Waylon burst into the upstairs room above the saloon, dragging a thrashing waitress along by her hair and plumed headdress.
Perspiration stained his skin, trickling down his face and neck. His breath came in short, uneven gasps, still trying to recover from his flight up the stairs. Doggedly, he went to the window, pressing himself against the wall so that he could peer, unseen, through the lace curtains.
The sheriff and a few men were standing in the street below, all of them armed and waiting. Waylon chuckled a little, although it was clear an escape was not possible.
‘Shhh!’ he growled at the waitress, pulling her into his arms. He needed to think, and with her, it was impossible.
‘Waylon Harrelson!’ called a voice from below, ‘We know you’re up there, and we have you surrounded! If you knew what’s good for you, you’d surrender!’
Waylon was quiet, his heart pounding against the walls of his chest like a frightened bird in its cage.
‘Listen, Harrelson!” the sheriff below shouted, ‘I’ll give you ‘til the count of ten to get down here before we come up there and tear you out, kickin’ and screamin’, you hear me!’
‘Any one of you come up here and I‘ll blow this young lady’s head off before you can say “shoot!”’ the outlaw called back, pressing the barrel of his gun to the waitress’s temple. She gave a shriek, and it was silent outside.
‘One…!’ said the sheriff, ‘Two…! Three…!’
Now it was Waylon who was silent.
‘Four…! Five…!’ the lawman went on, ‘Six… Seven…!’
‘You wouldn’t be so stupid, Sheriff!’ Waylon choked out.
‘Eight!’ the sheriff continued, ‘Nine…!’
Perhaps it was a last burst for his freedom, or maybe it was only annoyance, when Waylon’s face grew red. He sprang into the open window in full view of the men in the street. They did nothing, and Waylon realized why when heard a metallic clicking sound and felt the cold steel of a gun’s barrel press against his temple. A voice from behind him said, ‘Ten.’
All color drained from his face and he dropped his own weapon, and released his grip on his hostage. There was no use in fighting, and he knew it.
The waitress ran away from him and out of the room, judging by her fading foot steps. Waylon gulped, ‘Is that you, Jack Harland?’
'How’d you guess?' asked the voice behind him.
He shrugged, ‘I just kind of figured… Besides I remember your voice; it’s been that deep since you turned thirteen… You remember me?’
‘How could I forget you, Waylon?’ chuckled Jack, taking away his other pistol and sticking it into his own holster, ‘You used to throw rocks at me and Leland when we’d play war sayin’ you were simulating cannon fire to make it more realistic for us.’
Waylon grinned a little, ‘No hard feelings?’
‘We’ll see,’ Jack replied, grinning crookedly as he shook his head, ‘Have a seat, Waylon.’
Waylon sat down in a padded chair and watched curiously as Jack uncorked a bottle of bourbon that was sitting on a nearby table and poured two glasses of it.
‘You sure got big,’ Waylon remarked, looking him over, ‘Last time I saw you, you weren’t taller than a beanpole, and just as skinny as one.’
Jack blushed a little, giving him one of the glasses, ‘When did you get into the robbin’ business?’
‘Oh… not long after I left La Grange, I ’spose,’ he huffed, and looked at his badge, ‘When’d you become a Marshal?’
‘Hmm…’ Jack pressed his lips together in thought and shrugged, ‘I’m guessin’ around ten years ago, roughly.’
‘Do you know how old that makes me feel, Jack?’ Waylon laughed, ‘I remember when you was just an ankle biter running around town in nothing but your trousers like nobody’s business… Remember that one time when you and Leland took sheers to all those chickens, dipped ‘em in molasses and stuck al the feathers back on and then set ‘em loose in the sheriff’s office?’
Jack grinned, ‘I do… I also remember gettin’ my hide tanned all the way home and then some, by my mama.’
Waylon laughed, shaking his head.
'I thought it was funny,’ Jack grunted, taking a sip of his drink.
A golden band around the third finger of his left hand caught Waylon’s eye, and his jaw dropped.
‘Jackson Arlow Harland,’ Waylon gasped, ‘Are you married?’
Jack looked at his wedding band and then to Waylon, ‘It’ll be eight years in April.’
‘Son. Of. A. Gun.’ Waylon exclaimed, ‘Boy, I never thought I’d see the day Jackson Arlow Harland settled down.’
‘I wouldn’t exactly say “settled”,’ Jack chuckled, ‘Kitty keeps me in check, but she sure has her hands full.’
‘Kitty?’ Waylon repeated.
‘Oh that’s just what I call her,’ he said, ‘You ‘member Kate Miller, don’t you?’
Waylon’s eyes grew large, ‘You married Katie Miller?’
‘I certainly did,’ Jack chuckled, beaming with pride.
‘It really has been too long,’ laughed Waylon, shaking his head, ‘you know, you turned out alright, Jackie. I mean, look at you. You’re a United States marshal, and I’ll admit you’re doin’ a helluva job at it considering… You got yourself a wife, and you must be doing something right seein’ how you’re still married to her…’ He shook his head.
Jack bit his lip, ‘How’s Leland?’
Waylon sighed, pressing his lips together, ‘Honestly, Jack, I couldn’t say… The kid’s never been right in the head… I haven’t seen him in about a year or so to tell you the truth.”
Nodding, Jack drained his glass and put it down.
‘Alright, Waylon,’ he sighed after awhile, ‘I suppose you have two options here, but unfortunately you won’t be pleased with either one.’
The outlaw finished his drink as well and put it down on the floor.
