A Brother’s Blood Debt (Preview)

Chapter One

Amarillo, Texas

1878

The dull thud of hoofbeats in sand pounded in Texas Ranger Samuel Colton’s ears. He leaned forward on his mount, lying as close to the horse’s neck as possible, as he cut through the desert before him.

His eyes remained focused dead ahead. A sandstorm was rising around him, but he refused to let those men get away.

The rhythmic beat of the hooves warred with the blood pounding in his ears, but with only one thing on his mind, he didn’t slow.

“Get back here, you bastards!” he shouted. “Put your hands in the air where I can see ’em!”

He was quickly closing the distance between himself and the fleeing men. Though he had been told there were five, he could only see three. The absence of the other two caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand, but he refused to let fear of being ambushed stop him from catching those scoundrels.

Cackling laughter floated on the wind, reaching him. He couldn’t hear all that was said among the men ahead, but he certainly heard them throw out one of his monikers. The Immortal Ranger.

“You keep coming after us, and you’ll learn you’re not so immortal after all!” one of the shadows in the swirling sand shouted. “This is your chance to turn back before you get scalped for real!”

The outlaws ahead weren’t Natives, but he understood the remark all the same. The scar running along his graying hairline itched with tension as it always did when he was under a lot of stress. An incident from years ago in which a band of Natives had failed in their attempt to scalp him, which had ultimately earned him the title of being immortal.

In response to the jeer, he fired into the cloud of dust and sand. He squeezed the trigger several times, praying with each pull that he’d see one of the men fall from their saddle. But he didn’t have any such luck.

Cobra, his horse, was struggling to see in the sand, and while Sam was doing his best to keep the horse galloping in a straight line, the animal was slowing. He snorted and pawed at the sand, breathing with an open mouth as he tried to find some relief from the particles in the air.

“Damn it!” Sam shouted when he realized he had no choice but to turn back. He could keep up the pursuit, but he’d already lost the ground he’d made up in the chase, and he could only barely see the men ahead.

The final drift of laughter floated back to him before he yanked his kerchief up over his mouth and nose.

“Alright, Cobra, alright,” he said. “Let’s head back. God damn it.”

He shook his head in disdain. He wasn’t annoyed with the horse. Not really. In fact, turning back to town was likely the best choice considering he was outnumbered by the outlaws. They’d be apt to lead him somewhere out in the desert where they could set a trap and kill him before he had the chance to send a bullet through any of their skulls.

The risk simply wasn’t worth it. Not when there was a horrific scene back in Amarillo needing his attention. He whipped his horse around and spurred the animal to a gallop, heading back in the same direction from which he’d come.

Cobra was happy to leave the dust storm behind, holding his tail high as he ran with all his might back to Amarillo.

Sheriff Bates met him shortly after he’d gotten back onto Main Street, holding up his hand with his mouth set in a grim line. He looked past Sam at the sandstorm in the distance, frustration in his eyes. It was as though nature itself was on the side of the outlaws, leaving the men powerless to do anything to hunt those men down.

“Anything?” Sheriff Bates asked.

He looked at Sam as he spoke, scanning the back of his horse as though his willpower alone would be enough to make a body or two appear tied to the back of Sam’s saddle.

Sam shook his head. “Lost them in that sandstorm yonder. I lost two before I even got close, then the rest vanished when the sand really started flying.”

“Reckon it was a gang, but I didn’t get a good enough look to know who it was.” Sheriff Bates’ voice was laced with the same level of anger Sam felt coursing through his own veins. Gangs were getting worse these days, and the authorities were becoming increasingly frustrated. Every time one gang was caught and disbanded, another came together.

And every subsequent gang felt worse than the last.

Sam pulled Cobra to a stop, his mustache twitching as he racked his mind for something to say. The look on the other man’s face told him that it was even worse than he’d thought, and Sam wasn’t too eager to hear what that really meant.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “How bad?”

“It’s bad,” Sheriff Bates said. He looked down at his hands as he spoke, and as Sam’s eyes followed, he saw the blood staining the man’s fingers. “It’s real bad. But the thing of it is, it’s senseless.”

“Senseless!” Sam shot back, his eyebrows rising toward his scarred hairline. “How can you call a bank robbery senseless? Those bastards were after money, and they were willing to put others’ lives on the line in order to get it.”

“Have you been to the bank?” Sheriff Bates asked quietly.

The question stopped Sam cold. He had not. He’d been inside the sheriff’s office when the calls for help broke out. He’d gotten into the saddle and had galloped toward the source of the cries, but when he’d seen the fleeing outlaws, he’d turned after them instead.

