OW

Ezra stiffened. Perfume; a blend of gardenia and roses; only one woman he knew wore that scent.

He caught sight of her in the corner, undoubtedly bilking each of the men at her table into giving over his last cent.

“Mother,” he said, manufacturing a smile. “I wasn’t aware of your intention to visit again so soon.”

“Why Ezra, dear. I sent you a letter.”

“Eh, Ezra, got something for you,” Vin said, dropping an envelope on the table and doffing his hat to Maude.

“I told you so, dear.”

He grimaced. Timing, as the saying went, was indeed everything.

OW

The sharp scent of blood filled the narrow street. Another challenger dead; another soul sent prematurely to his maker, and for what? A reputation?

Looking at the corpse before him, Chris spat. He wouldn’t give a red cent for his reputation. He had never wanted it, never sought it. Someone had called him out, and he had won. Then he had won again. He was alive, and God only knew how many others lay dead.

But he couldn’t back down. Even when he most wanted one of those other bullets to end his misery.

His pride could not allow it.

OW

Josiah inhaled the spicy scent of cinnamon. “Mmm, nothing like it,” he said, biting off a piece with a sharp snap.

“I still can’t believe you paid that price,” Nathan scoffed. “A nickel for candy sticks? I never saw ‘em go for more than a cent back home.”

“This isn’t home,” Josiah reminded, handing a piece to his disgruntled friend. “The judge sent us to the city to testify, and he’s picking up the expenses.”

Nathan grinned. “For candy?”

Josiah shrugged. “Well, food and lodging. Candy’s food, isn’t it?”

“You been around Ezra too much. Can I have another piece?”

LB

“There’s no such thing as a tenth of a penny.”

Buck blinked. “What?”

Five-year-old JD pointed at the sign next to the gas station where they were currently filling up. “It says gas costs three dollars, ten and nine-tenths cents. Where does the tenth go?”

Buck inhaled the distinctive scent of gasoline, wishing he had a good answer. “Maybe if every car gets ten gallons, and they get a hundred cars a day through here, somebody gets sent a dollar of profit.”

“But who gets the dollar? Isn’t that like stealing?”

Eyeing his receipt, Buck sighed. “Sure seems like it.”