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CHAPTER 1

EDGEWOOD 1830

Ezra shook his head to clear his mind of years long past; reminiscing about his devastating childhood would do no good. For the past three days, he had traveled westbound, following the trail his encounter with Morton, one of the Midnight Twelve, had led him to. It had taken him five years of searching to get him to this point, the men who were there that night having spread out over the years. When he did manage to track one of them down, they never seemed to have the exact location of one of their companions — wouldn't give up more than one name.

Instead, he would be led to one of their lackeys, and he would have to follow the chain of command to the top. So far, his plan, though slow in execution, led him to two of the men from that night. The third was said to frequent the saloon in Edgewood, and though Morton himself was not able to give him that information, he informed him of a town his target once lived in. A couple of his lackeys still called it home and gave him another piece of the puzzle — the town he traveled to when he left the year before.

Town after town, he followed his trail. At last, someone told him about the woman his target had been visiting for years. Why no one else seemed to know about her, if he was coming around for so long, irked Ezra to no end. Did the others truly not know of this relationship or they simply kept the useful information to themselves?

Perhaps before this was over, he would be able to ask the man himself once he found him in this small, rundown town of Edgewood that was in the middle of nowhere and had seen better days. As he slowly led his horse down the only real street in the whole town, the dirt beneath the animal's hooves being kicked up with each step and causing a dust cloud to rise, he took stock of the nearly empty town around him. On the left side of the road, there was a general store, a five-table diner, and a one-teller bank.

On the right, there was a one- or two-cell jailhouse, a telegraph office, a few scattered houses and, of course, his destination — the saloon. Up on a small hill overlooking the town, was an old church that looked like it too had seen better days. The warping wood planks and jagged edges of what remained of the broken windows showed it had not been used in a very long time.

Turning his attention back to the rest of the town, he found the other buildings weren't in much better shape. Though their windows were still intact, the long, wood planks the structures were made of were bending and warping from age and abusive weather. They were in desperate need of repair, and he would not be surprised if they were to buckle under the pressure if they were not tended to soon.

He pulled back on the reins of his jet-black stallion as he closed in on the hitching post outside the saloon, and he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead to remove the sweat that accumulated during his travels. Though he stole the horse from a prisoner a few years ago, the animal had been a loyal friend.

The two-story building before him was in slightly better shape than the rest of the town. The wide front porch looked as if it had been completely redone recently. The windows on the bottom floor looked as if they had just been installed, and even the swinging doors looked new. Such an establishment would likely make quite a bit of money in a small town like this where there was nothing else for the men to do after a hard day's work. He doubted the repairs had anything to do with the owner wanting to make the place more aesthetically pleasing.

He would be willing to bet every dollar he had to his name, all forty of them, that the repairs were done out of necessity. No doubt a combination of out-of-control brawls and warping wood had caused major damage, and the owner was forced to make the repairs or shut down. If there was anything Ezra learned from the few times he went into a saloon, it was that they never shut down.

Dismounting his horse, he tied the reins to the leftmost post, as there was one on each side of the stairs leading up to the front door. As he climbed the three steps leading to the entrance, he heard the hustle and bustle of the clientele coming from inside. When he was younger, he would hesitate before entering a saloon. He didn't anymore.

All eyes were on him as he pushed open the swinging saloon doors. Each man and woman present gave the stranger a once over. Ezra let them stare — he knew he cut an impressive figure. At six foot three, he towered over most men. His short, dark hair and pale green eyes led some to call him handsome, although he never paid them much mind. His well-toned and muscular physique remained covered by his long tan sleeves and buckskin pants.

His eyes scanned the dim room. The room was about half full with men of many different walks of life, including gunslingers, bank tellers, ranchers and the like. A few women scurried about. Judging by their revealing dresses, they were no doubt saloon girls who were trying to part the men from their money. Some succeeded, others did not, judging by one of the girls who was suddenly punched by the man she was talking to. About to step in to say something, Ezra decided against it when the girl turned toward him and smiled, appearing unbothered by the rough treatment. Figuring if she didn't need saving, he would not force it upon her, Ezra turned his attention toward the layout of the room. To his left was a long bar, a few scattered, worn down stools placed before it. A rather small selection of alcohol in dusty bottles littered the shelf behind it. An older man, hair long since turned gray, stood behind the bar as he wiped the water from a glass and took the order of one of the ranchers. Though they glanced up at Ezra when he walked in, they quickly dismissed him and turned back to what they were doing. On the left of the bar was a single door — most likely the owner's bedroom. On the right, a darkened hallway led to two doors; one he saw from his position and one he couldn't.

