When the Past Comes Gunning (Preview)

Chapter One

Tom’s Creek, Wyoming Territory

June 5, 1888

Martin Poole wiped sweat from his brow and looked up at the midday sky. The sun was nearing its peak now, and though Wyoming Territory wasn’t nearly as hot as other places he’d been, it was warm enough. He’d been working all day lifting beams and securing them to the posts of what would eventually be his new barn. That contributed to the sweat. He’d have to wash and change his clothes before he went to the saloon.

“Bring her a little more to the left!” Joshua Sullivan called.

Martin turned away from the blazing yellow and brilliant blue and complied, moving the beam so that it intersected neatly with the joint carved into the post. With one arm, he held the beam in position, with the other, he pushed the horizontal peg in as far as he could.

“Hold her steady, boys!” he called to the four men on the ground. The men tugged on ropes attached to pullies mounted on two large Conestoga wagons. The massive beam settled into place, and Martin prepared to secure it.

One of the men—a giant named Casey McCullough who stood a comfortable two inches taller and eighty pounds heavier than Martin’s own impressive six-four, two hundred pounds—gave Martin a thumbs up with one massive hand while holding his rope steady with another. The other three men were of more average size and struggled mightily to support the weight.

Martin leaned against the leather strap that Oliver Lawrence—the wiry man standing opposite Casey—had made for the ladders and used his mallet to drive the peg until it was seated firmly into the hole. Oliver had invented and built the pulleys, too, allowing them to work with full timbers rather than cut boards. That would make Martin’s barn strong and durable and insulate it better against the cold of winter.

When he finished, he called to Joshua. “Are you done over there?”

“Just about.” With two more powerful swings of his own mallet, Joshua said, “All right. Done.”

Martin grabbed the vertical peg and leaned forward, switching the strap first to support his hip. He pushed the peg through the hole in the top of the beam and seated it into the joint. The vertical peg passed through a hole in the horizontal peg, securing the beam from side to side and back and forth motions. Eventually, they would use glue and pitch to seal and waterproof the joints, but that would come after they finished constructing the frame.

Martin looked at Joshua, who nodded and lifted his thumb. “All right boys, you can let go those ropes.”

The four men below released their ropes. Three of them sighed with relief. Casey hadn’t even broken a sweat.

Some men are just blessed by God, Martin thought. “All right, everyone. Let’s take a lunch break.”

He climbed down his ladder, feeling the exhaustion in his muscles that would become soreness the following day. He’d felt that before, but in the past it had never brought the same feeling of accomplishment.

When Martin reached the ground, he stepped back and appraised their work. The posts and lower beams had been laid. The frame still looked more like a ribcage than a barn, but it was coming together nicely. They’d place the upper beams after lunch, and tomorrow, they’d begin work on the ribbands and plates. Those plates would stretch horizontally between the posts and beams and support the studs and joists that would form the floors. They would also make the roof stiff and sturdy. Then they would cut the rafters and—

“Hey, Martin, if you’re not planning on eating, you mind if I have your ration?” Lyle asked.

Lyle was Joshua’s younger brother, and at eighteen, the youngest of the group. Martin shrugged. “Sure. If you don’t mind the consequences.”

Lyle blinked. “What consequences?”

The older men smiled at each other while Martin shrugged. “Whatever they happen to be.”

Lyle’s brow furrowed. “You mean if I eat your food… something will happen?”

Martin shrugged again. “I don’t know. You want to find out?”

Lyle looked at his brother, who gave him an innocent smile. Then he looked at Martin. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

Martin clapped him on the shoulder. “I know.”

The other men chuckled, and Casey said, “I believe Martin is suggesting that if you eat his food, you will learn what happens to men who steal another man’s provisions.”

The surprisingly high-pitched soft tenor of Casey’s voice somehow made him seem even more intimidating. Lyle looked around at the older men, all of whom were snickering now. Still looking confused, he said, “I was only joking. He just had his head in the clouds, and I was poking fun.”

“I know,” Martin said. He grabbed Lyle’s roast beef sandwich from his pack. “You’re not gonna eat this are you?”

