Chapter Twenty-One

Timothy watched Zachary and Samantha ride out of town and said a quick prayer that Samantha would be able to reach into Zach's thick skull and pull out the sense that Timothy knew had to be in there. He was worried about his oldest friend. Zachary had always been a bit closed off when it came to his feelings but the way he was lately.... Timothy could only hope that he was opening up to Samantha. The man needed somebody and while Timothy would gladly be there for his best friend, he had a feeling that feisty red-head with big green eyes and quiet strength, was what Zachary really needed.

A commotion behind him had Timothy turning to see the bartender Otis, helping a shaken Thomas out of the saloon. Blood was still dripping steadily from the cut on his throat, his nose was swollen and crooked, his lips were split and bleeding, and he was clearly still too addled to stand on his own as he leaned heavily on Otis.

"Did you learn your lesson?" Timothy asked, raising his brow.

Thomas seemed as if he had been deflated. He looked scared, small, and no longer resembled the strong, cocky, angry man he'd been an hour ago. "That man was going to kill me..." Thomas's voice was thick and garbled and Timothy wasn't sure how much of that was because of the state of his nose and mouth, and how much was emotion he was fighting back. "Thank you for saving my life."

Timothy laughed, shaking his head. "I didn't do it for you, asshole. As far as I'm concerned any man who puts bruises on ladies—" Timothy's gaze went to Eleanor and the dark bruise on her arm that was clearly fingerprints from being grabbed. He looked back at Thomas. "—deserves exactly what Zach wanted to do to you. No, I stopped him for him. Because you aren't worth being hanged over."

Timothy motioned down the street. "You might want to get him to the doc, Otis. And, Thomas, if you see Leonard I'd suggest you tell him you fell on the bar and broke a bottle with your neck. I wouldn't push Zachary any further than you already have. I might not be able to stop him next time."

Thomas' small beady eyes grew wider than Timothy had ever seen them and he nudged Otis to get the bartender to begin helping him hurry down the street.

Timothy found himself laughing again.

"We should go get ready for work," Caroline's voice drew Timothy's attention back to the two women standing with him. He suddenly found himself feeling as awkward as a preacher caught with his pants down when he realized that he had, on several separate occasions, paid to lay with both of them.

He rubbed the back of his neck and motioned toward the saloon. "If uh.. if he gives y'all any more trouble, just let me know."

"Why? Are you going to fight him too?" Caroline asked with amusement as her dark brow raised.

"I ain't much of a fighter, ma'am," Timothy admitted, doing his best to keep his gaze from straying to the blond, Eleanor. "But I won't stand to see women mistreated either, so like I said, just let me know."

"Thank you." Eleanor's voice was quiet, and while she stood only a few feet away she sounded distant. Timothy saw her rubbing at that bruise on her arm and he wondered if there were more. She seemed different from what he remembered. Standing on the boardwalk she seemed quiet, withdrawn, almost haunted—the last time he'd interacted with her at the saloon she'd been full of laughter, unashamed sultriness, and plenty of spirit. What had happened?

Then again, maybe she only acted that way to lure men in and earn herself more money. Timothy had never taken the time to think that a whore might be anything other than she put on while working—but maybe there was more to these women. Timothy internally smacked himself. Of course, there was. Everyone had a story. What was Eleanor's?

"Uh..sure..." Timothy rocked back on his heels. "Are you hungry? Come to the diner with me and I'll treat you ladies to lunch."

Eleanor's big blue eyes finally moved away from the saloon door and looked up into his own. She frowned. Her cheeks reddened. Timothy thought she looked ashamed. "No thank you," she quickly whispered before all but running away from him and disappearing inside.

Caroline patted his arm, drawing his attention back toward her. A gentle smile deepened the lines that age had begun putting around her eyes. "We're whores, Timothy. We're not allowed to sit in the diner and eat with everyone else. And you don't have to waste time taking us out to eat, you know that. If you want to spend time with Eleanor, she starts work at seven and I'm sure you remember how much it costs."

Timothy stood there unsure of exactly what he was feeling after Caroline walked away. It had only been a couple of weeks since he had last paid for Eleanor's company in that saloon and brothel and when he realized that despite that he didn't know anything about the woman, he felt guilt creep in.

