Fallen Angel

Part 5

Hank was standing by the bed in the back room of the sheriff's office rolling up his blanket when he heard the front door open. Slow footsteps shuffled across the floor, then the desk chair squeaked a protest. Zeke had to know he was here but apparently was as anxious to talk as Hank.

After leaving the saloon the day before, Hank had needed to put some distance between him and the town or he wouldn't have let anything stop him from going after Gina. She obviously wanted nothing to do with him, so he'd ridden back out all the way to the river where he'd first lost Trent Carlin's trail. But he wasn't looking for any tracks. All through the ride he thought of what had happened, what had been said, and what had been left unsaid.

It was after dark when he rode back into town and he'd gone right to the sheriff's office without seeing hardly a soul. He'd gone to bed determined that it would be his last night in Silver Rock.

He shoved the blanket into his saddlebag, pulled on his leather duster, and slung the saddlebag over his shoulder. He glanced around the small room making sure he had everything, then went into the front room closing the door behind him. Zeke was hunched over the desk, a pen in his hand. When he looked up, Hank could see the weariness in his eyes despite the initial smile. Hank shifted uncomfortably as Zeke looked him up and down, the smile fading from his friend's face. He cleared his suddenly dry throat and, reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the badge that had always felt a bit too heavy on his chest. He crossed the room in two strides and placed the star on the desk. For a moment neither of them spoke and Hank couldn't bring himself to look up at the sheriff.

"Hank, what do you think you're doing?" Zeke was smiling again and shaking his head.

"I'm leaving," Hank said, somewhat gruffly. "What does it look like?"

"I never thought I'd see Hank Sheridan give up on a job."

Hank glared at him, but Zeke just stared right back. He wasn't accusing or angry or even sad. It was a challenge, and with a groan Hank dropped the saddlebags and leaned over the desk so he was nose to nose with Zeke.

"My job was to take care of the Carlin problem," he said. "Tim's dead, it's been over two weeks since Trent was seen, he's not going to be any more trouble. I'd say my job's done."

Zeke calmly reached into the desk drawer, never once breaking eye contact, and pulled out a piece of paper. "This says the job is to apprehend both Tim and Trent Carlin." He pushed the paper toward Hank who looked down at the marshal appointment, his name down at the bottom. "With Trent still at large, I'd say you're job's only half done." Hank slowly straightened up to his full six foot height, crossing his arms over his chest. It didn't dim the light of victory on Zeke's face. "If you claim you weren't quitting, it must be something else," Zeke continued, leaning an elbow on the desk. "You weren't running away, were you?"

Hank felt his chest tighten and the hair on the back of his neck rise. He was clenching his teeth so hard his jaw was almost numb. If Zeke wasn't careful, he'd have a broken nose, friend or not. But then Zeke suddenly ducked his head and sighed. "It's my fault I guess. I should've told you about her that first night." When he looked up, he could hardly hold Hank's gaze. "When you said she was your wife I..." Zeke looked away again.

"You didn't know the whole story," Hank said at last, surprised by how calm he suddenly felt. "I didn't even know the whole story."

"And now?"

"Now I know."

"And you're just going to leave her here?" There was the accusing look Hank dreaded.

"What am I supposed to do, Zeke? She told me even if she wanted to leave, she couldn't."

Zeke opened his mouth to answer but before he could, the door burst open and a rather annoyed-looking Brodie Campbell stalked inside. As soon as he saw Hank, he marched up to him and held up a piece of paper. "What is the meaning of this, marshal?"

Hank blinked and took the paper from the man's hand. Zeke had risen from the chair but Hank didn't notice, his attention focused on the words scrawled on the smudged paper.

I have Gina. If the marshal wants to see his wife again, come alone to the old Loren Mine.

Carlin

"I demand an explanation!" said Brodie.

"What's going on?" asked Zeke. Hank hardly registered the words of either man. In response he held out the paper to Zeke who quickly read the note, then let out a long breath. "How did he find out?"

"You mean it's true?" Brodie looked to Zeke. "He's her husband?"

"It must've been yesterday on the street," Zeke went on, ignoring Brodie. "He could've been hiding in the crowd. People knew Tim pretty well by sight, but not Trent."

"He was here and you let him get away?" Brodie turned on Hank.

"Nobody saw him, Brodie," Zeke said, taking the man's arm and pulling him back around. "He was probably watching Hank, wanting to get him alone."

"So why take Gina?" Brodie threw up his arms. "Did he honestly think the marshal would go after him to save a cheap—"

Hank moved so fast, he startled both men. Zeke backed up a step and Brodie would've done the same, but Hank had grabbed his shirt front with both hands and was on the verge of slamming him against the wall. "I would be very careful with your words when talking about my wife," he said, his breathing ragged, but his voice low. "Zeke, I need a map to the Loren Mine," he said over his shoulder, keeping his eyes trained on Brodie's anxious face. With a sudden exhale of breath, he released the saloon owner and the man stumbled to regain his balance and composure. He watched Hank warily but wisely did not speak again.

"Hank, are you sure you know what you're doing?" Zeke asked, moving back to his desk. He opened a bottom drawer and drew out some rolled up maps. "What if it's a trap?" He handed a roll to Hank.

"Of course it's a trap," Hank said, taking the map. "Trent knew me better than I knew myself." He opened the door but paused on the threshold. He hurried back to the desk and grabbed the badge. "He knew I'd come for her."