He’d seen them jumping onto their own mounts after coming through the back door of the bank, indicating that it had been a robbery. But that was as far as he’d gotten. He hadn’t looked back until he’d lost those men out in the desert.

“No,” he said at last.

“Go see for yourself,” Sheriff Bates told him, “and you’ll understand what I mean.”

A knot formed in the pit of his stomach, and he spurred Cobra forward. He kept the horse at a steady walk, watching the stony faces he passed along the way. Word spread quickly in the area, and it seemed most of the people present had either seen or heard what had happened.

And they all looked sick enough to vomit.

“Steady boy,” Samuel told his horse, though he needed to hear the words more than his mount.

His hand shook, both from the adrenaline of the ride and the rage that simmered just beneath the surface. Outlaws were vermin. He’d like nothing more than to see them all exterminated.

He reached the bank and dismounted, but he was quickly stopped by guards.

“You can’t go in there, mister,” one of the men said. “There’s been a robbery, and we have an ongoing investigation.”

“Texas Ranger Samuel Colton,” Sam said as he flashed his badge. The men exchanged a look and parted so he could pass, allowing him inside the bank.

The scene was even worse than what he’d expected. He instantly understood why the sheriff had been so grim. People stood scattered around the large lobby, all with looks of horror plastered across their faces. Many were weeping, some were looking vacantly into the distance. Several were on their knees next to the bodies of those who had been shot.

Sam swallowed, adjusting his kerchief around his neck to release some of the nervous heat welling up under his shirt. He then strode forward, looking for the bank’s president.

“I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it,” one woman whispered to another as he passed. “To think that they just opened fire without a thought.”

“I’ve heard of banks getting robbed, but I never thought it would happen right here in Amarillo,” the second woman responded, clutching her kerchief to her bosom as she did. “I wouldn’t say that this is the safest town in Texas, but we’ve never in all our days seen something as brutal as this.”

Brutal. That’s the only word that could be used to describe what I’m seeing.

Sam kept the thought to himself as he pulled off his hat, giving the two women a nod as he strode past. Blood was everywhere. Splattered on the walls, across the counters, all over the floor. The room was heavy with the sickly sweet scent of it, making Sam’s stomach churn.

He tried not to step in any of the mess at first, but it soon became apparent he hadn’t be able to avoid it. Others had already spread the mess across the floor, but he still didn’t like contributing to the disorder.

Finally, he saw a man who looked dazed, but seemed more collected than most of the others in the room, and he sidled over.

“Hello, Texas Ranger Colton,” he said as he flashed his badge once again. He extended his hand to the man. “I’m investigating the case. Can you tell me what you saw?”

“Harvey.” It was the only name the man gave, but it would do. “I didn’t see much. Got here after the shooting had already happened. I don’t know what I thought I’d do, but there was just so much screaming and shouting for help…I couldn’t just stand by and let it happen around me without at least trying to—”

“Hey, slow down,” Sam said as he held his hand up. “Take a breath and try to remember details. I need to know what those men looked like. I only got a look at them from a long way back, and I’m trying to figure out who they were.”

“Some gang, I reckon,” Harvey said with a shrug that was almost dismissive.

Sam bristled. He’d already deduced that much. But he remained patient. Any information could be helpful.

“How many?” he asked. “I saw five myself when they initially fled, but if there were more, I’d like to know.”

“I believe there were only the five,” Harvey replied as he dusted off the top of his own hat. “Can’t say whether that’s true. I’ve heard gangs can run as many as fifteen or more.”

“True, but I’m trying to figure out how many were here today,” Sam said, fighting for patience. He gave the man a polite smile as he turned to the rest of the room. “Thank you for your time. I believe I ought to talk to a few of the other folks present.”

“You should speak to Mrs. Larson,” Harvey announced.

Sam raised a brow. “Who would that be?”

“The banker’s wife,” Harvey said with another of his shrugs. “The president’s wife, I mean.”

“I’d like to speak to the president himself,” Sam said as he looked around. “If I could find him.”

“I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible,” Harvey told him. He nodded toward the corner of the room where there was a larger group gathered. Though sobs could be heard around the entire lobby, they were loudest over in that corner. Sam’s heart sank.

Harvey didn’t need to elaborate, but he did so anyway. “Shot dead like the others.”

“Damn,” Sam said with a shake of his head. He guessed the loudest sobs came from the dead man’s wife, and he felt guilty needing to speak with her. But if he wanted to figure out who those men were, he had work to do.

