Chapter Seventeen

Just as Zachariah had said they would, the trio reached a town at the end of the second day just as the sky was turning orange.

After dropping their horses off at the livery, the men stood shoulder to shoulder on the bustling road. This town was a common stop along the trail for anyone traveling upon it. Therefore, the people around them ranged from outlaws, to lawmen, to cattle herders and businessmen.

"Wyatt, go get us a room at that hotel down here. See about paying for all of us one of those showers their sign boasts about," Zachariah said.

Wyatt nodded as he adjusted the saddlebags over his shoulder. 'What are you gonna do?'

Zachariah glanced toward a pair of saloons down the street "I'm gonna go see if I can't learn something about Clive."

"There are two saloons," Craig stated. "Why don't I help by taking one while you take the other?"

Zachariah turned a questioning glance toward Wyatt. Wyatt scratched at his neck and bit his lip. 'You sure that's a good idea?'

Craig shrugged. "Why wouldn't it be?" When Wyatt's brow raised, Craig scoffed and patted his friend on the back. "I'll be just fine, Wyatt. Don't worry about me."

Wyatt was still skeptical. 'No drinking, Craig.' Memories of losing his best friend to the bottle plucked at old hurts and wounds.

Anger darkened Craig's expression before he masked it with a smile. "I'm a grown man, Wyatt. I'll be just fine. Stop mother henning me. You're starting to sound like Jeb."

Wyatt sighed. He didn't think sounding like Jeb was a bad thing at all. 'I'll get some rooms,' he said and with that Wyatt walked away. He wasn't comfortable at all with Craig being near whiskey but he also knew there wasn't a single thing he could about it.

Wyatt stepped into the hotel lobby and found the front desk empty. He frowned and took a seat on a roughly hewn bench to wait for someone to check him in. A set of swinging doors to his right opened momentarily to reveal a crowded diner attached to the hotel and brimming with people.

A tremendous growling sounded from the pit of Wyatt's stomach, reminding him that he was hungry. His mouth watered. A real hot meal sounded damn good right about now....But he wouldn't eat without Craig and Zachariah. They were just as hungry as he was.

Wyatt leaned against the wall. The hotel clerk was probably at the diner eating supper and Wyatt would just have to wait patiently. While waiting, Wyatt let his mind wander back to the night when Zachariah had kissed him in the moonlight.

He felt his heart speed up at the memory and his blood seemed to grow hotter. Zachariah's kisses had been intoxicating. Wyatt wanted more—and tonight he'd get it. That thought both terrified and excited him.

Wyatt had never been with another man before... would he disappoint Zachariah with his lack of experience?

After what seemed an eternity, the hotel clerk finally emerged from within the diner. He adjusted his glasses and patted his bulging belly. "Sorry to keep you waiting, sir," he acknowledged with a tilt of his head as he stepped behind the desk. "Can I help you?"

Wyatt stood and nodded as he approached the desk with a friendly smile. He held up two fingers and pointed toward the staircase that led to the rooms.

The clerk frowned. "Is there a reason you won't speak, sir?"

Wyatt sighed and forced that smile to remain on his face. He hated towns. He hated meeting new people and having to explain himself. He pointed to his mouth and shook his head.

"Just what I need in my hotel," the clerk grumbled with a sniff. "A colored man who's dumb to boot."

Wyatt felt as if he'd been hit—though it wasn't anything he hadn't heard before. He felt his smile falter a bit but again held up two fingers and pointed toward the stairs.

"There are other hotels down the road," the clerk noted. "Cheaper, and more friendly to your kind of folks."

Wyatt's fists clenched. He wanted to put the damn bastard in his place but didn't have time before a shadow filled the door behind him. "And what kind of folks are those?"

Wyatt turned to see Zachariah and Craig standing side by side. Both men looked angry—but only Zachariah looked ready to kill as those scars twitched on his tense cheeks and his gray eyes flashed.

"The man asked you a question," Craig spoke up, crossing his arms over his chest. "What kind of folks fare better at those cheaper hotels."

The clerk stammered and pulled off his glasses, wiping them on his chest. "Uh... well.. that is to say, men of a darker skin tone.."

Zachariah stepped forward, dwarfing the desk and laying his gnarled hand upon it. "There ain't a goddamn thing wrong with Wyatt's skin tone. You got a problem with mine?"

The man all but cried out when Zachariah reached across that counter and took him by the shirt collar. "You got a problem with injuns?"

Craig was chuckling in the corner, clearly over his temper. Wyatt's best friend had never been very good at being very angry—at least not when he was sober.

The clerk merely sniveled as tears gathered in his eyes and stared up at the giant man who seemed hell bent on killing him.

Wyatt's gaze went to the ceiling before he finally decided he should save the terrified man. He put his hand on Zachariah's arm and those gray eyes slowly turned to look down at him. 'Let him go. You're scaring him.'

Zachariah huffed. "That's not all I'll do to the bastard. What right does he have to treat you that way?"

'Let him go Zachariah,' Wyatt insisted.

Zachariah did and the man stumbled backward, fretfully tending to the mess that had been made of his shirt collar. "Come on," Zachariah growled. "We'll find another hotel."

