Free McKettrick's Choice by Linda Lael Miller Page A

grin felt more like a grimace. “You don’t know much about women if you think I could say anything to change her mind, once it’s made up.”
    Gabe prowled across the space between them, gripped the bars in both hands. The skin of his face was taut, and his eyes glittered with savage conviction. “There’s nothing for her here,” he said. “They’ll make a whore of her.”
    â€œAnd you think I’d stand by and see that happen?”
    Gabe let out his breath, nodded toward the other end of the corridor, where the jailer waited. “I had a hundred dollars when they brought me here. They took it, along with my knife and my boots. You get that money and fetch it to Melina.”
    Holt nodded, wishing there was more he could say, more he could do.
    â€œHow’s John?” Gabe asked, and the change of subject was welcome.
    â€œHe’s holding up,” Holt answered. “I hired a man yesterday and sent six more out to the place today.” He paused, unsettled. “You remember that kid who used to tend the horses back when we rode with the Rangers? Mac Kahill?”
    Gabe hesitated, thinking, then said, “Sure. Sneakylittle bastard. I caught him going through my saddlebags one time.”
    Holt reached back, rubbed the nape of his neck. “He’s working for me now.”
    Gabe narrowed his eyes. “You watch him, Holt. Watch him real close.”
    Holt didn’t reckon he’d have time to watch anybody, real close or otherwise, with all he had to do to get that ranch back on sound footing. There were cattle to buy, which meant he’d have to run a herd up from Mexico, and he needed at least another dozen men for a drive like that. He ought to find Frank, and go to Austin to meet with the governor. And then there was Melina, up in Waco.
    All the while, Gabe’s life was getting shorter with every tick of the clock in the town square.
    In the back of his mind, Holt heard Angus McKettrick’s voice. It’s there to do, boy. Best leave off worrying and get on with the business at hand.
    God, what he wouldn’t give to have his pa and brothers with him right now.
    â€œIt might be a few days before I can get back here to see you,” he said aloud. “You getting the meals from the hotel?”
    Gabe nodded, managed a semblance of the old grin. “It’s a lot of food, Holt. I reckon I can count on that coffin being a real tight fit.”
    â€œYou won’t be needing a coffin,” Holt said. “Not for a long while, anyway.”
    Gabe studied him. “You losing your sense of humor, old friend?”
    â€œThat’s a peculiar question, coming from you. Talking about coffins, and your woman ending up a whore.”
    The other man sighed, ran his palms down the legsof his buckskin trousers. “Old Cap’n Jack, he’d have a thing or two to say about all this, wouldn’t he?”
    The mention of the seasoned Ranger cheered Holt considerably. “He surely would,” he said. “And most of it would take the paint off a wall.”
    Gabe gave a low guffaw. “Yes, sir. Call us a pair of down-in-the-mouth yellow-bellied tit babies, probably. Give us the sole of his boot.”
    Holt laughed, heartened. He put a hand through the bars, gripped Gabe’s shoulder. “Don’t pay too much mind to that gallows out there,” he counseled. “One day real soon, we’ll burn it for firewood and dance around the flames, whooping like Comanches.”
    â€œâ€˜Like Comanches’?” Gabe retorted. “I am a Comanche, White Eyes.”
    â€œThen act like one,” Holt said, turning to go.
    â€œSon of a bitch,” Gabe called, in cheerful farewell. Holt laughed.
    It took some doing, but he got Gabe’s hundred dollars out of the jailer.
    He’d stop by the ranch, to look in on John and Tillie and the yellow dog, then ride for Waco. With luck, he’d be there by