He simply didn’t have enough from the little information he had. Sam started walking toward the corner, his heart dropping when a few of the people standing around parted, and he saw the extent of the man’s injuries.

Mr. Larson had clearly been shot at close range. The poor man likely died instantly. Mrs. Larson knelt next to her deceased husband, gripping his bloody hand in her own. Her tears ran in two tracks down her cheeks, cutting through the blood she’d smeared there by pressing the back of his hand to the side of her face.

“He didn’t stand a chance,” a voice said beside Sam, prompting him to look to the side. Sam’s heart stumbled in his chest.

“John,” he said with a small nod. “I heard it was bad, but I didn’t think it would be this bad.”

“One of the worst I’ve seen,” John said with a single nod. “We’re going to have to catch them bastards and make them swing.”

“That’s the plan,” Sam said as he continued toward the grieving widow. He gently touched her shoulder, startling her. She looked up with her eyes wide, and he gave her a small, consoling smile. “Pardon me, ma’am. I’m sorry to bother you when you’re dealing with so much, but could I have a word?”

She reluctantly rose, releasing her husband’s hand.

“Yes?” she asked, her voice quivering.

“What can you tell me about the incident this afternoon?” Sam asked, showing her his badge. “Were you here?”

“Yes,” she said, choking back a sob. “I was just leaving. I brought Nelson his lunch, you see, but as I was walking out, six men came inside.”

“Six?” Sam raised a brow.

“Yes,” she said. “Five men who were being led by a large man with graying hair. I couldn’t see much of any of them as they were all dressed in black from head to toe. They all had kerchiefs over their faces, and all but the leader had a hat pulled low.”

She demonstrated with her hands on her face. “They walked in, and everything seemed calm at first, but then the leader pulled out a gun and shot the teller. That’s when Nelson came out of the office, and the same man shot him, too.”

Tears started coming once again, but she choked back the sob. “They took money. They were shooting anyone who tried to stand up to them. I don’t know how much they stole or how many people they shot…Then they fled. I was so worried, hoping I could help my husband, but he was gone by the time I reached him.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Sam said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I promise you, I’ll do everything in my power to bring those men to justice.”

“You promise?” she asked, the grief and anger in her gaze flickering with hope. “Forgive me for using such language, but I want those bastards to hang.”

Sam nodded. White-hot rage flooded his veins, and he wanted nothing more than to see those men swinging from the ends of gallows himself. But he had his work cut out for him. First, he had to figure out who they were. Then he had to find them. And finally, he had to catch them.

But he remained undeterred.

“They will,” Sam told her, his voice filled with determination. “Trust me, they will.”

Chapter Two

“Excuse me, driver, how much farther?” William Thornton asked.

The man seated in the carriage just ahead of him glanced over his shoulder before he pointed.

“Just up yonder. That there is Clear Creek. It’s a nice little place if you ask me, though I can’t say I’d ever want to settle in a town so small myself,” the driver said with a laugh. “I’m far more inclined to live in the likes of San Marco.”

“Agreed,” Bill said, and he certainly meant it. He’d always wanted to live in a large city, and San Marco was where he’d tried to put down roots. But tragedy had struck, and he’d had no choice but to travel north to Clear Creek.

He fell silent, just as he had for most of the trip. Though he was a little worried he was being rude, he didn’t have the energy for much conversation, even if the driver was a friendly man. In truth, he was grieving.

“So,” the driver said, clearly not realizing that Bill didn’t want to talk, “what brings you to Clear Creek anyway? I don’t see many folks dressed such as yourself in these parts.”

Bill glanced down at his suit. He was dressed nicely, but it wasn’t for any particular reason. He preferred to dress well when he traveled, and he’d been traveling for the past three days.

“Business or pleasure?” the driver pressed when Bill didn’t respond.

“There’s been a death in my family, actually,” Bill said at last. “My brother, Thomas, was murdered a few days back, and I’m here to try to put his affairs in order.”

“Murdered!” The driver looked at him with wide eyes. “Well, that is unfortunate. I’m sorry you have to deal with that.”

“Thank you,” Bill replied, hoping that was the end of the conversation. He folded in on himself, indicating to the driver that he didn’t want to talk about the incident. However, the driver didn’t look back before he started asking questions.

“Do you know what happened? There’s a lot of violence that comes with the saloons these days, and I hear the one in Clear Creek is about the worst in these parts.”

