Decker gambled, but not with his life. Unless she developed a penchant for hunting things like him, her bullets would be ordinary lead. Not silver.
The barrel of the gun finally angled to the ground. She left a smear of blood across her coat-sleeve as she wiped her nose. “Stole a girl barely fourteen. Left her family a ransom note and wouldn’t tell them where she was. Tried to blow his head off but the bastard booted me in the face. Didn’t think he’d make it this far.”
“Lucky he made it here.” He stepped back, a hand on the door as he hesitated. “I go by Decker Belmont now,” he said.
“Your choice of name or others?”
A faint smile touched his lips. “I’m good at cards.”
“Doubtful.” Her sharp face softened to a dull edge. “Willa Brooks.”
He didn’t ask if she’d given herself a new name. If she was here alone, it meant the woman she’d loved long ago was gone, and there was no one else to give her a name.
“After you,” Decker said.
Safine straightened from the stranger as Willa stalked through the door, taking her in for a long, tense second before glancing at Decker. He jerked his head and she hesitantly stepped back from the man’s too-still form.
“What are you doing?” Mr. Lane darted past and pressed his hands, sending a beseeching look at him.
Willa drew her hunting knife from the belt at her side.
“He stole a child, preacher. Let her,” Decker said, taking his place next to Safine.
Mr. Lane’s face went white and he glanced down at his red hands. Slowly, they dropped to his side. He jerked his head away when Willa slid the knife between the man’s ribs, forcing words through his lips in a near-silent whisper.
“Into thy hands, I commend your spirit. May God judge you according to your sins, and comfort the sufferers of your transgressions.”
The steadydrip drip dripof blood from the table accompanied the rasp of her knife against her coat.
Decker cleared his throat in the stifling silence. Introductions were in order, despite the body. “Willa, this is Safine, my wife. And the preacher, Mr. Lane.”
The latter looked like he was one breath away from fainting, but he braced one hand on the table and gave her a wavering smile. “The West certainly seems to be safer with you in it, Willa. Your methods may be unorthodox, but your heart is in–”
“You ain’t gotta tell me all that.” A hint of a sneer was still present in her voice. “Save your breath for the sermon tomorrow.”
“S-sermon?”
“It’ll be Sunday.”
He gave an uncertain laugh. “The chapel isn’t near ready—”
“You’re talkin’ just fine. Jesus didn’t need a church to preach in,” Willa said as she wiped away the blood trickling down her lips.
Mr. Lane stammered his assent.
Safine snatched a fresh rag and approached her like one would approach a wild horse. “Let me help. Please.”
Decker cut her a look. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard her sayplease. And never like that. Maybe he should have been more careful about his usage of the titlewifein front of his old friend.
Willa had a habit of stealing wives.
She regarded Safine for one moment before she nodded and leaned against the counter. Safine flashed a quick smile that reflected Decker’s soft one.
Mr. Lane’s heart slowed. He eased the man’s limp hand across his still chest—as if the body wasn’t going to sink to the riverbed, forgotten.
“Sorry I got you out of bed to provide last rites to someone undeserving of them,” Decker said wryly as he filled a bowl of water and scrubbed the blood from his hands.
“No one’s undeserving of them. God is meant to judge, not us. I only try to offer some peace in their last moments.” Mr. Lane’s brow furrowed as he glanced at him once more. “I’m not sure I succeeded with him. He seemed like an angry, troubled man. She’s troubled too,” he said, his gaze flickering to Willa across the room.
