Echoes of a Dead Man Read online

  ‘I was. I should be according to the doc,’ he said, easing himself free of the man’s bear hug. ‘Besides, I needed to find out what kind of place you’re running down here.’ He studied his old friend carefully, looking for some sign of disapproval but as much as he expected to see one, he didn’t.

  ‘So it’s nothing to do with a pretty girl or a big game?’

  Both men laughed but Matt couldn’t help feeling uneasy. He hadn’t come with the intention of playing cards but he couldn’t deny the fizz of excitement that stirred in the pit of his stomach. Any other time, his first stop on arriving in town would have been the saloon and an afternoon of poker. As if reminding him why he was really there, a twinge in his back brought him back to reality on a sharp intake of breath.

  Lou’s brow furrowed with a question but he didn’t seem keen to ask it. Instead, he turned to the man behind the desk. ‘Dan, I want you to meet Matt Lomew.’

  Matt stared into eyes that were now wide with recognition. Dan’s heated complexion had paled to a pasty pink, his overbearing confidence draining away with the colour.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Lomew.’

  ‘It’s Matt.’

  Dan turned the register around and held out a freshly inked pen. ‘If you’ll just sign the register.’

  It was Lou who took the pen. ‘What are you doing, Dan? Matt’s family.’

  ‘Oh, of course.’ He slapped his forehead, knocking his glasses askew. ‘I’ll have the room next to yours made ready.’

  ‘Take it easy, Dan,’ Lou warned him. ‘I told you, Matt is family. Whatever you’ve heard, forget it.’

  Dan nodded but the reassurance apparently did little to settle his nerves as he fumbled to straighten his spectacles before spinning on his heel. His brisk exit didn’t exactly surprise Matt; after all it was a reaction he had grown accustomed to, even if he hoped for something else.

  ‘Lou, can we talk?’ Matt stumbled as he adjusted his stance, the cane wobbling as it took more of his weight.

  ‘You been drinking?’

  He hated the sympathetic way Lou looked him over but he guessed it was something he was going to have to get used to if he decided to stay. ‘No. I had to give it up,’ he said, lightly.

  ‘I can see why. What’s on your mind?’

  Matt took a deep breath. ‘Jessie. How is she?’

  Lou shrugged, seemingly unwilling to comment. ‘She’s glad you’re still alive, still mad as hell that you didn’t let us know what happened sooner.’

  ‘I wanted to make sure I was going to walk again before I let her start fussing.’

  ‘You don’t need to explain yourself to me.’ Lou lifted Matt’s chin, his blue eyes full of concern. ‘You look tired. Why don’t you rest up, give yourself time to think of a way to make it up to her?’

  Matt nodded. ‘I don’t want to cause trouble, Lou.’

  ‘It never stopped you before.’ There was no malice. ‘That frown you’re wearing tells me it isn’t going to stop you now. What’s wrong?’

  ‘I just ran into a dead man.’

  ‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’

  Matt’s gaze circled the lobby, his expression serious as he stepped in closer. ‘I just ran into a man who’s a dead ringer for Ethan Davies.’

  CHAPTER 2

  Matt didn’t flinch when he heard the door ease open behind him, but it wasn’t fear or surprise that held him still. It was just that he never made a move until he knew exactly what he was facing. By his reckoning, too many men in the West had died because of a misunderstanding and he wasn’t prepared to add to their number. Besides, his visitor hesitated on the threshold, no doubt considering what move to make next, so Matt had time on his side. With practised patience, he waited, continuing to study the scene beyond his window.

  His interest was immediately drawn to one gent in particular among the dozens of unknown faces. Of average height, wearing a red shirt and black pants, and a sombrero that shaded his face, nothing about him was particularly unusual. The only reason Matt had noticed him was because he had been there, silent and unmoving among a thronging mass, for almost an hour. Whether he was watching the hotel or the road was hard to say, since his standpoint offered an excellent view of both and his gaze never lingered on any particular place. But if Matt had to put money on it, he would say the man was watching the hotel.

  ‘Are you enjoying the view, Jessie?’ Matt’s eyes swept around, fixing the pretty blonde with a glint of amusement.