“That so?” Bill asked, avoiding the question but mildly intrigued. In truth, he didn’t fully know what had happened. He’d been contacted by the authorities regarding Tom’s death, and he hoped to learn more upon arriving in Clear Creek. “Men take their card games seriously, don’t they?”

“Was your brother a gambler?”

“Occasionally, but not the sort to draw on a man for cheating,” Bill said, his tone dismissive.

“But would someone draw on him?” the driver asked. Bill bristled, and it seemed the other man realized his mistake. “Not that I would say that your brother was a cheat by any means, but I did have a friend who got himself kilt in a saloon brawl simply because the other party thought he was cheating. Or there’s men who will kill just because they’re sore losers.”

“I don’t think it was a gambling accident,” Bill said, though he had no idea. “Either way, the deed is done, and now I must attend to his final affairs.”

“It’s good of you to do so,” the driver said with a nod. “Was he your older or younger brother?”

“Twin brother,” Bill replied. “Slightly older than myself, but only by a few minutes.”

“That’s awful. I’m sorry.”

Bill said nothing as the driver slapped the reins on the backs of the horses, urging them to pick up the pace. Clear Creek was rising in the distance, and it seemed that the conversation had motivated the other man to get Bill there quickly.

The increased speed was fine by Bill. He didn’t want to handle Tom’s affairs, and the sooner he got it over with, the better. But then, he didn’t look forward to learning how his brother had met with his end, either.

The entire situation felt surreal. He hadn’t seen Tom in a few years, but the last time the two of them had seen each other, Bill had insisted upon them getting photographed together. He pulled out that photograph now, gently unfolding it and smoothing the crease.

Both he and his brother stared at the camera, neither smiling. They looked identical enough that they could swap places, and that memory brought a smile to his face, even if it was riddled with pain.

The thought of anyone doing anything to his twin made his blood boil, but then, perhaps there had been some truth to the speculation the driver had given. His brother had always stood up for himself, and he hadn’t been one to easily walk away from a fight. If someone had challenged him, it was perfectly feasible that his brother would engage.

And if he’d picked a fight with the wrong person, then it was just as feasible that he might have truly gotten himself killed over something stupid. His throat thickened, and he quickly folded the photograph and placed it back in his pocket before the tears started forming.

He didn’t cry often, but he’d cried the day he’d received the news. It had always been him and his brother, though they’d not seen each other in years. Bill still felt just as connected to his twin as he had the day that photograph was taken, and the thought that he’d never see Tom again in his life made him feel sick enough to retch.

Their parents were gone, now his brother was gone, and he was the only one left in the world. It wasn’t fair. But of course, life itself wasn’t fair, either.

Thankfully, the driver fell silent for good, and Bill resumed his somber trek into town. He ran through multiple scenarios in his mind, each one trying to explain how and why his brother had been murdered.

Tom was rough, but he wasn’t rough enough that Bill had expected this to happen. Perhaps he’d fallen in with the wrong crowd. Or perhaps he’d hired the wrong man to work for him. Or perhaps he’d fallen in love with the wrong woman, and a rival lover had stepped in and eliminated Tom as a response.

Truly, the possibilities were endless. The message he’d received from the sheriff had been vague and to the point, leaving him with little to go on. He pulled it from his pocket and read over the words again.

Mr. Thornton, 

It is with my deepest regrets that I must inform you of the death of your brother. He was found murdered last night, and the investigation is ongoing. I would appreciate it if you could come to Clear Creek at your earliest convenience so we can discuss this matter at length. 

Sheriff John Carrington. 

The message had been disturbing. It got right down to the point, but of course it did. The sheriff hadn’t contacted him for a social call. Bill had a lot of questions for the man, but he’d have to wait until he saw the sheriff in person to have any of those questions answered.

“Here we are, right into town,” the driver said as he finally reached the main street. He slapped the reins on the horses, keeping them moving despite turning to look back at Bill with a raised brow. “And where did you want me to drop you off?”

“I thought you left everyone in front of the mercantile just ahead,” Bill said with a slight nod.

“That’s what I normally do, yeah, but considering the circumstances, I wouldn’t mind taking you somewhere else if need be. No extra charge. Just say the word, and I’ll get you there,” the man said as he tipped his hat back slightly, looking at Bill with his large eyes.

“Just outside the mercantile is fine with me,” Bill said with a wave of his hand.

“You’re not going to go to the sheriff? What about the undertaker? I’m sure you might want to see your brother as soon as you can. Well, see him at rest anyway,” the man quickly amended. “I really don’t mind taking you up the road farther.”

