Devils on Horseback: Zeke, Book 3

by Beth Williamson

  “Pleased to meet you.” Zeke gestured with his arm. “You fixing to open up shop soon?”

  “That I am.” Richard walked back around the teller station. “I’m trying to make sense of the mess left behind by the former, ah, owner of the bank. Apparently when he left, there were a number of papers left in a jumble, including the deed to this property.” He peered at a piece of paper. “Owned by a Veronica Marchison and leased to a Phineas Wolcott.”

  “Veronica owned the building?” That was certainly news to Zeke. The cold-hearted bitch had done her best to destroy Tanger, including selling its residents as slaves to Mexican whorehouses. She deserved more than the bullets that killed her and he hoped she was currently rotting in the darkest pit of hell.

  “Apparently so. I understand she’s deceased?” The man had a lilt to his speech, but Zeke couldn’t pin down what kind.

  “Oh she’s dead for certain. Too bad I wasn’t the one to kill her.” The snarl was unexpectedly harsh and made Richard start a bit.

  “Not a popular woman in town then?”

  “You could say that. Her husband owns the general store right next to this building. He’s the man to talk to if you’ve a question.” Zeke reined back the fury currently spinning around his guts. No need to scare the new banker in town with the horrors of what occurred the year before.

  “I’ll do that.” He set down the paper and regarded Zeke with a thoughtful stare. “Confederate Army?”

  “Yes, sir.” Zeke tapped his forehead with two fingers in a small salute. “You too?”

  Richard nodded. “Yes, Colonel of the Third Virginia Infantry.”

  A myriad of images rushed through Zeke’s head, memories and nightmares mixed together. He saw the same reflected in the banker’s eyes. He’d been right—Richard was a fellow veteran, a man who’d traveled to the worst place on Earth and survived.

  “Welcome to Tanger, Richard.” Zeke felt a weight lift off his shoulders. The new banker would be good for the town.

  “Thank you, Sheriff. I’m glad to be here.” The two men shook hands again, this time as new friends.

  Chapter Three

  Naomi brought the dirty glasses to the bar, glancing behind her as she did to be certain he wasn’t there. She hadn’t seen Zeke since his invitation to escort her to the lake that morning. She’d half-expected him to follow her despite her refusal, considering the hostility he’d initially thrown her direction. He almost outright accused her of being on the run from the law. The man had made assumptions about her that were not only completely unfounded, they were insulting. Then his behavior had been almost chivalrous, which confused her.

  Granted, she’d done things she wasn’t proud of in the last three years, but Naomi prided herself on staying within the law and maintaining her honor. Not that a man like Zeke would expect a woman to have honor, but she did.

  She’d tried working an honest job, or at least what folks thought of as an honest job, back in Passman three months ago. It had brought her humiliation, heartache and more nightmares to contend with. She hadn’t, however, broken any laws except perhaps those in her heart and soul.

  Naomi had to shake off the bad memories as they crept up her spine. No need to dwell on Passman or its mayor when she had good fortune right in front of her at the saloon.

  Both nights at the saloon had gone smoothly, without anyone bothering her or making her feel unwelcome. Well, at least not the customers anyway.

  She’d settled in her small room upstairs, which smelled a bit of mothballs and sweat, but she tried to make the place her own. Louisa was very friendly, even offered to help her sweep the room to get out the year’s worth of dust. The redhead had moved to town from Alabama somewhere and was bright and bubbly like champagne. Carmen, on the other hand, was a tight-lipped Mexican woman who did her best to be as difficult as possible. She was barely civil to Louisa and outright sneered at Naomi.

  The men seemed to love both of them, and on more than one occasion in the last couple of days she’d seen them go upstairs with customers. Naomi wasn’t going to judge them for their choices. She was thankful Lucy didn’t force her to entertain men upstairs.

  Since she’d started on a Wednesday, the saloon hadn’t been very busy, giving her a chance to get comfortable before the weekend. If she was right, come Friday night the local cowboys would descend on the saloon and the real work would begin.

