Free The Bride's Prerogative by Susan Page Davis Page B

and glasses off the bar.
    “What’d you call me?” the cowboy asked.
    Cyrus squinted at him. This was no time to back down. “I said you’re a—”
    “Easy, now,” Griffin Bane said, rising. All eyes swung his way. “You gents got no call to get riled up. If a few ladies feel safer knowin’ how to fire a rifle, where’s the harm?”
    “I’ll tell you where’s the harm,” Cyrus said. “They’re like to blow somebody’s head off while they’re out blazing away at sticks and old bottles.”
    “The sheriff oughta put a stop to it,” said Bill Stout. Cyrus wondered if he said it just to stay on his good side, but he nodded in Bill’s direction.
    “If the
sheriff can do that,” Ralph Storrey said. “I’m not so sure the new sheriff could handle a pack of gun-totin’ ladies.”
    The young cowboy who had slopped Cyrus’s drink laughed. “Yeah, he ain’t got a woman. Maybe he’s scared of petticoats.”
    “The new sheriff happens to be a friend of mine.” Griffin’s heavy words again cut through the bluster.
    “Yeah? Well, he’s s’posed to be a big Injun fighter, but I ain’t seen him do nothin’ since he come back to Fergus.” Landry’s cowhand glared at Griffin through the smoke.
    Cyrus wondered, not for the first time, if pushing the mayor to appoint Chapman as sheriff was such a good idea. They wanted a man they could control, but Ethan was showing initiative, telegraphing the U.S. marshal on his own and patrolling the town regularly. If there was going to be real trouble … He reached for his whiskey glass, but Ted had moved it.
    “Give me another drink,” he snarled. Ted produced the glass from beneath the bar and poured while darting glances toward the men and the door.
    Bane still stood glaring at the young cowboy. “Take back what you said about the sheriff, you buffoon.”
    “Make me.”
    “As for keeping the law in town,” Cyrus began, reaching for his glass, “time will—”
    “And speaking of the new sheriff,” Ted shouted in his ear.
    Cyrus jerked his head toward the door. Great. The one time he nearly lost control of himself, and that annoying young man they’d pinned a badge on had to walk in. The fact that he’d seen him half an hour ago at the Spur & Saddle, when he’d only imbibed one drink, wouldn’t help now. He pulled in a deep breath. “Sheriff Chapman.”
    Ethan nodded gravely. “Mr. Fennel. I see you’re making the rounds tonight.”
    Cyrus clenched his fists. “Just came to remind a couple of my men that tomorrow’s a workday on the stagecoach line.”
    Ned Harmon jumped to his feet, swayed a little, and sat down again.
    Bill Stout shoved his chair back and stood more slowly. “That’s right, Mr. Fennel. We’re calling it a night; ain’t we, Ned?”
    “Whatever you say.”
    Bill latched on to Ned’s collar and pulled upward. “Come on. Let’s get over to the livery and get some shut-eye.”
    “Hold it, boys,” Griffin said. He walked over and stood deliberately in front of Cyrus. “If your men are going to bed down in my stable all the time, I think it’s time we came to a financial understanding.”
    Cyrus felt his jaw twitch. If he couldn’t see Ethan watching him with keen, dark eyes over Bane’s shoulder, he’d have hit him. His drivers had sacked out in Bane’s hayloft for years without any question of pay.
    “It doesn’t cost you a cent to let them sleep there,” he said through his teeth.
    “It’s still my barn.” Griffin’s solid form didn’t budge, and neither did his stare.
    “I’m sure we can work this out, Griff.” Cyrus managed a smile. “You know we’ve got no boardinghouse in this town anymore. The boys have to sleep somewhere.”
    “That’s right.” Ned raised one hand, as if what he said carried vast importance.
    Griffin Bane still scowled at Cyrus. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t you own the building that used to be the boardinghouse?”
    “Yes, I do.” Cyrus didn’t like the quiet that