“Really, there’s no need,” Bill said, letting a flicker of frustration show in his tone. “I’m not sure where I’m going first, and I need to gather my bearings before I make any of those decisions.”

In truth, he wanted the time to think before he saw either the sheriff or the undertaker. He still wasn’t sure how he’d manage looking at his brother’s dead body without breaking down. But he’d deal with that when the time came.

“Alright then, here we are,” the driver said as he pulled the horses to a stop. “You’re sure this is where you want to be?”

“Yes, thank you,” Bill said as he pulled some money out of his pocket.

“No, there’s no need for that,” the man said. “You already paid.”

“I paid only half,” Bill replied.

“And that’s all I’ll take. There’s no way I can take money from a man I just dropped off to go view his dead brother. It’s all so awful, I’ll have a lot to tell my wife tonight,” he said with a slow shake of his head.

“No doubt,” Bill replied as he grabbed his bag and climbed out of the carriage. “Thanks for the ride, friend. Take care.”

The driver touched his hat once more, then he sent the horses forward, rattling away up the narrow street.

Bill looked around. Clear Creek was indeed smaller than San Marco, but it was still familiar. He decided that it was because he and Tom had lived in a number of towns that looked just like Clear Creek in their day.

Towns like this one were all the same, give or take. The saloon was lively, just up the street, with a large sign advertising services beyond just drinking. Though Bill had no interest in finding company for the night, he could use a good, stiff drink to calm his nerves. The relentless heat of the sun beat down on his head, and he still felt he had to settle his thoughts before he saw anyone.

He started up the street but stopped when he passed a small inn. Turning, he headed inside.

“Need a room,” he told the clerk standing behind the counter. “You got any vacancies?”

“How long?” the man asked.

“Uh. Three days,” Bill said. When the man gave him an inquisitive look, he shrugged. “To start. I’m here on business and not sure how long I’ll be.”

“That’ll be a dollar fifty,” the man said, eyeing Bill like he was truly a stranger, and perhaps a suspicious one at that. “Includes breakfast in the morning and dinner at seven. You’re on your own for a midday meal.”

“Are baths included?” Bill asked.

The man smiled, revealing that he was missing several teeth. “For an extra ten cents.”

“Don’t worry about the bath then,” Bill said, and the man laughed.

“That’s what they all say.”

Bill pulled out the money and laid it on the counter, then took the key the man gave him with only a grunt as gratitude.

“You’ll be upstairs in room four,” the man said as he pointed toward the ceiling. “Second door on the right, can’t miss it.”

Bill didn’t respond, heading up the stairs with his bag in hand. He found the room quickly, walking into the sparsely furnished space with no expectations whatsoever. A washbasin on a small table sat near the center of the wall, with a single bed pushed into a corner. A chest of drawers stood next to that, with a sitting chair in the corner opposite the bed.

The air was stuffy, and the room smelled faintly of a variety of things. Cheap perfume, stale alcohol, unwashed bodies. But he didn’t need it to be comfortable; he just needed it to be suitable for as long as it took for him to get through the next few days.

He left his bag on the bed and left the room, locking the door behind him. Now that he had a place to stay for the night, he had to get a drink.

The saloon was just up the street, the music loud enough that Bill could hear it before he was even fully outside. He strode toward the place, wondering if he’d find evidence of his brother’s murder when he stepped through the doors.

When he didn’t, he wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or disappointed.

The place was packed. Women walked among the tables, flirting with the men who were playing cards. Some served drinks, others were trying to offer their services. Some were busy leading men up the stairs after them, while others were walking down behind men who had been upstairs with them.

Bill scanned the floor and the walls, trying to determine if there were any bullet holes or blood. His brother had been killed four days before, and if it had happened in the saloon, he expected to at least see bullet holes. But then, even if he did see bullet holes in the wall, he’d have no way of knowing whether they were a result of what had happened to Tom.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, dragging Bill’s mind back to the present.

“Whiskey,” Bill said. “And leave the bottle.”

The man flipped a glass over onto the counter and poured the amber liquid inside, then he set the bottle down with a stiff thunk and a nod. Bill put his money on the counter, and the bartender scooped it into his palm before turning his back on Bill and attending to other customers.

Bill settled into the corner with his drink, eyeing the rest of the room suspiciously. Any one of those men could be the one who killed Tom.

Guilt swept over him. He had no right to think of them like that, but he couldn’t help it. Not after losing his twin. Just being in town and knowing that Tom was gone hit him hard, and he took a sip of the whiskey with a shaking hand.

