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“Ta da!” the woman in green said, opening the door with a flourish and standing aside so Gray could enter.
“Much obliged,” he said.
She gave him a smile that would make most men blush, but Gray studiously ignored her. He’d already gotten himself tangled up with one woman in this town. He certainly didn’t need to double his trouble.
He slowly pushed the door open the rest of the way, though he was pretty sure they didn’t need to be so quiet. If he was a betting man, and hewas, he’d put good money on the sheriff having run out of town. But a little caution never killed no one. Well, that wasn’t true. But it killed less.
He stopped just inside the door and Mercy bumped into him with a littleoompf. He reached out to steady her at the same time the doc did, and Gray pinned him with a stare. Whatever the doc saw in his expression had him holding his hands up with a sheepish smile and taking a step back. Gray released Mercy and took a step back himself.
“Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t know we were stopping.”
“This would be much easier if I had a look alone.”
She frowned. “But I want to see, too. I’ve never snuck into someplace I shouldn’t be before.”
“You’re not really doing it now. Sneaking works a lot better if you’re quiet. And not tailed by half the town. In broad daylight.”
She rolled her eyes.
“But just in case someone is hidin’ out in here…” He held his finger to his lips.
Her eyes widened, either in anger at the reprimand or with the realization that she was being less than stealthy. He wasn’t sure which, but if it kept her mouth shut, he was good.
She held her finger to her lips and nodded, then turned to Martha, who was behind her, and repeated the gesture. Martha nodded and showed the doc, who was already showing four other women and the preacher.
Gray looked heavenward and released a sigh that would make Saint Peter himself weep. How in the absolute bowels of hell had he managed to get himself into this mess?
Back to the matter at hand. He took a few more steps into the office. His followers thankfully stayed at the door, with the exception of Mercy, whom he hadn’t expected to follow his orders in any case.
The office was deserted. There was nothing on or near the desk except for a few discarded papers. A rack on the wall that must have held the man’s rifle was empty. In fact, there wasn’t a sign anyone had been in there in days.
“Wow,” said Martha, who had braved a few more feet past the door. “He even took the kettle.” She pointed to the potbellied stove in the corner, where the kettle had presumably sat. “I don’t think he’s coming back.”
Gray riffled around the desk, then held up the sheriff’s badge he’d found in a drawer. “I’d call that a good guess,” he said, before dropping the badge back to the desk. He rubbed his hand on his shirt, his skin crawling at even that much contact with the law.
“Well, now what are we gonna do?” asked his extravagant lock picker. The three women who hovered near her were also dressed well, though not nearly so expensively, which led him to believe that Mercy had been correct. Mrs. DuVere, whom this had to be, obviously ran a more high-class parlor house for such a small town, but certainly not unheard of.
“The sheriff wasn’t much,” she said, “but he was better than nothing.”
“Well, I suppose we’ll just need to find a new sheriff,” said the preacher.
Mercy must’ve caught Gray’s questioning glance, because she said, “Reverend Samuel Donnelly, this is my fiancé, Gray Woodson. Gray, this is our minister, Reverend Donnelly.”
The preacher’s pale-red eyebrows rose at the word fiancé, but like the doc, he kept his opinions to himself and merely tipped his hat in Gray’s direction. Interesting town. Maybe they all had their own pasts and didn’t feel the need to judge anyone else. It was a nice change.
“Welcome to town, Mr. Woodson,” he said, only the slight hesitancy with how he said Gray’s last name betraying the fact that he probably knew exactly who Gray was.
Mrs. DuVere, however, had no such discretion. “‘Quick Shot’ Woodson?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips and giving him an appreciative glance up and down. “Well, look at that, girls. We’ve got a famous gunfighter in our midst.”
Gray’s eyes narrowed. “I trust that won’t be a problem.”
She aimed a brilliant smile at him. “None here. Right glad to have you. Might liven this place up a bit.”
He couldn’t help but smile back, at least halfway.
“Mrs. Hamilton Brewster DuVere,” she said by way of introduction. “And my girls, Maria, Pearl, and Hattie.”
Each of the women dropped a little curtsy, and Gray tipped his hat to them before turning back to the rest of the group, who all seemed to be looking to him for some direction. How he’d become leader of their odd little pack, he had no idea. And he didn’t like it one bit. He frowned and turned to the doc.
