West of Paradise by Marcy Hatch

But it wasn’t like it was before and it didn’t take him long to see it. He could die by the rope or live in the hope of finding Alanna again. He chose hope.
    He was taking a big risk going after her. He knew that. There were still posters around with his name and face plastered all over them. But he had to find her. He had to see her one more time and pay her back for what she did. No one crossed Will Cushing, no one.
    ❧
    In Abilene, Will Cushing enjoyed the first real bath he’d had in months. He got himself a shave, his mustache trimmed, and bought fresh clothes with the last of his money. The rain had started to come down in heavy sheets, wind gusting, and Will knew he’d probably be wet and miserable within the hour. He consoled himself with the thought of Alanna’s face, imagining how surprised she’d be to see him. Maybe a little bit glad at first, thinking he’d saved her from a hanging. It would be fun to play with her like she’d played him, string her along for a while then let her have it right when she wasn’t expecting it.
    Will smiled. It would all be worth it, he told himself. Whatever misery he had to endure would be well worth it. When the barber finished, Will lit his last cigar, standing by the window while he smoked. Tommy came running across the street and Will could tell by his face he was nearly bursting to spill his guts. Will put his finger to his lips as soon as the boy came in.
    “Later, Tommy,” he said, turning to examine himself in the glass the barber held up for him. Not too bad , he told himself, a trifle too thin and a few years older but his dark eyes still held that devilish glint, and he still had all his hair, most of it the same dark brown it had been when he first met Alanna. He supposed there were a few more lines around his eyes and maybe he didn’t smile as easy as he used to, but he was still Will Cushing and Alanna would have no trouble recognizing him.
    He thanked the barber and laid his money on the counter, ushering Tommy out onto the wooden sidewalk that led around the block. There was an overhang that sheltered them from the worst of the weather, and from where they stood they had a clear view of the saloon and livery across the muddy street, lights glowing in the dark.
    It would be nice to go in there and drink and play cards , Will thought, maybe find a woman who could pretend for an hour or so that she meant what she did. But that would be pushing his luck.
    “What’d you find out?” he asked the boy after taking a long swallow from the bottle he’d brought.
    “They ain’t comin’ by stage an’ they ain’t comin’ by train an’ there’s a whole mess of other folks comin’: newspaper folks, Pinkertons, marshals. The trial is scheduled for Friday.”
    “I guess they’ll be waitin’ a bit longer than they thought,” Will said. “So how are they coming?”
    “No one knows.”
    Will thought for a moment.
    “But they’re comin’ from Leavenworth, right?”
    “Yep.”
    “Then they’ll be taking the Grafton road,” Will said. “That’s the only way they’d get here so quick. Come on, boy, we got some ridin’ to do.”
    “In this?”
    “Oh yeah, and we better hurry if we want to make it across the river before it rises.”
    Will pulled his hat down and stepped off the walkway into the mud. The pleasant clean feeling he’d had only minutes before was gone in seconds under the onslaught of the rain. He swung himself up into the saddle and wheeled his horse about, kicking her into a trot. He wanted to dig his heels in and make her run but that would only tire her out. She was too old to keep up that sort of pace, and he had run her too hard as it was.
    Will reached into his coat for the bottle and brought it to his lips again. Where were they now? Holed up somewhere? Waiting out the rain? And what was he going to do when he caught up to them? Should he kill that bounty hunter or let him live? It would be easier to kill him, safer, too.