more about him than anyone, if it was possible. Truth be told, while she had never met any of the brothers in person, she’d developed a kind of fascination with them, in particular Colt. It wasn’t hero-worship, exactly, more like looking for the best chance to escape Rathe’s grip on her soul. The Chosen looked like her best bet.
Lilly bade the book to disappear with a snap of her fingers. If Colt was indeed after his father’s third of the Book of Legend, she knew him well enough to know there was no need for her to search for him. He’d be calling for a demon soon enough.
Chapter 3
Colt scanned the array of wooden buildings in the booming mining town of Bodie looking for the local jail. It sat in the shallow bowl of the valley among the sagebrush, a small, peaked building with a lean-to addition sagging off to the right side of it like a child off the hip of a worn-out frontier wife.
The last place Colt ever thought he’d go willingly when he was in trouble was to the local jail. But that’s where his oldest brother Winn was, being that he was sheriff.
Colt trod up the sagging wooden steps in front of the door. The black iron knob was cold in his hand as he opened it cautiously, just a crack. Click. A gun cocked on the other side of the door, right about level with his left temple and just below the brim of his brown Stetson. His whole body tensed, waiting to see if he was going to dodge a bullet. What if Winn was out to lunch and there was some bored deputy on the other side just itching for something to shoot?
The doorknob yanked out of his hand. A large man with a head full of slicked-back black hair, a slightly crooked nose, and pair of dark blue eyes, far darker than Colt’s own, stared back at him over the barrel of a revolver.
“Damn, Winn, you went and growed a mustache.” Heavy and thick, the thing was as dark as Winn’s hair, twisted into sharp waxed points at either end and leaving only a bit of his bottom lip exposed. It made his brother look far older and fiercer than Colt remembered.
Winn grunted. “I’ve had it for two years.” He glanced over Colt’s shoulder in both directions, then uncocked the gun and slipped it into a worn hip holster. He turned his back on Colt.
“Shut the door,” he said in a low voice over his shoulder. He sat down in the chair behind the battered wooden desk that served as the sheriff’s office. Behind him was a wall littered with curling, yellowed wanted posters and an iron nail holding up a leather back holster filled with a Winchester rifle. The smell of wood smoke from the small pot-bellied stove burning in the corner under a huge copper boiler cut the smell of unwashed male and the sickly faint odor of vomit coming from the cells that lined the far wall, making it bearable. “What brings you to Bodie?”
Colt took the only other chair in the place and swung the wooden ladderback around to straddle it, resting his arms across the slender back. “Well, it sure ain’t the churches in town.” Colt snickered. Bodie’s well-deserved reputation as one of the roughest towns in the state of California meant Winn was fairly busy. “Do I need a reason to visit my brother?”
“Hell yes. You’d never come otherwise.”
“Not very charitable of you.”
“Not feeling in a very giving mood.”
“See? You need more churches in this town, would help give folks more to think about bein’ charitable. Hell, you about shot me without even seeing who was coming through the door.”
Winn glanced out the window, a longing look flitting across his face. Maybe bein’ respectable wasn’t all he thought it was cracked up to be. Maybe that tingle in Colt’s palm wasn’t just about a supernatural after his ass this time. Maybe it was because Winn was ready to go back to hunting.
He turned his piercing dark blue eyes back on Colt. For a second Winn looked so like their pa that it made a little shiver shake Colt’s insides way down deep. Colt wished he’d
Lilly bade the book to disappear with a snap of her fingers. If Colt was indeed after his father’s third of the Book of Legend, she knew him well enough to know there was no need for her to search for him. He’d be calling for a demon soon enough.
Chapter 3
Colt scanned the array of wooden buildings in the booming mining town of Bodie looking for the local jail. It sat in the shallow bowl of the valley among the sagebrush, a small, peaked building with a lean-to addition sagging off to the right side of it like a child off the hip of a worn-out frontier wife.
The last place Colt ever thought he’d go willingly when he was in trouble was to the local jail. But that’s where his oldest brother Winn was, being that he was sheriff.
Colt trod up the sagging wooden steps in front of the door. The black iron knob was cold in his hand as he opened it cautiously, just a crack. Click. A gun cocked on the other side of the door, right about level with his left temple and just below the brim of his brown Stetson. His whole body tensed, waiting to see if he was going to dodge a bullet. What if Winn was out to lunch and there was some bored deputy on the other side just itching for something to shoot?
The doorknob yanked out of his hand. A large man with a head full of slicked-back black hair, a slightly crooked nose, and pair of dark blue eyes, far darker than Colt’s own, stared back at him over the barrel of a revolver.
“Damn, Winn, you went and growed a mustache.” Heavy and thick, the thing was as dark as Winn’s hair, twisted into sharp waxed points at either end and leaving only a bit of his bottom lip exposed. It made his brother look far older and fiercer than Colt remembered.
Winn grunted. “I’ve had it for two years.” He glanced over Colt’s shoulder in both directions, then uncocked the gun and slipped it into a worn hip holster. He turned his back on Colt.
“Shut the door,” he said in a low voice over his shoulder. He sat down in the chair behind the battered wooden desk that served as the sheriff’s office. Behind him was a wall littered with curling, yellowed wanted posters and an iron nail holding up a leather back holster filled with a Winchester rifle. The smell of wood smoke from the small pot-bellied stove burning in the corner under a huge copper boiler cut the smell of unwashed male and the sickly faint odor of vomit coming from the cells that lined the far wall, making it bearable. “What brings you to Bodie?”
Colt took the only other chair in the place and swung the wooden ladderback around to straddle it, resting his arms across the slender back. “Well, it sure ain’t the churches in town.” Colt snickered. Bodie’s well-deserved reputation as one of the roughest towns in the state of California meant Winn was fairly busy. “Do I need a reason to visit my brother?”
“Hell yes. You’d never come otherwise.”
“Not very charitable of you.”
“Not feeling in a very giving mood.”
“See? You need more churches in this town, would help give folks more to think about bein’ charitable. Hell, you about shot me without even seeing who was coming through the door.”
Winn glanced out the window, a longing look flitting across his face. Maybe bein’ respectable wasn’t all he thought it was cracked up to be. Maybe that tingle in Colt’s palm wasn’t just about a supernatural after his ass this time. Maybe it was because Winn was ready to go back to hunting.
He turned his piercing dark blue eyes back on Colt. For a second Winn looked so like their pa that it made a little shiver shake Colt’s insides way down deep. Colt wished he’d
Similar Books
The Birth of Blue Satan
Patricia Wynn
Merkiaari Wars: 02 - What Price Honour
Mark E. Cooper
Always His Earl
Cheryl Dragon
The Smell of Telescopes
Rhys Hughes
Anno Zombus Year 1 (Book 1): January
Dave Rowlands
Shifting Shadows (Sparks Collide Trilogy)
Amanda Kelly
The Christmas Knot
Barbara Monajem
Ride the Moon Down
Terry C. Johnston
About Sisterland
Martina Devlin
The Nonesuch
Georgette Heyer