Assuming the first led to a supply closest or perhaps a cellar for the liquor bottles currently not on display, he paid it as little mind. He spotted the back door that led to the outhouse and marked it as a possible escape in case the need arose. Straight in front of him, on the far wall, was a set of stairs.

One of the saloon girls led a man up the stairs by the hand, giggling at something he said. It was not hard to figure out that upstairs was where the girls did business. That was one place he never bothered to visit when at a saloon. On his right, in the furthest corner away from where he was standing, was an old piano. Judging by the thick layer of dust that covered it, it had not been played for quite a while. Littered throughout the first floor were card tables, three or four of which were occupied by men playing poker. At a few others, men were simply sitting around drinking and hitting on the working girls.

Apparently deciding he was uninteresting, they turned their attention back to what they were doing before the interruption, and Ezra crossed the threshold into the room. The barkeeper was serving a bushy looking trapper at the end of the long wooden bar, so he took a stool at the other end. Ezra gave him a quick once over as he had with the rest of the men upon entering the saloon and decided the over-six-foot-tall bear of a man, who was probably well over fifty, was not the man he was looking for.

None of them were, and Ezra began to worry that his latest clue would prove to be a dead end. It wouldn't be the first time his luck ran out, and he needed to backtrack to find another clue. Doing so was easier said than done as the clue holders tended to be dead before he moved on. Usually, they ended up doing something stupid, but it wouldn't matter as Ezra refused to risk them getting the word out that he was looking for De Voe.

He removed his five-dollar Stetson felt hat and carefully placed it on the bar beside him before flagging the barkeeper down. "Whiskey neat," he ordered. The barkeeper grabbed a glass and poured his drink without so much as a nod of acknowledgment. A moment later, the glass was placed before him.

"Fifteen cents," the barkeep said.

Ezra reached into the coin purse at his side. Fishing out a couple of coins, he placed a dime and a nickel on the bar.

He raised the glass to his dry lips, barely noticing the barkeeper picking up the money and making his way over to his next customer and scrunched up his nose at the taste. The whiskey was obviously watered down, and the water was most certainly not fresh, but at only fifteen cents for the glass when his last, and equally bad, drink had been a quarter, Ezra decided it wasn't worth causing a stink over. There was no reason to draw unnecessary attention to himself before he was even able to find his mark.

Setting the empty glass back down on the counter, Ezra swiveled on the stool and was about to search the crowd again, for any new faces that might have arrived while his back was turned. One of the saloon girls sat down on the stool beside him, placing a dainty hand on his thigh. "Are ya looking for a good time tonight, Sugar?" she purred, giving him a sultry smile even as she traced slow circles on his leg, each one moving her closer toward his inner thigh. His gaze traveled up her body, starting at her crossed legs. Her green dress fell to her ankles in the front; poofy, black cloth made up the bustle in the back. His eyes continuing further upward, to her green corset, which pushed her small assets higher than gravity intended.

Though bright in color, her dress was devoid of accents and embellishments, such as lace and embroidered flowers, which were present on the other girls' clothes. Their dresses he found to be overly frilly, extremely low cut, leaving him to wonder why they even bothered to cover themselves at all, and hiked up in the front. Whereas hers was the length of a proper lady's dress.

Even covered, he caught a glimpse of her stockings every now and then when her legs moved. Her fiery red hair was pulled up into a rather large bun, and her eyes were a soft violet. He noticed the bruise already beginning to form on her cheek. Before it registered in his mind what he was doing, he reached up to brush his thumb across the offending mark. Startled by the unconscious gesture, he quickly removed his hand and glanced away and spotted the girl's secret.

EDGEWOOD 1830

Ezra sat transfixed, staring at the spot on her neck that attracted his attention. It bobbed each time she swallowed. Finally, he pulled his eyes away and returned his gaze to hers, barely managing to catch the flash of disappointment in her violet eyes before it disappeared. It was instantly replaced with a friendly expression and a soft smile. "Not interested in a good night tonight, Sugar? Perhaps there is something else I can interest you in. A hot meal or room for the night?" she offered sweetly. Her hand left his thigh and went to rub her neck, hiding her Adam's apple from his sight.

He looked her over again. Nothing else was amiss. She looked the part of a saloon girl perfectly with her slim, delicate figure, pale skin, and abundance of fiery hair.

