Free Blackthorne (The Brotherhood of the Gate Book 1) by Katt Grimm Page A

memory and the arrogance of youth replaced with a cynical amusement.
    Waving Rhi to the chair beside her, Pam ordered two Fat Tire beers from the waitress and turned to face the older man, who observed her and Rhi with an amused look on his weathered features.
    “Miss Brennan, Miss Douglas. What’s up, ladies?” He then addressed Rhi directly, “And how did the wild child of Horse Thief Gulch get you out and about this evening, princess? You are a bit more conservative than your friend here. I see her every week. You I see only every other week, which is downright prudish in this town.”
    “Rhi likes to haunt the library and Da Vinci’s Bookstore on her nights off and then sticks her nose in a book or practices Kung Fu moves on her deck the rest of the time accompanied by that horse she calls a dog, Houston.” Pam lowered her voice, trying to sound mysterious. “It is probably safer. She seems to be being stalked today. By something…weird.”
    Houston’s caterpillar eyebrows rose a few millimeters but he gave no other sign of interest other than to cross his arms across his faded plaid shirt and nod as if telling Pam to proceed.
    Rhi sucked her beer down in a few gulps as Pam related the tale. Houston didn’t blink once or voice any kind of skepticism. After waving to the harried but cheerful waitress for another round, Rhi warily gazed at the patrons leaning against the graffiti covered pine walls of the bar. Nobody looked threatening. The crowd was, for the most part, merrily inebriated. And a bit smelly. She felt ridiculous, looking about for an enemy who might be a figment of her imagination. Nor were any of the bar patrons dressed in period costume, a factor for which she was profoundly grateful. She might have to approach each costumed figure and poke them with a stick to see if they were real if this kept up. For a moment she thought of the loud knock on her truck on her New Year’s Eve drive home. Was that something she should have gotten out of the truck and poked at? She placed her hand on her neck where her shirt hid bruises from the “moment” at the casino and looked down at the dirt on her jeans from being dragged out of the street by…Blackthorne? What kind of name was Blackthorne? Wasn’t the rich, overly dressed guy living in the place called the “castle” that everyone gossiped about constantly named Black-something?
    “Rhi…hello, Rhi. Quit checking out the guys and look at us.” Pam’s voice invaded her thoughts with its usual potency that resembled a railroad spike being driven into her temple. She concentrated on her friend’s face again, her friend who didn’t think she needed to be fitted for a stylish straight jacket, and then looked at Houston. He didn’t seem in the least surprised by the tale Pam had related. Rhi wasn’t sure if his reaction was a good or bad thing.
    She’d met Houston twice and had the impression he was the unofficial guru of Cripple Creek. Retired from the Air Force, he puttered around his cabin outside of town, reading and writing an occasional article for the Cripple Creek Crusher. He knew everybody and saw everything. And there was nothing he didn’t know about the town’s history.
    “I’m sorry I didn’t answer you immediately, Pam, but I was asking for more booze and checking out the room for assassins. Or anyone who’s having a good chuckle. Or some of those ghosts you seem to be so comfortable with. Do I seem to have bad luck lately? And if it’s bad mojo, how come some guy I’ve never met before has shown up to rescue me twice? And I maybe see dead people in the street.”
    The crow’s feet surrounding Houston’s concerned dark eyes deepened as the older man spoke up. “In this part of the Rockies you cannot let anything surprise you, young lady. The Indians held this land as holy—they don’t see any place as special unless it is special. And Manitou Springs, down Ute Pass, has been considered holy since recorded memory. Cripple