Bounty on a Baron by Robert J. Randisi Page B

placed it on the table. Decker leaned over and unfolded the cloth, revealing five playing cards, face down. He turned them over, showing everyone how they read.
    “A pair of threes,” Decker said. “That’s the hand I called, and you lose.”
    Cal’s hands were on the table, and he was nervously drumming his fingers.
    Decker raked in his pot.
    “Are—are you gonna—kill me?” Cal asked.
    “For such a small pot?” Decker asked. “Certainly not—providing you’re out of here in five minutes.”
    “I’m gone, mister.” Cal pushed his chair back soquickly that it toppled over when he stood up. “I’m gone.”
    Decker watched the man run for the door, and the spectators went back to their drinking, disappointed that no one had been shot.
    “We owe you, mister,” one of the men at the table said.
    “Just be careful who you play with in the future,” Decker said, standing up.
    “You ain’t playing no more?” one of them asked.
    Decker looked at the end of the bar, where Martha was still standing. “No, I have another appointment.”

Chapter Twenty-two
    Decker could count on the fingers of one hand the times in his life that he’d been with a whore. Most of them had taken place when he’d been much younger. In recent years, when he’d been with a woman, it was always by mutual choice; money had had nothing to do with it.
    Martha was an exceptional whore. She was extremely lovely, with blonde hair, a slim waist, rounded hips, and full, shapely thighs. She was only about twenty-two and as close to being truly beautiful as any woman Decker had ever seen.
    When she had taken a slightly drunk Decker to her room the night before, she had made him feel as if she were doing it out of desire. Through the night, when they’d made love, she’d made him feel as if he was the only man who had ever pleasured her like that.
    When the bounty hunter woke up the next morning he felt embarrassed and glad that Martha was still asleep. He rose, dressed, and put some money on her dresser before leaving. He looked at her while she slept, and she seemed even prettier than she’d been the night before, when her face had been all painted. Now it was clean, and he could see what she really looked like. He was sorry she was a whore and that they hadn’t spent the night together just because they’d wanted to.
    He knew why he’d gone with her. It had been areaction to almost being killed. The worst way for a man to die was to be shot in the back, and he hadn’t escaped by much last night. The best way for a man to know he was alive was to be with a woman—especially a woman as desirable and skilled in lovemaking as Martha.
    Out on the street he stretched until his bones cracked. His eyes felt gritty because he’d only slept half the night, and his head ached from the whiskey he’d consumed hours before, but all in all he felt fine.
    He was alive.
    From his office Kyle Roman could see the Broadus House, and he happened to be looking out the window when Decker came out. Roman knew he couldn’t very well put the squeeze on Brand if Decker took him in. He was going to have to find a way to deal with Decker.
    He watched until the bounty hunter was out of sight. Then he walked away from the window and poured himself another cup of coffee.
    The only reason a man would be coming out of that place early in the morning would be Martha. For a moment the sheriff envied Decker. He’d spent some time with Martha himself.
    The next moment, Roman smiled as he figured out a way to get Decker out of his way without killing him.
    Decker entered the livery stable to check on John Henry and found the liveryman in an agitated state, mumbling to himself and shaking his head.
    “What’s wrong?” Decker asked.
    “Looks like there was a fire here last night,” the old man said.
    “A fire?” Decker demanded. “Is my horse all right?”
    “Oh, sure, mister. Your horse is fine. Fact of the matter is, it was just a small fire. Looks like