Page 7 of A Redemption Mountain Christmas (Redemption Mountain #27)

Lucien Hunt leaned against the worn oak bar in the Dixie Saloon, nursing his second whiskey of the evening.

The amber liquid swirled in the glass as he observed the rowdy card games, debating whether to try his luck or keep to himself.

The raucous laughter and shouts of the gamblers grated on his nerves tonight.

The saloon doors swung open, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered man in a duster and Stetson. Ford Mason scanned the room with sharp eyes before settling on Lucien at the bar. A grin split his rugged face as he approached.

“Well, I’ll be. Lucien Hunt in the flesh,” Ford said, clasping a hand on Lucien’s shoulder. “Stan Petermann mentioned you were back in town. Good to see you.”

Lucien’s mouth quirked up slightly. “Ford. Been a while.”

They shook hands, the easy camaraderie of two men comfortable in their own skins. Ford ordered a whiskey and stood beside Lucien, surveying the noisy saloon.

“Place seems busy for a Wednesday night,” Ford commented.

Lucien grunted in reply, swirling his drink. Ford sipped his whiskey, his keen gaze missing nothing.

“You back for good this time?” he asked.

Lucien was silent, contemplating the question plaguing him for months. Ford waited, knowing better than to push.

After a time, Lucien spoke. “Can’t say. The trail calls, but I’m starting to go deaf.”

Ford nodded, understanding in his eyes. “A man can only run so long before he’s got to turn and face himself.”

Lucien met his gaze, seeing his own bone-deep weariness reflected back. Both men had demons driving them, pasts refusing to let go. But change was coming for them, whether they willed it or not.

Ford lifted his glass in a silent toast. As they drank, Lucien thought of another issue bothering him.

He set his glass on the scarred wooden bar with a decisive thump. “I told Gabe Evans about the Tom Wolf gang showing up not too far from here.”

Ford’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t say. Those boys have been causing problems all over, robbing banks in the Dakotas, Colorado, and Wyoming. Surprised they haven’t ventured this way yet.”

Lucien nodded. “It’s only a matter of time. Sheriff Sterling Parker in Big Pine believes they’re coming this way. Wolf’s got no limits to his wickedness. Seen it myself.”

“And you aim to stop him,” Ford said, a knowing glint in his eyes.

“If it comes to it. Someone’s got to stand up to men like him.”

Both stilled at the sound of the batwing doors opening.

They stared into the mirror behind the bartender, watching a man neither recognized enter.

Lucien and Ford turned to look, tense and alert.

The man was stocky, shorter than either of them, with a beaten felt hat pulled low.

He stepped to the bar, ordered a beer, and knocked it back in one long swallow, all without lifting his head.

Glancing in the mirror, his gaze landed on the two reformed gunslingers, his eyes widening.

As he set down the empty glass, his sleeve rode up just enough for Lucien to glimpse the tip of a familiar tattoo on his wrist. Lucien and Ford exchanged a subtle nod. The stranger dropped a coin on the counter and strode back out into the evening.

“Well, well,” Ford murmured. “Suppose we should warn Gabe one of Wolf’s men is in town.”

Lucien’s jaw tightened, his eyes hard as flint. “Reckon so.”

They left their drinks unfinished, a new urgency propelling their steps. As they exited the saloon and came to a stop, the sound of raucous laughter and clinking glasses faded behind them. Somewhere, an owl hooted, low and lonesome.

Lucien and Ford felt the cool evening air as they took a couple tentative steps along the boardwalk, tense and alert after recognizing the tattoo on the man’s wrist.

Ford squinted down the darkened street. “Don’t see any sign of him. He probably lit out quick.”

“No telling how many more are out there, waiting to make their move.” Lucien’s hand drifted near his hip, where his six-shooter rested.

Ford mirrored the motion, loosening the revolver in its holster. “Town’s quiet as a graveyard tonight. Almost too quiet.”

As if on cue, a sudden commotion erupted from within the saloon behind them. Muffled shouts rang out, followed by the scrape of chairs and the crash of breaking glass.

They exchanged a tense look. Drawing their pistols in unison, they burst back through the doors.

The scene inside was chaos. At one of the card tables, two men were on their feet, red-faced and screaming curses at each other.

Cards and poker chips littered the floor.

Even as Lucien and Ford watched, one man hurled his whiskey glass against the wall, where it shattered, sending broken glass in all directions.

“You yellow-bellied cheat!” one man bellowed.

His opponent’s face twisted in fury. “You watch your mouth, you low-down liar.” He fumbled drunkenly for the gun at his hip.

Lucien and Ford made their move, shoving through the gathering crowd. This situation was ripe to turn deadly.

