Slocum and the Warm Reception by Jake Logan Page B

snow field.
    Some men wanted to kill him because of some old score to settle.
    Some wanted to collect one of a few rewards that had been placed on his head. Thinking along those lines, Slocum added Dawson’s three thousand dollars to that list.
    And some men just wanted to test themselves against John Slocum because they knew some other gunmen had lost a fight to him. Young outlaws were always looking to add a notch to their belt or polish their reputation, and Slocum didn’t have the inclination to sort through the number of times he’d been fired upon for such a paltry reason.
    He’d reached the little barn behind the hotel that was used as a livery stable for the hotel’s owners and guests. The door wasn’t locked, so he pulled it open to reveal an old carriage with wheels that could have been fixed if a talented blacksmith rolled up his sleeves and pounded them out for about a week and a half. Spiders and mice had claimed the carriage’s interior. Fortunately, that dirty old relic was on one side of the barn and the trio of horse stalls were on the other.
    Slocum led his gelding to one of the two unoccupied stalls and rummaged around for a feedbag. He found one hanging on the edge of the stall’s door, and when he glanced back to the front door, he found a bag of oats sitting right where Margaret had said it would be. He approached the oats, stooped down to pick them up, and saw a flurry of movement just outside the barn.
    Reflexes brought Slocum’s hand to his holster even before he got a look at who was rushing toward him.
    The figure moved silently upon feet covered in flat shoes. The dark brown cotton dress draped around the tall, lithe figure made more noise as it flapped in the breeze than the young woman who raced into the barn. She charged at Slocum, recklessly throwing herself at him without an ounce of concern for the pistol he’d almost drawn from the holster at his side.
    â€œOh my God,” she sighed as she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and pressed herself up against him. “It
is
you, John!”
    â€œAnna,” Slocum said in a voice muffled by the woman who was now clinging to him. “I meant to find you, but I just got into town.”
    Anna Redlinger held his face in her hands and leaned back a little to get a better look at him. Her face was just as pretty as he remembered—framed by plenty of flowing, light brown hair. A pert little nose sat at the center of her features like a single button placed upon a lovingly tailored doll. Her lips formed a little bow just beneath it and were colored as if they’d been rubbed by freshly picked strawberries.
    â€œAre you all right?” she asked. “I heard there was trouble. I heard shots. What happened?”
    â€œI’m not hurt,” he said. “You heard the shots?”
    â€œOf course I did. This isn’t exactly a rowdy town.”
    â€œHow come nobody came out when they were fired?” Slocum asked. Before he could ask his next question, Anna pulled him in closer and pressed her mouth upon his lips in a long, powerful kiss filled with more urgency than passion. The instant he tasted the familiar flavor of her, Slocum wrapped his arms around Anna’s waist and felt her thin frame melt against him.
    Several parts of his body responded as if it had only been a matter of hours since the last time he’d felt Anna’s naked flesh beneath his searching hands. However, he forced himself to take her slender arms in his grip and push her back a few steps. She looked at him with surprise and a hint of fear when he snapped, “What the hell are you doing?”
    â€œI was worried about you, John.”
    â€œThere wasn’t a soul out there when I faced those other two men. Where were you that you could see what was going on so well?”
    â€œI couldn’t see it. Otherwise, I would have found you sooner.”
    â€œHow did you find me at