McKettrick's Choice - Linda Lael Miller [38]
He’d just have to shake them out as best he could and sluice himself off in the stream.
Sorrowful lay down on the bank to watch, his muzzle resting on his forelegs. If that dog had had eyebrows, he would have raised them.
“Go on home,” Holt said, stripping to the skin and wading into the slow-moving water. “I shouldn’t have let you follow me.”
Sorrowful whimpered, but he didn’t move.
Holt realized it was Lorelei he was mad at, and here he was, taking it out on an old hound dog. “All right, you can stay,” he grumbled, splashing himself industriously, “but you’ll never make it on your own. I’ll have to hoist you up into the saddle with me, and won’t we be a sight, riding into San Antonio like that. A real pair to draw to.”
The dog snapped at a passing fly, then settled into the grass again, waiting. Perking up his sorry ears when Holt spoke again.
“I don’t know what you see in that woman,” Holt complained, slogging up the bank and wondering how long it would take to dry off so he could put his clothes back on. Hell of a thing if he got caught out here, say by some of Templeton’s crew, naked as a whore doing business. “I clean out her chimney—risk my neck climbing on that broken-down roof of hers to do it—and she doesn’t even say ‘thank you.’”
Sorrowful commiserated with a little whine.
Holt shook out his pants and pulled them on, then did the same with his shirt, fumbling with the buttons. He shook a finger at Sorrowful.
“If I didn’t have so damned much to do,” he vowed, “I’d get falling-down, piss-assed drunk!”
Sorrowful raised himself on his hind legs and stretched, yawning.
“Am I boring you?” Holt demanded.
The dog stood on all fours now, switching that pitiful tail of his back and forth.
Holt strapped on his gun-belt, and saw a buggy in the distance, careening along the old cattle trail that passed as a road.
“Who’s that?” he asked, feeling uneasy.
The dog didn’t answer, which was probably for the best.
LORELEI STOOD with her back straight, watching the buggy approach. Angelina flanked her on one side and Raul on the other, but she knew she was going to have to fight this battle on her own. Her stomach was jumping and her heart was thudding in her throat, but she was ready.
Her father’s face was the color of raw liver as he wrenched on the reins and set the brake lever with a hard motion of one foot.
He was a bulky man, though not very tall, and Lorelei felt a touch of pity as he climbed awkwardly down to the ground.
“You’re as crazy as your mother was!” he bellowed, after a few sputtering attempts at speech.
Lorelei flinched. It wasn’t the first time he’d made a statement like that, but this time the words struck her like stones. She drew herself up. Waited.
“I will have you committed!” he thundered, storming toward her, and for one terrifying moment, she thought he might actually strike her. Or drop over from apoplexy, right at her feet.
“I am of sound mind and body,” she said evenly. “And I can prove it.”
The judge flung his arms out wide. “Oh, you’re doing a fine job of that!” he raged. “Look at you—look at this place!” He turned his narrowed gaze on Angelina, and then Raul. “And as for you people—stabbing me in the back after all I’ve done for you!”
“Father,” Lorelei interceded, “please be calm. There’s a vein jumping in your right temple. I fear it might rupture.”
The judge pointed toward his buggy. “Enough of this nonsense, Lorelei. Get into that rig this instant. We’re going back to town!”
“No,” Lorelei said. “I will not.”
Her father took a step toward her, and Raul moved to block his way.
Lorelei was touched by Raul’s gallantry; he was afraid of the judge, like most everyone else in San Antonio, and not without reason. Still, he wanted to protect her.
The judge tugged at his tie. He was dressed much too warmly for such a hot day, and he was sweating copiously. The vein in