Free The Sons of Grady Rourke by Douglas Savage

talk no more.”
    â€œI know,” Patrick said without thinking. He watched Melissa standing on the far side of the other table. She faced Sean and Patrick without looking at them or seeing them. When she leaned forward, Patrick saw the weight of her breasts pull her low-cut blouse away from her collar bones. Her long black hair fell forward and covered half of her elegant face. Patrick exhaled so slowly that Jesse Evans turned full around to see what held the younger Rourke’s absolute attention. The leader of the Boys smiled and turned back toward the brothers.
    â€œYou’d need cavalry spurs to ride that, boy,” Evans said in a whisper. “You’d be bucked off for sure.” The rustler’s two friends chuckled without turning around. They knew from Patrick’s face where his squinting eyes were focused.
    â€œI suppose so,” Patrick smiled. He looked at his brother who wasn’t smiling. “But I have fences to mend and a leaky roof to tar first.”
    â€œThen you best get an early start to it,” Sean said coldly.
    Patrick regarded his older brother carefully.
    â€œYes. You ain’t coming then?”
    â€œNot today, Patrick. I’m having supper with my friends.”
    Jesse Evans nodded.
    â€œAll right. I’ll see you.” Patrick pushed back from the crowded table.
    â€œWhenever you come back to town.”
    Patrick stood, looked down at his brother, and walked out of the cantina. When he left, he did not glance over at Melissa as he screwed his hat down low over his forehead.
    Walking back up the street toward his horse in Tunstall’s corral, Patrick was overcome with a strange anger that simmered to a full boil by the time he threw his worn saddle over his horse’s back. He hated feeling like the little brother. But Sean made him feel that way by catching him looking at the mute woman. He thumped down into his saddle so hard that his horse swayed slightly for the step it required to engage its hind legs. Riding slowly west, Patrick was too angry to notice Sheriff Brady watching him from the shadows of the front porch of the House.
    An icy wind blowing down from Capitan Peak above Patrick’s right side cooled his anger quickly. Walking his long-haired horse across the frozen Rio Bonito, his brain was too cold to think about anything other than getting home before his fingers snapped off against the leather reins.
    When he knelt in his fur coat at Grady Rourke’s hearth, Patrick’s hands were so numb that he broke the first two matches when he struck them on the stone. He cursed the logs until they caught with a cold, yellow flame. By the time the fire had thawed his hands, Melissa Bryant had been in his brother’s room for an hour.

Chapter Five

    S EAN R OURKE DID NOT SPEAK HIS BROTHER’S NAME FOR A week. Friday morning, February 1st, Sean stood clean and sober in Sheriff Brady’s office.
    The single-story abode courthouse stood on the south side of the dirt street. In the bright morning sunshine, the thin air had warmed enough to tum the frozen street into slushy mud. It was comfortable enough to walk from the Wortley, across the street, and on up to the sheriff’s office just past the Tunstall store. Walking past Tunstall’s, Sean glanced left. He did not see Patrick’s horse in the paddock, so he fixed his eyes on the street as he continued eastward.
    Inside the courthouse, Sean could look across the street to the ancient stone tower that early settlers had built as a watchtower against Indian raids. The locals called it the torréon . Looking through a side window facing further up the street to the east, Sean could see early-morning customers staggering out of Ike Stockton’s saloon adjacent to the Montaño store.
    â€œThanks for coming, Sean.”
    â€œSheriff.”
    William Brady was cheerful in the cozy comfort radiating from a large, pot-bellied stove. He put a cup of coffee in front