  “Tomorrow will be busy. You watch yourself, Miss Naomi.” Joe’s expression was grave enough to send a skitter of goose bumps up her spine.

  “You make it sound like an Indian raid, Joe.” She set the empty glasses on the bar. “How bad can it be?”

  “You just watch yourself, y’hear?” Joe had been more sweet and cordial than anyone else in Tanger. If only he were forty years younger, he’d be a perfect man.

  Naomi grew to taste the bitterness of her naive words twenty-four hours later. Dozens and dozens of men had descended on the saloon, most of them under thirty, but many old geezers joined in as well. Smelly, sweaty, dirty and even some dolled up like fancy men—there were representations of all kinds of males squeezed into the newly renamed Aphrodite’s Saloon. Apparently when Lucy reopened it eight months earlier, she decided to name it after the Greek goddess Zeke had told her about. At least that’s what Louisa had told Naomi.

  Her bottom was black and blue from all the pinches, slaps and gropes. She couldn’t count how many times she’d knocked away a meandering hand only to hear a laugh in response. Many of them had asked if she was Aphrodite with her golden hair.

  It had only been three hours since the horde had come and already she was close to exhaustion. She needed a short break, just ten minutes to herself before she smashed someone’s nose or beat them with a beer glass. Joe had warned her, but she hadn’t listened closely enough.

  Louisa was flirting with two young cowboys hardly old enough to shave. Naomi made her way through the crowd, barely missing a hairy hand grabbing for her right breast. She snarled at the man, earning another obnoxious chuckle.

  “Louisa,” she hissed. “I need ten minutes. Can you cover for me?”

  Louisa’s eyebrows shot towards her hair. “You taking a man upstairs, Naomi? I thought you didn’t do that kinda thing.”

  Naomi rolled her eyes. “No, I’m not taking a man upstairs. I need to visit the privy.”

  “Oh, all right.” Louisa winked. “Have fun now. I’ll take care of things for you.”

  “Thanks.” Without correcting her new friend’s assumption, Naomi headed for the back door, more than eager to leave the cacophony of the bar behind for a brief respite.

  She almost made it.

  Too late Naomi realized the men in the saloon wanted her to look at, to touch, nearly as much as they wanted the liquor she served them.

  “Now where you going, darlin’?” A large hand closed around her upper arm, stopping her in her tracks. “It ain’t gonna be no fun without you here to look at, angel.”

  Naomi tried to pull free, but the stranger tightened his grip. “Let me go.”

  He yanked her back until she landed square on his lap. Her temper flared as she struggled to get up. It wasn’t as if he smelled bad or that he was ugly, because he had pretty blue eyes and sandy brown hair and had the pleasant odor of soap about him. He was holding her there against her will and she’d made a promise to herself to never let that happen again.

  She twisted and tried to scratch his face. “Let me go. Now.”

  “You are a feisty filly, ain’t ya? Whaddya say, angel, will you take me upstairs and make this godforsaken saloon worth more than stale beer?” He smiled and waggled his eyebrows.

  Naomi saw nothing but red as she picked up the heavy mug of beer and brought it crashing down on his head. Then all hell broke loose.

  * * * * *

  Zeke thumbed through the stack of wanted posters in the makeshi
ft jail, trying to remember which ones he’d already looked at. The small shack didn’t have much, but Martin had been building a cage in the corner that’d keep a prisoner overnight. It was all Tanger could afford to do until more folks moved into town.

  One particular new person in town kept sneaking into his mind. Naomi had been haunting his thoughts since they’d met, and he just couldn’t seem to shake her.

  The door flung open, startling Zeke. Joe ran in breathing like a racehorse. The white-haired bartender was a bit quirky, but he was a good man who’d stuck by Lucy through the worst of times. The older man’s face was flushed red and he wheezed with each breath.

  “Fight…at the…saloon.” He held up one finger and put his hands on his knees.

  Zeke was already on his feet heading for the door. “Who started it this time?”