“Gimme that,” Lyle said, snatching it from Martin’s hand.

The other men laughed, and Martin lifted his hands in an exaggerated show of apology. “Sorry about that. I sure didn’t mean to offend.”

Lyle rolled his eyes and took a healthy bite of his sandwich. His face was beet red, and Martin felt a touch of guilt at teasing the young man. “Enjoy that sandwich. You’ve earned it. You all have.”

Willie Klein, the final member of the group, tipped his cap to Martin. “Happy to help. Anything to get me out of the house and away from Sally’s voice for a while.”

“Hey now,” Oliver scolded. “Miss Sally’s a good woman and she puts up with you, which isn’t easy to do.”

“She’s a great woman,” Willie agreed, “who wastes no opportunity to remind me what a terrible man I am.”

“Sure can’t wait for her to hear you talk about her like this,” Casey said breezily.

Lyle—in the true fashion of a young man desperate to be accepted by the older men—ran with the joke. “Maybe I’ll tell her. I’ll dress up real nice and bring her some flowers. Show her how a real man treats a woman.”

Willie’s smile vanished. “Sure that’s something you want to have said, boy?”

Lyle’s face went white, and it took everything Martin had not to crack a smile. He shared a sad look with Casey and shook his head. Joshua sighed and said, “Well, it was nice knowing you, Lyle. You were all right as a kid brother, I guess.”

Lyle looked between the older men and swallowed nervously. “Hey, I was just kidding around. I wouldn’t really…”

His voice trailed off when he saw Willie’s grin. The color came back to his face. “You know what? Go to hell, all of you.”

The older men burst into laughter again. Oliver whistled. “Damn. First you try to steal Martin’s food, and now you’re trying to steal Willie’s woman. We got a bandit on our hands here.”

Joshua cast a long-suffering look toward the sky. “Lord, you know I do my best to set a good example and lead my brother on the straight and narrow, but the Devil’s just got into him too bad.”

“It’s so sad to see young men go astray,” Casey added. “You did your best, Joshua.”

Lyle sunk low and took another bite of his sandwich. His face was a shade or two darker than a ripe tomato, but he was still smiling. “I’m gonna make you all pay one day. You’ll see.”

“Uh oh,” Willie said. “Better sleep with a gun under your pillow, Joshua.”

“And so begins the legend of Lyle the Kid,” Ollie quipped.

Martin laughed along with the others and said a brief prayer of thanks that he was here working on a barn on the property he owned in the town he lived in. He was much happier not needing to worry about anything more dangerous than a coyote or the rare cougar than he was hunting men who truly considered it their mission in life to carve notches into their gun.

He wondered what Willie and the others would think if he knew that Martin still slept with a gun under his pillow, a habit formed after two men had broken into his room at the inn in Dodge City and tried to kill him in his sleep. He’d escaped that encounter with his life, but it was a near thing. Sometimes the scar on his left side still hurt.

But that was before. He had left the bounty hunter life behind. He was a saloonkeeper now, and soon, he would be a rancher as well. He would live a quiet and peaceful life in a quiet and peaceful town. He’d find a woman and start a family and raise his children to be quiet and peaceful too.

Jessica’s face flashed across his mind, but he let the image fade. He was a long way off from thinking about that, and Jessica wouldn’t be the one when the time came.

He got to his feet and brushed off the crumbs. “All right, men. If I can prey upon your generosity for a few more hours, I’d like to get the upper beams placed before sunset. After that, drinks on me at the Whistlin’ Pete.”

Lyle’s eyes brightened. “Really?”

“Sure,” Martin said. “For you, too. We have apple juice.”

Joshua threw his head back and howled laughter, clapping his hands and smiling at his discomfited younger brother. “That’ll be good for him. Long as you water it down enough.”

Lyle reddened again and rolled his eyes. “At least I don’t drink so much I need to be wheeled home in a cart.”

Now it was Joshua’s turn to redden. “That was just the one time.”

“That you remember,” Oliver said.

