Read Orphan Moon (The Orphan Moon Trilogy Book 1) for Free Online Page B

mouth agape. “You stole Quanah’s horse?” he asked, his voice loud above the noise of the crowd.  
    The piano went silent.
    A hush fell over the saloon. Everyone turned curious eyes on Hughes, wanting to hear the story. Several men eased themselves nearer, a few women in fancy dresses with feathers in their hair leaned in, and Tandy absentmindedly began pushing his rag in circles over the spotless bar.
    “I didn’t steal Quanah’s horse. You could say I took him up on his generous offer,” said Hughes, pouring himself and Tandy another whiskey.
    “Quanah Parker is a murderer. He tortures and scalps and burns and steals. You want us to believe he benevolently handed his horse over to you out of the goodness of his heart?” asked Jerry Allsup, the obese blackjack dealer, still shuffling cards midair from one pudgy hand to the other, stumpy cigar clenched between yellow teeth.
    Hughes sipped his whiskey, glancing at the mirror, checking his back. “Well, Mr. Allsup, our murdering chief didn’t hand his horse over. It was a verbal offer. My belt . . .” Hughes pointed to the empty loops encircling his waistband. “. . . had his hands secured behind his back. I took him up on his offer after my horse died. Sure as hell beats walking back to San Antonio in the dark.”
    Jerry Allsup pressed in closer, his sour tobacco breath hot in Hughes’s face. In a loud, smoker’s rasp, he said, “Looks like he almost had the best of you. Mark my words, but you’ll regret not killing that son of a bitch while you had the chance.”
    Hughes rubbed his throbbing left shoulder, his shirt torn and stiff with dried blood. “I’d be a dead man, minus my scalp, if I’d killed Quanah. His warriors would’ve seen to that.” As far as regretting not killing the chief, Hughes considered regrets something old men sitting on porches in rocking chairs had time to fret over. Right now, it was time to pay Tandy for his fine whiskey and make his way to the Menger Hotel. A hot bath and his bed was waiting.
    “I can help you with that nasty gash on your head,” whispered a sweet voice, a small, soft hand stroking the side of his face, brushing the dark hair back away from his amber eyes and off his forehead. The wound over his left eye was caked with dirt and dried blood.
    “Lydia, my lovely,” said Hughes, taking her hand, kissing it. “What a nice surprise. I was thinking about you when I was checking my pistol before I got sidetracked by an Indian chief.”
    “I often find myself thinking about you and your pistol,” teased Lydia, her large brown eyes sparkling. She wore her thick, blond curls piled high on her head, pinned in place with a gold and diamond barrette in the shape of a star, a gift from Hughes.
    “Is that a fact?” He smiled, dimples framing his sensuous mouth.  
    “A fact,” she said, batting her lashes in a coy, shy fashion before spouting rigid instructions. “Tandy, Mr. Lévesque’s drinks are on the house tonight. Send next door for Oma Klein to come over and run a hot Epsom salts bath and bring some bandaging materials. Have Little Billy unsaddle that horse out there and take him down to the livery yard. I don’t want that painted Indian pony standing in front of my saloon scaring away business. Bring Hughes’s saddle in and leave it behind the bar for safekeeping.”
    “Yes ma’am, Miss Lydia. Anything else?” asked Tandy as he sent Billy out to take care of the horse.  
    “Yes. Send up a bottle of champagne. Two glasses.” Lydia took Hughes by the elbow, leading him from the bar. “I have some doctoring to do.”
    Hughes smiled, allowing Lydia to pull him away. “I love an in-charge woman, especially one who owns a saloon and can nurse a man’s wounds.”
    Little Billy, the twelve-year-old orphan whom Lydia had discovered the previous winter shivering under the back porch of the saloon, flea-covered and stinky as an abandoned pup, burst through the swinging doors, carrying Hughes’s