'No,' Wyatt shook his head stubbornly. 'We'll stay here.'

Zachariah and Craig shared a glance and Zachariah shook his head. "We'll go somewhere else, Wyatt. I don't want to give this man my damn money."

Wyatt stood his ground. Gill had taught him to fight back. He wasn't going to hurt the clerk but he sure as hell wasn't going to give him his way and tuck tail either.

He turned back to the clerk and held up two fingers once more. The clerk frowned at Zachariah. Craig tapped the desk. "Well, you heard the man. We want two rooms."

The clerk swallowed hard and nodded, sweat trickling down his brow as he picked up a pen and held the quivering writing utensil out to Wyatt. "Just sign here," he said with a slight cough.

Wyatt took the pen and quickly wrote down his and Craig's first names only. He left Zachariah's blank and didn't include last names—there was no need to tell anyone they were here. If the wrong person saw it could cause trouble they didn't have time for.

After signing the names, Wyatt tapped Zachariah's arm to turn the man's angry glare meant for the clerk, in his direction. 'Tell him we need showers too.'

Zachariah grumbled something under his breath before turning back to the clerk and Craig's chuckling became laughter. "We'll be needing some showers too. Maybe a good cleaning will make our skin tones something more suited for your hotel."

Wyatt smacked Zachariah's arm and the man's lip twitched with a suppressed smile.

"Of course..." The clerk grabbed two room keys from the wall behind him and they jingled together as he held them out. "You can take your belongings up to your rooms and when you're ready for your showers, simply go through those doors there."

"How much do we owe you?" Craig asked, taking the offered keys.

The clerk shook his head and his throat quivered as he looked up at Zachariah. "This say will be free."

Wyatt shrugged. Free sounded good to him. Craig seemed to be thinking the same thing but Zachariah squared his shoulders. "We don't want, or need, your charity," he growled. "How much?"

Stuttering and shuffling papers with one hand, the clerk shoved up his glasses with the other. "Two rooms, three showers and meals will be two dollars."

Zachariah laid the money on the counter and adjusted the saddlebags on his shoulder before slipping his free arm around Wyatt's shoulders. The trio went up the stairs and stopped in front of the doors with numbers matching the keys.

Craig tossed one to Zachariah. "Y'all be good. Don't do anything I wouldn't do with... with a woman of course...." Craig frowned and rubbed his neck. "Only you'll be doing it with a man because you.. uh.. you want to...."

Wyatt rolled his eyes at his best friends rambling. 'Go to bed, Craig.'

"Yeah Craig," Zachariah agreed, opening the door to a room. "Go to bed." Before Craig could respond, Zachariah pulled Wyatt into the room and kicked the door closed behind him.

"Alone at last," Zachariah noted, his gray eyes predatory as they gazed down at Wyatt.

Wyatt trembled but shook his head. 'Shower first. I need a shower and you smell like the rear end of a mule.'

Zachariah's brow quirked up. "You make a habit of sniffing mule's backsides?"

Wyatt let out a silent laugh and moved away, setting his saddlebags on a chair and pulling out his extra outfit. He turned back to Zachariah who was still eyeing him hungrily.

Wyatt forced himself to breathe. Now was not the time. He wanted to be clean and wanted Zachariah to be clean...... then they could enjoy each other fully in the small hotel bed. He wasn't stalling......it wasn't as if he was terrified. Except he was. Completely terrified.

To change the subject, he decided to ask Zachariah about the saloon. 'You didn't find any signs of Clint at the saloon?'

Immediately Zachariah's shoulders slumped a bit. "No. But I didn't come out and ask anyone either. I was just looking around for what I could find with my own two eyes."

Wyatt smiled and patted Zachariah's arm. 'We'll find him. I'm going to shower now. Get us something to eat and you can shower when I come back.'

Zachariah licked his bottom lip and Wyatt's knees quivered. "You don't want to shower together?"

Wyatt all but ran for the door. 'I don't think that would be the best idea,' he countered.

Zachariah caught Wyatt just outside the door and took his arm. "You hurry back, Wyatt. Don't keep me waiting long," he warned and then he stooped down and pulled, Wyatt close, nipping at his ear and grazing his neck before standing straight and stepping inside, closing the door behind him.

Wyatt stood there, unable to move. His entire body felt as if it had been dipped in fire. Holy hell. Yep, he certainly needed that shower now.

Breaking through the want currently overwhelming his senses, Wyatt felt a prickle of unease wash up his back.

He was being watched.

He turned to glance down the hall and saw a man watching him from another doorway. The man was tall, fair haired, pale skinned and mustached. Wyatt was fairly certain he'd never seen the man before in his life.

However, the anger in that face had Wyatt swallowing hard. The man had probably seen Zachariah's affection toward him. Damn. Why did every trip into a town have to end with Wyatt being hurt in one form of another? Weren't there nice, safe little towns full of kind people somewhere?

In no hurry to have a confrontation,Wyatt scurried down the stairs, hoping the man wouldn't be offended enough byhis existence to follow. 1/RZ^/