“But he’s not my husband yet.” Sharisse made that point clear.
“Honey, you’re as good as married,” Mrs. Landis said. “Why, back in the old days, when a preacher didn’t get around as often, young couples weren’t expected to wait. As long as they were willin’ and able, they set up house and saw to the blessings later. Now most towns got their own preachers. We had one for a while, but since he passed away, no one’s come to take his place.”
“I see,” Sharisse replied politely.
“I don’t mind confessin’ I was hopin’ Luke would notice me.” Naddy leaned forward as if speaking in confidence, though all six of the women present leaned forward too. “Either him or his brother, Slade. They’re both so—”
“Nadine Durant!” Lila gasped. “It’s one thing to admire a nice respectable man like our Luke, but quite another to be thinkin’ about a man like Slade. I thought I taught you better, gal.”
Naddy didn’t look in the least chastised. “Have you met Slade yet?” she asked Sharisse.
“No, I’m afraid I haven’t,” Sharisse replied.
“Then you’re in for a treat.”
“More like a fright.” Lila corrected her daughter again, displeasure written all over her face.
“Oh, the boy’s not that bad, Lila,” Mrs. Landis put in.
“He is, too.” Another woman took Lila’s side.
“Well, we shouldn’t even be discussin’ Slade.”
“And why not, Lila?” Her husband, Emery, came up behind her with John Hadley. “It’s not every town that can boast of bein’ the home of a famous gunslinger.”
“Now you know very well Slade Holt isn’t from Newcomb,” Lila argued with her husband.
“No, but since his brother’s settled here, Newcomb is as close to bein’ his home as any place is.”
Sharisse was staring curiously at Emery Durant. “What is a gunslinger?”
“A fast gun.”
“You mean he hires his gun out?” Her eyes were wide.
Emery shook his head. “Don’t know that he hires out. Never heard of him workin’ for anybody. You mean to say Luke ain’t told you about his brother?”
“Not much,” she admitted.
“You don’t say!” Emery’s face lit up like a child’s at Christmastime. He took only a second to make sure Lucas was clear across the room before he sat down next to his wife. “Well now, let me tell you about the day Slade Holt first came to Newcomb.”
The women sighed collectively, for they had all heard this story countless times. Sharisse wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it at all.
“Dressed like an Indian he was,” John Hadley said before Emery could open his mouth again. “Looked like one, too, with his hair clear down to his shoulders and—”
“Will you let me tell it, John?” Emery said, exasperated.
“Well, I was there,” John grumbled. “You weren’t.”
“What exactly is Slade supposed to have done?” Sharisse interrupted the start of what looked to be an argument.
“Why, he killed Feral Sloan. Sloan was a tough one, a former hired gun as mean as they come.”
“Sloan!” Sharisse gasped, the name still fresh in her memory.
She glanced toward Lucas, wondering why he hadn’t told her, but she only caught a glimpse of him as he left the room with Samuel Newcomb. She turned back to Emery Durant, hoping she had misunderstood.
“You mean Slade Holt is a killer?”
