One-Thousand Dollar Death (A Peacemaker Western #7) by William S. Brady

Author:William S. Brady
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: elmore leonard, zane grey, louis lamour, western series, western ebook, piccadilly publishing, old west fiction, william johnstone, ralph compton, cormac mcarthy
Publisher: Piccadilly

McLain set the Meteor back on the gun rack and locked it in place. His arm was hurting worse than he had let on, and he cradled it as he checked the cells. The money was still there, so he closed the cell again and pocketed the key. Then he sat down at his desk and poured whiskey into a tin mug. He swallowed half and spilled the rest over his arm. The liquor burned, prompting him to grit his teeth as he felt the fire run down. A few thick droplets of blood plopped onto the floor. He fisted his hand: there was nothing vital cut, and the blood was coagulating fast: tending it could wait.

He poured more whiskey into the mug and sat staring at the face of Hondo John Montrose depicted on the flier. Hell! If Masterson had been telling the truth, either Barclay or Couzens could be the outlaw. Come daylight, he decided, he’d talk to both men. Maybe he could find out just what the hell was going on.

‘It hurting that bad?’

Belle Hannett stood in the doorway. She was wearing a green dress with an apron over it. The apron was stained with blood. Her red hair was piled up on her head, random strands escaping to hang down around her face. She was holding a covered basket and her eyes were bright with a kind of defiant weariness. She looked good.

‘I was thinkin’,’ McLain said.

‘So was I.’ She came into the room and closed the door. ‘Shawn told me you’d been hurt, an’ I was thinking you’d most likely leave it go.’

‘You been in the saloon?’ he asked.

‘Where else?’ she replied, smiling. ‘I can look after a hurt man as good as the next woman. Better than most, in fact. Now let me see that arm.’

She came around the desk, setting her basket down, and slid his cuff button open. Her hands got bloody as she peeled the sleeve back. McLain could smell perfume on her; it was rich and heady.

‘You smell good,’ he said.

‘And you look like someone tried to butcher you.’ Her voice was businesslike and amused at the same time. ‘You got water in here?’

‘By the stove.’

He watched as she bustled over and stoked the furnace, producing a pan from the basket that she filled with water and set to boil. He was feeling the effects of the whiskey and his weariness; and thinking that she looked as good as she smelled.

‘Can you get that shirt off? Or shall I do it?’

‘What?’ he said, feeling suddenly confused. Curiously embarrassed, too.

‘I’ve seen a man’s chest before,’ she smiled. ‘An’ more.’

McLain began to fumble with the buttons. Belle shook her head and came to help him. Up close, her perfume was stronger. Her hands were very gentle. She eased the shirt off and tossed it in a corner, the movement putting her face close to McLain’s. He stared into her eyes. Then she pulled away, smiling.

‘This will hurt some.’ She brought the pan of boiling water over.

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