Anthony stiffened, letting his jaw tighten. His hand brushed the edge of the bar.
“That so?” he said slowly. “Then you ought to order yourself a drink, Carter. I hear whiskey softens the sting of snake oil.”
The man didn’t flinch or shift. He moved with that carefully measured confidence, sliding closer until his elbow brushed the bar just a hair’s breadth from Anthony’s forearm.
“You’ve made quite a name for yourself in these parts, Hawk,” Carter said. “Trouble is, names vanish as quickly as they appear. A man like you out here with no family, no real ties, no one to remember your face once you’re gone...well, it’s easy for people to forget.”
Anthony’s eyes finally lifted. He measured the man, gauging his angle. “You planning to make me gone or just trying to sweet-talk me out of town?” he asked.
Carter leaned just enough to let his voice drop. “I’m offering you money,” he said. “A sum more than enough to buy land three times the worth of Eagle Rock. Enough to set yourself properanywhere west of the Colorado. Mr. Vanburgh is generous when he doesn’t have to waste bullets.”
Anthony let the words hang for a moment. He rolled the glass in his hand, the amber catching the light. Then he set it down without taking a drink.
“Funny,” he said slowly. “When a man waves money at you, it’s usually because he’s too scared to wave steel.”
Carter chuckled, eyes glinting with the faintest trace of amusement. “Think about it, Hawk,” he said. “Dr. Monroe is strong, yes...but she’s only one woman. Those papers you hold...they mean nothing if the courts won’t listen. You’ve seen it this morning. This town belongs to Vanburgh. This county belongs to Vanburgh.”
Anthony wasn’t surprised by Carter’s knowledge. Vanburgh had enough money to pay people for this information. Of course, his men knew everything about Anthony—even about Abigail.
“You keep pressing, all you do is risk lives,” Carter continued. “Her life, your life. You keep pushing, and she’ll be widowed before she’s even married.”
Anthony’s jaw flexed, his hand lingering over the edge of the bar but never leaving it. “That supposed to be a threat?”
“No,” Carter said, his grin widening. “That’s a guarantee.”
The saloon seemed to lean forward. The few remaining patrons were quiet, their eyes fixed on them without daring to interrupt. The air carried tension thick enough to choke on.
Anthony shifted, pressing the weight of his palm against the bar. The muscles in his forearm tightened. He leaned just enough that the man could catch the scent of dust, leather, and iron. It was a promise of force ready to erupt.
“You can tell Vanburgh,” Anthony said, his voice carrying the weight of inevitability, “that Hawk doesn’t spook. Not for cash, not for courts, not for him.”
Carter’s confident smile flickered for a heartbeat. “You’d throw your life away for a patch of rock and some woman’s grief?” he asked, tone half mock, half incredulous.
Anthony didn’t answer with words. His fist moved faster than thought.
The strike was solid and precise. Carter’s jaw shattered under the blow, sending him reeling backward into a table with a crash that rattled the remaining glasses on the bar.
Chairs toppled as men around them cursed. Some even jumped back in reflex, while others froze, watching the scene unfold like a grim theater.
The agent groaned, blood spilling onto his collar as he struggled to rise. Anthony’s shadow loomed over him, hand hovering above the Colt at his hip.
“Next man Vanburgh sends,” he said evenly, “better come with a coffin because he ain’t walking away.”
The saloon erupted in whispers. The patrons began exchanging glances. Tension simmered like a cauldron ready to boil. Anthony didn’t wait for any further provocation.
He reached down, snatched a coin from his pocket, and placed it on the bar. Afterward, he stepped around the wreckage of the table toward the door.
Outside, the blinding sun painted the streets harsh and white.
Dry Creek held its breath. The few onlookers on the boardwalks froze, shifting only slightly. The rumor would travel faster than any message. Hawk had turned down Vanburgh’s money, had shown the man the weight of his resolve.
Some would whisper that he had drawn his steel. Others would swear the man’s skull was split open on the saloon floor. Truth did not matter. Only the signal.
The declaration that Vanburgh had just been humiliated and warned.
Immediately after exiting the building, he spotted Abigail standing a few paces to the right. The crash of a chair and the muffled thud of a body hitting the floor had reached her even from where she stood, and her gaze sharpened the moment Anthony emerged.
“Anthony!” she said, searching his eyes. “What happened? I heard...I heard a crash.”
