Chapters (110)
- Cover
- ALSO BY J. TODD SCOTT
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- PROLOGUE
- I
- II
- PART ONE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- PART TWO
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- PART THREE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- PART FOUR
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- EIGHTY-FOUR
- EPILOGUE
- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Excerpt from LOST RIVER
- LITTLE PARIS
- DILLON
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
TONIGHT, EARLYS WAS BUSY, so although he’d finally worked up the courage to at least suggest to Vianey they catch a movie or something (he didn’t know what something else would be), she hadn’t been able to spend much time at his end of the bar. But as she popped open a beer or poured another whiskey, she did make a point to turn his way and flash a quick smile. There were plenty of people in Earlys, but few he recognized, and that had been true since he’d returned home. Murfee was changing, finally. Slowly but surely. There were still those old families who’d always been here and always would be, but there were newer faces who’d come to settle and start lives. There were more Hispanics in Earlys than ever, and that was due to Sheriff Cherry. In years past they would have all stayed on the other side of town at Mancha’s, or headed down to Terlingua or Presidio, but now they felt comfortable coming into a place like Earlys because the sheriff had made them feel welcome. Not only this shitty old bar, but all over Murfee. That’s why it was a shame he was going to lose the election; he’d been good for the Big Bend, even if some folks didn’t see that.
Even if some were damn shortsighted.
Marco wasn’t surprised at all that he didn’t know the dark-haired young man on the stool next to him. He wasn’t Hispanic, though, and hadn’t said anything to anyone else since he’d sat down. He’d ordered a beer, still sitting mostly untouched in front of him, the foam falling in place, and he was looking around Earlys like he recognized it, like from a picture he’d once seen; trying to figure out how it might have changed. He had a few days of stubble and slim hands without any rings. Not even a watch. He was wearing a black leather jacket that was too warm for the weather, and definitely too warm for inside the bar.
He looked at Marco’s deputy badge pinned to his belt and raised his still-full beer to him.
“Have you been a deputy long?” he asked, setting the beer back down without taking a drink.
“Awhile,” Marco said, curious. The man had a soft voice, too soft for the loud bar, and he had to lean forward to hear it.
“You know Sheriff Cherry?”
Marco laughed. “Sure, we see each other every now and then.” He turned on his stool to face the man better. “And you are . . . ?”
“A reporter, covering the election. Out of Austin.”
“Huh. I can’t imagine anyone in Austin, or anyone outside the Big Bend, caring about who our sheriff is. It’s all just small-town politics.” Marco glanced past the man to Vianey, who was intent on some limes she was cutting.