Free A Dangerous Man by William W. Johnstone Page B

wife of your youth. A loving doe, a graceful deer—may her breasts satisfy you always, may you be captivated by her love.” He grinned. “That’s from Proverbs 5:18-19. My pa learned me that from the Bible when I was a younker.”
    Sullivan was too stunned to speak. Beautiful Lisa York planned to be the bride of a savage animal like Booker Tate? It was beyond his understanding.
    Longley’s hands made pictures in the air. “Candles, pine wreaths, frost on the window panes, the blushing bride in white silk, her mama sniffing into her handkerchief and Mayor York all puffed up proud as a pup with a new collar . . . I can see it all.”
    Finally Sullivan found his tongue. “Yup, Booker is a son-in-law to be proud of all right. When did Miss York say yes?”
    â€œOh, she hasn’t yet, but she will.”
    â€œYou mean Tate hasn’t asked her?”
    â€œHe hasn’t even met her, but he saw her at a distance and right away started mooning over the little gal he calls his Miss Pretty. That’s when I began to make wedding plans.”
    A sense of relief flooded through Tam Sullivan. “Lisa York won’t marry a violent, smelly brute like Booker Tate.”
    â€œOh yes, she will,” Longley said. “Trust me, she will.”
    â€œYou mean you’ll force her?”
    â€œA harsh word, Sullivan. I prefer to say that we’ll persuade the young lady to give her heart to Booker. After a couple years and a few beatings, she’ll learn to love him.” The gunman’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve told you how it’s going to be, so now it’s time to back off. Just stay out of my affairs.” Longley turned on his heel and stomped toward the hotel door.
    He hesitated, turned, and grinned. “Sleep tight. Don’t let the Apaches bite.”
    Sullivan heard the man’s laughter echo until it he slammed shut his room door.
    The sleet had turned to snow and the big bounty hunter watched pure white flakes fall onto the black mud of the street and disappear. His face troubled, he asked himself some hard questions. What if Lisa York came to him for help and asked him to make her problems his own? How should he respond?
    He had no answers, nor did he seek any.
    After all, he was only passing through.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Apaches in the Snow
    By morning the snow had stopped, but storm clouds piled up above the Sangre de Cristo peaks like massive black boulders, threatening another avalanche of bad weather. The air was frigid, so cold it was sharp to breathe and the people who passed Tam Sullivan on the boardwalk were wrapped to the eyes in great woolen mufflers.
    â€œI tell you I seen them with my own two eyes,” he heard a man say as he took his seat in the restaurant. “A dozen maybe, and painted for war they was.”
    â€œSo how come you’re still alive, Eddie?” said the speaker’s companion, an affable-looking man in a gray woolen topcoat and plug hat of the same shade.
    â€œBecause I hid, didn’t I? And I didn’t look at them direct. Look at an Apache direct, and he can feel your eyes burning him, like.”
    â€œAnd smell you if the wind is blowing right,” the affable man said.
    Ida Mae, looking as tired as always, came up to Sullivan’s table. She gave him a half-smile as she poured coffee. “All this talk of Apaches is scaring me half to death.”
    â€œWhere did the gentleman see them?” Sullivan asked.
    Ida Mae turned her head. “Hey, Eddie, where did you see them savages?”
    â€œOver to Angel Fire Peak, Ida Mae. Just yesterday morning. Seen them clear as day.”
    â€œWhat the hell were you doing over there in this weather?” Ida Mae said.
    â€œYou know the crazy lady?” Eddie said.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œShe asked me to guide her over there and stand by with my rifle while she gathered”—he hesitated—“potsherds.”
    Ida May jerked