Page 65 of Charlotte's Reckoning
Charlotte didn’t know anyone named Winslow, but she guessed the pair of jean-clad legs sprawled on the floor beyond the standoff belonged to him.
“Dead by your hand,” Fenton accused. “But the sheriff is on his way and will sort that out.”
“There’s nothing to sort,” the man in black hissed. “That son of a bitch accused me of cheating. Them’s fighting words in this territory if your sissified, high-falutin’ ass don’t know it.”
Charlotte’s heart seized at the man’s sneering condescension and the snakelike lisp—both hauntingly familiar.
“I took offense and shot him,” he went on, showing not an iota of remorse. “Now, I plan to collect my winnings and leave.”
“You’ll wait for the law, Thorn, like everyone else, including me and these two dozen witnesses.”
Thorn? Wait. Was she mistaken?
His height and build were right, but she couldn’t see his face. Carefully, she moved down a step. From her new vantage point, she could see the rest of the victim. Like Carson, his vacant, glassy eyes stared blankly as his life’s blood pooled beneath him from a gaping chest wound.
As memories of her husband’s violent death on that awful day assailed her, dizziness overcame her, and her knees buckled. Her trembling hands lost their grip on the railing, and she landed with a thud on the steps.
Everyone looked her way, including Emmett, or Thorn, whatever he called himself now, her husband’s killer.
“Ah, this must be the incomparable Miss Charlotte I’ve been hearing about. Tell you what, Sneed. For a trip upstairs with her, I won’t shoot up the place. Men say she’s mighty particular—and clean. I haven’t had clean pussy in a month of Sundays. Do we have a deal?”
“No deal,” Fen shot back. “She’s not available, and you have an appointment with the sheriff as soon as he arrives.”
“Not available? She’s a whore like the others, ain’t she?”
“You’ve heard my answer,” Fen snapped. “Hal, go see what’s taking Sheriff Walker so long.”
Thorn backed up slowly toward the stairs. “Now I’m curious. What’s special about this one? Is her cunt made of gold or something?” His free hand shot out and encircled her wrist—the same one he’d broken over a decade ago.
“Let me go!” she shrieked at the same time Fen shouted, “Release her!”
Charlotte tried to break free, but he dragged her down the remaining steps and up against him. With the muzzle of his gun, he lifted her chin, revealing a grin that with its missing or blackened teeth still gave her nightmares.
“Well, well. Look what we got here,” he said, echoing his words from that long-ago fateful day. Emmett’s pistol dug into her flesh as he turned her head from side to side and perused her face. “Older, but still as purdy. It’s Rowena, ain’t it? No, wait. It’s Rowie. Leastwise, that’s what your man called you before he cocked up his toes.”
“Before you shot him, you mean?”
If she had Fenton’s shotgun, she would have blasted him straight to hell without batting an eye. Instead, she called on him to do it for her.
“Shoot him,” she demanded.
But Fen spoke over her. “You two know each other, Charlotte?”
“Oh, so it’s Charlotte, now,” he said, grinning, his teeth as rotten and his breath as putrid as ever. “Interesting. But no matter the name, I haven’t forgotten the whore who puked on me twice even with sluttier clothes”—his gaze shifted to the neckline of her gown—“and rounder titties, which ain’t a bad thing. You were on the scrawny side back then.”
“I wasn’t a whore when I puked, you bastard. You turned me into one.” She struggled furiously, kicking and scratching, revolted by his touch and his smell. “If you don’t let me go, I’ll do it again.”
He immediately released her. Off-balance, she fell to the floor.
“I’m done with this trip down memory lane. I’m collecting my winnings and getting gone.”
Fen cocked his pistol. “You’re not going anywhere, Thorn. Except to jail, even if I have to haul you there myself.”
“Is that right?” he drawled, grinning. “I’d like to see you try, but I ain’t hanging around that long.”
In a blur of movement, he fired. The room exploded in chaos. Women screamed and men shouted, flipping tables on end and shoving chairs aside as everyone moved to get clear of the crazy man with the gun.
Feeling like she’d lived this nightmare before, Charlotte scrambled on her hands and knees to get to Fen. Unlike Carson, the bullet hadn’t killed himinstantly, but it had struck him in the chest, and she could tell by his wheezing and the terrible gurgling sound in his throat it had punctured his lung.
