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“Take him over to the churchyard, Frank,” Preacher said. “We can bury him at the back, near the big pine tree.”
Frank tipped his hat. “Will do, Reverend. I’ll get my brothers to help me.”
“That would be useful, Frank, thanks.”
Frank nodded and slapped the reins, setting the horse in motion.
“Frank’s got brothers?” Gray asked, watching him drive off. It wasn’t even remotely the most important bit of information he needed right then, but it was what his mind latched onto.
Preacher gave him a small smile, seeming to understand. “Three actually.” He bent and gathered up a small pile of belongings.
“How’s Mercy?” Jason asked.
“Doc says she’s fine. Just a graze,” Gray said, wishing he could feel the same relief Jason obviously did. Aside from the first rush that hit him after Doc had looked at the wound, he couldn’t seem to feel anything but a sinking and overwhelming dread.
“There’s something here you should see,” Preacher said, nodding to the bundle.
Gray nodded and jerked his head toward the jailhouse. “Let’s go inside.”
Jason opened the door for them and sat back on the step. “I’ll keep watch, Sheriff.”
Gray clapped him on the shoulder, his throat growing tight at the sight of Jason’s shaking hands. “Thank you,” he said, his voice gruff. “I’ll put a fresh pot of coffee on.”
Preacher didn’t say a word but handed him a sheet of paper. A grainy photo of him graced the page that advertised seven hundred and fifty dollars for the man who showed proof of his death.
“He’s raised it again,” he said, rubbing a finger over his lips.
Preacher shrugged. “Either that or the Browns don’t know how to divide seven hundred and fifty equally.”
Gray’s lips twitched. Either scenario was likely.
What was more concerning, though, was the presence of the paper. Word of mouth was one thing. It would spread, for sure. But a paper with his likeness on it would spread farther. And certainly aid in his identification.
“They’re going to keep comin’,” Gray said.
Preacher and Sunshine didn’t say anything, and when he looked up at them, they were just standing, watching him. Like they knew what he was going to say and didn’t want to help him say it.
“It’s not just me that might get hurt,” he said quietly.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Jason said.
Gray’s eyes shot to him. “Yes, it was. I saw that man’s face before he pulled the trigger. I saw the realization in his eyes that Mercy was a weakness, something that could be used against me. And he won’t be the only one to realize it. Hell, I’m not all that sure he was even gunning for me. No one’s goin’ to beat me in a fair gunfight. Everyone knows it. So maybe they’re fightin’ dirty. They find out ol’ Quick Shot has a wife…no assassin worth his salt is gonna hesitate to use her to get to me. Distract me just long enough to get a shot in. The dead man out there just proved it would work. If he’d had better aim, Mercy would be the one we were burying right now. And it would be my fault, no matter who pulled the trigger.”
“I get what you’re saying,” Preacher said. “But—”
“They’re going to keep coming,” Gray said again. “And my presence here is putting the whole town in danger.”
Jason’s head shot up, his eyes widening as if it had never occurred to him Gray might leave.
“And Mercy…” He had to swallow hard past the constriction in his throat. “I only stayed to help her. Bein’ here isn’t helpin’ her anymore.”
“Leaving isn’t the answer,” Preacher said.
Gray shook his head. “It’s the only answer.”
“You’re leaving?” Mercy said.
Gray spun around. Mercy stood in the doorway, her arm bandaged and bound against her chest. And she’d heard every word they’d just said.