They looked a one another, no longer old friends reminiscing of their past, or catching one another up on their current lives. Once again, they were untrusting enemies, lawman against outlaw. They could no longer avoid it, as much as they both would have liked to.
‘One…’ Jack began, ‘You could come out of here with me, go into a cell at the sheriff’s office and then in the morning I’d escort you to a train that would take us to Yuma where you would most likely spend a good twenty years, give or take.’
‘What’s the second option?’ asked Waylon, gulping.
‘Two,’ Jack huffed, ‘You could take this gun here-‘ He held up Waylon’s six-shooter and gave it back to him as he took a few paces back ‘-and you could try to kill me, but I can’t very well guarantee that you’ll make it downstairs where thirty or more men are waiting and ready to take you dead or alive.’
It was silent.
Waylon stood up, ‘I’m sorry, Jack… But I’m not ready to spend what may be the rest of my life in a cage… You understand don’tcha?’
Jack nodded slowly, ‘I suppose I do…’
They stared at one another, tension in the room mounting the longer they waited. Neither wanted to be the first to pull. But Waylon, driven by thirst and hunger for his own freedom, by some spurious hope of success, raised his gun.
Matthew Greyson looked up from a stack of papers when his office door opened, and then stood when he saw it was none other than Jack Harland. The sheriff’s brows pulled together, stopping the marshal from taking another step.
‘Come on now, Matthew,’ Jack said, raising his brow, ‘Don’t you look at me that way.’
Matt plopped into his chair again, shaking his head, ‘I wish you were still putting sand bass into the soup at the diner, you know that?’
Grinning sheepishly, Jack sat down in a chair and removed his hat as he took a cigarette from his jacket pocket, ‘I take it you found out about Waylon?’
‘Jack, everyone’s found out about Waylon,’ Matt huffed, running his hand over his face.
‘I did what I had to do, Matt,’ Jack sighed, picking absentmindedly at a fray on the brim of his hat, his countenance displaying his displeasure toward the subject.
‘Tell that to Leland,’ Matt grunted.
‘I’m not scared of Leland,’ Jack snorted, ‘And if I’d known I was gonna get scolded when I came in here I would’ve gone straight home instead.’
‘Does Kate know you’re here?’ asked Matt.
‘No,’ he replied, shaking his head, ‘I thought I’d come by here first so I didn’t have to do it later…’
‘Oh… well it’s sure nice to know I’m just another priority,’ the sheriff huffed, removing his glasses. He looked at Jack, studying him for awhile.
It was not difficult to note the trouble in his brown eyes, the upset curve of his lips.
‘How’re you holding up, Jack?’ he asked, folding his hands on the desk.
‘Not too well,’ Jack sighed, squirming uncomfortably, ‘I just wish he would have picked the first option…’
He pursed his lips and then continued, ‘He deserved better, you know? After all he did for me and his brother, too… He taught me how to shoot, did you know that?’
‘Yeah… I know,’ Matt said, grinning a little.
Jack’s eyes became distant, and then misty. He sighed heavily, standing up as he crushed out his cigarette and put on his hat.
‘I had better get out of here,’ he said, ‘No doubt everyone in town’s seen my horse outside… Including your wife, who as I recall has a bad reputation for runnin’ off to my place and askin’ Kitty if I’d been home yet… Which just so happens to get me put into the doghouse.’
Matt chuckled, ‘Patty means well.’
Jack rolled his eyes, ‘Sure…’
Kate hummed softly to herself as she washed a plate in the sink, her arms submerged in the warm water from her elbows down. She placed the dish into the other tub, and then continued with her work, seeming to hardly care when a pair of arms wrapped around her waist, lips brushing against the back of her neck.
‘Is your husband home?’ asked Jack in a near whisper, planting rows of soft kisses up and down the hollow of her throat.
‘Not presently, I don’t think,’ she replied, picking up another plate.
‘Do you know when he’ll be back?’ he wondered.
‘No,’ she huffed, ‘He doesn’t tell me that sort of thing anymore… These days I’m lucky if I get a ‘good-bye’ and a kiss. It’s as though he’ll leave when he leaves and he’ll be back when he gets back.’
‘Tell me a little about him,’ he insisted, resting his chin on his shoulder.
‘Well,’ she began hesitantly, ‘He’s stubborn, and that’s for sure… He has a short temper and can be very proud.’
‘Oh…please, do go on,’ he encouraged her with sardonic enthusiasm.
‘Alright,’ she sighed, ‘He’s reckless and wild, and he tends to be rude and foul-mouthed. He’s loud and obnoxious and even childish if he wants to be. He’s rough, and he gets himself into more trouble than he needs to. He’s bossy and sometimes he’s a terrible grouch. In fact he just might be the most flawed man alive.’
‘It’s a wonder you haven’t shot him,’ he remarked, ‘I would shoot him myself, that is…IF…he were here.’
She turned around in his arms and looked up at him, ‘Then I suppose it’s a good thing he isn’t here.’
‘But I thought you hated him,’ he said, his brows knitting together with confusion.
‘But I do,’ she said, rubbing the collar of his shirt between her forefinger and thumb thoughtfully, ‘I hate him more than I’ve hated anyone else in the entire world.’
‘Then why not kill him and rid yourself of him once and for all?’ he asked.
She bit her lip, and he looked down at her, waiting. Finally, she shrugged, ‘You know… I’m really not too sure…’
He grinned, chuckling as kissed her passionately, holding her closer. She pulled away and whispered, ‘I think I just remembered why.’
The corners of his mouth curved into a crooked smile, and he swept her off her feet.
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