Ford raised his six-shooter and fired two shots into the ceiling. Plaster rained down as the deafening blasts silenced the saloon. Every head turned toward the tall, stone-faced men holding their guns on the rowdy card players.

“Enough, gentlemen,” Lucien said evenly. “No call for gunplay tonight.”

Ford kept his revolver leveled at the two card players. “Easy now. Let’s everybody stay calm.”

The men exchanged smoldering glares, making no move for their weapons. Lucien stepped between them and firmly relieved both of their pistols.

“We’ll be taking these for now,” he said. “You can get them back when you’ve cooled down and are acting civil again.”

He handed the confiscated revolvers to the wide-eyed bartender. “Put these away somewhere safe. And if these two start any more trouble, fetch the sheriff.”

The bartender nodded mutely, tucking the guns out of sight.

Lucien gave the card players a hard look. “You boys best call it a night. Sleep off the whiskey. Come morning, all will look brighter.”

With ill grace, the men gathered their hats and stumbled out into the night. The saloon crowd began murmuring again, the tension ebbing as Lucien shoved his gun into its holster.

Ford turned to Lucien. “Tess is hosting a Christmas supper this weekend. She would want me to extend an invitation to you, if you’ll be in town.

Once she knows you’re in Splendor, she won’t take no for an answer.

” He grinned. “You know how she gets. Once Tess decides something, wild horses can’t stop her. ”

Lucien rubbed his jaw, looking conflicted. “Darned kind of her. But a family supper…”

“Now don’t go finding excuses,” Ford admonished. “You’re as good as family to Tess and the kids. It would mean a lot to have you there.”

He clasped Lucien on the shoulder. “Just some food and fellowship to brighten the long nights. No need to be a stranger.”

Lucien sighed, but a faint smile touched his eyes. “Never could say no to Tess. Tell her I’ll be there.”

“I’ll let her know. Better get the supplies home.” Ford grinned before heading outside.

Lucien again leaned against the bar, still conflicted about attending a family supper. There’d been no family in his life since, well…for a long time.

He glanced up to see a familiar figure walking toward him. Julia, one of the serving girls at the Dixie, stopped beside him. Neither spoke for several minutes, lost in their own thoughts.

Lucien straightened and looked at her. “Something’s on your mind. What is it, Julia?”

She lowered her voice as she inched closer. “I wondered if you’ve had any luck tracking down your daughter. I know how much finding her means to you.”

Lucien’s shoulders slumped. For a long moment, he stared into the whiskey the bartender had set before him. Julia was the only person he’d confided in about his daughter, now a young woman, in years.

“No luck yet. It’s as if she vanished into thin air.”

Julia reached out and gently squeezed his arm. “You can’t give up hope. I know you’ll find her someday.”

Lucien shook his head tiredly. “Maybe so. It’s a big country out there. She and her mother could be anywhere by now.”

Julia nodded, features grim.

He looked at his untouched whiskey and shook his head. “It’s time I headed out. Have a good night, Julia.”

Julia watched Lucien step into the darkening night, her heart aching for the pain she knew he carried. Though he put on a stoic front, she could see the raw anguish in his eyes whenever he spoke of his daughter. She wanted to help him.

With a sigh, she hesitated several minutes before making a decision. Telling the bartender she had an errand to make, she grabbed a coat, tugging up the fur-lined hood over her head.

She hurried down the boardwalk and crossed the frozen street on her way to the telegraph office. The door jangled as she slipped inside, coming to a quick stop when she spotted a man she didn’t recognize talking with the clerk.

It took the man a while to make a decision about the telegram he planned to send. Several minutes passed before he dug into a pocket for coins, set them on the counter and left.

“Evening, Bernie,” she greeted the clerk. “I need to send a telegram.”

Bernie blinked at her over his spectacles. “Sure thing, Miss Julia. I’ll get it sent right out.”

She scribbled out a brief message, keeping the wording vague. She didn’t fully trust the confidentiality of the telegraph lines.

“I need you to promise me something,” she added as she slid the paper across the counter. “When the reply comes, bring it to me directly. Don’t tell anyone else about it.”

Bernie’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t have to ask, Miss Julia. I keep all messages to myself.”

“Thank you.” She handed him the money to pay and tucked the receipt into her skirt pocket. As she stepped back out into the night, a prickle of unease crept down her spine. She had a feeling whatever news came back would impact several people.

She hurried back to the saloon, her mind racing. Julia hoped she hadn’t made a mistake contacting an old friend, but Lucien’s anguish tugged at her heartstrings. Maybe her friend could provide some insight into what happened all those years ago.