Free Whispers on the Wind (A Prairie Hearts Novel Book 5) by Caroline Fyffe

than he already had.
    “Come on,” Sheriff Preston said. The sheriff grabbed his hat as he strode over to the door. “I’ll show you the apartment before I go to the telegraph office.”
    Kendall’s face twisted. “Isn’t that putting the plow before the ox?”
    Preston shrugged and walked out.
    That evening Hunter stood behind the bar, essentially watching Kendall and copying whatever he did. How difficult could it be to pour whiskey and talk to men? Whenever a patron put coins on the bar top in payment, they went directly into Kendall’s pockets behind the apron tied around his belly. When those began to bulge, he discreetly emptied them into a box below the bar, attached to the shelf with a chain. Alongside that was a loaded shotgun, as well as two .45 Colts. Out of habit, Hunter still wore his Peacekeeper on his thigh, thinking someday he might feel comfortable enough to go without, but that was doubtful.
    The saloon was filling up. The length of the bar was standing room only, and the tables more than half full. Sheriff Preston had stuck his head in at ten o’clock, taking stock, he’d said. The friendly feel of the early-evening customers had morphed into a more serious nature. Farley, the pleasant, middle-aged piano player, pounded out songs on the piano keys, and when Philomena found herself free from delivering a tray full of whiskeys, some cowboy would swoop her into his arms and dance her around the outside of the tables, shuffling through the shavings.
    “You told that joke five minutes ago!” an angry drifter-type yelled over the piano music to the bleary-eyed man at his side, the two directly in front of where Hunter stood behind the bar. “I’m tired of your repeating everything you say a hundred times over. Shut your trap! You’re givin’ me a headache.”
    The man he was addressing belched loudly then pulled a steel blade from somewhere below. Hunter lunged forward and grasped his arm, bending the fella’s wrist back until he yelped. The weapon clattered to the bar surface. Men looked over.
    “There’ll be none of that tonight,” Hunter said sternly, looking them all in the eyes. “Keep it nice, or get out.”
    “I didn’t mean nothin’,” the knife holder sneered. He took up the gut sticker and slid it back into his belt. “I was just gonna give my friend a haircut. That’s all. Hey, Kendall,” he hollered over to the bartender, who was pouring two shot glasses of whiskey. “This new fella’s a darn sight stronger than you!” He circled his wrist several times, to the snickers of others. “A darn sight!”
    Shouting broke out deep in the room. Hunter glanced at Kendall, but he just shrugged and tossed back one of the drinks he’d just poured. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sent Hunter a hate-filled stare. It was easy to see his partner had yet to soften. The fella Kendall had just refilled smirked, making Hunter think that perhaps he was the topic of their conversation. For one instant, he recalled the quiet bookshop, and Tabitha agreeing to tutor him. Only two doors down, but a world apart. He wondered if she was upstairs reading right now.
    Crash!
    A bottle flew past Hunter’s head and landed in a rack stacked with clean glasses, the tumblers exploding into shards. A table in the middle of the room was upended, and one man dived for the other’s throat. Hunter dropped the damp rag and dashed around the bar, hoping to stop the fight before too much more of his new property was ruined. If he’d been worried that becoming a business owner would make him soft, he realized that wouldn’t be a problem. He pushed through the throng of men that had surrounded the combatants, ducking one misguided fist, but taking another to his gut. Tending a saloon after midnight was much like wrestling a bear. Which of the two was more unpredictable was yet to be decided.

CHAPTER TEN

    M idmorning Saturday, Violet Hollyhock ignored the ache throbbing in her spine as she