Bronx half rose and shook it, found his words. “Doc, then. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. Bronx. Bronx Sanderson.”
Pleased how easy his true name slipped off his tongue, Bronx relaxed against the hard back of the chair. Nodding at the barkeep for a second glass, Doc filled it up half.
Bronx raised it in a toast of sorts, while Doc Holliday studied him, careful, then finally tapped a fingernail on his front tooth. Eyebrows clenched together over a fine-looking nose if Bronx might say so himself. But his neck twitched where his hair lay against it when Doc Holliday’s eyes narrowed.
“I’m recalling such a name from my Arizona days,” Holliday mused. “And yourself on a poster or two. Yet...I was led to believe...” He took a long drink. “...a man with your face and name died in a jail break in Prescott. Just hours before getting your neck stretched. It was a sad thing, dying just as one got free.”
For a flash, Bronx’s thoughts turned black at the momentous day. The jailer’s granny had believed in him, tucked the key in a cake. Seems like she’d spread a lie to keep him safe all the way through...
Bronx clenched his fists in disbelief. Who had she buried in his stead?
“You did not know?” Doc Holliday stared at him, thoughtful, like he was thinking many thoughts himself. “So you have been someone else. Someplace else. Four, five years now?”
Nodding, Bronx gulped a huge swallow. Shuddered as the raw brew struggled down his tight throat.
Doc burst into laughter. “So, how many know you’re back here? From whenever you came back from?”
“Uh, three. No, four including you and two ladies at the boarding house.”
“Well, if they’re proper females, they likely won’t suspect you have been a wanted man. And the improper ones, well...likely, they can be bought off.”
“I won’t be showing them my face, there.” Bronx huffed. “I need to save my coin. But truth is Doc, I didn’t kill the U.S Marshal. There were folks in Prescott out to get me.”
Doc grunted, amused, as his mouth touched his glass. “Always the same story, my friend. Never quite one’s own fault. But I won’t say a word. We’re a brotherhood of sorts, are we not?”
Bronx shrugged. Charming gentleman Doc Holliday might be, but he was still one dangerous man. Was Bronx safer within his protection or better off alone? On the train, he’d sworn to stand on his own two feet and not mix up with anybody else. Lila Brewster did a quick dance through his mind, and he growled.
Most of all, he’d hide his heart so far inside no female would find it.
Doc Holliday’s fingernails tapped along the table. “You are doubting me, Mr. Sanderson. Truth is, I recently got acquitted here in this very town of Leadville from shooting a man I did shoot. I believe they think differently up here. Perhaps the thin air clears the brain.” He laughed out loud. “Or freezes it. You just might be safe here. Or, to be sure, you could hightail it elsewhere, quickly, with nobody, except me, knowing a thing about you coming back to life.”
Bronx’s head swam so quick he didn’t know what to think—and certainly not what do to. For apparently, Bronx Sanderson was dead and gone. The man an alias named Shandy Brinks had wanted to fix up and become, to make his brother proud.
To honor an old lady named Edith.
But worse, if Bronx was dead and gone these five years...seems the living Bronx didn’t have to do any of it.
Regret swamped him, all those wasted days with Bulldog. Rebekah. If only he’d known. Simon Creddit would still be alive, had Bronx never gone to Alberta. Hiding out as a man already dead, finding a new name for his face.
And now, Shandy Brinks was wanted both sides of the 49th...
He stared back at Doc Holliday. “Nope.” He had stolen horses to pay back. “Whatever music’s out there to face, I’ll do it. After...my escape, I headed to the Dominion of Canada.”
Holliday smirked. “Likely up to no good. By the bye.” He raised his glass in an unholy toast. “A Canadian outlaw with the name Edward Kelly comes to mind.”
“What?” Bronx all but gasped at hearing Bulldog’s christened name.
The smirk grew. “I keep myself informed, as a friend of the law. I have spent time as a sworn Deputy United States Marshal. So I am correct? You had association with our...canine friend?”
“True.” Bronx heated with shame, blame. “I knew no other way. But I wasn’t a killer. Not then, anyway.”
Holliday nodded, smile and tone softened. “The killing can creep up on you unawares. Whether defensible or not. That is true.” His smooth drawl vanished into a long swig of drink. “It surely sounds like you made good of your escape but not good of your person. Seeing as you claim you weren’t a killer then…but became one.”