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“You haven’t killed me yet,” Jason said with a smirk.
Gray narrowed his eyes. “The day ain’t over, Sunshine.”
“You keep saying stuff like that, but you know, in all the weeks I’ve been following you, you’ve never once tried to kill me.”
He shook his head at the youngster’s outrageous lack of common sense. “What a spectacularly ridiculous reason to continue to annoy me.”
Jason shrugged. “I think you kinda like me.”
Gray snorted. “Yet another reason why I’ve never once considered intelligence to be your strong suit.”
The barkeep was at his elbow, refilling his glass before he could make a move to get another. He appreciated the service, but he hadn’t even heard the man move from behind the bar. Maybe he should put a bell on the guy’s belt buckle. He didn’t like people sneaking up on him and two had managed it in the last five minutes. He must be losing his edge.
“See,” Jason said, pointing at the glass. “It has its perks.”
Gray snorted again. “If you want to build a reputation as a gunfighter for fast drink refills, you’re definitely gettin’ into the wrong game.”
Jason waved that off, too. “It’s not just that. Look around,” he said, nodding at the men sneaking nervous glances at them. “There’s not a man in here who’d willingly cross you. It must be satisfying being the one who’s feared instead of being the one afraid, is all I’m trying to say.”
Gray shook his head in disgust. “You know nothin’. And I don’t have the patience or desire to remedy that.”
He sat back in his chair, irritated that Jason had managed to get under his skin again. The bothersome little shit was a city-bred adventure-seeker barely old enough to shave and raised on sensationalized tales of the Wild West. His quest for excitement made him over-eager to sign his own death warrant. His enthralled face every time he brought up some tall tale, the smattering of freckles across his cheeks, making him look so much younger than he probably was, just made Gray…sad. And tired. So very tired.
Jason just didn’t get that the gunslingin’ life wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
Sure, Gray’s reputation as the fastest gun this side of the Mississippi might afford him some protection. And Gray wasn’t so much of a knucklehead that he didn’t get why that might appeal to Jason. Most men gave him a wide berth. Most wouldn’t dare threaten him. But most also wouldn’t befriend him. Most wouldn’t allow him to court their daughters, let alone marry one. Most would do whatever they could to make sure he stayed far, far away.
It was a lonelier existence than he could have anticipated. Not that he loved the company of other people, mind you. Generally, he was content to be on his own. Still, it wasn’t the life he’d set out to build for himself.
And then, of course, there were the odd few men who wanted to gain a reputation of their own by taking out the best. Which painted a target on his back the size of his logger grand-daddy’s prized pecker poles. And those who had tried, and failed, to best him…their faces would haunt his memories for the rest of his life. Each and every one of them.
What a glamorous life, indeed. No. He wouldn’t help Jason become one such as him.
He wouldn’t condemn another man to this life, no matter how much the jackass wanted it.
Gray downed the last of his drink, then slammed the glass down and pushed away from the table. He marched to the center of the saloon where a poker game was going on and made a slow circuit of the table, taking stock of each man.
He narrowed in on an exceptionally gangly-looking fellow who had that drawn, haggard look about him. The one that suggested he had precious little money to lose. Spending his time at the gambling tables was a travesty of judgment on the man’s part. Especially considering his quickly dwindling pile of money. But there always seemed to be one at every table. Men who just didn’t know when to quit.
Gray sighed deeply. He knew he should just walk away. But he’d never been much good at that.
Decision made, he grabbed the player by the scruff of his shirt and pulled him from his chair. The man sputtered and blinked his bloodshot eyes, his gin-sodden brain taking a few moments to catch up with what was happening. Gray swung him around and shoved what few coins the man had left into his shirt pocket.
“If you’re wise, you’ll take that home to your probably long-sufferin’ wife and keep away from the gamin’ tables until you can actually afford to lose.”
Gray dropped into the man’s seat and rapped his knuckles on the table. “Deal me in.”
The farmer he’d displaced began to stammer an objection, echoed by the other men at the table. Gray didn’t look at any of them but yanked his gun out of his holster so fast that none of them had time to draw breath. He didn’t even aim it at anyone, but simply laid it on the table beside him.
The man whose seat he’d taken held his hands up and backed away muttering, “It’s fine, no problems here,” and went to nurse his bruised and frightened ego at the bar.
Jason unfortunately wasn’t spooked by Gray’s antics. He shook his head. “Well, now, that was just rude.”
“I saved him from losin’ his shirt.”
“True, but you could have been nicer about it.”
Gray didn’t look at him but threatened under his breath, “You’re gettin’ perilously close to discoverin’ what it takes for my patience to run out.”