“Our friend Joshua does enjoy his liquor,” Casey agreed. He got to his feet and said, “I promised Barb I’d be home in time for dinner, and I would very much like to take advantage of Martin’s generosity before then, so if you don’t mind, gentlemen, I’d like to get this show on the road.”

“Here, here,” Oliver agreed, getting to his feet. “I, too, promised a young lady my company.”

“Which one is it this time?” Willie quipped.

“Don’t be jealous just because your days of sampling dainties have passed you by.”

Martin grimaced. “Okay, let’s change the subject before things get any worse. Come on, we need to set a good example for Lyle.”

“I have a pretty good example of what not to do,” Lyle observed.

“See?” Joshua replied. “It’s educational to spend time with your elders.”

The men continued to joke with each other as they returned to work. Martin looked around at his friends, his heart aglow.

Yes, this was the good life.

***

“You think we were too hard on Lyle?” Martin asked Casey as they rode back into town.

The young man in question rode with his brother about thirty feet behind them. Oliver and Willie brought up the rear, driving the big wagons.

Casey shook his head. “No, he’s fine. Boys grow up playing like that. It’ll toughen him up. Besides, he knows we’re only joking.”

“I know that, but I don’t want him to feel like we see him as a child.”

“You worry too much,” Casey insisted. “He’ll be all right. He’s part of the group now. That matters a lot more than a bit of good-natured ribbing.” He looked over at Martin. “Why are you so worried, anyway?”

Martin shrugged. “I’m not worried. I just don’t want him to think he doesn’t belong. That’s a dangerous mindset for a man to fall into.”

Casey read between the lines. “You’re worried about that bandit joke. Martin, the kid’s not going to become an outlaw just because a few of his friends teased him.”

“I know that. Forget it, I was just wondering if we went too far.”

“Well, stop wringing your hands over it. Look, he’s having a great time.”

Martin looked over his shoulder and saw Lyle laughing with his older brother. His worries eased, and he turned his attention ahead. “All right. I guess you’re right.”

“As Barb would tell you, I’m always right.”

“I think she’d say she was always right.”

Casey smirked. “Exactly. She’d say, ‘I’m always right.’”

Martin rolled his eyes. “He who would pun would pick a pocket.”

“That wasn’t a pun. A pun has to make one word sound like another. That was just a play on words.”

Martin tipped his hat. “As you say, Sir Casey.”

“Sometimes I worry about you, Martin,” Casey quipped.

The noise of the town drowned out further conversation as the group rode into Main Street. Tom’s Creek was closer to a city than a town with a population of around thirty-five hundred and growing rapidly. Most of that population lived in two half-moon shaped clusters on either side of Main Street with the rest scattered among the small farms and larger ranches that surrounded the town proper. According to Casey, who had lived here his whole life, the town had exploded in size after the railroad arrived two years ago. Most of the newcomers had migrated from Cheyenne, the territorial capital. Cheyenne had a population of over ten thousand and was—according to Casey—growing too fast to keep up.

Tom’s Creek, thankfully, had avoided that problem. The new arrivals had shown great industriousness and built their own homes and businesses with help from more established locals, much the same way Martin built his own home and business.

That was the real difference as far as Martin was concerned. People helped each other here. In other places, it seemed like the philosophy was every man for himself, but in Tom’s Creek, everyone helped everyone. No one fought to take what wasn’t theirs or deny what others needed. That’s why Martin had chosen to establish himself here.

Besides, the rapid growth of the town was an excellent business opportunity for him. The Whistlin’ Pete was one of four saloons in town, but despite the presence of healthy competition, the bar was packed from dinnertime to sundown. In only six months, Martin had paid off the loan he took from the bank to start the saloon and saved up enough money to build his ranch. Unless something catastrophic happened, he’d be able to buy all the tools, supplies and feed necessary to support his ranch and buy his first herd by next summer. Within a year after that, the ranch would be making a profit.

Hell, he’d have himself a nice little setup here before long.

He chuckled as he tied his horse to the post in front of his saloon. He already had a nice setup. He’d always thought that good saloonkeepers in nonviolent towns had the best jobs. Now he was one of them. He got to meet all sorts of people, form friendships, and hear stories from people who’d lived all sorts of different lives.