Timothy had always had fun with working women, poker, and drinking. He hadn't ever seen anything wrong with it. He figured those women had a job to do and so he was going to let them do it. But meeting Samantha had begun to change that thought. She had nearly been raped because Thomas had forced her to work. True, he didn't think that Eleanor, Caroline, or any of the other women in the brothel were being forced to be there against their will, but that didn't mean they were there entirely by choice. Did any little girl want to grow up to be a whore?

Hell, Timothy didn't know. He'd never taken the time to have a real conversation with any working woman. He simply went with them into a room, slid inside them, found release, and left. Damn....

Timothy shoved his hands in his pockets as he made his way toward the diner. What kind of man was he? He'd never laid with a woman he actually cared about, had never had a conversation with a woman he cared about in any way other than friendship and that was only Samantha... Timothy was pretty damn sure he'd never even taken the time to ensure the paid women he laid with found any kind of pleasure from him—he hadn't figured it was his job since he was paying them. What kind of man was he?

Hell.

He sat down hard on a bench outside the diner and put his face in his hands. Here Timothy had been so damn worried about his friend and hadn't taken the time to realize that he was just as lost.

His father had died when Timothy had only been three, so he didn't have any memories of the man. His mother had been a cold and distant woman who didn't show affection to her only child and the man she married when Timothy was five had been an angry, abusive drunkard who hadn't liked having a reminder of the man who'd come before every time he looked at Timothy. More than once Timothy had sported bruises from the man's angry fists and so he had gotten pretty good at simply staying out of the way.

Zachary's family had been his saving grace. If not for Zach's friendship and the love that his parent's Paul and Evelyn had shown him, Timothy could have turned into a very different man. At the age of ten he'd moved in with them, calling their sofa his bed. His family hadn't missed him—had actually been glad to see him gone.

The Marston's had been the best people Timothy had ever known. Their house was a warm, loving home full of laughter and peace. Then that day had come around.

Zachary and Timothy had been nineteen and out running wild like boys wanting to act like grown men were prone to do. Zachary had wanted to go home but Timothy hadn't been ready because he'd wanted to compete in a poker match that night. So, Zachary had gone home alone and he'd found his family slaughtered. Timothy felt bone deep guilt over that. He should have been there for his best friend. Not to mention he should have been there to keep his adopted family safe.

Timothy had come back to Hackney two days later expecting to be welcomed by his family only to find that everything in his life was gone. Zachary had packed up Timothy's belongings and left them with the doc making it clear that he wasn't to go back to the house. Paul's quiet strength was gone. Evelyn's no-nonsense, tell it like it was way of caring was gone. Sara and Susan's sweet voices and gentle innocence was gone. They'd been stolen by a murdering outlaw and his gang of evil. And so had Zachary. Timothy's entire world had, quite simply, disappeared.

Timothy had lost a lot in his life. He'd lost his blood father, his cold bitch of a mother, his abusive step-father, and the place he'd called home until the age of ten—none of that compared to the loss he felt losing the Marston's.

And he had been stuck since that day. What had he done the last five years? Nothing. He gambled, he drank, he slept with paid women, avoided relationships with unpaid ones, he didn't work a steady job, had no home, hell he hadn't grown up at all—it was like he'd simply stopped trying to move forward a bit after his life got taken away from him at nineteen.

It wasn't until he'd realized Zachary was back, had seen the man in that saloon knocking Thomas Williamson around and defending Samantha's honor that Timothy had begun to realize he'd been living without living.... And now, after having his best friend back in his life, getting to know Samantha, and coming out of the fog that he'd been stranded in, Timothy was left wondering. What did he want to do with his life? Who did he want to be?

He wanted love—he knew that. He'd seen how good love could be when he'd watched how completely Paul Marston had loved Evelyn and how devoted she was to him right back. He saw love bringing his best friend back to life and envied the way Samantha looked at him—not because Timothy had any interest in Samantha but because he wondered what it would feel like to be looked at that way.

What else did he want? Pushing himself to his feet, Timothy decided he would think long and hard about all that over some lunch. His stomach growled its agreement and he let out a sigh before going into the diner for some soup and introspection.

***

While Samantha knew that it would sound a bit cliché to most, but she felt as if she were floating as she rode back into town with Zachary that night. Darkness had already fallen. After making love, Zachary had taken Blaze's saddle blanket, spread it out upon the grass, and the two of them had simply laid curled up together talking, laughing, and dreaming about what their future would look like.