  He didn’t give Joe a chance to answer. Zeke was out the door and halfway down the street in moments. There had been too many fights at Aphrodite’s since it reopened. Hell, he’d been in dozens of them himself when he was drunk. Sometimes he’d even been the instigator.

  As sheriff, he had to keep the peace in town, which meant in the saloon in particular. He knew each broken chair and bottle cost Lucy hard-earned money. Many a nights she’d told him how much of a struggle it had been to get the saloon going again and how angry fights made her. In the wee hours one morning, before he became sheriff, Zeke had made a drunken promise to her to stop the fights. Now he could arrest anyone who started one.

  His boots slammed into the hard-packed dirt as he ran down the street. On more than one occasion, he’d ended up with black eyes, stitches and sore knuckles after a saloon brawl. Lucy had cleaned him up. This time, he didn’t have any intention of coming away with a scratch.

  By the time he made it to the saloon, he’d built up a good head of steam to go with his rising temper. Whoever was responsible would be the first guest in the new jail. Sounds of breaking glasses, grunts, a few screeches and Lucy shouting spilled out into the darkness of the street. A chair slammed into the bar just as Zeke burst through the doors. Splinters flew every which way, some of them grazing his cheek.

  He threw up his hand to protect his eyes as he tried to see what was going on. Louisa and Carmen hid behind the bar—the two watched the brawl like it was a damn circus show. Lucy stood in front of the bar, waving what was left of the chair she’d just smashed into bits. She looked angrier than he’d ever seen her.

  About fifty men pummeled each other around the room. Some were even rolling on the floor picking up tobacco spit and dirt on their clothes. Zeke kicked at them but they ignored him. Lucy saw him and mouthed, “Do something.”

  He pushed his way through the fights, yanking men by the collars, pushing others into chairs, hell he even pulled hair to get them to break apart. By the time he made it to the center of the disturbance, he was panting and thinking the job might not be worth this much trouble. He knew he’d found the instigator when the knot of men grew thicker.

  Patience was something he might have on a good day, but this definitely didn’t count as one. He started punching men and they went down fast. The zip of battle lust coursed through him as he made his way through the idiots. That’s when he realized who stood on the table in the middle of the fight.

  Naomi Tucker.

  Her green dress was ripped at the shoulder, exposing smooth alabaster skin. Her hair was sticking up every which way and her mouth curled into a snarl. In her hands, she held two thick glass mugs, each bearing the bloody marks of a few hits, more than likely on someone’s head.

  His heart hammered at the sight of this wisp of a woman fiercely battling fifty men. Like a Valkyrie from Norse mythology, she was a warrior goddess come to life.

  Someone poked two fingers into his back.

  “Get on with it, Zeke, while I’ve still got a saloon left,” Lucy yelled in his ear.

  He knew he had to do something, but Naomi had shocked him. Not many women were able to do that, however he’d already come to the conclusion she wasn’t like any woman he’d ever met. She confused him, dammit. That thought energized him into action. With a few grunts and curses, he made it through the men and to her feet. When she glanced down, her eyes widened with surprise and a smidge of fear. Good thing too. She needed to be afraid because she was in trouble.

  He took out his pistol and fired a shot into the ceiling, with silent apologies to Lucy for the damage. The loud bang echoed through the saloon and everyone stopped as if frozen. Naomi watched him with wary eyes.

  “This fight is officially over. If you don’t want to end up in jail, then get your hands off the man you’re punching now. Y’all owe Lucy for the damage, so leave an extra dollar for her trouble.” He took a deep breath and surveyed the bloody faces in the room. “Who started it?”

  Fifty men pointed at Naomi. She gasped and scowled at Jeb, the big stupid cowboy who stood next to her with a gash on his cheek and a goose egg on his forehead.

  Without a word of warning, Zeke grabbed her and threw her stomach down on his shoulder. It didn’t take her but a second to start beating on his back and struggling to break his hold. Nothing doing. Zeke had his prisoner and he wasn’t about to give into her wailing.