  She let out her breath, breaking into an impish grin as she leaned against the back of the door, closing it fully. ‘How do you always know I’m there? It makes n—’ Her smile faded as her gaze moved across his torso.

  He had stopped noticing the fresh scars where three bullets had torn through his flesh in quick succession, but the look of disgust on her face showed they were as ugly as he remembered them. Quickly, he turned his attention to dressing. Already wearing black pants, he slipped on a crisp white shirt before hesitating over a fancy vest, his hand changing direction to find the gun-belt hanging beside it on the bedstead. As if it were a part of him, he buckled it around his hips before tying the holster to his thigh.

  ‘So, how do you always know I’m there?’ she asked, a forced lightness in her voice.

  ‘You’re predictable.’

  A narrow-eyed glance in her direction threatened to contradict him. In the months since he had last seen her, Jessie had blossomed from a girl into a woman. The blue cotton dress she wore, slightly pinched at the waist, couldn’t disguise the fuller figure underneath. And as for her hair, bunched at the back and tied with a red ribbon, it lent her an elegance he didn’t recognize. She about took his breath away. The only link with reality was the girlish shine in her eyes and the high colour of her sun-kissed cheeks, which gladly betrayed her youth.

  Straightening up, he slipped on the vest, fastening each button before sliding the silver handled, custom-made .45 out of its holster. He’d practised the action a thousand times but it never lost its appeal, especially when she was there.

  She sauntered across to meet him, stopping close enough to reach up and smooth back a lock of damp hair. ‘Predictable? Then why did you just look at me as if you never saw me in a dress before?’

  He shrugged, still shaken by the unexpected sight she presented. ‘You’ve changed while I’ve been away.’

  She turned away to the cheval mirror pushed into the corner. After smoothing her dress and plumping her hair, she faced him through the glass.

  ‘Yes, I have.’ Her tone was gentler. ‘I’m not a girl anymore: I’m a woman.’

  She searched the reflection of his face in the glass, but he knew all she saw was the passive mask of a gambler. Even his eyes, which could be hazel or black depending on his mood, gave nothing away as his steady gaze met hers in the mirror.

  ‘Damn it! I could hate you sometimes.’ She took a deep breath, settling herself and adopting a gentler tone. ‘But I don’t, so be nice to me. Today’s my birthday. I’m eighteen. You don’t have to treat me like a kid anymore.’

  ‘Eighteen? I can just about remember when I was that young,’ he mumbled, preferring not to conjure the image. ‘Seems like a long time ago.’

  She spluttered on a derisive laugh. ‘You’d like to think so. It’s true you’re twenty-two going on forty-two but don’t forget one thing: I’ve known you for a long time and deep down you’re a kid just like me.’

  She cocked her head, daring him to deny it, but he refused to start an argument he couldn’t win.

  ‘All right.’ She held up her hands in mock surrender. ‘It’s my birthday and I’m not arguing with you. Only, just this once, try to see me as more than a snot-nosed kid, will you?’

  Turning suddenly, she collided with him, tilting her head to look up at him, thereby offering a view of her cleavage. It was tempting, all that flesh pressed right up against him. But she deserved better than that, and even if she didn’t know it, he did.

  �
��Lou told me you’re here to stay this time. Does that mean I can start making plans for us now?’

  The suggestion wrong-footed him and he frowned. It seemed to amuse her, but more than that, it impassioned her with a fire he hadn’t expected. Stepping away from him, she fixed her hair again as she watched him through the mirror.

  ‘Know this, Matt Lomew, I’ve got a passionate heart and a head full of dreams, but I’m no fool. Now I’ve got you here, I don’t intend to let you slip through my fingers again.’

  Her newfound confidence surprised him, but he was seeing her in a whole new light and he liked what he saw. Just how far she’d go to get what she wanted he didn’t know, but it was going to be fun finding out.

  ‘I’m not one of your awkward farm boys, Jess. Be careful where you’re going with this.’

  She chuckled. ‘I know what you are, Matt. You’re a gambler, a gunman and a drifter.’

  The facts sobered him, reminded him of the cold hard truth and the look on her face a few minutes before. ‘That’s right. Not the marrying kind.’

