The Outlaw's Return by Victoria Bylin Page A

disappeared. Considering his knowledge of her past, warning her about J.T. had been considerate. If she could have taken the role of Arline, she would have done it. Instead she grabbed the three new orders Gertie had left on the counter and went back to the hot stove.
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    It was Tuesday, almost night, and J.T. had slept away the afternoon. He’d woken up five minutes ago, sweating and tense. He didn’t like small places, and this room could have been a closet. He’d taken it because it was close to a side door. He wanted a private exit for himself, and Fancy needed to go out at night to do her business. Irritable, he looked out the tiny window high on the wall. Night was coming fast. He had to light a lamp or get out before the darkness grabbed him.
    He couldn’t stand the thought of another evening with nothing to do. Feeling twitchy, he stood and reached for his hat. “Come on, Fancy. Let’s take a walk.”
    The dog ignored him in favor of the bone Mary had given her. She’d gnawed it clean and was still enjoying it. J.T. had no such comfort. What did a man do with himself when he didn’t drink, smoke or gamble?
    He slept.
    He ate.
    He thought too much. “Come on, girl,” he said with more excitement than he felt.
    Fancy looked over her shoulder. With her tail wagging and the bone between her paws, she tipped her head at him, then went back to chewing with an intensity J.T. saw in himself.
    â€œYou’ve got a one-track mind,” he said to her.
    The dog’s thoughts were on the bone. His were on places he couldn’t go and things he didn’t do anymore. He needed to get out of the tiny room, and he needed air that didn’t smell like the sauerkraut cooking in the kitchen. The smell reminded him of the food he’d scavenged from garbage cans in New York when he was a child. He hated cabbage and always would. He’d eat somewhere else tonight.
    â€œOkay, Fancy. You can stay.” He put on his gun belt and duster, scratched the dog’s head and left the boardinghouse.
    The day had cooled with the setting sun, and he welcomed the fresh air. He didn’t welcome the temptation nipping at his heels. Just one drink…just an hour of faro. He walked faster, but his thoughts kept pace. He wished he’d taken Fancy Girl with him. Most saloons didn’t appreciate four-legged customers, and having her at his side made it easy to walk by the open doors.
    One street led to another until he found himself on the corner of Market and Colfax Avenue. A whisper of conscience told him to stay on Colfax, but his feet turned down Market. A block later he was surrounded by saloons and dance halls. Pianos filled the air with tinny music, and girls in skimpy dresses were giving him easy smiles. He looked away, but his toe caught ona warped board and he stumbled. Off balance, he found himself staring through the open door of a saloon. Two men were standing at a counter. Between them a bottle glistened amber in the lamplight. One had an empty glass, the other a full one he was raising to his lips. J.T. could taste the poison, feel it running down his throat. A faro dealer sat at a table shuffling cards. The rasp called to him like the morning crow of a rooster.
    As much as he missed the oblivion of liquor, he missed faro even more. Beating the odds gave him a thrill. So did winning big. If he made a bet or two, he could double the money in his saddlebag and secretly give it to Mary. If he gambled tonight, it would be for a good cause. He put his hand on the half door and pushed. As it moved, a fight broke out in the street. He turned and saw a cowboy sprawled on his back. Two men were going after him, shouting and kicking and cussing. The cowboy had blond hair, and in his drunken state he couldn’t put words together.
    J.T. came to his senses in a rush. As much as he liked faro, he cared more about helping Gus fight off bullies. Needing to get away from