He wouldn’t have any answers until he spoke to the sheriff. Late as it was in the day, he decided he’d put that off until first thing in the morning. Tonight, he meant to drink his sorrows away with the bottle in his hand.

But he soon found that no matter how much whiskey he put down his throat, he couldn’t erase his twin’s face from his mind. He had to find out what happened to Tom. Then he had to get justice for his brother.

Chapter Three

The sun glared through the sides of the thin curtains, blinding Bill before he even opened his eyes. He groaned and rolled over, putting his back toward the window, hoping for some relief from the searing pain that ran through his head.

The empty whiskey bottle lay on the floor next to the bed, discarded after he’d finally fallen onto the pitiful mattress late the previous night. He barely remembered stumbling back to the inn, and he was still dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing the night before.

Might need to rethink turning down that bath. 

The thought ran through his mind, unbidden and undesired. But after how much he’d had to drink the previous night, he was sure he smelled like a stale barrel of whiskey. And he needed to speak with both the undertaker and the sheriff that day.

Reluctantly, he went downstairs to the clerk, ignoring the judgmental way the man looked him over.

“A bath, if you please,” he said as he dropped a dime on the counter.

The clerk snatched the coin into his hand before it stopped moving. He then jerked his head over his shoulder. “There’s rooms in the back. Take the one at the very end. It’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

Bill responded with a single nod before dragging himself back up to his room. He grabbed a clean change of clothes before going down to the bathing room, grateful for the way the hot water massaged his sore, aching muscles.

The heat made his nausea worse in the beginning, but by the time he was done scrubbing the brush over his protesting body, the water had cooled enough to be soothing. After getting out of the tub and dressing, he had little more than a headache as he left the room.

“Breakfast is served if you’re interested,” the clerk told him as he passed by the counter once more.

Bill was surprised by this. The sign above the dining room stated that breakfast would be served until nine, and it was after ten. But it didn’t matter anyway. He wasn’t hungry. Not with what he was about to do.

“I’ve got business to attend to, thanks,” Bill said without even looking at the man.

He heard the clerk mumble something under his breath, but he didn’t have time or the energy to address what it might have been.

He stepped outside into the too-bright sunshine, shielding his eyes from the glare as he looked up and down the street. Clear Creek was a small town, to be sure, but it appeared to be lively. Men and women walked on both sides of the main street, many with purchases in hand.

Women carried parasols, smiling and nodding at him as he passed. Some gave him a strange look, but he kept his eyes turned to the ground each time he noticed. Surely those looks were coming from people who had known his brother…people who likely thought they were now looking at a ghost.

He adjusted his jacket collar, pulling it up higher before he shoved his hands into his pockets and strode forward, walking straight to the undertaker’s shop. The sign swung above the door, cold and ominous, each sway eliciting a squeak that filled the air. Everything about the place was somber, a stark contrast to the sunny, cheerful morning.

Bill stepped inside and was immediately greeted by the undertaker himself.

“Hello, can I—oh. You must be the brother,” he said. “My name’s Benjamin Chester. I swear you look just like him!” The old man’s bushy brows rose as he looked Bill over from head to toe. He stroked his long, gray beard before fidgeting with his mustache. “I hear twins have a connection like no one else on the planet. This must be very difficult for you.”

“I’m sure the loss of a family member is difficult for anyone,” Bill said dismissively. It wasn’t the first time someone marveled over how much he and Tom looked alike, but considering the circumstances, he didn’t want to hear it.

He’d forever be haunted by the fact that his brother was gone. Hearing how much they were alike only added salt to the wound.

“Of course, right this way,” Mr. Chester said as he motioned for Bill to follow him into the back room.

Coffins lined the wall, but it appeared that only one was occupied. The lid had been removed and was lying on the floor behind the table, and Bill instantly noted how cold the room was.

“He’s been on ice since they brought him in,” Mr. Chester said. “I’ve patched him up to the best of my ability, but considering the circumstances, there was only so much I could do.”

“Circumstances?” Bill asked, looking at Mr. Chester inquisitively.

“What, you don’t know?” he asked.

“I was told he was murdered, but not how,” Bill admitted.

Mr. Chester appeared uncomfortable, as though he wasn’t used to giving this kind of news. “His throat was cut, I’m afraid. Stabbed in the shoulder once, but it was the gash across the neck what did it.”

Bill’s heart dropped. He’d hoped that his brother had passed quickly. Painlessly, even. A slit throat was no way to die. Tom must have been terrified, and that thought made Bill’s blood boil.

“I see,” he said stiffly.

