Forever Wild (Book 1 in the Forever His Series)

Chapter 7

1850

Late November

  With the late afternoon chill creeping through the open front entrance, Matthew and Nathaniel are sitting in a saloon, hunched over steaming mugs of coffee.

  Matthew sighs as he sips the scalding, bitter brew and leans back in his chair. "Can't believe we've been in this backwater town for a little over a week now and nothing! No news or leads. I knew this was a dead-end case."

  Nathaniel swigs down the strong liquid and tries not to wince at the taste. He sets the mug down and focuses on the sketch in his lap. He tries to capture the woman with the sad eyes from the mercantile he visited a few days ago, but he just can't get it right. He blows out a breath and flips to a new page—his fifth attempt. Maybe he should draw something else. His eyes travel the room, taking in its few patrons sitting at the bar and the empty tables around them. His gaze locks onto the bar hand, noticing the way the elderly man's eyes narrow and his lips thin into a frown, unhappy at having a Native in his saloon. Nathaniel breaks eye contact and turns to face Matthew sitting opposite him.

"You could try talking to the widow."

  Matthew frowns. "We know all we need to know. There's no reason to get anyone else involved. Especially a woman."

  Nathaniel could throttle the man. They're wasting precious time doing nothing, but waiting for rumors of a sighting of Liar Joe to fall into their laps when they should question the widow and investigate the crime scene. Nathaniel had gone to do just that a few days earlier, but realized he would need a different approach than being a customer to keep Matthew's trust intact and Emily's suspicion from being roused into hope.

  Matthew stares into his mug, its murky depths reflecting his soul. The last thing he needs is a woman to get involved. His grip on his mug tightens. He won't be the cause for another woman's death.

After a painful minute of silence, Matthew leans forward. "Is there anywhere we haven't hit yet?"

  Nathaniel thinks about all the places they've hung around, asking questions, trying to gain even a tidbit of news about Liar Joe. He begins to sketch the mercantile, the counter, the strangely placed pile of crates in the store, the widow looking out of the window.

"Besides the mercantile? There's the brothel."

  Matthew gulps the rest of the coffee, slamming the cup on the table, while simultaneously motioning for a server waiting nearby to refill it.

  Nathaniel focuses on remembering that day as he sketches in a frenzy now, pulling the details gently to the surface of his mind like how the wind would pull a kite into the sky. The desire to capture humanity at its best, its worst, fills him and the smells of coffee and cigars fade away.

  Matthew huffs when Nathaniel continues to ignore him, even long after he's already downed his second cup. Finally, the stub in Nathaniel's hand stills when Matthew stands.

"Come on, let's have some fun."

***

  Emily wishes she could do the same as she spends yet another long day in the mercantile. Every day like clockwork: she rises, frets about the house, packing and forming piles of items to be sold or stored, spends the next 30 minutes walking into town, opens the store and rearranges displays, then the waiting. Oh, how she hates the waiting.

  Deciding business is slow enough today that she can close an hour early for her lunch break, Emily flips the sign on the door and steps into the backroom.