The Devil's Badland: The Loner by J. A. Johnstone Page B

night, but they’re not any match for hired killers like Hogan.”
    “And you are?” Pamela shook her head again. “I don’t mean to insult you, I truly don’t, and I know that you’ve changed since we last met…but you’re still Conrad Browning. You’re a businessman, not a gunfighter.”
    She didn’t know about Kid Morgan, Conrad thought. But then, not many people did know about the connection between him and the gunman known as Kid Morgan or just The Kid.
    “I can take care of myself,” he said. He put the same sort of arrogance into the declaration that the Conrad Browning who’d been engaged to Pamela would have displayed. “Don’t worry about me.”
    “But I do worry about you, Conrad,” she insisted as her fingers tightened on his hand. “You’ve already been hurt enough. I…I don’t want to see anything else happen to you.”
    He was touched by her concern. She might not look any different, but it seemed that she had grown up over the past few years. Tragedy had changed her, just as it had him.
    “Well,” he said, “I won’t do anything tonight. And we’ll discuss the situation again before I make any sort of move. All right?”
    “Perhaps you should send for your father,” Pamela suggested.
    Conrad shook his head. He knew that Frank would be glad to help him. He had said as much when Conrad last saw him in San Francisco, in the office of their lawyer Claudius Turnbuckle.
    But the days of Conrad running to Frank Morgan for help were over and done with. Frank knew that and respected it. The fact that Conrad didn’t need him as much just strengthened the bond between father and son.
    “We’ll talk again in the morning,” he said as he got to his feet. He held Pamela’s chair for her as she stood. They left the dining room and went into the lobby. Rowlett was in his usual spot behind the desk.
    “How are you, Mr. Browning?” the hotel man asked. “I heard there was more trouble.”
    “Nothing I couldn’t handle, Mr. Rowlett.” Conrad nodded toward Pamela. “Miss Tarleton needs a room. I hope you can accommodate her.”
    “Of course.” Rowlett chuckled. “The hotel does a good business, but we’re rarely full up. Not in a town like Val Verde.” He moved the registration book toward Pamela. “If you’d just sign in, miss.”
    “I’ll be taking care of the bill,” Conrad said as Pamela took the pen from the inkwell.
    She looked sharply at him. “That’s not necessary.”
    “I insist.” Conrad gave Rowlett a stern look as the man’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Miss Tarleton and I are old friends.”
    “Yes, sir, of course. None of my business, Mr. Browning. That’s a lesson you learn mighty quick in the hotel business.”
    Conrad felt a prickle of irritation at Rowlett’s smug attitude and the assumption the hotelkeeper had obviously made. Going on about it would just be protesting too much, though, and would probably only strengthen Rowlett’s suspicions.
    Let the man think whatever he damned well pleased, Conrad decided. He was long past the point himself where he gave a damn what anyone thought about him.
    “Just give Miss Tarleton her key,” Conrad said in a stony voice once Pamela had signed in.
    “You’ll, uh, want her room near yours, I reckon…”
    Resisting the impulse to reach across the desk, grab the man by the collar, and shake some respect into him, Conrad said, “That doesn’t matter.”
    In fact, he did want Pamela’s room near his, but only for the sake of her safety. Now that she had escaped from her uncle, Anthony Tarleton might guess that she was at the hotel with Conrad. He could send men to kidnap her and take her back to him.
    Tarleton wouldn’t get away with kidnapping any more women. Conrad made that vow to himself.
    To make sure it didn’t happen, he intended to strike first, no matter what he had told Pamela.
    Rowlett handed over a key. “Room Eleven. It’s a couple of doors down from Mr. Browning’s.”
    “That’ll be