Mr. Chester cleared his throat, apparently trying to find something else to say. Then, he nodded and left the room in silence, leaving Bill to view his brother in privacy.

Bill walked over to the coffin, looking down at his twin. A scarf had been tied around his brother’s neck, hiding the fact that his throat had been cut. But it was the color that made Bill feel sick. The man lying in the coffin was very clearly his brother, but it wasn’t his brother at all. Not the brother Bill knew.

“I’m sorry, Brother,” he whispered. His throat constricted, yet no tears fell. He couldn’t bring himself to cry, even as anguish and rage ran through him. “I’ll find who did this. I will avenge you.”

He didn’t know how long he’d stood next to his brother’s body. Time seemed to stand still in that little, frozen room. Memories washed over him, as did emotions and various physical sensations. He felt hot, then cold. He felt sick, then angry. He wanted to weep, but he also wanted to tear the entire place apart.

And the worst part of it all was that nothing he did would ever bring his brother back. Tom was gone, and he’d be gone forever.

Finally, Bill peeled himself away from the side of the coffin. He’d meant it when he promised his brother that he would avenge him, but that meant he needed help. He needed to talk to the sheriff and find out what leads they had. Who would do this to Tom? And why?

Bill paid the undertaker on his way out the door, making arrangements to have his brother buried right there in Clear Creek.

“You don’t want to have him shipped back home?” the man asked with another surprised look on his face. “I can have him sent anywhere, for a fee.”

“My brother was a bit of a wanderer these days,” Bill said. “I reckon this is as good a place as any for him to be laid to rest.”

“Very well,” Mr. Chester said briskly. “I’ll see to those arrangements directly. Again, I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” Bill left, letting the door close heavily behind him.

He wasn’t sure whether it was from viewing his brother or the residual whiskey swirling in his stomach, but he felt sick as he stumbled back up the street. He didn’t want to speak with the sheriff. He didn’t want to talk about the fact that his brother was gone forever. But he needed information.

The sheriff’s office was on the opposite side of the main street, but it didn’t take Bill long to get there. He walked in to find the sheriff sitting behind his desk just inside the door. Opposite him sat another man who was dressed like a Texas Ranger.

“Sheriff,” Bill said immediately. “William Thornton, please call me Bill.”

“Bill, Sheriff John Carrington,” the sheriff said, rising and offering his hand. “And this here is Texas Ranger Samuel Colton.”

“Ranger,” Bill said with a single nod toward the other man. He then got right down to business, telling both men that he was Tom’s brother, and that he’d just come from the undertaker. “But I’m still at a loss,” he admitted. “Mr. Chester told me that his throat had been cut, and I have a lot of questions.”

“As do we, of course,” Sheriff Carrington replied. “But there is some good news in all of this. At least, we could consider it to be good news in a way.”

“I don’t see anything good about this,” Bill said flatly. “But I’d like to hear what you have to say.”

“Look there behind you,” Sheriff Carrington said as he pointed toward the back of his office.
Bill turned slightly. He did a double-take when he realized that the cell in the very back of the room held a woman. She was beautiful, with dark hair and dark skin. She was of Native and Mexican descent, and he instantly noticed that she appeared to have been crying.

How could the sheriff possibly think that such a small woman would be capable of murdering his brother?

She looked at him with wide eyes, as though she was looking at a ghost. Bill dismissed the gaze as he had with the other folks in town. She must be someone who had seen his brother before and now must think his twin had come back from the dead.

“Is she supposed to mean something to me?” he asked the sheriff, turning back to the two men at the desk.

“I do believe you’re looking at your brother’s killer,” the sheriff said bluntly.

“What!” Bill couldn’t believe his ears. He looked back at the woman, then to the sheriff. His eyes drifted to the Texas Ranger, as though he expected them to tell him that it was a joke. “You can’t be serious,” he said. “Look at her. She’s so small, and my brother was every bit as big as I am. Do you really mean to tell me that you think she was the one who was able to cut his throat? Make that make sense to me, Sheriff.”

Anger swirled through him. His brother was strong, capable. Though he hadn’t seen Tom in a while, he refused to believe that a small, shaking woman such as the one behind him would be able to kill Tom.

“Well now, settle down and let me explain,” Sheriff Carrington said with a raised hand. “I know it doesn’t make much sense that a woman would do something like that, but the evidence indicates that she’s the murderer.”

“You’re going to have to give me more than that,” Bill said, folding his arms. “I know my brother. He couldn’t have been murdered by someone like her.”

