Clint walked Terry over to the Drinkwater Saloon, which he had only just left.
Actually, she stormed over there ahead of him and he had to hurry to catch up. She was a tall girl who took long strides when she was angry.
He entered the saloon behind her and she stalked over to the bartender.
“Give me a beer, Buck!” she demanded.
“Miss Restin,” Buck said, “you know I can’t do that. What would your father say?”
“Goddammit!” she swore. “Is every man in this town afraid of my father?”
“Buck works for your father, Terry,” Clint said. “It’s not fair of you to ask him to do something that will cost him his job.”
She turned and looked at Clint.
“Well, you’re not afraid of him, I can tell that much,” she said.
“No, I’m not.”
“Then why are you working for him?”
“He’s paying me five thousand dollars.”
“Money means that much to you?” she asked. “It makes you work for a man you despise.”
“And what makes you think I despise your father?” he asked her.
“I can tell.”
“Terry,” Clint said, “Let’s sit down. Buck, can we get two coffees?”
“That I can do,” the bartender said.
They sat down at a table and Buck brought over two cups of coffee.
“Thanks,” Clint said.
Buck gave him a look behind Terry’s back and then returned to the bar.
“What’s on your mind, Terry?”
“I want to buy you off, Clint,” she said. “What’ll it take? Money? My lily white body? I’m very good in bed. I may be young but I’m very experienced.”
“I’m sure you are, Terry,” Clint said, “but the answer is no on both counts.”
“But why?”
“Can you keep my ass out of jail?” Clint asked. “Do you have any influence over the sheriff and the circuit judge? Can you keep me from being charged with – and tried for – shooting a man?”
She looked down at her cup and said, “No.”
“Can you convince your father not to frame me for murder if I don’t deliver you?”
“No.”
“Then I think you better go on home and get yourself packed for the trip. And pack light. We’re leaving on horseback.”
“What? No stage? Or train?”
“We’ll see, Terry,” he said. “Go home.”
She stood up, started away, then turned back.
“Go home! Pack!”
She turned and walked out the door.
“Beer?” Buck asked from the bar.
“Definitely.”
Buck brought it over.
“You didn’t have to worry about that little hellcat,” the bartender said.
“Why’s that?”
“I had my hand on my shotgun the whole time.”
Clint finished his beer and once again made the walk to his hotel. This time when he walked through the lobby the desk clerk averted his eyes.
Clint went up the steps and approached his room. When he got there the instincts that had kept him alive all these years kicked in. He placed the palm of his hand flat against the door and it was as if he could feel the presence of someone on the other side.
He drew his gun, slid the key into the lock, and swung the door opened violently.
The girl on the bed jumped and held the sheet up to cover her nudity, and then realized it was him.
“Jesus, Clint!” she said. “You scared me half to death.’
“The desk clerk was acting funny.”
“I paid him to let me in.”
“I didn’t know it was you, Beth,” Clint said, grateful that he hadn’t brought Terry up there with him.
“How did you know anyone was up here?”
“Like I told you, the clerk was acting funny,” he said, “and I could feel that someone was here.”
“Well,” she said, “now that you know it’s me could you put the gun away?”
He looked down at the gun in his hand, which was still pointing at her.