still going in there?"
Hank stared at his friend. It was hard enough having to justify himself to people who were relatively strangers, but for his own friend to doubt him was almost too much. "Is there any reason why I shouldn't, Zeke?" he asked in a low voice.
For a long moment Zeke didn't respond, but kept shifting back and forth from one foot to the other, looking everywhere but at Hank. Finally he shook his head and said, "I think I better head back to the office. I'll see you later."
With only a nod, Hank turned and walked inside. The rain had helped drum up business for the room was packed full of restless, already half-drunk men who apparently didn't care that it was barely noon. He spotted Gina almost at once carrying a tray full of glasses back up to the bar and when their eyes met she gave him a tired smile. More than once he'd tried to hint that she should find another job, but that topic of conversation was as about as exciting as the subject of Trent Carlin. Maybe he'd be a bit more persistent, for she really did not look well. Her shoulders sagged and there were dark circles under her eyes and the last couple days she'd declined Hank's invitation to dinner, saying she couldn't take the time from work.
He started to push through the crowd when suddenly a hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder. Immediately on the defense, he twisted around to find himself staring into the large, thin-mustached face of Brodie Campbell, owner of the saloon. The man was only a hair shorter than Hank but he had a stocky build with a deep chest and thick arms and legs. Hank had decided early on he would not want to get into a wrestling match with the man. "Marshal, may I have a word with you?" He indicated a door next to the bar.
With a shrug, he followed Brodie around the edge of the crowd. He saw Gina watching them as she refilled the glasses at the bar, a strange look on her face that made him a little uneasy. At last they reached the office and Brodie closed the door, shutting out most of the din of his customers.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Campbell?" Hank asked, ignoring the proffered chair. The saloon owner ambled around his desk and settled himself in the chair. He studied Hank a moment, stroking his black mustache, then finally spoke.
"I'm a business man, Marshal. I would never turn away a paying customer, especially such a...an attentive one like yourself." Hank stared back at Brodie, his face a mask of calm. "But I have to ask myself, why are you so attentive? Well, that's easy. You've taken a liking to one of my girls." Before Hank could reply, Brodie went on. "That's what they're paid for, to attract men. Is there a particular reason you singled out Gina?"
Hank shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. "As you said, she's paid to attract. I find her attractive. What other reason would there be?"
"Many men find her attractive," Brodie said with a wave of his hand. "But they do not hound her for weeks. A couple nights perhaps, then they move on, and she gets back to work."
"She's worked every day since I came here," Hank said, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice.
"Oh yes, she has kept very busy...during the day. At her insistence, she claims. But you've become a distraction, Marshal. If you aren't interested in buying, stop sampling the merchandise."
"Has Gina complained about me?" Hank asked, his voice surprisingly calm.
"She hasn't had to," Brodie said, leaning over his desk and looking hard at Hank. "I take care of my...employees, Marshal, if they do what they're supposed to do. I speak for her when I say we no longer want your business."
Hank stared back at the saloon owner, his fists clenched at his side and his jaw so tense he didn't trust himself to answer. He gave a curt nod then quickly left the room. He was angry and confused and he liked neither feeling. He shut the door and turned to find Gina standing just outside the room, waiting for him.
When she saw Brodie approach Hank, Gina had tried to intercept them but was too late. She wasn't exactly sure what Brodie was talking to him about, but she could guess. He'd not been happy with her lately, even though she'd spent more time in the saloon than any of the other girls. He'd confronted her the night before after she'd once again turned away a customer who wanted more than a bit of dancing. Without thinking she'd told him that she didn't want to do that part of the job anymore because she didn't want to hurt Hank. He'd taken the excuse surprisingly well, or so she'd assumed.
As the minutes ticked by she almost began to wish he wouldn't come out. But with a deep breath, she screwed up her courage and, despite more than one disgruntled customer, she did not move from beside the door until at last it opened and Hank stepped out.
"What did he say to you, Hank?" she asked at once. "Whatever he told you, I can explain—" As soon as she saw the look on his face, she felt as if her heart had stopped. The anger she expected, but the sadness made her chest tighten with an unbelievable ache. In that instant she knew she loved him. She'd been too guarded to entertain the thought, and then too afraid to admit it. But she couldn't deny it any longer. Would it hurt so much to see him looking at her that way if she didn't care for him? Now it was too late. He knew what she was.
He didn't speak right away, only stood there staring at her, the anger overcoming all else. When he finally spoke, his voice was low so none of the other patrons could hear. "Do you think I'm some naïve boy?"
"No," she replied, a slight tremor in her voice.
"I knew you wouldn't be sitting at some station waiting for me," he said, stepping closer, his words almost coming out in a hiss. "I didn't expect to come riding into town like some knight rescuing the damsel in distress. But I hoped that..."
His voice faltered and his eyes lost their hard edge and suddenly something inside her snapped. The coldness that had come over her was gone and she could feel the heat spreading up her neck to her face. She feared his anger but she couldn't endure his pity.
"I'm sorry, Gina—"
"Don't!" she cut him off. "You think you drove me to this?"
"If I didn't—"
"If you didn't have a temper," she said with a sad smile. "If my father hadn't died. If my gentleman friend hadn't gambled. But you do, and they did. And here I am."
He reached out tentatively, then took hold of her hand, his grip firm but gentle. "Gina, you could leave this place."
"Just like that?" She looked down at his hand, the warmth of his touch almost erasing all the horrible feelings inside. "Brodie isn't my boss, Hank." She slowly eased out of his grasp. "He owns me." She hated to say the words but she forced herself to continue. "Even if I wanted to leave, I couldn't."
Before he could touch her again, before he could say something that would make her regret what she had to do, she turned away and hurried through the crowd, ignoring the pawing and whistling and calls for more drinks, till she reached the door in the back of the room. She didn't stop when she stepped out into the alley, hurrying away from the building, not caring where she was going. When she heard footsteps behind her, she turned expecting to see Hank. A man in a shabby hat and dirty shirt was stumbling jerkily after her. She vaguely remembered him from the saloon, he'd been putting away more than a few drinks, getting very friendly with the bartender, but she hadn't seen him before today. At least she didn't think she had.
"Where are you runnin' off to?" he asked with a crooked smile.
She started to reply that it wasn't any of his business but suddenly she had a strange feeling that she did know the man. Something about that grin was familiar.
"Come on, Miss Gina, don't be like this," he said moving closer, and she gasped with sudden realization. The man had allowed his beard to grow and he was shorter than she remembered, but then she hadn't gotten a very good look during the bank robbery. With a little gasp she started to back away when he suddenly grabbed her arm with one hand and pulled a small gun out of his shirt with the other. The grin was gone and she found herself staring into the clear, harsh eyes of Trent Carlin.