  Naomi was stronger than she looked. In fact, she almost got away twice, but Zeke held fast, tightening his grip until he could feel every bone, muscle and, dammit to hell, curve in her body. By the time they got to the house the Devils had dubbed the “shit shack”, which now served as the jail, she had inflicted at least a half dozen bruises. For certain, his thighs would never be the same from her shoes.

  “Keep still, Miss Tucker,” he said for the tenth time. “You’re under arrest for starting the saloon fight. You’re going to spend the night in jail no matter how many times you kick me.”

  She grunted and kicked him harder. Little witch.

  “Put me down.”

  That’s exactly what he wanted to do, but until the cell was in front of him, she was stuck on his shoulder. He kicked the door open and cursed when he realized it was dark as hell. The moon hadn’t risen yet and the lamp had gone out.

  “I’m going to drop you on your head if you don’t stop wiggling.” Then Zeke did something he never expected to do. He smacked her on the ass.

  That not only shut her up but she stopped moving. Satisfied he’d gotten the best of her, he stepped into the gloomy interior of the new Tanger jail.

  Naomi was caught between being angry and being scared. This big, threatening man with a badge had her in his power and could do whatever he wanted in the darkness. Unwilling to let him take advantage of her, she was prepared to do anything to protect herself. The hard form of the knife in her shoe provided a bit of comfort. If only her hands were closer to her feet, dammit.

  Her behind smarted from his hand. The fact that he’d even dared to do it made her pride smart just as much. Men thought they had the right to do whatever they wanted to a woman without consequences. This particular man had a surprise in store if he assumed Naomi would allow him any liberties.

  “Please put me down,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m getting a headache.”

  “We can’t have that, can we?”

  As she slid down the front of him, Naomi was struck with the realization of just how hard he was—exceptionally hard. There wasn’t an ounce of give on the man. When she landed on her feet, she put her plan into action.

  She let out a cry of pain. “Oh, my ankle.” She bent over and reached for the knife.

  A strong hand closed around her wrist. Enough to stop her movement, but not enough to cause injury.

  “I’m an ex-soldier, darlin’. That move wouldn’t work on a five-year-old.” His deep voice caressed her ears in the inky shadows.

  Before she could utter a word of protest, he’d captured both her wrists into one hand and pulled her across the floor. He must know his way
around the building because they didn’t run into one piece of furniture.

  “You’re going to have to help.” He let her right wrist go and guided her hand to a lantern. “Lift the glass so I can light the wick.”

  “Do it yourself.” She pulled her free hand away. “Better yet, let me go so I can go back to the saloon.”

  He snorted. “That’s not going to happen. There’s a new rule. Anybody who starts a fight in Lucy’s saloon spends the night in jail. You’re lucky I don’t make you pay for all the damage.”

  “You couldn’t, only a judge could.” She didn’t have any money left to give and the threat of going into debt because of a randy cowboy made her fists clench.

  “This ain’t civilization. The town council and me, we make the decisions for Tanger.” The firm belief in his voice told her what he said was true. “A little saloon girl like you can be held responsible if we say you are.”

  Oh, she knew it wasn’t civilization. These small towns in Texas were their own kingdom, taking anything they wanted, when they wanted, and damn any consequences. The bitter taste of anger and betrayal burned on her tongue. She had to remind herself this was Tanger, not Passman.

  “I can’t pay for my breakfast, much less broken chairs. That fool decided he was going to force me to—well, you know—and I’m not for sale, at any price.” Her voice shook with fury. “Don’t threaten me anymore, Sheriff, I’m done with it.”

  A thick silence sat between them, pulsing with a life of its own. Naomi figured Zeke hadn’t run across many women who stood up to his fierceness. Not to say she wasn’t afraid, but her need for survival overcame that fear. Once upon a time, the opposite was true and Naomi had been afraid of her own shadow, but no more.

  “Lift up the glass so I can light the wick.” His tone had changed from impatient to barely contained anger. Naomi was satisfied to know she affected him too.

  “What if I won’t?” She wanted to see just how far she could push the good sheriff.

  “I throw you on the chair and sit on you so I can have two hands free.”