His friends whooped with joy when they walked in, earning return cheers from the patrons already inside. Fred Hooper—Martin’s middle-aged bartender—smiled at the newcomers and uncorked a fresh whiskey bottle.

“Their drinks are on me,” Martin called.

A portly man wearing a black tuxedo coat and a gold pocket watch turned in his chair and gave Martin a hurt look. “Now why do they get free drinks, but I have to pay for mine?”

Martin grinned. “That’s easy, Chester. I like ‘em better than I like you.”

The others at Chester’s table laughed at their companion, who smote his breast and said, “Martin, you wound me. And after all we’ve been through together.”

Martin clapped the cheerful banker on the shoulder. “Come help me raise the joists tomorrow, and I’ll give you your drinks for free.”

“Charge him double!” one of the men at Chester’s table exhorted. “He can afford it!”

Martin tilted his head. “Now there’s an idea.”

He left Chester’s table and headed behind the bar. On the way, he almost ran into Jessica Kent, his waitress. She gasped and nearly spilled the drinks she was carrying. Martin winced and helped her steady herself.

She glared at him, her beautiful face lighting up with color. “Martin Poole, will you watch where you’re going? This dress is brand new.”

His eyes traveled over the dress. It was indeed a very pretty cotton outfit, dyed blue and trimmed with just enough lace to look pretty without looking showy.

He was much more interested in the slim form underneath the dress. Five-foot-three, slender and blessed with high cheekbones, full lips and glowing brown eyes, Jessica was easily the most beautiful woman Martin had ever seen.

But she was twenty-one years old, too young to take up with a broken-down old bounty hunter. Not that Martin was old. At thirty-six, he was still in the prime of life, but he was also just figuring out how to live like an ordinary person and not like a gunfighter. He had a way to go before he was ready to think about settling down, and anyway, Jessica was his employee, not his sweetheart.

“Got something else you want to say, or can I serve our guests yet?”

Her eyes danced with mirth, and the fire in her tone was enough to make Martin’s knees weak. If only…

He grinned. “Feel free to serve them, Lady Jessica. I sure do apologize for interrupting you.”

She reddened a little more, then said, “As long as you’re here, you might as well help. There’s a stew in the kettle that needs stirring.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you work for me or the other way around?”

She giggled. “Well, I work for you, but you can consider stirring the kettle your punishment for nearly sending me sprawling to the floor.”

“Fair enough,” Martin agreed.

He headed for the kitchen, tipping his hat to an amused Fred on his way. His friends whistled at him as he walked through the door, and Lyle mentioned something about how good he would look in an apron.

He reached for the ladle, but Jessica took the spoon from him before he could start stirring. “Let me do it. You’ll just make everything worse.”

He let his eyes travel over her again, but now the look came with a bit of guilt. He lifted his gaze to her face and said, “Then it’s a good thing I have you around.”

She smiled. “Yes, it is.”

He headed to the bar again, and Lyle called, “Aww, no apron?”

“Sure,” Martin fired back. “I’ve got one just your size. Come try it on.”

The others laughed and Martin gave Lyle another shot as a peace offering. He looked out at the smiling, laughing people enjoying an hour of mirth before the end of their day.

Yes indeed, he had found his place in the world.

Chapter Two

Jessica woke from a pleasant dream of her and Martin holding hands and walking along the shore of the creek while their horses drank from the cool, clear water. They didn’t say anything to each other, and they didn’t need to. It was enough to just be together.

The sun shone on her cheeks, bathing them with warmth, and a soft breeze blew, caressing her face and making her feel safe and calm and happy. Martin smiled and leaned down to kiss her. She closed her eyes and—

And opened them to find herself in her bed. Sunlight streamed through the window, and judging by the warmth of the breeze blowing in through the curtains, it was mid-morning already. She sighed and rolled out of bed. “Lands’ sake, Jessica, if you keep sleeping in, you’ll never make a good lawyer.”

She couldn’t really blame herself for sleeping in, though. She had worked until well past midnight at the saloon, as she did almost every night. Sleeping past sunrise was becoming a normal thing. She might have to ask Martin for shorter working hours so she could have time to study when her books came in.

