Marlene Vanders did not miss much. As the manager of the Wild Horse Saloon, very little escaped her scrutiny.
When she saw the man dressed in black talking to Bonnie, her interest perked considerably. And the more she stared at the stranger, the more fascinated she became.
He did not resemble any of the miners or prospectors who frequented her watering hole, and he certainly was a cut or two above the gunmen Canby had on his payroll.
No, there was something decidedly different and distinctive about the man she saw at the table near the back entrance. And when he took off his hat, her gaze took in his thick black hair, the way it flowed down the back of his neck above his broad shoulders.
He looked and acted like a courtly Southern gentleman, and she knew he didn’t belong in Deadfall, any more than she did.
She walked over to the tall man’s table after Bonnie had left. Leaning close to him, she asked, “May I join you?”
“By all means, ma’am,” Slocum said. He stood up and pulled out a chair for her. She sat down and he scooted the chair closer to the table before he sat back down.
“I’m Marlene Vanders,” she said. “I own this establishment. May I ask your name, sir?”
“My name is Jack Smith,” Slocum lied.
“Sure it is,” she said with a merry twinkle in her eye. “And I’m Little Bo Peep.”
Slocum laughed.
“Buy you a drink?” he said.
“Why, I would be flattered,” she said. “But I only partake of soda water when I’m working.”
“You look mighty elegant for a working gal,” he said.
Marlene smiled. Her smile was warm and friendly.
“You know you’re taking a chance coming in here, don’t you, Mr. Slocum?”
“Call me John,” he said.
“I thought it was Jack,” she retorted.
“I answer to many names, ma’am.”
Slocum sipped his drink. Marlene raised her hand. In a few moments, one of the Mexican glitter girls appeared at the table carrying a tray with a glass of soda water on it.
“Thank you, Teresa,” she said. “Mr. Smith will pay you for my drink.”
“That will be one bit,” Teresa said.
Slocum reached into his pocket and laid a quarter on the tray.
Teresa curtsied, then left to go back to the bar. That was after she batted her long black lashes and winked at Slocum.
“I came here to check on the two new gals you hired today, Miss Vanders,” Slocum said.
“Please, John. Call me Marlene.”
“Yes’m.”
“You mean Bonnie and Renata, I assume. Why, they’re doing just fine. As if they were born to the task of serving my patrons.”
“I hope you pay them what they’re worth,” Slocum said.
Marlene took a sip of her drink and cocked her head.
“Do I detect a faint drawl in your speech, John? You’re not from Arizona Territory, by no means, are you?”
“Georgia, ma’am, Calhoun County. Born and raised.”
“I thought so. I’m originally from Mississippi myself, and I must tell you I miss the Southern charm of the folks down South.”
Slocum sipped his beer.
He looked at Marlene and she was beautiful. But his gaze roamed over the room, and in a far corner, he spotted Obie Gump, who had not seen him. He hoped the wagon driver would not look his way and walk over. It would be awkward and could turn ugly in a hurry if he were to bandy the name of Slocum about.
“John, I had a talk with Bonnie and Renata about their trip out here as would-be brides. They had some interesting things to say about you.”
“I’m sure,” Slocum said.
Marlene smiled.
“They said that not only did you save their lives from the Apaches, but that you proved to be an ingenious and innovative lover.”
“Nice girls don’t tell,” Slocum said as he glanced over her head at new men at the batwing doors. Men he did not know.
“They were anxious to share their experiences with you,” Marlene said. “Did you find them to be pleasurable?”
“Men don’t discuss women in saloons. Especially with such a beautiful woman as you, Marlene.”
“You flatter me, John.”
“You are a beautiful woman,” Slocum said.
“Very,” he said.
She threaded her hair with delicate fingers and tossed her head back like a proud woman.
“I find you very attractive. Handsome in a certain way,” she said.
“You flatter me, as well,” he said.
“Men usually do not interest me,” she said. “But there is something about you that draws me to you. Maybe it’s your toughness combined with a gentility that is a trait of some Southern men, or maybe it’s that you exude a masculinity that is, well, almost primitive. Like a wild wolf that has been partly tamed.”
She smiled again, almost as if she had surprised herself.
Slocum did not say anything just then. He was still trying to figure her out, he admitted. She was as mysterious as she was beautiful. But so far, he felt no stirring of desire. There was something cold about Marlene, something lovely that was made of iron.
The men walked into the saloon, but did not look around the room. Instead, they headed for the nearest table. They looked like hard-rock miners with their chambray shirts, flannel trousers, and heavy work boots. They wore no sidearms.
Marlene sipped her soda water.
Slocum hoisted his beer and drained the glass.
“So you want another?” she asked.
“No, this is a one-beer night for me, I reckon,” he said.
“Why? Are you going somewhere?”
“I am,” he said. “Soon.”
“Where?”
“Curiosity killed the cat,” he said.
“My, you’re certainly fond of quaint homilies, John. I almost get the feeling that you don’t really want to talk to me.”
“I did not mean to give you that impression,” he said.
“You know, my quarters are right behind this wall,” she said. “Just beyond the stairwell.”
“Are you inviting me to your room?”
She leaned forward.
“I’m thinking that if we were alone in a more gracious atmosphere, I might find out more about you.”
“What you see, Marlene, is pretty much what you get with me.”
“I doubt that,” she said.
At that moment, the batwing doors swung open and a man bulled his way into the saloon.
He was glaring in challenge to any man in his path, but he was looking straight at Slocum.
Slocum reached over to the other chair and picked up his hat. He put it on and sat there for a moment, ready to spring to his feet.
“Are you leaving so soon, John?” Marlene asked.
“It looks like I might have to,” he said.
He looked beyond her with his green eyes fixed on something. She turned around to see what he was looking at with such intensity.
There, in clear view, stood a man she knew.
He began to walk directly toward their table.
He looked ready to fight.
Slocum’s right hand slid down his trousers to land on the butt of his pistol.
Marlene gasped.
The man approaching them was Walt Bozeman. The one they called Boze.
Men cleared a path for Boze.
Then they all looked toward the table where Marlene sat with Slocum.
Slocum braced himself for a gunfight he did not want.