A man like Gabe didn’t belong in Black Gulch. He lived up in the Big Horn Mountains, trapping, hunting, trading pelts a couple times a season. He came down for salt, coffee, ammunition. He didn’t drink past one glass. He didn’t gamble. He didn’t stay long enough for the town to pretend he was theirs.
And towns hate what they don’t own.
The gambler, Clay Mercer, leaned forward, grin carving his face. “You serious, Bear?
You know the rule. You buy her, you sleep with her tonight. That’s the bet.”
The crowd waited like dogs watching meat swing.
Gabe didn’t look at Clay.
He looked at Sophie.
Just once, but long enough.
Long enough to see her shaking hands, her boots soaked through, the line of her mouth that said she’d already survived worse than this.
“I said fifty,” Gabe repeated.