“You sound pretty bent on defending her,” Ranger Colton said from his chair. “You don’t even know the story, and yet you’re certain that she’s not the one who killed him? What makes you so sure? Don’t you want justice for your brother?”

“Of course I want damn justice!” Bill said, slamming his hand against the desk as hard as he could manage. Everything on top of the desk rattled, and Sheriff Carrington startled slightly. Ranger Colton didn’t react, eyeing Bill with an air that was dangerously close to suspicion.

“I want the right person to be held accountable for the crime!” Bill continued. “I’m not going to be satisfied if just anyone swings for this, I want the person who actually murdered him to be on the end of that rope!”

“And that’s perfectly understandable,” Sheriff Carrington said, holding up both his hands this time in an almost imploring manner. “And that’s what we want, too. I am not in the business of arresting or convicting the wrong person. I wouldn’t have locked this woman in a cell if I didn’t have reason to believe that she was the one who committed the crime.”

Bill dragged his hand over his face, his mind spinning. Nothing added up, but he was willing to listen to what the sheriff had to say.

“Alright, what makes you think she, of all people, was able to murder my brother?” he asked coolly.

“Your brother was killed upstairs in the saloon,” Sheriff Carrington said, his tone changing. He no longer spoke with the authority that he had, but instead used a far more compassionate angle. “He had gotten himself a prostitute, and, well, she killed him.”

He nodded toward the woman at the back of the room as he spoke, but Bill still didn’t believe the story. Even in the vulnerable state his brother would have been in with a lady of the night, that didn’t change the fact that Tom was big and strong. He could have fought her off without a weapon in his hand.

That was, unless she had gotten the drop on him.

“But why?” he asked. “Why would she murder him?”

“Robbery, that’s all we can figure,” Sheriff Carrington said. “Of course, she’s denying everything, but one can’t really deny standing over a dead body with the weapon in hand and still claim they had nothing to do with the act.”

A pause. Then, Bill asked, “What’s her name?”

He didn’t look back at her as he posed the question, not wanting to look at the person who took his brother’s life. He still wasn’t entirely convinced that was the case, but he needed time to process everything.

“Abigail Carter,” Sheriff Carrington said. “She goes by Abby, from what I’ve been told. She’s worked at the saloon before, but hasn’t been employed there recently. My theory is that she’s tried to make an honest woman of herself, and that didn’t work, so she went back to doing what she knows she’s good at. Perhaps she figured if she got enough money from her first customer of the night, then she wouldn’t have to stick around for more. I don’t know, I’m just the man who gathers evidence, not the jury who convicts.”

“Right,” Bill said slowly. He looked over his shoulder once more at the woman in the cell. Her eyes were red, and she still stared at him in cold, horrified silence. She seemed to look through him at that moment, snapping back to the present when she realized he was looking at her.

But then, she dropped her gaze, and Bill shook his head.

“So what do you do?” Sheriff Carrington asked, looking Bill over from head to toe. “You’re dressed quite nicely for someone in these parts.”

“I’m a lawyer,” Bill replied flatly. He didn’t want to talk about it.

“That so?” Sheriff Carrington asked. Both he and Ranger Colton appeared surprised by the news. “Well, how about that. You might play a bigger role in the case than what I previously thought.”

Bill wanted to ask how so, but he held his tongue. He remained annoyed with how little the sheriff and the Texas Ranger had to give him. A woman locked in the cell, accused of the crime, seemed to be as far as they’d gotten, and more than that, it seemed to be as far as they meant to go.

At least, that’s the impression he got from the sheriff.

“What sort of business was your brother in?” Ranger Colton asked.

“Now’s not the time,” Sheriff Carrington said, cutting off the other man.

Bill was grateful for that at least. Tom was a rough man, that much was true, but he didn’t deserve to die. Everything felt so surreal, Bill didn’t know what to think anymore.

“I’ve got to go,” he told the two men. “I need to think.”

“Absolutely,” Sheriff Carrington said. “Take your time. I would love the chance to talk to you again before you leave town, so please keep that in mind. But take care all the same.”

He offered his hand, but Bill barely shook it before he headed out the door. He didn’t acknowledge the ranger or the prisoner, his mind on other things. How could his twin have gotten himself killed by a prostitute? His brother was smarter than that.

Something didn’t make sense about the entire situation, and it left Bill reeling. He wasn’t going to accept it. He had to find the truth. Even if she did kill Tom, the robbery didn’t sit quite right with Bill, either. His brother wouldn’t have stiffed her.

But if it wasn’t for money, then what prompted the attack? He at least needed to know why.