blazes are you doing?”
“You don’t want her getting away, do you?” Hannah challenged him, an obvious note of defiance in her voice. “Hell, she won’t do us any good as a hostage if she runs off.”
“That’s no reason to mistreat her.”
“I didn’t tie her that tight.” Hannah’s tone was surly now. “She’s fine.”
“All right. Just don’t get any ideas. She might turn out to be important to us.”
Hannah just snorted, as if to say how unlikely she considered that possibility.
Hannah was worried about
Caleb
getting ideas, Eden thought. The redhead didn’t like the way he had been treating the prisoner, didn’t even like the fact that Caleb had grabbed Eden and brought her along. Eden had a feeling that if she gave Hannah even the slightest excuse, the redhead would shoot her and claim that she hadn’t had a choice.
So she was going to do her best to cooperate for now and stay alive until Bill had a chance to rescue her. She wouldn’t try to escape, and she wouldn’t pay any attention to Caleb.
But all she could do was hope that he wouldn’t try to pay too much attention to her, at least while Hannah was around…
Chapter 17
Exhaustion—and, he supposed, the whiskey—finally caught up to Mordecai Flint and he dozed off sometime during the night. His wounded arm hurting woke him up early, though, and when he wasn’t able to get back to sleep he clambered up off the cot, stumbled into the main room of the marshal’s office, and stirred up the embers in the stove. At this time of year, the mornings were just cool enough to need something to take the chill out of the air.
When the stove had heated up enough, he put coffee on to boil. He would go over to the Nilssons’ café in a little while for breakfast, he decided, but before that he needed something to perk him up. He didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but he was a mite hungover.
Thank goodness the night had been a quiet, peaceful one in Redemption, he thought.
It
had
been quiet and peaceful, hadn’t it?
Mordecai hoped so. Nobody had come looking for the law, so that was encouraging.
The coffee wasn’t ready yet when the office door opened and Glenn Morley came in. Mordecai, sitting behind the desk,frowned at him and said, “You’re a bartender. What the hell are you doin’ up and around this early in the mornin’?”
“I came to see how you’re doing and change those dressings,” Morley replied. “And I’m up because I haven’t been to bed yet.”
Mordecai grunted.
“Busy night at the Prairie Queen, eh?”
“Yeah. People are upset and worried about that bank robbery, and a lot of people drink when they’re worried. Some of them lost their life’s savings.”
Mordecai scratched at his beard and said, “I never did hold much with banks for that very reason. And o’ course I was always movin’ around a lot, so it seemed to make more sense to keep whatever I had with me. Not that I ever had enough for a banker to want my business.” He used his good arm to gesture toward the stove. “Want a cup of coffee?”
“That would probably be a good idea,” Morley said. “Might keep me awake while I’m messing with that arm of yours.”
“Well, help yourself and pour me a cup while you’re at it.”
Morley smiled wryly.
“I just can’t get away from pouring drinks for people, can I?”
The process of changing the bandages and checking the wounds on Mordecai’s arm took almost half an hour, but the bartender was pleased with what he found. The injuries were clean so far, with no sign of festering.
By the time Mordecai was bound up and his arm was back in the sling, he was starting to get hungry.
“I’m headin’ over to the café for some breakfast,” he said. “Care to join me?”
“No, thanks,” Morley replied. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you this evening. Be careful with that arm between now and then.”
“As careful as this star-packin’ job will let me be,” Mordecai
“You don’t want her getting away, do you?” Hannah challenged him, an obvious note of defiance in her voice. “Hell, she won’t do us any good as a hostage if she runs off.”
“That’s no reason to mistreat her.”
“I didn’t tie her that tight.” Hannah’s tone was surly now. “She’s fine.”
“All right. Just don’t get any ideas. She might turn out to be important to us.”
Hannah just snorted, as if to say how unlikely she considered that possibility.
Hannah was worried about
Caleb
getting ideas, Eden thought. The redhead didn’t like the way he had been treating the prisoner, didn’t even like the fact that Caleb had grabbed Eden and brought her along. Eden had a feeling that if she gave Hannah even the slightest excuse, the redhead would shoot her and claim that she hadn’t had a choice.
So she was going to do her best to cooperate for now and stay alive until Bill had a chance to rescue her. She wouldn’t try to escape, and she wouldn’t pay any attention to Caleb.
But all she could do was hope that he wouldn’t try to pay too much attention to her, at least while Hannah was around…
Chapter 17
Exhaustion—and, he supposed, the whiskey—finally caught up to Mordecai Flint and he dozed off sometime during the night. His wounded arm hurting woke him up early, though, and when he wasn’t able to get back to sleep he clambered up off the cot, stumbled into the main room of the marshal’s office, and stirred up the embers in the stove. At this time of year, the mornings were just cool enough to need something to take the chill out of the air.
When the stove had heated up enough, he put coffee on to boil. He would go over to the Nilssons’ café in a little while for breakfast, he decided, but before that he needed something to perk him up. He didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but he was a mite hungover.
Thank goodness the night had been a quiet, peaceful one in Redemption, he thought.
It
had
been quiet and peaceful, hadn’t it?
Mordecai hoped so. Nobody had come looking for the law, so that was encouraging.
The coffee wasn’t ready yet when the office door opened and Glenn Morley came in. Mordecai, sitting behind the desk,frowned at him and said, “You’re a bartender. What the hell are you doin’ up and around this early in the mornin’?”
“I came to see how you’re doing and change those dressings,” Morley replied. “And I’m up because I haven’t been to bed yet.”
Mordecai grunted.
“Busy night at the Prairie Queen, eh?”
“Yeah. People are upset and worried about that bank robbery, and a lot of people drink when they’re worried. Some of them lost their life’s savings.”
Mordecai scratched at his beard and said, “I never did hold much with banks for that very reason. And o’ course I was always movin’ around a lot, so it seemed to make more sense to keep whatever I had with me. Not that I ever had enough for a banker to want my business.” He used his good arm to gesture toward the stove. “Want a cup of coffee?”
“That would probably be a good idea,” Morley said. “Might keep me awake while I’m messing with that arm of yours.”
“Well, help yourself and pour me a cup while you’re at it.”
Morley smiled wryly.
“I just can’t get away from pouring drinks for people, can I?”
The process of changing the bandages and checking the wounds on Mordecai’s arm took almost half an hour, but the bartender was pleased with what he found. The injuries were clean so far, with no sign of festering.
By the time Mordecai was bound up and his arm was back in the sling, he was starting to get hungry.
“I’m headin’ over to the café for some breakfast,” he said. “Care to join me?”
“No, thanks,” Morley replied. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you this evening. Be careful with that arm between now and then.”
“As careful as this star-packin’ job will let me be,” Mordecai
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