Silver Creek - G.L. Snodgrass Page 0,6

plates from an empty table.

“When we getting married?” Pap Wilkins asked with a laugh. “I’m thinking noon, Sunday.”

Rebecca laughed. The man was over sixty and smaller than a prairie dog. He’d lost his teeth years earlier and most of his hair somewhere along the way.

“I don’t know Pap,” Rebecca said as she topped off his coffee cup. “You might be too much man for me.”

The room laughed. Rebecca felt a warmth fill her. Most of the people in town were so kind. She was about to suggest another piece of cobbler when the front door opened letting in a swirl of dust. She turned and felt her smile drop.

Mark Felton and his friend Troy Cooper. The two most dangerous men in the county. Troy because of his reputation with a gun. Mark Felton because his brother was the richest rancher within a hundred miles. Two men who were used to getting their own way.

Rebecca felt a hush settle over the room as the half dozen other men registered who had come in. This country grew hard men. Miners, Cowboys. Jack Strumph the hulking blacksmith, but even these men looked worried. She noticed that several hurriedly finished their meal before shooting her a quick smile as they dropped two bits on the table next to their plate, then got up and left.

Mark Felton didn’t even notice as he slowly ran his eyes up and over her. “Rebecca,” he said with a lustful look in his eyes that made her blood run cold. She was woman enough to know what that look meant. And the fact that Mark Felton didn’t care if anyone saw spoke to his power.

Swallowing hard, she scurried into the kitchen with an armful of dirty dishes.

“Do you want me to take them?” Helen asked as she gave Rebecca a concerned look. It was more than the lustful stare. It was the fact that the man and his family now owned her uncle’s ranch. A hurt, sinking feeling filled her. No, she couldn’t go through life hiding, ashamed.

She lifted her chin and shook her head as she placed the empty plates next to the wash bucket. Taking a deep breath, she ran her hands over her dress then stepped back into the dining room.

“Coffee?” she asked as she lifted the pot from the warming brazier.

Troy Cooper grunted as he pulled out a chair and sat down. Mark held the back of a chair and stared at her. Slowly a small smile spread across his face, obviously trying to be charming and failing miserably. As she poured the coffee, she studied the man from beneath her brow. Tall with a tanned face. Some women would think he was handsome. But there was something about his eyes that said otherwise. A piercing, cold look.

Black hat with a silver hatband. Only a rich man - Or a man with a rich family - would wear that kind of thing. Gun at his hip. A black leather vest over a collarless cotton shirt. Dark wool pants and scuffed boots. He could have passed for any other cowboy in the region if it weren’t for the cold, lifeless stare. Surprising when you considered his older brother was always dressed so impeccably.

He sat down, resting both arms on the table. “So?” he asked. “You look like you’ve landed on your feet.”

Her blood ran cold. His brother had bought her uncle’s ranch from the man who stole it. She was working fourteen hours a day serving crude food to cruder men and he thought she was doing well. She’d lost everything. Her home. Her freedom. But to a man like him, it meant nothing.

“Will you be wanting cobbler with your meal?” she asked.

Troy Cooper shot his friend a taunting smile. Mark never noticed as he kept staring at her. Then, without warning his hand shot out to grab her wrist in an iron tight grip.

Rebecca gasped as she tried to pull away but he held her in place, refusing to let her go. For a brief second, she worried about being pulled onto his lap. From the corner, she heard a chair scrape across the floor as Jack Strumph pushed back from his table. A new fear filled her. If someone challenged these men they would die. She could see it in their eyes. The thought of losing someone else because of her sent a heartbreaking ache through her.

A shock of fear filled her until she remembered the coffee pot in her hand. Gritting her teeth,