Page 52 of Country Mist

A few minutes later, they walked hand-in-hand to Allen Street, the town’s historic main street. Worn wooden storefronts lined the streets, with tourists walking along the wooden walkways.

The air was still as a horse-drawn wagon trundled down Tombstone’s main street. The cowboy driver whistled at his horses to hurry them along, their hooves clopping along the dirt road.

Two gunfighters stepped away from the crowd of people in period clothing and drew their guns simultaneously. Only one remained standing after the shots stopped ringing out. Smoke curled from the barrel of the gun of the cowboy still on his feet.

Haylee looked at Tyson and grinned. “I feel like I’m in that old movie, Tombstone.”

He smiled and met her gaze. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

Hand in hand, they made their way further down the street lined with countless shops. Leather goods, western hats, pottery, antiques, vintage clothing, and Western art—all interspersed with souvenirs.

They changed direction and went inside one of the ancient hotels to watch a show about the Wild West.

After leaving the hotel, she squeezed Tyson’s hand. “This is all like being in a movie.”

A sign advertising a ghost tour caught her eye. “We could go on a tour this evening.”

Tyson looked in the direction she pointed and read the sign. “That sounds like fun.”

“I’ve never been on a ghost tour.” Haylee stepped beside him on the creaking wooden walk as they passed in front of a store with turquoise jewelry, cowboy hat pins, and bolo ties. “I can’t wait.”

They spotted Big Nose Kate’s Saloon, which appeared to be straight out of a bygone era. Haylee had to blink until her eyes adjusted to the dimness as the aromas of tobacco, beer, and bar food greeted them. Along the right side was an impressive bar, the bottles of alcohol glinting beneath the lights. A bucking bull-riding machine was trying to unseat a cowboy, and men and women played at poker tables nearby.

On the left, an older man dressed in an old-fashioned vest played the banjo. Further back, a woman in a boa and saloon girl costume sat at a piano while having her picture taken beside a tall man wearing a duster and western hat.

Directly in front of them was a spiraling staircase that descended to what the sign proclaimed as “the Shaft.”

The hostess, dressed like a saloon girl, escorted Tyson and Haylee to a table near the piano. They ordered mugs of beer and perused the menus before a server, also dressed as a saloon girl, came to take their orders. They both chose burgers with steak fries.

As they waited for their food, they linked their fingers on the tabletop and talked about their gold hunting trip and Warren’s treasure box.

“I wonder if he ever came to Tombstone.” Her gaze drifted around the saloon. “For all we know, he could have sat on one of those barstools and had a glass of whisky at the bar.”

Tyson squeezed her fingers in his. “He just may have had a drink or two here.”

Their drinks arrived, and they drew apart and enjoyed the music and atmosphere. They plowed through the tasty food when it arrived, both hungry. By the time they exited the saloon, Haylee was pleasantly sated.

Tyson took her hand and led her to a photography studio across the street. The window featured images of men and women wearing Old West garb.

He looked down at Haylee. “How about we get our pictures taken?”

“I’m in.” Haylee beamed and followed him inside the studio. The photographer happened to have an available appointment that had been canceled earlier.

“I want to be a saloon girl,” Haylee stated when asked by the photographer.

Tyson opted for gambler’s duds, and they changed in separate rooms. When she came out, she slinked up to him, taking in his get-up. He looked striking, dressed all in black with a black felt hat and a belt bearing a revolver with a pearl-handled grip.

“Hiya, handsome.” Haylee put her hand on her hip and batted her eyelashes. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Tyson looked so damned sexy, dressed all in black with a black gambler’s hat. He had a black gun belt slung at his hips and a revolver with a pearl-handled grip.

The corners of his mouth lifted into a sexy grin. “Hello, beautiful. I’ll take you up on that offer.”

The photographer, wearing an old-fashioned shirt that puffed at the wrists, a striped vest, and a black armband, ushered them to an old upright piano.

He draped a red feather boa over Haylee’s shoulders and gave her a small bag with a dollar sign motif. She kicked off her shoes and perched atop its closed lid. She adjusted her skirt to reveal a good deal of skin on one thigh.

The photographer had Tyson lean his hip against the piano, arms crossed, with his revolver resting on one bicep.

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