Of course, she had to pay for the course first. That was why she was working so much in the first place.

She sighed as she changed out of her nightclothes. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Why can’t life just be easy?”

She smiled as she imagined her mother lecturing her on how much God valued hard work, and she should be grateful to have an honest job. She probably wouldn’t be happy to know her little girl worked in a saloon serving alcohol and beef stew to drunk men. It was a good thing for Jessica that her mother lived in Kansas City and wasn’t likely to trust the railroad enough to come visit. As far as her mother knew, she worked as a seamstress, and that was how it would stay until she finished her law degree and began her apprenticeship.

Not that her mother was likely to approve of that career either. Ladies weren’t meant to practice law, after all.

The thought came with a hint of bitterness. She loved her mother, but it hurt to hear her say that Jessica’s dreams were inappropriate and unachievable. That’s why Jessica had moved away.

So what if she was a woman? That didn’t make her any less intelligent than anyone else. She was bright and hardworking and determined, and she would study law, and she would use her knowledge to help the less fortunate avoid the fate her father had suffered.

She took a deep breath and pushed those thoughts away. It was time to focus on the future, not dwell on the past.

She finished dressing and headed for the actual seamstress’s shop. Her friend, Abigail Rogers, worked there with her parents, and since the saloon didn’t open until after lunchtime, Jessica usually spent her mornings with her. Abigail’s parents doted on Jessica, and she wasn’t too proud to admit that she enjoyed the delicious lunches Chloe Rogers made. Although for Jessica, they were breakfasts.

Chloe beamed at Jessica when she walked into the shop. “Good morning, Jessica! You look especially beautiful today. I love the color in your cheeks.”

“Thank you, Miss Chloe,” Jessica replied. “I wasn’t aware I was more colorful today.”

“Could this mean that there’s finally a lucky young man in your life?” Chloe asked hopefully.

If there was anything in life that could make Chloe as happy as her own daughter finding a man, it would be Jessica finding a man. It bothered Jessica a little that the prevailing opinion of society was that women were worth more when they hung on the arm of a man. It bothered her a little more that Martin’s smile and his powerful arms and strong hands flitted across her mind when Chloe said that.

But she meant well, and Jessica did hope to marry someday, so there was no need to get huffy over it. She smiled at Chloe. “Not yet but give it time. I’m sure there’s a prince out there waiting for me.”

Chloe winked at her. “I think he might be closer than you think.”

Jessica didn’t want to give Chloe any more ammunition for this conversation, so she asked, “Is Abigail here?”

“She’s in the back, sewing some more dresses for the summer sale. Speaking of that, how did you like the one you wore yesterday? Did it fit well?”

Chloe always enlisted Jessica’s help trying new clothing designs. Jessica was pretty sure she only did that so she could have an excuse to spoil her, but that was all right. It felt good to be cared for. “It was wonderful, thank you, Miss Chloe. It’s the most comfortable dress I’ve ever worn.”

Chloe clapped her hands with delight. “Oh, good! Will you tell Abigail to make six more of them, please? Let’s do three yellow, two blue and one green. That will complement Nancy Jordan’s red hair nicely.”

“I’ll let her know. Thank you again.”

Jessica headed to the back room and found Abigail hard at work sewing the hems onto a dress. “Good morning, Abigail.”

Abigail kept her eyes focused on her work but smiled and returned the greeting. “Good morning, Jessica. You look especially pretty today.”

Jessica chuckled. “That’s what your mother said, except she was actually looking at me when she said it.”

“I can see you. You learn to have eyes in the back of your head when you’re a seamstress.”

“I didn’t know that was a trait of seamstresses.”

“Well, now you do.” She finished the stitch and looked Jessica up and down. “Ooh, you’re right. I take it back. You’re hideous.”

Jessica gasped and slapped the giggling Abigail on the shoulder. “Rude! I didn’t come here to be abused.”

“Then learn to take a compliment,” Abigail teased. “Save the feisty attitude for Martin.”

Heat climbed Jessica’s cheeks. She shrugged and said, “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about how you fancy your boss,” Abigail explained.