Zachary had heard her stomach rumble and had taken a can of beans from his saddlebags, warmed them over a small fire, and they'd eaten them together straight from the can, sharing a spoon. Not the fanciest meal Samantha had ever eaten—but definitely the best. To be alone under the setting sun with Zachary Marston, feeling his strong arms around her as she had leaned back against his chest and hearing that deep, quiet timbre of his voice whispering how much he wanted a life with her....

"You okay?" Zachary's voice broke through her thoughts and Samantha realized her sigh had been quite loud.

She smiled even as color flooded her cheeks. "Yes."

That slow smile spread across Zachary's face and Samantha loved the sight of it. He led her to the livery where they dropped off the horses. "Aren't you going back to the ranch tonight?" she asked him, as he put Blaze in a stall.

"No. I fed the shire mare out there this morning and she's taken care of. I reckon I'll stay at the hotel tonight and go out in the morning. You said they're delivering the house supplies tomorrow, right?"

"That's what Mr. Anders said."

"You'll come out tomorrow too, won't you?" Zachary pulled Blaze's saddle from his back. "Even with you, me, and Timothy working it's gonna take a while to clean up the mess and get the new house put up."

Samantha laid Athena's saddle in the corner of the stall and patted the mare down. "You know I'll be there. I wonder if we could hire a crew to help build it?"

Zachary seemed thoughtful. "We can ask Mr. Anders in the morning. We won't be ready to build right away—there's a mess to clean first."

Samantha heard the tension in his voice and knew he was thinking about the charred remains of the farmhouse he'd burned to the ground. Giving Athena a quick kiss to the nose, Samantha left the stall and secured the door before going to Zachary and wrapping her arms tight around him from behind, resting her cheek against his back. "I'll be right there with you, Zachary." She smiled when he leaned into her. "And so will Timothy." She gave him a squeeze and winked as he turned his head to look back at her. "We're not much but you have us."

A low rumbling growl left Zachary's chest as he spun around cupped her face with his hand. "You are everything."

Samantha bit her lip, her heart swelling at his words. "And Timothy?"

His chuckle filled the quiet livery. "I reckon I'm pretty fond of him too."

"Well, if you're done loving on Blaze, let's get to the hotel. I could use a bath, Mr. Marston."

He kissed her nose before releasing his hold on her and hoisting up his saddlebags. "Let's go then."

As they made their way down the lantern lit streets, Samantha chewed the inside of her cheek. Zachary sighed. "What's on your mind?"

"Are... I mean.. Do you want to...share that bath with me?"

Zachary studied the stars glittering in the blanket of darkness above them. "Are you saying you'd like me to?"

She rolled her eyes. She knew he was still worried about what people would think of her for being with him. Samantha wished she could convince him that she did not care. Those who were going to think ill of her in this town already did—she wasn't going to sway their opinions no matter what she did or who she spent her time with.

"I can't wash my back by myself."

Zachary reached out and took her hand, stroking the sensitive skin of her wrist with his calloused thumb and causing her blood to warm as her thighs trembled. He leaned low, his warm breath blowing across her ear. "Well then, what kind of man would I be if I refused?"

Samantha's mind went to the love they had made. She had never in her life imagined the pleasure a man could give to a woman would be so all consuming—so powerful. He had taken his time to worship and devour every inch of her body and Samantha had never felt more treasured. She had given more than her innocence to Zachary Marston out there on that prairie amongst the flowing grasses and the shade of the trees. She had given him her heart, her soul, her entire being—and she knew that Zachary had given her his as well. Samantha had no doubts about his devotion to her.

She looked up into those deep brown eyes and she could see the want in them—apparently his mind had been drifting back in the same direction hers had. She couldn't help but smile. "You wouldn't refuse me, Mr. Marston. You just don't have it in you."

Those dimples in his cheeks deepened. "You know me too well, Sam." 

A/N: As you may have gathered from this chapter, I have decided to include Timothy's story in Saving the Gunslinger. It will mean the book will be a bit longer because I want to give both Zachary/Samantha and Timothy/'whoever she ends up being' a fair amount of time for their relationships! I promise you'll still get just as much Zach/Sam time--you'll just also get a lot of Tim/*insert female name* time as well. 

Any guesses on who that woman for Tim might end up being? New saloon owner? Current working lady? Future working lady? A character from town I haven't introduced yet? Also, did you like seeing a bit more of Timothy's back story?  I'd love to hear your thoughts so send them to me! 

Love y'all!