Free Sweetwater Seduction by Joan Johnston Page B

in what particular way they were being bullied by their wives.
    “Maybe if I knew what your problem is, I could help solve it,” the gunslinger volunteered.
    Several of the men snickered. Another coughed nervously. One blushed.
    “It's a . . . hmm . . . a delicate matter,” Rusty said.
    The gunslinger rose and glanced around the room of miserable, even surly, faces. “Then I guess if you don't need me, I'll be heading back to Texas.”
    Kerrigan hadn't gone two steps toward the door before Oak rose and cried out, “Wait!” He turned to the others in the room and said, “I hate like hell letting those rustling nesters get the best of me. What have we got to lose if we let Kerrigan in on the plot against us?”
    “Our pride,” someone muttered.
    “In my opinion, that's a small price to pay if we get satisfaction,” Oak opined in a somber voice. “We ought to at least give Kerrigan the chance to help us find a solution that doesn't involve outright surrender.”
    Kerrigan stood patiently while the men in the room their minds.
    “Well, are you with me?” Oak demanded of his friends.
    “Aw, for chrissake, Oak. Go ahead and blab,” Cyrus said. “I don't think I can get any lower in the lip than I already am.”
    The gunslinger crossed to the fireplace and rested an arm on the brass-trimmed walnut mantel as he waited for the head of the Association to spill the beans.
    “It isn't a pretty story,” Oak began, “but the gist of it is, our wives have joined forces with the nester wives in the cockeyed notion of keeping us out of our bedrooms until we settle our differences with the nesters.”
    Kerrigan was hard pressed to keep from laughing, but he could see from the belligerent faces around him that it would be a mistake. “Why not simply stay out of the bedroom until you catch the rustlers?”
    “That could take weeks!” one man said.
    “Months!” another exclaimed.
    “There are other women besides your wives who could take care of your needs,” Kerrigan suggested.
    “I already tried that,” someone interjected.
    The gunslinger raised a surprised brow.
    “The ladies at the Dog's Hind Leg are in cahoots with our wives,” he explained in a disgruntled voice.
    “I see,” Kerrigan said, turning toward the fireplace to hide the grin he couldn't control. “Of course, you can't be expected to last indefinitely without your wives,” he said, “but surely you could last long enough for me to track down the rustlers. At least that would give you a bargaining chit with the nesters.”
    “He's right,” Oak said. “I can last a . . . a month. How about the rest of you?”
    No man was going to admit he was so tied to his wife's apron strings that he couldn't last so short a time without her—they had all been on cattle drives that long and more.
    Rusty couldn't help remarking, “It ain't goin' to be easy.”
    “Nothing worthwhile ever is,” Kerrigan advised sagely.
    In short order all those present had agreed to resist the charms of their wives—which had become infinitely more attractive now that they were forbidden—while Kerrigan searched out the rustlers. The Association would meet again in a month, or when Kerrigan caught the rustlers, whichever came first.
    As the gathering rose from their seats to take refreshments Kerrigan asked, “Who came up with the crazy idea for your wives to bcade their bedroom doors?”
    The men looked at one another with blank stares.
    “I never thought to ask,” one said.
    “Neither did I,” another offered.
    Oak chomped down hard on his cigar. “I did.”
    “Who was it?”
    Each man avoided looking at the others, hoping to heaven that his wife wasn't the culprit.
    “It was the schoolteacher, Miss Devlin,” Oak announced.
    Kerrigan choked on his coffee.
    A collective gasp rose from the crowd, followed by angry exclamations.
    “Why, she ain't even