If nothing else, Rose had sharp eyes, and after more than a decade of owning a saloon she knew a man reaching for his weapon when she saw one. Or, in this case, more than one. Lord, the last thing she needed was another shootup in here—those bandits Sheriff Charlotte had taken care of not two weeks ago had done enough damage, thank you. She was still trying to pry a bullet out of her banister.
"Duty calls—just a minute, darlin'," Rose said quickly, nodding to Johnny—or Rat, as he was apparently called—and moving down the bar to the customer who'd just reached into his pocket. She filled up his drink again, but as the man reached for it, she let her hand linger until he glanced up, and gave him a warning look. Not in my house, kid.
Archie was out the door before Rose could respond, looking oddly excited for a man who'd forgotten his wallet, and a feeling of foreboding started to gather in her gut. Face carefully blank, she sashayed back to Rat, staying behind the bar this time and making sure the shotgun strapped under the bartop was still ready and loaded.