  She picked his hat up off the dresser and handed it to him before opening the door. ‘No, but you’re a betting man and I’m willing to bet I can change your mind.’

  Her unbending certainty was starting to make him doubt his own mind and he grabbed her hand, deciding to leave his cane behind as she grasped her fingers tightly through his. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s take a stroll and show off that pretty dress before I have to show you what kind of trouble a promise like that can get you into.’

  CHAPTER 3

  Along Main Street, the setting sun cast long shadows made eerie by a chill breeze and an unusual stillness. As if she felt it too, Jessie linked her arm through Matt’s, clutching her breast to his elbow as they walked. It took more bluff than a pair of twos for him not to pull away, but the general store offered some respite and he bolted for it leaving Jessie to enjoy the admiring glances of passers-by.

  When he emerged a few minutes later, he was clutching a box of candy wrapped in paper and tied with a ribbon. He stopped dead, not sure what was wrong until he realized he was alone. Looking left and right, across the street towards the dress shop, he couldn’t find Jessie. He checked outside the barbershop and bathhouse, the mercantile, a cheap hotel and the sheriff’s office, the length and breadth of the rutted street and back again. She was nowhere obvious. Then, just as he was about to head for the hotel, he glimpsed her standing outside the Grand Piano saloon, her head tipped quizzically to one side as she listened. Coming from behind closed doors and through an open window, the chords of a piano accompanied a high singing voice, glasses clinked and voices clashed in a cacophony of sound.

  She looked his way and pointed inside. ‘I want to go in there,’ she mouthed across the suddenly busy street.

  That might well be, but even outside a saloon was no place for a decent girl to be and he shook his head.

  ‘Please,’ she whined silently.

  He shook his head emphatically, motioning with his finger for her to join him before turning back towards the hotel. When he glanced over his shoulder, expecting to find Jessie on her way, he didn’t like what he saw. The stranger in the red shirt, who had been watching the hotel, had stopped to talk to her as he tied his horse to a hitch-rail. On closer inspection, Matt recognized the type. A cowpuncher, washed and shaved and wearing a shirt that still had store-bought creases, in town for the weekend, looking for a good time.

  Predictably, he touched the brim of his sombrero and Jessie smiled, blushing slightly as she lowered her lashes shyly. Matt’s gut tightened with foreboding. On Jess, it was downright sweet and far too appealing for a cowboy with a pocketful of money and his pants full of ideas. As Matt knew he would, the man swept off his hat and vaulted over a water trough to join her.

  ‘You don’t want to do this,’ a man’s voice whispered from behind him. ‘It’s too soon. Just walk away. Live to fight another day.’

  It sounded like a threat; it could have been a warning. Matt didn’t know or care. Spinning around, he saw only the top of a hat belonging to a big, lean individual dressed in tan shirt and pants with his arms folded across his chest. Despite the familiar-looking Smith & Wesson holstered low on his hip, he seemed more intent on studying his dusty boots than getting involved. Shoving the candy at him, Matt bounced into the road, feeling his joints creak as he landed awkwardly in sun-dried wheel ruts. He sensed the man move behind him as he pulled up short, waiting impatiently for a laden wagon to pass.

  Starting towards Jessie again, he dodged a horse and rider, all the while keeping his focus on the scene unfolding twenty feet in front of him. Jessie obviously realized the danger. She tried to duck sideways but the man’s arm blocked her as he leaned in close to whisper against her ear. The wide-eyed look of uncertainty, of being out of her depth, was unmistakable. She placed her hand on his chest, trying to shove him away while at the same time she retreated until her back met the wall.

  Matt broke into a stilted sprint. The blood ran cold through his veins, freezing his emotions and heightening his resolve. He didn’t know the man, didn’t need to or want to. But if he hurt Jess, he’d see him in hell.

  ‘Sir, please, let me pass.’ Jessie’s politeness sounded laughable under the circumstances. ‘You’ve made a mistake.’

  ‘You mean because I’m new in town and we haven’t been properly introduced? Well, hell, that ain’t a problem.’ His fingers stroked up and down her neck. ‘My name’s Stone Davies. Now if you tell me your name we’re as good as old friends.’

