McKettrick's Choice - Linda Lael Miller [40]
He took himself off to the nearest saloon, the dog beside him, and ordered a whiskey. A man stepped up beside him, but Holt didn’t trouble himself to see who it was.
“Well, hell,” drawled a familiar voice. “Looks like I was right to come. From the looks of you, that mangy hound dog is the only friend you’ve got.”
Holt stiffened, turned his head, full of hope and wild annoyance.
His brother Rafe, trail-worn and dirty, with several days’ worth of beard casting a dark shadow over half his face, raised his glass in an easy salute. “Aren’t you going to welcome your favorite brother to Texas?” he asked.
Holt felt a corner of his mouth kick upward. “Who says you’re my favorite brother?” he countered. Truth was, he was a little choked up, and damned if he wanted Rafe to know it.
Rafe laughed. “I’m the one who rode all the way down here to make sure your sorry ass was all right,” he said. “I reckon that entitles me to be the favorite.”
Holt frowned as the implications of Rafe’s presence started hitting home, one right after another. “You’ve got a wife and baby at home. You shouldn’t have left them.”
“And I’ve got a brother here, even if he is a cussed bastard,” Rafe said affably, refilling his glass from Holt’s bottle. “Emmeline and the baby are fine, and they’ve got a whole family of other McKettricks looking after them. You, on the other hand, seem to have nobody but this old dog.”
Sorrowful gave a little whine. Holt plucked a pickled egg from the crock on the bar and fed it to him.
“How’s Lizzie?” Holt asked, fishing for a second egg.
“Fine,” Rafe answered, shaking his head as Sorrowful gulped it down. “She misses you, but Pa’s buying her a surrey all her own, and Concepcion lets her help with little Katie after school every day, so she’s feeling pretty frisky.”
Katie was their baby sister, just two years old and already talking back to everybody, including the old man, with the best of them.
“Did Pa put you up to this?”
Rafe grinned. “Nope. Kade and Jeb and I drew lots.”
“And you lost?”
Rafe slapped him on the back. “I shouldn’t admit it, since you’re already bigheaded,” he said, “but I won.”
Holt swallowed. The dog pawed at his leg, wanting another pickled egg. Holt refused the request with a shake of his head, and Sorrowful lay down with a philosophical sigh.
“I saw the gallows they’re building outside the courthouse,” Rafe said quietly. “I reckon that means your friend is still behind bars.”
Glumly, Holt nodded. “Yeah,” he said, discouraged all over again.
Rafe set his glass down on the bar. “What else is going on?”
“I bought John Cavanagh’s ranch,” Holt answered, after weighing the matter in his mind for a few moments.
Rafe narrowed his eyes. “You bought a ranch? I thought you figured on coming back to the Triple M when you got things squared away down here.”
“I haven’t changed my mind about that. John’s not getting any younger, though, and his back was to the wall. The bank was about to take the whole outfit and hand it over to a rancher named Templeton.” The bartender offered another bottle, and Holt shook his head, laid a few coins on the bar. “When the time comes, I’ll deed the place back to him and ride for Arizona.”
“If you wanted to help Cavanagh,” Rafe wondered aloud, “why didn’t you just give him the money to pay off the bank?”
Holt sighed. “Templeton was bearing down hard on John. I guess I was looking to draw his fire.”
Rafe rubbed the back of his neck. Sighed. “I reckon that makes sense,” he said with a slow grin, “in a McKettrick sort of way. You got a bunkhouse on this ranch of yours? I could use a hot bath and about twelve hours’ sleep.”
“You probably won’t get the sleep,” Holt allowed, grinning back. He’d never have asked Rafe to come down to Texas, but, at the same time, he was glad of his company. “I’ll heat the water for the bath myself, though. Consider it a community service.”
Rafe gave a hoot of laughter. “Well, unless you’ve got some other business in town, we’d better ride. We can reason out some kind