Kentucky Showdown by J. R. Roberts

Clint said.
    â€œI know that, but . . . to accuse him of planning robberies? That’s ridiculous.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause he’s a businessman.”
    â€œAre you sure?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œHave you ever checked to see if he’s really a businessman?”
    â€œWell . . . no.”
    â€œMaybe you should.”
    â€œBased on what?” Hackett asked. “Your suspicions?”
    â€œThe Derby is tomorrow,” Clint said. “Do you really want to take a chance?”
    Hackett opened his mouth to answer, then closed it and thought a moment.
    â€œOkay,” he said, “I’ll look into it.”
    â€œWhile you’re at it,” Clint said, “you might want to check on Churchill Downs’ security.”
    â€œI know my job, Adams.”
    â€œYes, all right,” Clint said. “I’m sure you do.”
    â€œSo get lost and let me do it.”
    â€œRight,” Clint said. “Okay.”
    He turned and left the office, hoping that the sheriff was serious, and wasn’t just trying to humor him.
    After Clint Adams left his office, the sheriff went looking for one of his deputies. He was going to need somebody to watch the office for a while.
    * * *
    Fontaine looked at Sheriff Hackett as Gage let him into the house, led him into the living room.
    â€œYou’re not supposed to come here,” he said. “What if somebody saw you?”
    â€œNobody did,” Hackett said.
    â€œThis better be important.”
    â€œIt is,” Hackett said. “The Gunsmith came to see me.”
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œYou,” Hackett said. “He’s figured it out, Fontaine.”
    â€œHas he?”
    â€œHe knows you’re gonna hit the Derby.”
    Fontaine firmed his jaw.
    â€œWhat did you say?”
    â€œThat I’d look into it,” Hackett said. “You’ve got to take care of him, Pete. I don’t want him coming after me.”
    â€œHe won’t,” Fontaine said.
    â€œAre you sure?”
    â€œIt’s already being handled,” Fontaine said, “as we speak. You just get back to town and be ready to do your job.”
    â€œAll right,” Hackett said, “if you say so.”
    Gage showed the lawman out, then came back.
    â€œHe’s gonna fold,” Gage said.
    â€œDon’t worry,” Fontaine said, “the unfortunate sheriff is gonna catch a bullet during the robbery. He’s gonna die a hero.”
    â€œAnd Adams?”
    â€œHe’s just gonna die.”

THIRTY-THREE
    Clint went to the nearest saloon for a beer. It turned out to be the saloon where Jesse worked. He’d forgotten that.
    â€œHey, stranger,” she said, coming up next to him.
    It was early, the place was mostly empty, and she wasn’t dressed for work. Instead of a brightly colored gown, she wore a simple blue cotton dress.
    â€œHello,” he said, turning to her while holding his beer.
    â€œWhat have you been doing?” she asked. “Haven’t seen you in here since last time.”
    â€œI’ve been keeping busy,” he told her.
    â€œToo busy to come and see me?”
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    â€œBusy like everybody else?” she asked. “Trying to figure out which horse to bet on?”
    â€œNo,” Clint said, “I know which horse to bet on.”
    â€œHow did you figure that out?”
    â€œLike you said,” he answered. “Disregard all the tips, bet what’s left.”
    â€œSmart man.” She put her hand on his arm. “I’m not busy now. You wanna come upstairs?”
    â€œMen usually have to pay to go upstairs, don’t they?” he asked.
    â€œLike I said,” she replied, rubbing his arm, “I’m not workin’.”
    He studied her for a moment, then said, “All right.”
    â€œBring the beer,” she said, taking his free hand.
    He took a