A Good Day for a Massacre. William W. Johnstone

a quart of sour milk. He almost decided against breakfast, but if he and Pecos were heading back into the mountains this morning, he’d need to fill his trough, so to speak. Neither he nor his partner were very handy with camp cooking, though they’d had plenty of opportunity. Usually, they just ate beans and jerky and baking powder biscuits, if they remembered to buy flour before leaving town. Occasionally they’d shoot or snare a rabbit and cook the meat on a makeshift spit, usually charring it beyond recognition.

      Now, he needed some ham and eggs, a big helping of fried potatoes, and a half-dozen buttermilk pancakes with a big scoop of butter and a hearty helping of the real maple syrup they served in the Thousand Delights dining room.

      The three steaming platters were set out before him in all their succulent glory, the scent of the warm maple syrup adding a pleasant sweetness to the smoky aroma of the slab of ham that resided half under four big, golden-yolked fried eggs fresh from the chickens of an old Norwegian woman who owned a little shotgun ranch at the edge of town, near Horsetooth Rock.

      Slash was one of only four men in the dining room, which sat adjacent to a small, carpeted entrance hall from the saloon, and which was outfitted with a dozen round oak tables clad in fine white cloths and silverware wrapped in cloth napkins. Nothing but the best for Jaycee Breckenridge. Slash knew that she’d put down the stake Pistol Pete had left her as a down payment and taken out a bank loan for the rest, and already, only a year into the business, she’d paid the note down by half.

      She was too good a woman for him. She had too much business savvy and plain old horse sense. She was a respected businesswoman in Fort Collins, and that reputation would do nothing but grow. It was just as well she’d taken up with the stylish town marshal, Cisco Walsh. They’d make a handsome couple. A pair of eights. A jack and a queen.

      Slash Braddock had been a damn joker all his life, and he’d be buried in a potter’s field, a joker in death. It was what he deserved.

      The livery-garbed waiter had just cleared Slash’s table of everything except his coffee cup and the steaming silver server, when a familiar voice startled him from behind: “Good morning, Sla . . . I mean, Mister Braddock.”

      Slash looked up to see none other than Jaycee herself smiling down at him, one hand on the back of his chair. She was dressed in a beguiling gown, her hair was half up and half down, sprayed across her half-bare and beautifully freckled shoulders, and she looked ravishing already—here with the sun barely up.

      “Jay!” Slash said, immediately chastising himself for sounding like an overeager schoolboy. “What’re you . . . what’re you . . . ?”

      He’d started to rise, but Jay placed a hand on his shoulder and shoved him back down in his chair. “Please, sit. I know, I know—it’s early for me. Believe me, I’d still be sawing logs, but I have a wedding reception at noon to prepare for. No rest for the wicked.”

      “Time for a cup of coffee?” Slash asked, nodding at the steaming server.

      Jay glanced at a clock on the wall, then folded her long, well-formed body into the chair across from Slash. “Indeed, I can. I’m my own boss, aren’t I?”

      “There you go.”

      Slash glanced at the waiter, “Phil, a cup for the boss, will you?”

      The waiter glanced at Jay, smiled, winked, then disappeared into the kitchen.

      Slash sat back in his chair, holding his coffee cup, which he’d just refilled, in both hands. “Did you, uh . . . did you sleep well, Jay?” He felt a vein in his neck flutter.

      She glanced across the table at him, then leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table before her and setting her chin atop the shelf of her entwined fingers. “I did. I was exhausted. Long day . . . as you well know.”

      “Yeah, sure was.”

      Jay smiled her sweet smile. “I took care of everything with Cisco. I mean, Marshal Walsh.”

      “Well, if you know him so well . . .”

      Jay nodded. “I knew he wouldn’t be a problem. He may, in fact, be a valuable friend to you two here in Fort Collins. I know I’ve found him a valuable friend over the years.”

      “You have, have you?”

      “Indeed.”

      “Well, then . . .”

      “He’s agreed to make sure your real names stay out of the papers. I wrote out and signed an affidavit for him last night. Cisco . . . Marshal Walsh”—Jay amended with a coy smile—“thinks that’s probably all we’ll need. He’ll let me know if you need to speak to a coroner’s jury, but he’s going to try and have my statement be the end of it. Jack Penny and the other two men were known outlaws with nasty reputations, so . . .”

      “I didn’t recognize the other two, but I know Penny had some money ridin’ in his hat.”

      “Cisco said the other two were out-of-work, raggedy-heeled former railroad workers who’d been in and out of trouble along the Front Range for the past couple of years. One was wanted for cutting a doxy in Denver, and the other shot a gambler to death up in Leadville.”

      “Well, then . . you an’ Cisco palavered it all out.”

      “Yes.”

      As the waiter delivered Jay’s coffee cup, Slash sipped his own mud and gave a stiff half-smile. Again, he felt that vein in his neck flutter. “I reckon you was up mighty late . . . with ole Cisco. Uh . . . sorry about that.” He dropped his gaze and took another sip of the coffee.

      Jay lifted her cup and blew on her own steaming coffee. “Oh, it’s all right. Cisco and I go way back.”

      “So you said.”

      Jay sipped her coffee, then, setting the cup back down on its saucer, frowned across the table at him. “Slash, is something on your mind?”

      “What’s that?” He cleared a constriction in his throat.

      “You seem . . . well, odd.”

      “Odd?”

      “Oh, I know,” Jay said, lifting her cup again in her pale, elegant hands, the left one adorned with one simple ruby ring set in gold. “You met with Bleed-Em-So. That must be what’s wrong with you. Can you tell me what he wanted? Some new job for you and Pecos? Whatever it is, I hope it’s not too dangerous, Slash.”

      “Oh, nah, nah,” Slash said. “Pretty simple, really. I won’t bore you with the details. We’ll be cuttin’ out purty soon. In fact . . .” He took a large, quick sip of his coffee. “I prob’ly best be pullin’ my picket pin. Pecos is prob—”

      Jay reached across the table to place her hand on his. “Slash, what’s wrong?”

      He frowned over his cup at her. “What do you mean?”

      Jay returned his puzzled frown, though he vaguely opined that hers probably looked more authentic. “You’re wondering about Cisco Walsh and me, aren’t you?” She probed him more intensely with her stony, dark pupils. “That’s what’s bothering you, isn’t it?”

      “Ah, hell!” Slash said a little too loudly. “No, you got me wrong, Jay. Cisco—he looks like a right nice fella. Big and tall and broad-shouldered. Handsome as all get-out, I’m sure. Wears a polished badge. Tailor-cut suit made special. Has him a good upstandin’ badge pinned to his vest. I’m sure he’s right enticin’ to a purty woman like yourself. A good man all around.”

      Jay’s expression changed from curiosity to incredulity. She set her coffee cup back down in its saucer, leaned back in her chair, and crossed her arms on the low-cut bodice of her dress. Her cheeks paled a little, and her lids hooded her eyes severely. “What if he did?”

      “What’s that?”

      “What if he did look right enticin’ to me?”

      Jay paused, continuing