Night Hawk by Beverly Jenkins Page B

fear. When Ian placed his star on the floor where Epps could get a good look at it, the whimper rose an octave.
    Ian’s voice was soft but clear. “Name’s Preacher. I’m a bounty hunter. I’m also a deputy U.S. marshal. Here’s some advice. The next time you see that lady over there, go the other way. If I find out you even tipped your hat, I’m going to hunt you down and make you have the worst day of your life. Do we have an understanding?”
    Epps nodded hastily.
    Ian picked up the star and rejoined Maggie, who was still simmering and had every right to be. Only a coward would hit a woman. “Come on. Let’s find Wilma and get that steak.”
    He saw her shoot Epps one last furious glance before they left him where he lay.

Chapter 7
    â€œS o how do you know him?”
    Maggie was seated on the top step on Wilma’s back porch, holding a steak on her eye and cheek. The sun was going down and the marshal was above her braced against the post. “I worked for him about six years ago.”
    â€œWhen’d you see him last?”
    â€œSix years ago.” Maggie wondered how long she was supposed to keep the clammy meat against her skin. It had been in place for only a few minutes, but the feel of it was most unpleasant. Shelving talk of Epps for a moment, she asked, “Who came up with the idea that placing a piece of uncooked meat on a black eye was beneficial?”
    â€œCan’t answer the first part, but it’s supposed to take down the swelling.”
    â€œDoes it work?”
    â€œSeems to. Why’s Epps still so mad if it’s been six years?” Last they’d seen of him, he’d been half limping, half crawling his way out of Wilma’s establishment under the derisive laughter of her customers. He eyed her closely. “This isn’t like that business with the Quigley woman, is it?”
    Maggie thought back on the root of Epps’s anger and allowed herself a bittersweet smile. “I suppose it could be viewed that way.” For a moment she lost herself in the memories. “I was nineteen, and he was the first man who ever paid attention to me, you know.” She glanced his way to see if he understood her meaning. “Sitting here now, I can’t believe how naive I was, but I thought he loved me. He’d declared it to me often enough.”
    She was having a bit of difficulty speaking with her painful jaw but she wanted to explain.
    â€œHow’d you meet him?”
    â€œAt church. I was singing in the choir at a little Baptist church down near Council Grove where I grew up and he was the nephew of the pastor. He’d come to visit, and after church asked me if I’d like to join a traveling troupe he managed because he was impressed by my voice. Said his troupe was going to be more heralded than the famous Fisk Jubilee Singers. I had no ties to bind me in Council Grove, and I was impressed by his speech, his dreams, and ultimately him.”
    She set the steak aside and gazed out at the slowly dying sun. “It took only a few days to realize he wasn’t the man I thought. He did have a troupe. There were four other girls, but we were never given any of the money he was paid for our performances. He always had a ready excuse to explain why there wasn’t any left: he’d spent it on our rooms, or train tickets or meals. In the meantime, I also learned that I wasn’t his only true love. He had a woman in nearly every town we visited. I’d given him my virginity because he told me I was special, but apparently I was simply a new link in a very long chain.”
    â€œSo what did you do?”
    â€œI went to his room while he was out having dinner with his lady du jour—”
    â€œAnd stole the money?”
    â€œNo, Marshal. He always kept his money on him.”
    â€œSo what did you do?”
    â€œPut red pepper sauce in his rubbers.” Maggie watched the