Chapter Forty-Six

The air in the saloon was thick with the scent of smoke and whiskey as Clinton made his way up to the bar. Bodies were packed in the place and the din of conversation was all around. The bartender saw his approach and immediately selected a bottle of whiskey, filled a glass and slid it to him.

Clinton was a regular here—or had been for the last couple of days. He had been laying low in this tiny Oklahoma town waiting on word from the man he'd sent to Hackney to gain information on Zachary Marston. That bastard. Thinking he could take everything from Clinton—his reputation, countless good men, his pride... and then simply ride back home and go on with his life as if he'd done nothing? He was wrong. Dead wrong. Clinton was going to finish things once and for all and Zachary Marston would be groveling at his feet begging for death before he was done.

Clinton settled onto a crooked bar stool that wobbled beneath him. This saloon was barely more than a hole in the wall and it suited this town just fine. It was the kind of town Clinton enjoyed staying in now and then. While it was true, this town provided none of the luxuries he typically enjoyed, it was also true that there was no law in this town. No rules. It was a town full of drifters, rovers, outlaws, and all around bad folk. The perfect town to recruit new men when he made his move on Zachary.

Sipping at his whiskey and lost in thought, Clinton was startled when the bartender slammed a hand on the bar top. "Marshall Oxley? What the hell are you doing here?"

Attempting to act uninterested and yet wanting to see the newcomer, Clinton glanced to the side. Marshall Oxley had the complexion of a long time alcoholic. An eyepatch sat on his ruddy face and his vest was tight on his pot belly.

"Thomas?" he demanded with clear surprise. "I didn't figure I'd see you again."

"Well, this is my saloon now," the bartender, apparently named Thomas, stated holding out his arms and glancing around the dilapidated saloon.

The apparent lawman, Marshall Oxley, chuckled as he sat on the stool next to Clinton. Clinton wasn't worried about the lawman—he was a fairly quick judge of character and this man was a coward. No one for Clinton to be concerned about.

"This is a pretty big fall from the place you had before," Marshall Oxley noted.

Thomas snorted, filling a mug with beer and sliding it down the bar to a waiting patron. "I won't get rich here for sure but it sure beats dealing with that bastard back there."

"Fucking Zachary Marston," Marshall Oxley practically snared as he took an offered shot of whiskey from Thomas and downed it quickly. "I hate that bastard."

Clinton's attention firmly piqued, he remained focused on the conversation between the two men. Thomas chuckled. "Yeah, he's an arrogant son of a bitch for sure. I take it he's the reason you're here instead of back in Hackney?"

Marshall Oxley adjusted his eyepatch. "Yeah, him and that friend of his Tim and their little whores."

"That bitch Samantha ruined my life," Thomas growled, his grip on the glass in his hand tightening until his knuckles grew white.

Samantha? Clinton frowned. No. It couldn't be his Samantha. His men hadn't been able to find her in nearly a year. She had either finally run east or was dead—he certainly hoped she wasn't dead.

Clinton took the final sip of his whiskey before waving his glass for Thomas to refill. "I didn't mean to listen in but couldn't help but overhear the man's name you both seem to dislike. Zachary Marston?"

Thomas and Marshall Oxley shared a look before Thomas nodded and refilled Clinton's glass. "Yeah. You know him?"

Clinton chuckled, hatred for Zachary Marston burning his gut more than the cheap whiskey. "Yes, I know him."

"Yeah, you sure look like you do." Thomas put his elbows on the bar and leaned in a bit closer. "And I'm guessing you don't like that arrogant son of a bitch any more than we do."

"You would guess correctly," Clinton admitted. He studied the two men. Marshall Oxley was clearly a coward but Thomas seemed a bit more formidable. Perhaps he'd make a good ally in taking own Zachary Marston—recruiting men had become harder after five years of Zachary slaughtering them left and right.

