McKettrick's Choice - Linda Lael Miller [110]
“Good night,” Melina said cheerfully. There were rustling sounds as she got into bed beside Tillie and the baby.
“I am not in love!” Lorelei repeated.
Melina sighed, a settling-in kind of sound. “Whatever you say, Lorelei,” she replied sweetly.
“I loved Michael,” Lorelei insisted.
Melina yawned. “You told me all about him on the trail,” she said. “How sweet he was. How gentle. Nothing like Holt McKettrick, I’d say.”
“Of course he was nothing like Holt McKettrick! Michael was sweet-tempered, and he never once raised his voice to me.”
“You never said he was strong.”
“He didn’t have to be.”
“I guess he never needed to be brave, either.”
“He would have been brave, if the situation called for it,” Lorelei argued.
“I think you liked him because he let you have your way and never talked back. That’s what I think, Lorelei Fellows.”
Tillie stirred, sat up. “If you two are going to scrap like a pair of cats,” she grumbled, “do it someplace else. I’ve got to get up and make breakfast before dawn.”
“Well!” Lorelei said.
Melina giggled and was soon asleep, snoring softly.
Lorelei wasn’t so fortunate. She lay staring up at the ceiling for a long time, watching the shadows and wondering if Michael could have beaten her at five card stud.
CHAPTER 31
NOT MUCH WAS STIRRING in Laredo just after dawn when the party gathered at the edge of town, ready to head out. Tillie and the baby stayed behind, with Heddy, but to Holt’s consternation, Lorelei and Melina were present and accounted for, and they looked a sight more alert than the ragtag crop of cowpunchers he and Rafe had hired the day before. Hell, even the dog looked more alert than they did.
They hadn’t traveled five miles when the Captain spotted a rider coming up fast from behind, and spurred his way to the front of the dust-raising throng to tell Holt. He and Rafe immediately turned their horses around, circling back to see who it was.
R. S. Beauregard drew back on the reins of the spavined nag he was riding, and his grin was as wide as some of the ravines back home in Arizona. “You owe me twenty-five hundred dollars, Mr. McKettrick,” he told Holt, when he and Rafe came up alongside.
Holt waited, keeping his face straight, but a wild surge of hope sprang up inside him just the same.
Beauregard pulled a folded piece of paper from inside the pocket of his ratty waistcoat and held it out. “This is a wire from Judge Benjamin T. Hawkins, up in Austin. He’s ordered a new trial for your friend Navarro.”
Holt’s heart thudded against his breastbone as he read the telegram, then passed it to Rafe. “You wouldn’t be so foolish as to try and trick me, now would you, R.S.?”
The lawyer’s eyes were bloodshot, and he still needed a haircut and a shave, but he looked sober enough. He tipped his dusty bowler and bowed slightly. “I assure you that I would not. And because our association is so new, I will overlook the fact that you just impugned my honor.”
“That’s generous of you,” Holt allowed. He didn’t fully trust R. S. Beauregard, but he liked him well enough.
“I’ll set out for San Antonio by stagecoach—as soon as I receive my fee,” Beauregard said smoothly. “Our original agreement, of course, was that I would travel north with your outfit upon your return from Mexico, but as an officer of the court, I feel I ought to be on hand to look after Mr. Navarro’s rights until Judge Hawkins gets there.”
“You ever heard of this Hawkins yahoo, Holt?” Rafe inquired, handing back the telegram.
“Yes,” Holt said, studying R.S. for any sign of perfidy.
“He’s a federal judge, all right.”
R.S. smiled benignly and stood in his stirrups a moment, stretching his legs. “Right about now,” he boasted, “Judge Fellows ought to be getting word that an appeal has been granted. I don’t imagine he’ll like it much.”
For the first time, Holt smiled back. “I don’t imagine he will. When’s this trial supposed to start?”
“Soon as