McKettrick's Choice - Linda Lael Miller [53]
Angelina began to weep, a small, mewling sound that was hurtful to hear.
“Go on back to the kitchen,” Brown told her, kindly but with a firmness that was not to be disregarded. “Jane will make you some tea.” He was running his hands, not the small ones you’d expect of such a little man but big mitts, out of proportion to the rest of his body. He paused and murmured something. “Oh, hell, I forgot. My sister is away, taking care of Aunt Tootie. You’ll have to brew the stuff yourself.”
Angelina sniffled. “I don’t want to leave Raul,” she said.
“Vaya,” Raul told her. Go.
After another few moments of hesitation, Angelina shuffled off.
Holt and Rafe glanced at each other and tacitly decided they ought to make themselves scarce, too. Having no yen for tea, they returned to the shady front porch. Rafe lit a cheroot, drew deeply on the smoke.
“I thought you gave that up when little Georgia was born,” Holt said, feeling testy and needing to take it out on somebody.
“I did,” Rafe said. “Emmeline won’t allow tobacco within fifty feet of the house.” He paused, his brow creased. “I don’t know how you get a damn thing done around here. If somebody isn’t trying to intimidate us with a dozen gunmen, they’re getting themselves thrown from mules.”
Holt sighed, took off his hat, shoved a hand through his hair. It was gritty with trail dust and damp with sweat, and moreover needed cutting. “Thirty-one days until Gabe hangs,” he said, “and not a word from the governor. No sign of Frank Corrales. And if we don’t hire some cowboys and buy some cattle to restock John’s herd, the ranch will go under anyway. I’d have to be three men, instead of one, to get it all done.”
“Two McKettricks,” Rafe said, “are enough to do just about anything. I say we ride north, see the governor, then head down to that place you know in Mexico, buy some cattle and hire some men to ramrod them back across the border. Along the way, we can ask after this Corrales fella.”
“That means leaving Tillie and John alone and pretty much defenseless.”
“We could bring them along.”
“Good idea,” Holt scoffed. “That way, Templeton and his men can just ride in and raze the place to the ground as soon as we disappear over the hill. You got any other brilliant suggestions?”
Rafe was confident as a peacock with its tail feathers spread. “No,” he said, “and you haven’t got any other choice, as far as I can see.”
“I hate it when you’re right,” Holt said, and he was dead serious.
“I know,” Rafe replied smoothly. “Best you get over it.”
Holt gave a low, bitter laugh, and even that much was against his will. “You know what I think? I think you and Jeb and Kade got together up there on the Triple M and decided I might just have it a little too easy down here. Figured one of you better hightail it to Texas and complicate matters as much as possible.”
Rafe grinned. “You’ve got it all wrong, Big Brother. What we decided was, you’d be too damned proud and stubborn to ask for help even if you were naked, slathered in honey and up to your hind-end in red ants. I’m here, and I’m not leaving until it’s finished, one way or the other. Besides, I gave Lizzie my word that I’d bring your sorry hide back home before the snow flies.”
Holt touched his shirt pocket, where he kept the hair ribbon his daughter had given him just before he left, and felt a painful yearning to see her again. Hell, he even wanted to lay his sore eyes on his brothers, and that crotchety old man of theirs.
Rafe laid a hand on his shoulder. “I think the doc will be a while with Raul. Let’s go see if we can rustle up a couple of out-of-work cowhands. They could hold down the Cavanagh place while we’re on the trail.”
Holt thrust out a sigh, resettled his hat. It wasn’t much of an idea, but it was better than standing there on the porch, jawing and fretting.
“Maybe Cap’n Walton would agree to stay behind, keep an eye on things.”
Holt was the first to the gate. “Hell will sprout petunias first,” he said. He untied Traveler from the side of the wagon and climbed into the saddle.