Preview Dealer's Choice, Chpt 1, entry #8

“Transomb. Jack Transomb.” Briefly, he lifted the brim of his derby and she caught a glimpse of dark eyes.

“Well, if you’re here about that last load of feed,” she began, launching her offensive, “I told your man he’d get his money the first of the year, and he will—but if you’re here for that nasty Mr. Jessup, you can turn right around and go back where you came from. That’s the worst job of tailoring Wendall’s ever had done. I could’ve done better with my eyes closed.”

The mustache twitched. “Bad debts all around, eh?”

She didn’t answer.

“Place needs work,” he commented, eyeing a split floorboard just beyond the threshold.

She covered it with her foot.

Returning his attention to her face, he pushed his hat brim up an inch with a single, straightened finger.

Blue. His eyes are dark blue.

“Well, I ain’t here from the tailor’s,” he was saying, “or the feedlot.”

Suddenly, he pushed through the doorway, forcing her to drop her arm and back up.

“Now see here—!”

Striding well past her, he stopped and pivoted, sharp gaze sweeping the hallway, the gallery above, probing every doorway, every shadow. “I’m here ’cause your brother owes me money.”