Showdown by Ted Dekker Page A

in his palm. For crying—
    â€œHello, Steve.”
    Steve
spun. Black stood by the shed, smiling warmly. His eyes dropped to Steve’s hand, and his smile faded, replaced by a shadow of concern.
    â€œYou okay?”
    Black moved forward, seemingly intent on examining him. But Steve wasn’t sure he wanted the man to examine him.
    â€œDo you mind?” Black asked, searching his eyes. Blue eyes. Comforting eyes. Genuinely concerned. The man looked different today than he had looked yesterday. He looked . . . kind.
    Steve turned his hand for Black to inspect.
    The man’s fingers were warm.“Pretty deep,” he said, digging in his pocket. He brought out one of those multipurpose pocketknives with small pliers.
    â€œI think I can get it. Do you mind?”
    Steve felt disconnected from the scene, despite the intensity of the pain and the sudden appearance of Black.
    â€œOkay.”
    Black opened the knife and gently worked at freeing the sliver. The stake. Steve turned his eyes away and let him work.
    The moment wasn’t awkward, something that surprised him.
    â€œEverything will make sense to you soon, Steve,” Black said softly. A burst of pain made Steve flinch. When he looked at his hand, the sliver was gone. Black held it up in the pliers, smiling.
    â€œYou see, it hurts coming out, but in the end you wouldn’t have it any other way.” He let the sliver fall to the grass. “Just like this town. After a bit of pain it will all make sense. My ways are a bit unconventional, but you’ll thank me, Steve. The whole town will thank me.”
    He lifted a hand and tipped his hat.
    â€œWhere are you going?” Steve asked.
    â€œI was on my way to speak to the father when I saw you down here. I’m sure he’s all messed up about now. It’s not every day that someone comes into town and pulls the stunt I did yesterday. I think he deserves an explanation, don’t you?”
    Black walked away.
    Steve wanted an explanation too, but he felt stupid calling out again. What’s that explanation, mister? And why did I dream what I dreamed?
    He was talking before he could stop himself. “What about my dream?” he called out.
    Black stopped and turned back. “What dream?”
    It was clear by his blank stare the Black really didn’t know of any dream.
    â€œNever mind,” Steve said.
    â€œYour dreams are your own, Steve.” Black tipped his hat again and left.
    Steve rubbed his palm with a thumb, relieved that the pain was gone.He stuck his hands into his pockets and headed for the saloon.
    His head felt heavy.
    STEVE SPENT the first thirty minutes by himself, wandering aimlessly around the bar, setting up shop. Wiping the counters down. Putting out glasses. Setting out peanuts. All without a thought.
    His thoughts were elsewhere, on the stakes.
    Claude came in about eleven, shirt untucked but buttoned up tight around his neck. He grunted and sat down in his regular spot along the bar. Early for Claude, who often came in for lunch, but never before noon.
    â€œYou open today?” Steve asked.
    The big Swede didn’t seem to hear.
    Steve looked out the window and saw that Katie and Mary were angling for the saloon from across the street. Early for them too. It meant that others would see them coming and join them. That’s how it always worked. Word spread fast in a small town. The lunch crowd was coming in early today.
    â€œSure,” Claude said.
    â€œSure what?” Then Steve remembered his question.
    â€œSure I was open. Closed for lunch. Traffic’s dead. Can I have a drink?”
    â€œLemonade?”
    â€œActually, I wouldn’t mind something stronger if you have it.” Claude rubbed his temples. “Head’s throbbing.”
    â€œBeer?”
    â€œJack and Coke?”
    Odd for a nondrinking man. Steve made the drink and served Claude.
    His mind drifted again.
    The door banged and Katie walked