Ethan ventured to Billy’s for a late breakfast. It was there he heard the news—a cowboy burst through the swinging door. “He’s done killed Shelton,” the cowpoke hollered out, and the saloon fell silent at the announcement. Ethan glanced around, but no one would meet his eye. “Mace is gone, too, and Jesse’s been shot.”
“Where is he?” Ethan asked. He slid off his barstool and took a step toward the cowboy, one hand grasping at the collar of his jacket. “Jesse. You said…”
But the cowboy just shook his head. Fear rose in Ethan, and he tasted the eggs he’d had for breakfast in the back of his throat. Ethan tried to choke them down but found he couldn’t swallow, he couldn’t breathe. “Is he…”
God, he prayed. He didn’t want to know.
“All I know is he’s been shot,” the cowboy admitted. “The
