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of how you’d stack up against me, would you, Mr. Jensen?”
    â€œNot at all,” Luke answered honestly. “I’m always interested in how a man handles a gun, though. I guess it goes with being in my line of work.”
    â€œYou see, Pa!” Bucky said. “Go ahead and draw.”
    â€œWell . . .” Hatfield shrugged. “I suppose it won’t hurt anything. Folks around here are used to hearing shots coming from back here when Bucky’s practicing.” He turned toward the fence, stood there for just a second, and then in a draw too fast for the eye to follow, the Colt fairly leaped into his hand and spat flame as he triggered three swift shots from the hip. Each of the cans flew into the air, neatly drilled by a bullet, and then thudded to the ground.
    Bucky let out a shrill whistle of admiration.
    Luke was impressed, too. He didn’t possess the blinding speed with a gun that his brother Smoke did, or even their adopted brother Matt Jensen, but he was faster on the draw than most hombres.
    However, Bob Hatfield would have shaded him if they’d been facing off. The marshal was that fast.
    He would have given Smoke a run for his money, Luke thought, although he firmly believed that Smoke was faster.
    Seeming a little embarrassed as he turned away from the fence, Hatfield lowered the gun’s barrel, from which a few tendrils of smoke still curled. He took three fresh cartridges from the loops on his shell belt and started replacing the ones he had fired. “It’s always best to reload as soon as you can, Buck. You never know when you might need a full wheel.”
    Luke heard the hint of a drawl in the marshal’s voice that he hadn’t noticed before, and it jogged something in his brain.
    From the back door, Consuela called, “If you men are through shooting up the place, supper is ready!”

CHAPTER 9
    The food was excellent. If Luke had been expecting something like he would have gotten down in Texas or south of the border, he would have been disappointed, because Consuela served fried chicken, corn on the cob, greens, and some of the tastiest, fluffiest biscuits he’d had in a long time. He decided that her excellence as a cook matched her fastidiousness as a housekeeper . . . and her beauty.
    Luke decided if Sundown Bob Hatfield hadn’t given some thought to marrying the woman, he was a damn fool. Two years of grieving for his late wife was long enough. But again, the marshal’s personal life was none of his business, Luke reminded himself.
    After they had eaten, Consuela announced, “I’ll take supper over to the jail for the prisoner now, Señor Hatfield.”
    Instantly, the marshal got to his feet. “I’ll come with you.”
    She waved him back into his chair. “There is no need. It’s only a few blocks, and despite its growth, Rattlesnake Wells is still a peaceful town.”
    Luke had noticed the same thing, and he understood better why that was so. Word must have gotten around about what a gunslick the young marshal was, and nobody wanted to cross Sundown Bob.
    That wouldn’t last forever, Luke thought as his mouth tightened briefly into a grim line. Sooner or later some hombre who fancied himself a fast gun would show up to test Hatfield’s speed, looking to make a reputation for himself. Even if Hatfield survived that encounter, there would be another and another and another....
    Luke’s brother Smoke was one of the few truly fast guns to survive very long, and even he sometimes found himself challenged now and then by some foolish kid hungry for fame and glory.
    â€œI’d be glad to walk with you, Señorita Diaz,” Luke offered. “I’m going back over to the jail anyway. I decided to take you up on that offer, Marshal. I’ll sleep on the cot in the storeroom.”
    â€œAll right,” Hatfield said. “I told Fred you might do that. I’ll be by later. I