a McDonald’s. They started down the street and she sighed. No Big Mac for her.
“Let’s stop at this café and have something to eat. Maybe someone saw the outlaws.” Wes nodded toward a small restaurant nestled between the undertaker and a saloon.
It might have been the close proximity to the saloon, or maybe even the undertaker, but the men huddled around the few tables in the café had the scruffy look of those who lived on the wrong side of the law. The men in Denton had the demeanor of cowhands and farmers, ready to start their day’s work, and then return to their families in the evening. She took in this group and shuddered, glad to have her handgun tucked into her waistband.
Wes led them to a table in the corner and immediately took the seat against the wall. This left her facing away from the room, and the police officer in her screamed, ‘ turn around! ’ Before she could talk herself out of it, she picked up her chair and set it alongside Wes, no longer presenting her vulnerable side to a bullet.
“Good move,” he mumbled, his eyes scanning the room.
“Yeah?” A middle-aged woman, missing most of her teeth, with her greasy hair pulled back into a ponytail, walked up to the table.
“What’s good?” Wes asked.
“Nothin’. Whatcha want?”
Wes glanced to the table next to him, where a man bent over his plate, pushing food into his mouth. “What’s that?”
“Beef stew.”
“We’ll have two bowls of the stew. And bread.”
She shuffled away.
“Are you sure we should eat here?” Anna had to look away from their neighbor, who ran his tongue around his mouth and burped loudly.
“Everyone here seems to have no problem with the food.”
Anna leaned in closer. “Did you think maybe that’s why the undertaker is next door?”
They both jumped as the woman slammed two cracked bowls in front of them. A hunk of bread stuck out from either side of each bowl. “That’ll be fifty cents.”
Wes reached into his pocket and handed the coins to the woman. She grunted and hobbled off.
Anna ate a few bites of the stew, which had never seen a piece of beef in its life. The bread was surprisingly good, so she filled up on that. Being of a braver sort, Wes finished all of his meal.
“Now what?” Anna pushed the bowl away, and leaned her forearms on the table.
“We find the local sheriff and see if he knows anything.” He glanced around. “Although from the looks of things, that’s not a promising start, but we’ll try.”
It took them twenty minutes to find the sheriff’s office, since it wasn’t labeled, and no one they spoke with seemed clear as to where it was. Wes opened the door to a wiry man, his feet up on the desk, his hat covering his face, snoring away.
“Hey!” Wes shouted, knocking the sleeper’s feet off the desk.
“What the goddamn hell!” The man shouted, scrabbling for his gun.
Wes had his drawn and pressed against the man’s chest before his fingers reached his holster. “You shouldn’t sleep on the job.”
The sheriff raised his hands. “Whataya want? I ain’t got no money here, it’s all over at the bank.” He gestured toward the window.
Wes pushed the gun again, driving the man back. “Well, aren’t you the helpful sheriff.”
“The town don’t pay me enough to get shot at ,” the sheriff groused.
“And it apparently doesn’t pay you enough to stay awake, either.”
The man shrugged as if it wasn’t a problem.
Wes shook his head in disgust, shoving his gun back in its holster. He placed his hands on his hips. “I’m Marshal Shannon from Denton. I’m tracking four men who held up the stagecoach in this area a couple of days ago.”
The sheriff waved his hand in dismissal. “Don’t know nothin’ about that.”
“Well now, sheriff, I sure don’t want you to overwork yourself.” Wes glared at him.
“I told ya, I don’t get paid enough.” He stuck out a belligerent chin.
The muscle in Wes’s jaw tensed, but after a minute
“Let’s stop at this café and have something to eat. Maybe someone saw the outlaws.” Wes nodded toward a small restaurant nestled between the undertaker and a saloon.
It might have been the close proximity to the saloon, or maybe even the undertaker, but the men huddled around the few tables in the café had the scruffy look of those who lived on the wrong side of the law. The men in Denton had the demeanor of cowhands and farmers, ready to start their day’s work, and then return to their families in the evening. She took in this group and shuddered, glad to have her handgun tucked into her waistband.
Wes led them to a table in the corner and immediately took the seat against the wall. This left her facing away from the room, and the police officer in her screamed, ‘ turn around! ’ Before she could talk herself out of it, she picked up her chair and set it alongside Wes, no longer presenting her vulnerable side to a bullet.
“Good move,” he mumbled, his eyes scanning the room.
“Yeah?” A middle-aged woman, missing most of her teeth, with her greasy hair pulled back into a ponytail, walked up to the table.
“What’s good?” Wes asked.
“Nothin’. Whatcha want?”
Wes glanced to the table next to him, where a man bent over his plate, pushing food into his mouth. “What’s that?”
“Beef stew.”
“We’ll have two bowls of the stew. And bread.”
She shuffled away.
“Are you sure we should eat here?” Anna had to look away from their neighbor, who ran his tongue around his mouth and burped loudly.
“Everyone here seems to have no problem with the food.”
Anna leaned in closer. “Did you think maybe that’s why the undertaker is next door?”
They both jumped as the woman slammed two cracked bowls in front of them. A hunk of bread stuck out from either side of each bowl. “That’ll be fifty cents.”
Wes reached into his pocket and handed the coins to the woman. She grunted and hobbled off.
Anna ate a few bites of the stew, which had never seen a piece of beef in its life. The bread was surprisingly good, so she filled up on that. Being of a braver sort, Wes finished all of his meal.
“Now what?” Anna pushed the bowl away, and leaned her forearms on the table.
“We find the local sheriff and see if he knows anything.” He glanced around. “Although from the looks of things, that’s not a promising start, but we’ll try.”
It took them twenty minutes to find the sheriff’s office, since it wasn’t labeled, and no one they spoke with seemed clear as to where it was. Wes opened the door to a wiry man, his feet up on the desk, his hat covering his face, snoring away.
“Hey!” Wes shouted, knocking the sleeper’s feet off the desk.
“What the goddamn hell!” The man shouted, scrabbling for his gun.
Wes had his drawn and pressed against the man’s chest before his fingers reached his holster. “You shouldn’t sleep on the job.”
The sheriff raised his hands. “Whataya want? I ain’t got no money here, it’s all over at the bank.” He gestured toward the window.
Wes pushed the gun again, driving the man back. “Well, aren’t you the helpful sheriff.”
“The town don’t pay me enough to get shot at ,” the sheriff groused.
“And it apparently doesn’t pay you enough to stay awake, either.”
The man shrugged as if it wasn’t a problem.
Wes shook his head in disgust, shoving his gun back in its holster. He placed his hands on his hips. “I’m Marshal Shannon from Denton. I’m tracking four men who held up the stagecoach in this area a couple of days ago.”
The sheriff waved his hand in dismissal. “Don’t know nothin’ about that.”
“Well now, sheriff, I sure don’t want you to overwork yourself.” Wes glared at him.
“I told ya, I don’t get paid enough.” He stuck out a belligerent chin.
The muscle in Wes’s jaw tensed, but after a minute
Similar Books