"Well tell us," Marshall Oxley encouraged, laying a hand over his gut. "What did you do to incur that bastard's wrath?"

Clinton took a long sip of whiskey to give him time to prepare an answer. He couldn't be completely honest. He wasn't sure either of these men would be on his side if he admitted to having Zachary's family killed—some men grew uptight at the thought of murdering children.

"We met about five years ago. I was doing some gambling and met Zachary at one of the tables. He gambled himself out of money and took loan off me. When I came to collect, Zachary murdered some of my men and ran. I tried for years to get my money back but he is a lucky bastard and slipped away each time—normally after killing several more of my men."

Thomas snorted and rubbed at his mustache. "That arrogant son of a bitch probably felt like he shouldn't have to pay his debt. Sounds like something he'd do."

Clinton shrugged and ran his hand through his thin black hair. "I'd love to find that bastard, get my money back, and pay him back for all he's put me through."

Marshall Oxley tapped his glass to let Thoams know he needed a refill. "He's living in Hackney just a few hours away." Then his eye narrowed. "What's your name?"

Clinton could lie. It would be easy to give a false name. But if he wanted these me to go gunning for Zachary with him, he had to be careful to maintain a certain level of trust between them. Would Marshall Oxley recognize his name? It didn't matter if he did. Clinton had no fear of that coward.

"Clinton Matthews."

Color drained from Marshall Oxley's face. He scooted back on his stool so quickly he nearly fell off onto the saloon floor. "You're Clinton Matthews?"

Clinton simply nodded and took a sip of whiskey. Marshall Oxley spared a quick glance at Thomas who was simply watching with mild curiosity. "I know what you did to the Marston family—I saw with my own eyes what you did. There's a reason he's chased you and it wasn't because of gambling debts."

Clinton fixed Marshal Oxley with a firm gaze and turned on his stool to face him. He rested his hand on the handle of his revolver. "Do you have a problem with that, lawman?"

Marshall Oxley swallowed hard before shaking his head and sitting up a little straighter. "No... No, I don't. And I aint' a lawman anymore. There's no badge on my chest."

Thomas tapped the bar. "So, you're the one that murdered Zachary's family?"

"My men and I." Clinton moved his hand away from his gun and laid it on the bar. "His father cheated me out of money so I showed him what happens to men who cheat me. Zachary wasn't home at the time or I would have killed him too."

Thomas chuckled. "Maybe not. After all, that was over five years ago and from the sound of the rumors I heard, Zachary killed a lot of folks while chasing after you."

Clinton bristled. More of that disrespect because of Zachary Marston's actions. Exuding a calmness he didn't feel, Clinton smiled, causing Thomas to take a small step back. "Zachary Marston is a coward who likes to shoot men in the back or kill them while they're sleeping. It's hard to fight with a man who won't face you." He clicked his tongue. "Besides, it seems like Zachary sent you running with your tail between your legs as well."

Temper flared on Thomas' face but the man was smart enough to let the insult slide. "Zachary Marston stole my livelihood in that town away from me. All because of that stupid whore."

Clinton sat up a little straighter. "Samantha? I heard you say that name a while ago."

"Yeah Samantha. Because of her I lost my saloon and the Marshall here lost his badge."

Clinton felt that gnawing ache in his gut. That instinct that told him he needed to know more about the woman. Samantha. Could it be his Samantha? "She must be quite a woman to have caused so much trouble."

Thomas snorted. "Oh she's pretty all right. Thick red curls, pale skin, freckles, green eyes, womanly figure..." He paused, tightening his grip on the bottle of whiskey he'd been holding to fill a glass for a patron down the bar. "Backstabbing, whore wants a free damn ride from everyone and acts like the world owes her something. Snobby bitch thinks she's too good for anyone and anything."

Anger festered in Clinton's gut. The physical description fit his Samantha. His gut told him that he'd finally found the woman he'd been searching for for years. And he'd see that Thomas paid for speaking about her that way.