Jessica rolled her eyes. “I do not fancy him.”

“So you don’t think he’s handsome?”

“I think he’s handsome, but so do you. Do you fancy him?”

Abigail scoffed. “Believe me, if I had a chance, I’d be at his side in a heartbeat.”

Jessica stared at Abigail, stunned, and Abigail giggled again. “You should see your face right now. Don’t worry, I don’t fancy him. I do think he’s handsome, though, and I do think he likes you.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Jessica insisted.

That was a bit of a lie. She believed she was a pretty enough woman, but Abigail was like a fairy tale princess. Her hair fell in natural gold ringlets over soft, round cheeks, and her bright blue eyes danced above a ready smile that lit her face like the sun. She was three inches taller than Jessica, too, and blessed with a figure that could have made Venus green with envy.

Jessica didn’t like feeling jealous, so she put those thoughts out of her head. “I think he could like me,” she admitted, “but it’s the wrong time for both of us. He just showed up here, and he’s got his ranch he’s building and cattle to buy and all that. I’m trying to save money to start studying, and then I’ll be focused on finishing my education and apprenticing with Schofield and Sons.”

Abigail nodded seriously. “I know what you mean. Marriage would completely ruin both of your plans.”

Jessica rolled her eyes. “First of all, marriage is not something you decide just because you fancy someone or find them handsome. And second, relationships take time to build. We need to be able to court each other and get to know each other and talk and… well, grow together. We both won’t have the time.”

“So will we stop being friends when you start studying?”

“No!” Jessica cried. “I don’t mean that. You and I are already friends.”

“So it’s okay if we stop seeing each other.”

Jessica sighed. “I mean that we have already gotten to know each other, so it’s easier for us to make the most out of a few minutes here and there. Yes, we’ll have less time to see each other, but the time we do have will mean something because we’ve already established our friendship.”

“Ah,” Abigail said. “Well, it’s too bad you don’t work with Martin for several hours every single day. If you did, you might have a chance to talk to him and get to know him and maybe even grow together.”

Jessica lifted her hands and let them drop. “Look, I’m not ready yet. Can we stop talking about it? Please?”

“Okay,” Abigail said, “If you really want to, I’ll stop.”

“Honestly, is my life only meaningful if I have someone else’s last name?”

“Not at all. Living alone in a cold and dark house is—Oh, no, not the yellow thread, please! I have to use that for the filigree in Mrs. Powell’s new tablecloths.”

Jessica lowered the roll of satin thread and glared playfully at Abigail. “Have I made my point?”

“Yes, yes, fine,” Abigail huffed. “I won’t talk about Martin anymore. At least not until tomorrow.”

Jessica sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to live with that.”

“So how much more money do you need?” Abigail asked.

“One hundred fifty dollars.”

Abigail gasped. “Goodness gracious! That much?”

“Harvard isn’t cheap,” Jessica replied, “and since I’m studying by correspondence, I need to pay for the entire course up front.”

“Good Heavens. That’s so much money!”

Abigail shrugged. “I should have it in another nine months if I’m thrifty. I could begin studying as early as next spring. If I’m diligent, I could start my apprenticeship before my twenty-fifth birthday.”

“That’s so far away, though.”

“Not in the grand scheme of things,” Jessica replied. “Sure, I’ll be older than most people are when they start their apprenticeship, but I’ll have made my way myself. I’ll have earned my place, not been placed somewhere because my uncle is one of the partners.”

“I suppose so.” Abigail smiled. “Well, if you’re happy, then I’m happy.”

Jessica smiled. “I am happy. I’m going to bring good into the world. Too many people have their lives ruined simply because they’re poor. The wealthy get away with lying, cheating, bullying and even murdering people to get what they want. It’s not right. The law should advocate for those who can’t advocate for themselves, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

She didn’t realize that her voice was rising until Abigail lifted her hands and said, “All right, all right, take a breath. Save some of that passion for the courtroom.” She grinned. “Or the bedroom.”

Abigail ducked, and the roll of thread—white, not yellow—sailed over her head and smacked against the wall instead.