But now that he realized she was different, he picked up on subtle differences between her and the other girls. While they were endowed with large bosoms and rounded hips nearly equal in size, showing their hourglass figures, her corset barely managed to pull her waist in slightly.

Where they were curvy, she was nearly shapeless with her shoulders, waist, and hips falling in an almost complete line. Cocking his head to the side, he turned his attention back to her seemingly small breasts, finally realizing that they were, in fact, her pectoral muscles that were pushed up by her corset. Thoroughly confused, he returned his gaze to her, finding her staring at him expectantly as he had yet to answer her question.

What reason did she have for not only dressing the part of a woman but also performing the job of one? Though he heard tales over the years of men who preferred the company of other men, even a few women who preferred their own gender, he never heard of one doing it so openly. Surely there was not a huge calling for such a preference in such a small town, no doubt preventing her from making much money.

It was in that moment that it dawned on Ezra this was the exact reason why her clothing lacked the embellishments of the others. She simply did not make enough money to pay for them. Judging by the fact she gave him no indication that she anything other than what she first appeared to be, he doubted she told any of her other potential customers. More than likely, the discovery was what caused her to be punched by the last man she approached. How she expected to lay with the men without them discovering she was, in fact, one of them, he had no idea.

It didn't matter. He was not there to unlock the mysteries of a random, albeit strange, saloon girl. If it did not relate to his mission, he needed to ignore it, no matter how intriguing it might be. About to dismiss her second offer of a room to stay in for the night, he was interrupted when one of the other girls shrieked excitedly before jumping off a man and rushed toward the entrance of the saloon. The abandoned customer called after her, angrily voicing his outrage of being dismissed until another girl came down the stairs and quickly whispered in his ear. Whatever she said seemed to have the desired effect as he rose to his feet and followed her back upstairs.

"Dowes!" The girl jumped into his arms. His large hands grasped her backside and squeezed the plentiful mounds, raising her high enough to return his eager kiss with fervor. Ezra clenched his hand as he heard the man's name, even as he silently reminded himself that he would need more than just a name to confirm the identity of the man he sought.

They went at each other, seemingly about ready to screw right there in the saloon's doorway. He ignored their actions and instead turned his attention to the man's form. If he had to guess, he would estimate he was about two inches short of six feet tall, two hundred pounds, in his late forties. Everything matched the description he was given, but it was still not enough. After all, how many men in their late forties had his exact build? No, it would take more than an average-sized body to confirm his target.

Thankfully he did know of one distinguishing mark and, much to his relief, he spotted a small, aged scar in the middle of his left cheek. According to his information, the man he was looking for was once shot by a sheriff before the rest of his gang was able to ambush and kill him. It was only a graze, but it was enough to assure him that this was his target — Gill Dowes. He was one of the men that were there the night his parents were killed; though Ezra never actually got a good look at him, his previous target was good enough to give up his name.

He may not have been the one to order his parents' deaths or pull the trigger himself, but he was guilty all the same. He was there. He did nothing to stop it. And, whether he did so willingly, he would relinquish the next clue for Ezra to follow before very long. Dowes would lead him to the next name to check off of his list; bringing him another step closer to the man truly responsible for all of this — Godfrey de Voe. The man that ordered his gang to kill his parents and for what? What reason would he use to justify murdering them in cold blood? Ezra swore he would have the answer before his mission was finished and he ended De Voe's reign of terror.

Ezra shook his head to his clear thoughts. Dowes and the girl finally separated, and she led him upstairs to continue what they'd started.

Ezra turned back to the strange girl beside him. "I will take a room for the night and a hot meal to be served upstairs." He stealthily retrieved a quarter from his purse and place it in her hand. "Put me up next to him. I like to listen." Whether she believed his reasoning or not, she nodded her head before making her way to the other side of the bar.

The saloon girl spoke to the barkeeper. He gave Ezra a strange look before handing her a brass key and shaking his head as she made her way back over.

"Follow me, Sugar," she instructed. Ezra rose, following her toward the stairs and taking the same path his target took only a few moments before. As they passed, a few of the men and most of the girls turned to him with strange looks; apparently, they knew about the girl's secret and found it odd he'd chosen her. Or maybe they thought he didn't know.

Either way, it was irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was that Dowes wasn't alerted to his presence. Following her upstairs, Ezra took in the surrounding area. The faded brown carpet that covered the stairs was no doubt there to prevent them from squeaking during the night and disturbing the guests.

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Excerpted from "The Midnight Twelve"
by .
Copyright © 2019 Hairann.
Excerpted by permission of NineStar Press, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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