Free Rachel Donnelly by Lady Broke Page A

over.”
    “I ain’t waitin’ upon your luck!” Harry waved his gun at the table. “Hand over my money or I’m goin’ to blow your sorry ass all over this saloon!”
    Christie began to offer a silent prayer then abandoned the idea when her mind drew a blank. She had already given up pickles for Leigh, and in a fit of blasphemous panic promised to consider her father’s scheme. A night of sleepless soul searching had taken care of that. But in all fairness, she had only promised to consider it. What could she give up next — lemons?
    It was unlikely that God dealt in produce. She might better ask for the strength to help Leigh out of this mess.
    Her gaze flew to Nat Randall.

CHAPTER FIVE
    Leigh’s face paled. His gaze shifted around the saloon, as though searching for a quick exit.
    Harry’s eyes remained as hard as flint. “You salted that mine as sure as I’m standin’ here.”
    “Now let’s not be too hasty,” Christie said, taking a step forward from behind Leigh’s chair. “I’m sure my cousin didn’t mean to cheat you.”
    Uncle Will had told her about salting. The culprit sank a shaft then dumped a load of rich ore down it to fool the buyer. Sometimes they melted silver dollars to sprinkle by the side of the mine above the ground. My word! If Leigh had really done that — made a complete fool out of the man and stole his money, no wonder he wanted to shoot him.
    “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.” If only she could think of one. Leigh was always looking for a way to make a fast dollar, so it was likely the man was telling the truth. She searched her mind frantically for a plausible excuse.
    The stench of sour beer and stale cigars grew stronger.
    A glass clinked.
    Her blood rushed in her ears.
    Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nat Randall push himself away from the bar. He sauntered toward the table looking as calm as you please, but the hand resting on the butt of his Colt told another story.
    Harry must have seen him coming. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other in an awkward dance, his gaze darting nervously from Leigh to Nat.
    “Killing him might make you feel a whole lot better, but it’s not going to get you what you want.” Nat positioned himself between Christie and the gun. “If I were you, I’d holster that Peacemaker and sit myself down to see how this card game ends.”
    Harry lowered his gun a few inches, to eye the cash in the middle of the table. “What if he loses?”
    Nat shrugged. “Then I guess you’ll have to shoot him.”
    Leigh made a loud choking sound in the back of his throat.
    Christie opened her mouth to protest, but Nat cut her off. “You’ll have to settle it outside though, since neither one of you will have the money to pay for the damages.”
    Harry lowered his gun, then slowly dropped it back into its holster.
    Christie went weak with relief.
    The poker players continued their game as though nothing had happened. Harry leaned against the stout beam running up from the floor beside the table, with his arms crossed in front of his chest to wait.
    Nat took Christie by the arm, spinning her toward the door.
    “What are you doing?” She attempted to pull away, but his grip was too firm.
    “Protecting my witness,” he said low against her ear.
    “I am not your witness,” she said, biting out each word distinctly. “I’m Sheriff Brimley’s witness. I thought you didn’t want me to testify?”
    “I don’t. Just the same,” he drawled. “I think it’s time you ran along home.”
    “I’m not leaving without Leigh!” She jerked her arm from his grasp. The coldness in his blue eyes made her want to cringe, but she held her ground. “You have no right to tell me what to do! I’m not your witness. I’m not your anything.”
    A muscle worked in the side of his cheek, drawing her attention to the half-moon scar below his lip. He looked angry enough to spit, but his tone remained calm and detached. “Suit