EIGHTEEN
Clint had replaced the spent shells in his gun with live ones, cashed out of the poker game, and was standing at the bar with a beer when the sheriff showed up.
“I heard there was a shootin’,” Garver said to Clint.
“That what you heard?”
“Anybody hurt?”
“Just a beer mug,” Clint said.
“What?”
“You shoulda seen it, Sheriff . . .” the bartender said, and explained exactly what happened.
“Crespo, huh?” Garver said.
“You know him?” Clint asked.
“Yeah,” Garver said, “he fancies himself a gunman. Maybe you cured him.”
“I hope so,” Clint said. “If not, he’s going to find himself dead very soon.”
“That’s his problem,” Garver said. “My problem is you.”
“Me? Why am I a problem?”
“Somebody’s already tried to push you into a fight,” the lawman said. “It’s gonna happen again.”
“That’s not what happened, at all,” Clint said. “He was playing poker and he was a poor loser. If someone else at the table would have been winning, he probably would have killed him. They were lucky I was the one who was winning.”
“Tell me somethin’,” Garver said.
“What?”
“Why’d you do that thing with the beer mug?” Garver asked. “Why didn’t you just kill him?”
“Contrary to what you might think, Sheriff,” Clint said, “I’m not out to kill anyone. If I can avoid it, I do.”
“Well,” Garver said, “that’s sure not your reputation.”
“I can’t help that,” Clint said. “Whatever my reputation is, I don’t try to live up to it. So you’ve got no reason to run me out of town.”
“I’m not runnin’ you out,” Garver said. “I’m just sayin’ . . . I’ll be watchin’.”
“If somebody does get killed,” Clint said, “it’s not going to be my fault. You can count on that.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” the lawman said. “What are your plans for the rest of the evening?”
“Another beer, and then a good book,” Clint said.
“I hope that’s true.”
Garver turned and left the saloon.
“Bartender,” Clint said, “another beer.”
“Comin’ up.”
As the bartender set the fresh beer in front of him, the cushy little brunette sidled up to him.
“Are you really gonna go to your room and cuddle up with a book?” she asked, pressing her warm hip up against his.
“That’s what I was thinking,” he said, looking down at her. “Why, do you have a better idea?”
“I might,” she said, wiggling her shoulders saucily, also making her breasts jiggle.
“What time do you finish here?” he asked.
“Late.”
“Well,” he said, “I’ll be awake, reading, if you want to come over.” He told her what room he was in.
“You’re pretty sure of yourself,” she said.
“That is your hip pressing against mine, right?” he asked.
She bumped him and said, “What do you think?”
“Then I’ll see you later.”