27-Apr-2018
What happens when the villain meets true innocence?
It’s difficult to concentrate on murder with a set of big, blue eyes staring at you over the back of a seat.
The little girl watched me as I watched the people waiting for trains. Some smiled and sat on the edge of their seats, anxious to be off. Others slumped back with their eyes closed and their trunks at their feet or beside them.
Each person that entered brought the dust from outside. Spurs clanked as the men with boots walked in and sat. Ladies dresses swished. Bonnets covered hair. Hats sat on knees. One family had their hands full with twin boys about four years old who found being chased around the benches to be the most exciting thing that had ever happened to them.
I sat in the corner, waiting. My gaze never stayed too long on one person. I didn’t miss anyone who came through the door.
And yet the sensation of the little girl in front of me, who couldn’t be more than three years old, watching me would not leave.
So I gave in, for the fifth time, and looked at her. This time I smiled.
I was surprised that she didn’t start crying. I’d let my black beard grow wild, and my gold tooth probably shone in the light. While she had those innocent blue eyes, I had dark, shifty eyes with brows that hung low. This alone should have told her to stop staring.
Instead she smiled a shy smile. Dimples creased her round cheeks and I could have sworn a blush rose from her neck. She giggled and buried her blond curls into the once white blanket that she held in her hands.
Her mother turned to see what the little girl was giggling about, saw me, gave me a scowl—as any sensible person would do—and turned around. She tried to get the little girl to sit, but that lasted all of six seconds before she was back to watching me.
I hadn’t seen my own daughter in almost ten years. For good reason. I wasn’t a good man. Her mother was a good woman. I’d left them plenty of money and hadn’t looked back. Hopefully she’d found a nice man to marry who was raising my daughter to be a lady.
I shook my head and turned my attention back to the task at hand.
A shadow crossed the window. The door opened and a man’s silhouette—complete with cowboy hat—blocked the light.
I shifted in my seat.
That was him.
Marshal Martelle. He’d hunted down most of my gang. He’d thwarted the last train robbery we’d tried. And while he’d never seen me, as far as I was aware, I knew who he was.
The tall shadow strode into the station, resolving into a slender man hauling a small bag. Shaggy blond hair poked out from under the hat. His shiny star was pinned to his vest. A scar ran down his right cheek. A pistol sat on each hip, with enough ammo present to take care of everyone in the room.
I licked my lips, but made no other move. I could be patient.
The little girl in front of me leaned over the seat, still watching me.
I ignored her, keeping one eye on the man and the other eye on the door. Had he come alone? I dropped one hand to my own pistol and popped the strap on my holster.
The little girl giggled.
Good thing I was planning to draw him out back before shooting him, or I might feel guilty for killing a man in front of children.
The Marshal tipped his hat to a couple of men in the room, but his eyes scanned the crowd. Maybe he knew who I was. But his gaze didn’t get to me. Instead, it stopped at the woman and child in front of me.
“There is he is,” the woman said. She physically turned the little girl away from me and toward the Marshal.
“Daddy!” the little girl squealed. As graceful as a kitten, she maneuvered her chubby little form off the bench and ran across the room.
Daddy?
My heart stopped.
The Marshal dropped his bag, squat down and opened his arms. The little girl ran into them. The woman rose to meet the Marshal, and once he had scooped up his daughter, he rose and embraced his wife with one arm and a kiss on the head.
I scowled.
Whatever words the happy family spoke did not get across the room and into my brain.
What did get to me was the little girl. The Marshal picked up his bag, turned his back on me and started toward the door, but the girl twisted over his shoulder. Her eyes found mine, and she smiled. Her chubby fingers waved in the way only a small child can. Those eyes.
Those damn eyes.
I pressed my lips together and watched the happy family leave the station.
Revenge was going to have to wait for another day.
