Chapter Five
Zachary laid the woman's still form on the bed. Samantha, he'd been told her name was. She had one hell of a welt beneath her red waves of hair which were dry with blood. And it looked like she may end up with a bruise from Thomas Williamson's fists.
Goddamn brute.
Using a woman who clearly was unwilling to work. Holding her belongings and horse ransom to get your way. Putting hands on her to attempt to force her hand. Thomas Williamson was not any kind of man worthy of trust or respect—as a matter of fact he was one of the worst kinds of men.
Zachary had warned him not to hurt Samantha again but clearly he hadn't listened. By God he was going to learn that Zachary Marston was a man who didn't make idle threats.
Stepping away from the bed, Zachary turned his attention to the two saloon workers who had followed him to the hotel. They'd been talking the whole time, explaining the situation to Zachary. He knew about the incident at the livery and he knew about both Thomas and Marshall Oxley's roles. Zachary wasn't afraid of that good for nothing Marshall any more than he was Thomas Williamson.
He pointed to the older of the two women who had been studying him closely. "You're familiar..." she said.
Zachary tilted his head. Was she familiar? Zachary hadn't spent much time in the Hackney Saloon and Brothel when he'd lived here before because he'd known his family wouldn't approve. He had however played cards there from time to time and she had a vaguely familiar face—that was probably why.
"I used to live around here," he offered in response. She would no doubt recognize his name if he gave it or the name of his family. Everyone from Hackney knew about the Marston family—and their murders. "Go get the doc and let him examine, Samantha." Then he looked at the other woman. "You stay here and keep an eye on her. They'll be bringing up a bucket of hot water to clean her off a bit."
With those parting words, and without waiting for replies, Zachary strode from the room. He hadn't beat the rain into town and it was still falling steadily so he was leaving a trail of droplets on the hardwood floors as he stepped back into the saloon.
Nearly instantly the room became quieter as eyes landed on him. He heard the hushed whispers begin to hum in the air—his name floating among them. Zachary ignored it. Instead he focused on Thomas Williamson who was standing beside the bar with Marshall Leonard Oxley. Thomas noticed his approach and Zachary admired the man's courage as he stepped up to meet him toe to toe.
"You had no right taking that girl out of here. She has a debt to work off and she's obligated to...."
Whatever Thomas deemed Samantha obligated to do remained a mystery as Zachary's fist shot out and silenced the man as it struck his jaw and dropped him to the floor at Zachary's feet. Complete silence fell in the dusty saloon as even the piano player ceased his banging on the keys and turned his attention to the scene at the bar.
Zachary simply stepped over Thomas' prone form and approached the barkeep. "Give me a whiskey. It's on the house." The bartender paused a moment but saw fit to do as Zachary bid. Downing the shot quickly, Zachary tapped the bar for another.
Taking his second shot, he approached Thomas, crouched down, and tossed the liquid onto the unconscious man's face. Thomas came up sputtering. Zachary grabbed him up by his shirt collar and yanked him to his feet. "I warned you not to hurt that woman."
Thomas was pale and his throat worked a little. He jerked himself from Zachary's grasp and swiped at his dripping mustache with his shirt sleeves. "That whore...."
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..."
Zachary reached in his pocket and pulled out several paper bills and a few coins—about ten dollars in all. He held it out to Thomas. "This should cover it and then some."
Thomas was clearly not happy but seemed to know he had no choice. He spared a glance at Marshall Oxley. "You have nothing to say?"
Leonard simply shook his head. "Sorry, Thomas. It seems that horse is worth more than you're entitled to and if Zachary here is willing to give you ten dollars to cover costs, there ain't a whole lot I can do...."
Thomas jerked the money from Zachary's hand. "And the assault?" he demanded of the Marshall.
"Everyone here saw him carry that girl out of here... and they know who did that to her..."
Zachary was tired of this conversation, tired of the stares, tired of having so many eyes on him. "Bring the belongings to the hotel and leave them with the clerk within the hour. Don't make me step foot back in here."
With that he turned and left the saloon without sparing another glance at anyone including Timothy. He could feel hundreds of eyes watching him as he went and left one hell of an argument kicking up between Thomas and the Marshall. Zachary wasn't concerned. Neither Marshall Leonard Oxley nor Thomas Williamson were men that went after anyone stronger than themselves. Zachary had seen things in the last five years that would make them curl up in bed and cry at night. He didn't scare easy and he sure as hell wasn't scared of them.
Making his way to the hotel, Zachary stopped to tell the clerk to be expecting Thomas before making his way upstairs. The doc was just finishing up his exam and met Zachary at the door to the room. "How is she?"
Doctor Reynolds shoved his spectacles up his nose and rubbed at his graying mustache. "Never thought I'd see you back around here, Zachary. It's been a long time."
Zachary adjusted the rifle slung over his shoulder. Maybe he hadn't become so unrecognizable in the last five years after all. "I wasn't real sure I ever wanted to come back, doc." Zachary liked the doctor. Doctor Reynolds had always been a stern, blunt, no-nonsense, yet kind man and a decent one at that.
Doctor Reynolds nodded knowingly. "Can't say I'd have blamed you if you'd stayed gone. What brings you back?"
Zachary glanced past the doc to the bed and the woman laying still and unmoving upon it. Was she okay? She looked so pale and helpless lying there. It brought back some memories he'd just as soon keep at bay—then again, at least she was breathing. He hadn't arrived too late to save her. "Wanted to get the farm up and running again."
Doctor Reynolds seemed to understand that Zachary's mind was elsewhere. He adjusted the leather satchel in his hand and gestured toward the room with his head. "I think she'll be just fine after some rest. She took one hell of a hit to her head earlier today and it addled her pretty badly. I'd say it's a concussion and then getting banged around by that brute at the saloon didn't help matters. I don't believe there's any lasting damage done but brains can be fickle things so we'll know for sure once she wakes up."
Zachary appreciated the honesty and the lack of false hope. "What do I owe you?"
"Not a dime, Zachary. That woman's been in town for a while now but she's always been a quiet, skittish, private woman. The only people who knew her were the Morgan's and now they're gone. I reckon she's all alone in the world so I don't mind helping the girl."
With that the doc patted him on the shoulder and left. Zachary watched the older man disappear down the stairs and then stepped into the hotel room. The two saloon workers were sitting by the bed and they got to their feet when he entered. "The doc said...."
"I know," Zachary silenced the older one with a nod. "I spoke to him in the hall. Why don't you two stay here with her tonight? She may be frightened when she wakes up in unfamiliar surroundings."
"But work..." the younger lady began, glancing down at Samantha on the bed.
Zachary shook his head. "Thomas won't mind. And if he does have anything negative to say just tell him to come whisper it in my ear and I'll take care of things."
Both women seemed to stifle laughter. Thomas sure did seem to lack friends.
Zachary grabbed up the saddlebags he'd tossed in the corner when he'd first rented the room upon coming into town that evening. He could easily rent another. "I'll be going now."
He spared one last long glance at Samantha. He wondered about her and what circumstances had led her to this town and that saloon. What could make her so private and closed off? She was young and she was pretty beneath that paleness and bruising. After seeing so much ugly in recent years, Samantha was certainly a sight for sore eyes. Women like her didn't hide themselves away without good reason.
He got the impression that one of the women was about to speak and so he quickly made an exit. Zachary had had quite enough conversation for one night.