Just This Once Read Online Free Page B

greatest urgency.”
    “Git the hell out of here, fella,” the miner
exploded, squinting fiercely at his cards. “Cain’t you see we’re
tryin’ to play poker?”
    “Idiots who interrupt a game end up with an
early funeral in these parts, mister,” a cowboy in a plaid shirt
warned as he gripped his cards between tense, callused fingers.
“Git.”
    Ethan raised his brows at the little man,
who was now dabbing with a handkerchief at beads of perspiration
that had popped out along his temples.
    “I’ll await you at the bar, my lord.”
    “Go to hell.”
    He swung his gaze back from the Englishman
to his cards, but the numbers blurred for a moment before his eyes. Must be the whiskey, he told himself, though he’d drunk only
two glasses so far tonight.
    Long practice enabled him to hide his
emotions, to keep all he was feeling, or not feeling, concealed
beneath a surly mask, but at the man’s clipped words some of the
color had drained from Ethan’s swarthy cheeks, and his eyes glinted
with a strange intentness.
    Damn it all to hell, he thought,
trying hard to concentrate. But he lost the hand.
    He moved a huge pile of chips in front of
the cowboy and stood.
    “Back in a minute. Play this one without
me.”
    Ethan strode to the bar. The Englishman
wasn’t drinking. He was sitting there quietly, watching all that
went on through the hazy smoke permeating the crowded, raucous
saloon.
    “My lord...”
    “Don’t call me that. I’m Ethan Savage.
Clear?”
    The other man coughed. “Is there somewhere
we can speak privately, sir?”
    Ethan glanced over at the poker table. He
wasn’t about to cash in his chips, leave the game, and take this
damned nuisance in a bowler hat over to his hotel room for a chat.
He wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.
    “Hey, you.” He rounded on Stickley, the
owner of the Golden Pistol, busily strutting around the premises,
keeping an eye on all the saloon girls, the piano player, the
roulette dealers.
    “You got a room where my friend and I can
have a private chat?”
    He saw the instant calculation in the man’s
eyes and almost sneered. Ethan had been in town only a few days,
but he’d already spent an exorbitant amount of money on liquor, had
gambled extensively, and had kept the saloon packed with those who
enjoyed watching him play. He was a cool gambler, with a hawk’s
eyes and a smooth deal, and Stickley was eager to oblige him.
    “Upstairs, my friend. I have an office at
the end of the hall. Last door on the right.”
    Nodding his thanks, Ethan turned and started
toward the back stairs the saloon owner had indicated. He heard the
Englishman following, but didn’t bother to turn around to look.
    Up a narrow flight of stairs they went, and
down a thinly carpeted, poorly lit hall. As they approached one of
the doors on the left, the one marked 202, it opened part way and a
woman’s voice floated clearly out into the hall.
    “Jo, Stickley’s mad as hell that you didn’t
dance tonight. He doesn’t believe that you’re sick. Says he’s going
to fire you in the morning. But I think he’s really upset because
he suspects what you did for Penny.”
    “Believe me, Rose, Stickley is the least of
my problems.”
    Ethan halted at the sweet musical tones of
the second woman’s voice. It was her. That thief who’d tried to
snatch his wallet today.
    So. She was a dance hall girl.
    He’d halted so abruptly outside the door
that the Englishman very nearly plowed right into him but, at the
last instant, managed to stop in time.
    Ethan ignored him, and cocked his head to
one side as he listened.
    “What are you going to do, Jo?” the first
woman asked, sounding nervous and upset.
    “Get out of town on the morning train. And
Rose, if anyone asks for me, anyone at all, don’t tell them where
I’ve gone. Please, just lie and say—”
    “Don’t worry about me, Jo. I’d never give
you away. But where will you go, what will you do? I hate to think
of you in