Read Online Between Love and Lies by Jacqui Nelson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jacqui Nelson
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door’s open.” Masterson exhaled a long breath. “Didn’t have time to lock it after I heard yer gunshot.”
Inside the jail, a cell with its door wide open greeted Noah. So much for his future.
“Have a seat.” Masterson pointed to a chair on his right, then strolled over to the chair’s partner on the other side of a desk. He waited until they were both seated before he spoke. “Well, boyo—”
“Name’s Ballantyne.”
Elbows resting on the desk’s worn oak, fingers laced under his chin, Masterson appeared bored, as if he were at a Sunday social that had gone on too long. Noah wasn’t fooled. Masterson’s gaze was sharp as steel, assessing him. “Well, Mr. Ballantyne, it appears yer pretty handy with a gun.”
Anchoring his thumbs on his belt, Noah suppressed the urge to fidget and aimed for a casual tone. “They say you are as well. You made a name for yourself with that gunfight in Sweetwater.”
Masterson flicked his fingers. “That was Texas, this is Dodge. Difference is I’m the law here along with my brother ’n Wyatt Earp. Wyatt ’n us go a ways back. I met him in seventy-two hunting buffalo. So, if I shoot someone, no one’s gonna toss me in a cell, ’cause I’m the one wearing a badge ’n I’ve got friends looking out for me. Understand?”
He didn’t. At least not how any of this pertained to him. He shrugged and let his gaze wander the lawman’s headquarters.
Behind Masterson, a cabinet full of polished guns was impressive, so were the thick bars and heavy padlock guarding the collection. But what really snared his attention was the half-open door on the other side of the room. It afforded him a view of an unmade bed surrounded by trunks and valises. The addition of dirty plates and coffee mugs scattered about the room amplified a chaos at odds with the Spartan neatness of the main room.
“The baggage ain’t mine.” Masterson’s chair creaked as he leaned back. “When someone dies without people to stand up for ’em, we bury ’em in Boot Hill ’n store their belongings here. Wait for their next of kin to show up.”
The marshal didn’t mention the other clutter. It appeared he’d spent many hours eating and sleeping in the jailhouse, which wasn’t surprising, since a town as rough as Dodge probably kept a lawman busy at any hour of the day or night.
Masterson reclined even further in his chair and propped his feet up on the corner of the desk, at ease, as if he’d made a decision. “You got plans to stay awhile in Dodge?”
“Maybe.”
A smile tugged Masterson’s lips. “Yer sort always over complicates things,” he said, pointing his index finger at Noah. “That much’s certain. How ’bout we lay all our cards on the table? Dodge needs—” he turned his finger on himself, “—I need another hand in this marshaling business.”
Noah stifled a snort. Masterson probably needed a dozen hands. Hell, maybe double that.
“Mr. Ballantyne, are you interested in being my deputy ’n helping me live to see November?”
Despite cautioning himself not to react, Noah sat up a little taller. Become a lawman? He respected Masterson, so assisting the man wouldn’t be a hardship. When he’d left Texas two months ago, he hadn’t expected to remain in Dodge for more than a handful of days. But the minute he’d walked into the Northern Star, his plans had blown away like tumbleweeds across the open prairie.
“Still waiting on my answer. You willing to buy-in to my game? Or is it time to fold ’n skedaddle?”
“I can’t leave Dodge,” Noah admitted.
“’Cause of the redhead over at the Star.”
It was a statement, not a question. Nevertheless, Noah found himself nodding.
Masterson blew out a low whistle. “You got an uphill battle with that one. I should know, ’cause I had a similar challenge. My Lizzie used to work in a saloon in Ellsworth.”
“Where is she now?”
“Across the street in our room at the Dodge House Hotel, waiting for me
Inside the jail, a cell with its door wide open greeted Noah. So much for his future.
“Have a seat.” Masterson pointed to a chair on his right, then strolled over to the chair’s partner on the other side of a desk. He waited until they were both seated before he spoke. “Well, boyo—”
“Name’s Ballantyne.”
Elbows resting on the desk’s worn oak, fingers laced under his chin, Masterson appeared bored, as if he were at a Sunday social that had gone on too long. Noah wasn’t fooled. Masterson’s gaze was sharp as steel, assessing him. “Well, Mr. Ballantyne, it appears yer pretty handy with a gun.”
Anchoring his thumbs on his belt, Noah suppressed the urge to fidget and aimed for a casual tone. “They say you are as well. You made a name for yourself with that gunfight in Sweetwater.”
Masterson flicked his fingers. “That was Texas, this is Dodge. Difference is I’m the law here along with my brother ’n Wyatt Earp. Wyatt ’n us go a ways back. I met him in seventy-two hunting buffalo. So, if I shoot someone, no one’s gonna toss me in a cell, ’cause I’m the one wearing a badge ’n I’ve got friends looking out for me. Understand?”
He didn’t. At least not how any of this pertained to him. He shrugged and let his gaze wander the lawman’s headquarters.
Behind Masterson, a cabinet full of polished guns was impressive, so were the thick bars and heavy padlock guarding the collection. But what really snared his attention was the half-open door on the other side of the room. It afforded him a view of an unmade bed surrounded by trunks and valises. The addition of dirty plates and coffee mugs scattered about the room amplified a chaos at odds with the Spartan neatness of the main room.
“The baggage ain’t mine.” Masterson’s chair creaked as he leaned back. “When someone dies without people to stand up for ’em, we bury ’em in Boot Hill ’n store their belongings here. Wait for their next of kin to show up.”
The marshal didn’t mention the other clutter. It appeared he’d spent many hours eating and sleeping in the jailhouse, which wasn’t surprising, since a town as rough as Dodge probably kept a lawman busy at any hour of the day or night.
Masterson reclined even further in his chair and propped his feet up on the corner of the desk, at ease, as if he’d made a decision. “You got plans to stay awhile in Dodge?”
“Maybe.”
A smile tugged Masterson’s lips. “Yer sort always over complicates things,” he said, pointing his index finger at Noah. “That much’s certain. How ’bout we lay all our cards on the table? Dodge needs—” he turned his finger on himself, “—I need another hand in this marshaling business.”
Noah stifled a snort. Masterson probably needed a dozen hands. Hell, maybe double that.
“Mr. Ballantyne, are you interested in being my deputy ’n helping me live to see November?”
Despite cautioning himself not to react, Noah sat up a little taller. Become a lawman? He respected Masterson, so assisting the man wouldn’t be a hardship. When he’d left Texas two months ago, he hadn’t expected to remain in Dodge for more than a handful of days. But the minute he’d walked into the Northern Star, his plans had blown away like tumbleweeds across the open prairie.
“Still waiting on my answer. You willing to buy-in to my game? Or is it time to fold ’n skedaddle?”
“I can’t leave Dodge,” Noah admitted.
“’Cause of the redhead over at the Star.”
It was a statement, not a question. Nevertheless, Noah found himself nodding.
Masterson blew out a low whistle. “You got an uphill battle with that one. I should know, ’cause I had a similar challenge. My Lizzie used to work in a saloon in Ellsworth.”
“Where is she now?”
“Across the street in our room at the Dodge House Hotel, waiting for me
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