Outlaw's Reckoning by J. R. Roberts Page B

probably coulda shot me dead an’ nobody around here would care,” he said.
    Since there were no more chairs in sight, Clint leaned against a wall. “Why’s that?”
    â€œBecause of what happened, that’s why!” Zucker snapped. “What the hell good is a bank manager that gives up all his money without a fight?”
    â€œYou didn’t give up without a fight,” Matt said quietly.
    Zucker brought his eyes around to glare at Matt as if he was still sighting along the top of his shotgun.
    Matt shrugged and added, “Well . . . you didn’t.” Seeing that Clint was now staring at him as well, Matt told him, “I needed to do some real convincing to get him to work with me.”
    â€œConvincing while you had his wife and family held hostage?” Clint asked. “Did that include . . . ?”
    Matt shook his head slowly. “I didn’t harm a hair on any of their heads. I didn’t need to.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Zucker replied. “And when everyone came out fine and dandy, all the folks in town started asking where their money went off to. I swear things would’ve been easier if you would have shot me rather than just hit me in the leg.”
    Clint looked at Matt and then back to Zucker. Actually, his eyes were drawn more to the stub that had been one of Zucker’s legs. “You mean you’re the one who took his leg?”
    â€œNot me, but one of the boys riding with my gang,” Matt replied. “When we couldn’t find the rest of the deposits, we got anxious. I told one of my partners to do some convincing and he let his pistol do his talking.”
    â€œBlasted me right in my goddamned kneecap,” Zucker growled. “Never had something hurt so bad in my life. Wait a second. I did, actually. After the wound turned sour and the doc had to saw off my leg, that was the worst pain in my life.”
    Matt winced as he drew in a deep breath.
    Digging out a bottle half-full of whiskey, Zucker went on to say, “Even after that, folks around here didn’t think it was enough. Those goddamned outlaws hit the bank after the lumber mill deposited their payroll. It took a hell of a while to get that money replaced, and all them mill workers blamed me for not doing my job.”
    â€œWhat did they expect you to do?” Clint asked. “You were robbed. You got shot, for God’s sake.”
    â€œThe manager before me was robbed, too, and he only let the robbers get away with a quarter of the funds in the bank,” Zucker explained.
    Seeing that Clint was eyeing him sternly, Matt nodded. “We pulled that job, too,” he muttered.
    â€œI guess that explains that!” Zucker snapped.
    â€œDid the mill shut down?” Clint asked.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThen why the grudge?”
    â€œBecause I’m not good with that shotgun and I’m not in charge of anyone’s job. At least, I wasn’t after I was fired from my own.” Holding the whiskey bottle in his hand, Zucker ran his thumb along the smeared glass and said, “Ever since I started drinking this stuff, I barely seem like the educated man I used to be.”
    Slowly, Matt reached out to take the bottle. Although Zucker put up a bit of a fight, it didn’t take much for Matt to pull the bottle away from him. “Trust me,” Matt said. “You’ll be a lot better off once you’re not pouring this poison down your throat.”
    Once the bottle was out of his grasp, Zucker allowed his empty hand to settle on top of the table like a flower that had been deprived of water. “So what’s your business here, anyways? Come by to see about robbing the bank again now that the mill’s back on its feet?”
    â€œNo,” Matt said. “I wanted to—”
    â€œWe wanted to thank you,” Clint interrupted.
    â€œFor what?” Zucker asked.
    Judging by the way Matt was staring at Clint,