  She knocked his hand away and pressed closer to the wall. Still he teased her, leaving no room for escape as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of bills. Placing his lips close to her ear, he shoved the money into the front of her dress.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ she said.

  ‘Aw, come on. You know you were standing here just waiting for me.’ He gripped her elbow, dragging her towards the saloon doors. ‘Don’t play games with me now. Let’s go inside and get properly acquainted over a drink and then later. …’

  Matt lunged, grabbing him by the arm and spinning him like a top so that he had no choice but to sprawl in the dirt. By the time he found his feet, Matt had already taken in the once broken nose and white scars that detailed his face and marked him as a brawler. The way he carried his gun seemed to back that up, being tied a little too low against his thigh, probably more for show than effect.

  ‘You! I thought you were dead.’

  Matt registered the name, Stone Davies, as he tried to match it with the face. In his line of work, he met a lot of men but this one chilled him to the core. For the second time in as many days, he was staring at the face of a ghost. As naturally as breathing, his hand moved to rest on his belt buckle.

  ‘Are you the son-of-a-bitch who put a bullet in my back?’ he asked, calmly.

  Davies grinned. ‘I am if you’re the son-of-a-bitch who killed my pa.’

  Stone snatched for his gun almost before he had finished talking, but a bullet nicking his ear shocked him into stillness before he drew it fully. For a moment, he gawped as if he couldn’t believe what had happened. Staring down the barrel of a gun that had apparently appeared out of thin air, the fight gushed out of him as quick as the colour from his freckled cheeks.

  Gingerly checking his bloody ear was still intact, he sounded almost appreciative. ‘Damn, you’re fast.’

  ‘Yes, I am.’ Matt holstered his gun. ‘So, what happens now? Are you going to wait for me to turn my back like last time?’

  Around them, people scattered. Inside the saloon, faces pressed against dirty windows. Sudden and absolute silence shrouded the evening with deadly anticipation. Stone’s mouth almost twitched into a smile as he matched Matt’s unwavering stare.

  ‘I don’t need to,’ he said, fanning his arm wide as if in introduction.

  Slow footsteps marked the arrival of a man who, even without the black horse under him, was a fearful sight. H
e walked like a king moving among his subjects, unhurried, head high, back straight. A big man in a small town, good enough with the Smith & Wesson he carried to keep all-comers at bay. Anybody with an interest could see at a glance that the tan-clad stranger didn’t fit the role of rancher or businessman. He was too watchful, taking in every detail without appearing to notice anything in particular.

  When he finally stopped beside Stone and looked into Matt’s eyes, there was none of the doubt Matt expected to see. This man wasn’t pretending to be somebody important, he believed he was. And yet, despite his arrogance, when he was less than four feet away, he stopped, his thin mouth widening into a caricature of a smile.

  ‘I guess this time I’ll introduce myself. Name’s Jethro Davies.’ His speech was unhurried and he held out his hand in an easy greeting. ‘Mind if I call you Matt?’

  Matt kept his arms at his sides, taking nothing for granted, refusing to be ruffled by the friendly informality.

  ‘Or would you prefer Bartholomew on your cross?’ Stone’s tone seethed contempt.

  Matt slowed his breathing, forcing himself to be calm as the upcoming scene played in his mind like a recurring nightmare. First the stare down, then the tension building between them and finally the draw. Only this time, something was different. The tension was already building in Matt but he couldn’t see it in Jethro’s glassy stare.

  He hoped Jethro Davies couldn’t see it in his.

  Suddenly, Matt remembered Jess. If his instinct was right, she shouldn’t see what happened next. ‘Jessie, go back to the hotel.’ He choked out the words, struggling against a throat gone dry as bark.

  Stone spat in the dirt. ‘She stays. She’s already bought and paid for and I’m going to make sure I collect on every penny. Are you just going to stand there, Jethro, or are you going to settle this?’

  Matt tensed but neither he nor Jethro reacted. A wrong move by either of them might result in death for both at such close quarters and whatever else Jethro had in mind wouldn’t include getting killed.