Revenge at Hatchet Creek by Frank Leslie

Author:Frank Leslie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2011-04-11T00:00:00+00:00

In his room in the Brule Hotel in Wild Rose, Sheriff Rance Hagan groaned. He released a lungful of pentup air.

June Trevelyan lifted her head from beneath the covers, her lips stretching a devilish smile. “Good?”

She smacked her lips.

Hagan groaned again, slowly blinked his eyes, and sank back against his pillow propped up against the double bed’s wooden headboard.

“Are you sure?” the teacher asked. “I want you to be happy, Rance. I want to make you happy.”

“You do make me happy, June.”

She shook her hair back from her shoulders, exposing her naked breasts. She was naked under the bedcovers, and Hagan felt the warmth of her legs scissoring against his. “I mean, I want to make you happy forever. Just me and only me, Rance.” She lay down beside him, wrapped her hands around his arm, and snuggled against him, making little grunting sounds of satisfaction and comfort.

“That means you wanna pull out of this humble little pueblo, don’t it?”

She smiled and nodded girlishly, walking two fingers down his arm. “Mm-hmm.”

Hagan yawned and glanced at the gray window over the washstand. He’d slept late again. Must have been eight or nine o’clock in the morning. “You know I can’t do that, June.”

“You got a stake, Rance. And it’s a long, cold winter settin’ in.”

Hagan pulled away from the woman, threw the covers back, and dropped his feet to the floor. Yawning again loudly, he ran his knuckles through his hair brusquely, trying to wake up. June was right. A long, cold winter was setting in. Trouble was, whenever Hagan imagined being someplace else, he couldn’t imagine himself being any happier than he was here.

That was the trouble with getting older, he thought. Your imagination got dull. Or was it too sharp? He chuffed. Maybe he’d figure it out one of these days. But while he was bored to death of this town, this county, and had little but revulsion for the people in it, he just couldn’t summon enough energy to leave it.

“He’s dead, Rance,” June said, her voice a soft purr as she rolled onto her side and propped her chin on the heel of her hand. “Dead and buried in the snow. You don’t owe Ma nothin’ more than what you done by ridin’ out tryin’ to find him.”

Hagan chuckled without mirth and turned a scowl on the woman. “Jesus H. Christ, June. He killed my deputy. He killed nearly a dozen men out in Cotton-wood Canyon. How can I just walk away from that? How can you expect me to just walk away from that?”

The teacher widened her eyes as she rose on an elbow. “For the love of God, Rance. He’s dead. The winter’s done already taken him. You don’t owe this town anything. You been a good sheriff for five years now. That’s twice as long as any of the lawmen they’ve had in the past fifteen, since the place was just a little trading camp and military post with a whorehouse for every hider and soldier!”

Hagan dropped his head and ran his hands through his hair once more, groaning.

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