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POOR COWBOY SAVED A 22-YEAR-OLD APACHE GIRL — THEN THE WHOLE TOWN TURNED AGAINST HIM

Chapter 8

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When he pushed open the mesh screen door of Henderson’s General Store, the brass bell attached to the frame rang out with a sharp, tinny chime.The store was cool, smelling of dried leather, tobacco, smoked bacon, and green coffee beans.Standing near the heavy wooden counter, leaning his broad elbow against a glass display case containing pocketknives and brass watch chains, was Briggs.Beside him stood two of his young ranch hands—rough, unwashed boys in their early twenties who wore their gun belts low and carried themselves with the loud, artificial bravado of men who had never seen a real gunfight.When the bell rang, all three men turned.Briggs’s eyes narrowed instantly. He pushed himself off the display case, taking a slow step toward the center aisle, his heavy boots creaking on the pine floorboards."Well, well," Briggs sneered, his voice loud enough to carry through the open windows to the boardwalk outside. "Look who decided to join decent society. How’s your guest doing, Turner? She cleaned your boots yet?"Jake didn't answer. He walked directly to the dry goods shelves at the back of the store, picked up a two-pound linen sack of salt, and set it on the counter."Morning, Henderson," Jake said calmly to the storekeeper, who was standing behind the register looking thoroughly terrified. "I need five pounds of pinto beans and a tin of lard."Briggs stepped into the aisle, blocking Jake’s path to the counter. His face was flushed red, his breath heavy with the sour stench of cheap morning whiskey."I asked you a question, cowboy," Briggs growled.Jake turned slowly. He didn't reach for his gun, but his body adjusted—his weight shifting subtly onto his back heel, his chest open, his eyes turning as cold and empty as an winter sky."Her name is Naelli," Jake said, his voice flat and crystal clear. "And she’s doing fine, Briggs. Thanks for asking."Briggs took a long, disgusting step forward, raised his right boot, and spat a dark, wet stream of tobacco juice directly onto the toe of Jake’s left boot.The storekeeper let out a sharp, horrified gasp. The two young ranch hands stepped back slightly, their hands hovering near their gun butts, their faces going pale as they realized what had just happened.In the territory, spitting on another man's boots was not an insult. It was an invitation to a killing.Silence descended upon the general store—a thick, suffocating quiet where the only sound was the buzzing of a fly against the glass windowpane."She doesn't belong here," Briggs whispered, his face inches from Jake’s nose. "Her kind belongs in the dirt. And anybody who brings 'em here doesn't belong here either."Jake looked down at his boot, covered in the wet brown stain. Then he raised his eyes slowly to meet Briggs’s gaze.Every muscle in Jake’s body screamed to throw a right hook straight into the center of Briggs’s sneering face. Half the men who had gathered outside the screen door to watch through the mesh wanted him to do it. They wanted a fight. They wanted blood. They wanted a reason to tear the town apart.Jake took a slow, deep breath through his nose.
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POOR COWBOY SAVED A 22-YEAR-OLD APACHE GIRL — THEN THE WHOLE TOWN TURNED AGAINST HIM

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