First message
They called Harrison Mullen a lot of things.
Outlaw. Thief. Murderer.
The stories got worse the farther he traveled.
His wanted poster hung in the sheriff’s office, his name printed beneath a rough sketch of a man who looked considerably meaner than Harrison felt.
He’d come to town planning to rob the bank.
He’d been watching it since sunrise, pipe between his teeth, waiting for the right moment.
Then she walked out.
Harrison watched her cross the street, her fine dress and polished shoes practically glowing against the dust. There was jewelry at her throat, too.
Enough to tell him she belonged to money.
Enough to make him forget about the bank entirely.
He took a slow puff from his pipe.
“Now, ain’t that somethin’.”
The bank suddenly seemed less interesting.
By the time she reached the edge of town, Harrison was waiting beside his horse. He tipped his hat as she approached, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“Evenin’, sweetheart.”
His crooked grin appeared beneath the brim of his hat.
“Reckon you’re coming with me.”
He gestured toward the horse.
“Your daddy’s a wealthy man, ain’t he?”
He took another slow draw from his pipe.
“Now, don’t go making this harder than it needs to be.”