Before Clinton could speak, Marshall Oxley chimed in. "I never felt more satisfaction in my life than I did when that bitch fell and hit her head trying to steal your horse. Remember that, Thomas?"

"Yeah, I remember," Thomas' deep laughter filled the air. "You almost killed her, Leonard. I hated her. Put some bruises on her myself and would have liked to have done more but she went running to Zachary and that was that."

"You harmed her?" Clinton's voice was ice.

Both Thomas and Marshall Oxley shared a look of confusion. "Don't tell me a man who murdered two small children is opposed to woman beating?" Thomas demanded.

Clinton stood slowly. "I am when that woman is mine. No one is allowed to harm Samantha. She belongs to me."

Without giving either man a chance to speak, Clinton pulled his gun, fired two shots and watched them both fall dead to the floor. The saloon fell silent. He spun his gun around his finger twice before holstering the weapon.

Clinton helped himself to the remainder of Marshall Oxley's whiskey before turning and leaving the saloon without sparing a glance at any of the ogling crowd inside. He wasn't worried about trouble. This town had no law. No one to care when two fellow drifters were shot dead.

Those bastards deserved it. They had harmed Samantha. Clinton would not let anyone harm her and live to talk about it. He had hoped he'd found two allies in his fight against Zachary Marston but there were certain boundaries that Clinton would not allow to be crossed—Samantha was one of those boundaries.

His rage was so all-consuming that Clinton didn't hear Leroy or Tex following him out of the saloon and down the muddy street until Tex spoke. "What the hell was that about, boss?"

Clinton's fists clenched. He adjusted his duster coat and cracked his neck. "Our plans have changed. It's going to be a bit longer before we can go after Zachary."

He pretended not to see the relief on both men's faces before Leroy asked. "Why's that?"

"It would seem that Zachary is married. Jenson said he thought he was with his new wife in Anbarina. She changes everything."

"We knew he had a wife because that's what the last letter said but it didn't mention a name. Who's this wife and why does she change things? We'll just kill her the way we did his family," Tex insisted.

"No!" Clinton's voice carried through the night air causing both men walking with him to startle. He took a deep breath to calm himself. "If anyone harms her, they'll pay in blood."

Tex and Leroy shared a knowing look and Leroy sighed. "It's her, isn't it?"

Clinton pictured Samantha in his head. Her full, feminine curves that he'd been dreaming off for nearly three years. Those big green eyes. That pale skin. He had to have her. No other woman in the world would do. And she belonged to him. He had won her fair and square. "Yes," his voice was tight. "It's her."

They stopped outside the rundown hotel as Clinton pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. Tex laughed, though the sound didn't contain much humor. "The universe sure has it out for you, boss. Putting Samantha with that fucking bastard."

That coiling hate in his gut, flowed through his veins, coursing throughout his body. Zachary Marston had touched Samantha. She was his, dammit! And Zachary had had the nerve to attempt to steal her.

"So, what's the new plan, boss?" Tex questioned.

Clinton took a long draw on his cigarette and looked toward the glowing oil lamp hanging in front of the hotel. "We know where they both are, we know they've settled down on their little homestead and aren't going anywhere. So, we wait. The man I've placed in Hackney will send us word and let us know when the time is right. We get Samantha first—I don't want her in harms way when we finally gun down Zachary Marston."

"I don't mean to sound doubtful, boss, cuz Lord knows I hate that bastard but, are you sure we can take him?" Tex questioned.

Clinton fought the urge to blow that doubtful look off Tex's face. He had few original, loyal men left and he couldn't afford to murder the ones that remained—even if they deserved it for their doubt.

Tex must have recognized the glint in Clint's eyes because he raised his hands in surrender, took a quick step back, and lowered his gaze submissively. Clinton took a steadying breath. "We will have something he wants. He'll come for my Samantha and when he does, we will end his life once and for all."