Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
The sheriff and his gang of worthless deputies were carting the unconscious gunhawk out of the dining room, heading for the jail. As he watched the door of the dining room close behind them, the judge stared across the table at the untouched glass of whiskey.
The fact that Marlowe was Starr’s son had come like a lightning bolt out of a clear blue sky. This was a problem he hadn’t foreseen.
Damn Marlowe.
“…clear since he could walk, Caleb was heading for the fiery pit. His mother did nothing to help. I recall a time…” Starr hadn’t stopped talking since he sat down.
Patterson raised his empty glass, motioning to the waiter to replenish his drink. Father and son. Together, they could have been great use to him.
Elijah Starr knew how to lay down the tracks of a rail line. He knew how to clear the way for the construction crews. He knew how to purchase and supply materials for the workers. He also knew Goulden’s plans and secrets. He had real value.
“…and when I found her, the victim of my son’s callous violence…” Starr continued to drone on.
Caleb Marlowe was as tough and indestructible as ironwood root.
He was cool and courageous enough to take on a dozen armed men and smart enough to whip them.
He handled a gun with more speed and expertise than any gunslinger Patterson had ever seen.
And he did not hesitate to kill a man when the situation warranted it. He too had real value.
“…I could have sent the law after him. He should have hanged…”
Starr was arrogant and self-righteous, and he was as indifferent to brutality as a Roman centurion. The judge frowned at the scar on the back of his hand. The place where Starr had driven his knife through his flesh still caused him pain whenever he tried to make a fist.
Marlowe was stubborn, and it was difficult to gain his allegiance. Despite their differences, however, the gunhawk had been smart enough to save Patterson's life. But he had his flaws.
The first was that he cared too much.
A stray dog. An orphaned boy. A partner carrying enough baggage to sink a riverboat. Caleb Marlowe collected lost causes the way other men collected enemies.
And then there was Miss Burnett.
Patterson wasn’t blind. He'd watched the two of them together often enough. The daughter of Elkhorn’s only bonafide physician had somehow accomplished what no jail, badge, outlaw, or battlefield had ever managed. She’d given Caleb Marlowe something to lose.
That made him stronger.
It also made him vulnerable.
How the man had survived on the frontier as long as he had while carrying that much concern for other people was a mystery. A testament to his toughness, perhaps. Or simply stubbornness.
“Caleb is a dangerous man, Judge. There’s no way your railway plans can proceed with him around. He’ll interfere. Let me take care of—”
“Stop,” Patterson snapped. Of the father and son, the younger man was the more trustworthy.
And unlike Elijah Starr, Marlowe still possessed a conscience. The judge wasn't entirely sure whether that was an asset or a liability.
Sometimes, a man had to deal with the devil. The trick was, knowing you’re in league with Old Nick. “I’ll handle Marlowe. I’ve told you what I want from you. Do it.”
As the judge took a sip from his replenished whiskey glass, he hoped to hell he was banking on the right Starr.