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Emmett removed his hat and stuck his finger through the hole in the crown.

Then he turned and glared at her, retribution for her daring, ablaze in his eyes.

She would have fired again, but the gun slipped easily from her hand as Violet took it, aiming steady with the confidence that said she knew exactly what she was doing.

“That was a warning shot,” her friend declared then followed up that bald-faced lie with a bigger one.

“Charlotte can shoot the wings off a fly at sixty paces. I’m not near as good, but I’m decent enough not to miss a braying jackass the size of you at ten.

Don’t believe me? Go for your gun. If you do, get out ’cause the sheriff is on his way. ”

He stared Violet down for the count of three then spit another stream of tobacco on the floor. “Filthy whores. Good for only one goddamn thing.” He glanced at Charlotte with contempt as he concluded, “Some, like at the Red Eye Saloon, not even for that.”

If pure unadulterated hatred could kill a man, he would have dropped dead on the spot, but he turned and left, the doors swinging wildly back and forth in his wake.

***

The undertaker’s wagon was outside the saloon when Seth arrived. Never a good sign. Hushed whispers and soft weeping greeted him when he entered. He grimaced as he took in the gruesome scene: two bodies, congealed pools of blood, one dead man he hadn’t met, the other Fenton Sneed.

Charlotte was nowhere in sight. He didn’t blame her. The smell of death was nauseating. He approached the bar and the grim-faced bartender.

“Your name?” Seth asked.

“Stanley Carver. I’ve tended bar for Mr. Sneed and Miss Charlotte going on two years.” His eyes drifted to the undertaker who was taking measurements and swallowed hard.

“Did you see what happened?”

He nodded slowly and spoke as if reliving it. “He drew fast, both times. Before anyone could react, they were dead.”

“Did anyone know the shooter?”

“Mr. Sneed did. Called him Thorn.”

Seth froze, an icy knot of dread tightening in his gut. It couldn’t be. He was supposed to be dead, hanged for murder. “Can you describe him?” he said, almost afraid to ask.

“He was an ornery cuss, as ugly as he is mean,” a man on a stool to his left stated as he nursed a whiskey.

“His face was leathery and brown, like he spent his whole life in the saddle,” the man next to him added.

“And most of his teeth were missing. The ones he had left were black,” the man said, with a grimace of distaste.

“What I noticed,” Stanley said, “is that he slurred his words like a drunk, but I never served him a drop of whiskey.”

“Where is Miss Charlotte?” Seth asked.

“In the parlor,” Stanley replied, lifting his chin toward the side room up front. “Poor thing. She tried to stop the bleeding, but it was a chest wound, and he was too far gone.”

There were many other observers to question, most like the bartender, glassy-eyed with shock, but he hastened to the parlor, skirting Fen’s body and the blood. Damn, what a mess.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he found when he entered the smaller room.

When he last saw Charlotte, she’d been covered in mud; now, it was blood.

Dried crimson streaks stained her arms, neck, and chest, and her emerald gown was dark in front, wet with it.

She sat motionless on a settee, her gaze fixed straight ahead, her expression blank and devoid of emotion.

Two women flanked her. From their low-cut satin gowns, they worked upstairs. The blonde he met on his last visit stood up as soon as she saw him. “I don’t think now is a good time, Sheriff.”

“I only have a few questions.”

Only her eyes moved when Charlotte looked at him, her body frozen in a chilling stillness. Her usually honey-smooth voice was thin and distant, reflecting the horror of what she had just witnessed. “It’s all right, Violet. He’s got a job to do, and I want him to go after the bastard.”

As the other woman rose, she reached out to touch Charlotte’s shoulder, but the blood—everywhere—stopped her and she pulled her hand back. “We’ll be right outside the door, hon. Holler if you need anything.”

Before she and the blonde left the room, she fixed him with a sharp look that conveyed a clear warning— upset her and answer to me.

The steady tick of the wall clock and the thud of his boots on the bare floorboards echoed loudly as he crossed the room. He took a seat beside Charlotte, unsure how to start.

“Did the other witnesses fill you in?” she asked without inflection staring straight ahead.

“Yes. Unfortunately, I’m acquainted with Emmett Thorn.

I’m heading out after him, but I wanted to check on you first.” She had a haunted look in her eyes.

Unsurprising, after what she had witnessed.

Seth wanted to comfort her but hesitated, unsure how to ease her distress, so he asked, “What can I do for you, Charlotte?”

“You can find him and make him pay.”

“He’ll hang for taking two lives tonight.”

“I hope so. It’s been a long time coming.” For the first time, she moved, turning her head to meet his gaze. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Emmett said the Frenchman died from his burns. Am I wanted for murder in St. Louis?”

He blinked, not expecting that. “Not that I know of.”

“So, there’s a possibility?”

“I’ll do some checking, but I doubt it. Except for us, there are no witnesses to what happened in the attic.”

“But, you’re the law now.”

“And I’d be the first to testify that he was the aggressor, and that you were trying to defend yourself.”

“I meant to bash his head in and escape,” she said quietly, looking away, clearly lost in haunting memories. “Starting the fire was an accident.”

“How did you end up in Laramie?”

“Heloise sent Noah, her lead henchman, out to find me, but a kind woman took me in before he could. Then I met Fen. He gave me a shot at a future that didn’t involve abuse, disease, and an untimely death. Now, look at me. Still a whore and a twice-attempted murderess.”

“Twice?”

“I tried to put a bullet through Emmett Thorn’s head tonight.” Her bloodstained fingers curled into the fabric of her blood-soaked dress. “That didn’t make him happy. Do you think he’ll come back for me?”

“Not if I capture him first. Besides, Thorn is wanted for murder. He’d be a fool to return to Laramie.” Seth took off his hat and rubbed his face with his free hand before replacing it. “Still, I’d feel better, and you’d be safer, if you laid low for a while. Do you have somewhere you could go?”

Sharp and brittle, like broken glass, her short laugh was devoid of humor.

“You’ve got me confused with someone who has a family that cares.

The Red Eye is my home, such that it is, and the employees are my family.

We all depend on this saloon to eat and put a roof over our heads.

It’s all I have, and I’m not going anywhere. ”

He admired her resolve, but the pain and hardships she’d been forced to endure tore his heart. “I’m sorry about Fenton. You were with him a long time.”

“For a lifetime it seems,” she breathed, her voice catching. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

He ached to comfort her, and, despite the blood, reached for her hand.

She recoiled, whispering, “You mustn’t,” and pulled away. “Will you do something for me, Seth?”

“Anything,” he murmured.

“End my nightmare.”

He gripped her forearm, ignoring the grisly stains. “Believe me, I want that as much as you do.” Seth hated to leave her, but every minute he lingered, Thorn put distance between them. “We’ll talk more when it’s done.”

With one last reassuring squeeze, he rose and strode out, his resolve to end Thorn’s reign of terror unwavering—for her, and for himself.