McKettrick's Choice - Linda Lael Miller [97]
“Heddy,” she said firmly.
“Heddy it is,” John agreed.
After consuming two helpings of chicken and dumplings, Lorelei decided she’d best stop, even though she could have eaten her way to the bottom of that crock.
“I’ll tend to the dishes,” she said.
“No, you won’t,” Heddy declared. Pearl had fallen asleep against her enormous bosom, and she rocked him with a gentleness that belied her loud voice and straightforward manner. “You go on upstairs and get yourself into bed. You look about to drop.”
Lorelei realized she’d been hoping Holt would arrive, but there was no sign of him or Rafe. John and the Captain had finished their meals and were enjoying coffee. Tillie had gone outside to give Sorrowful the promised scraps.
“Well, good night, then,” Lorelei said. “And thank you, Heddy.”
Heddy merely nodded.
Lorelei half dragged herself up the stairway to the second floor.
She wasn’t going to think about Holt, she decided. It was none of her concern if he missed supper and stayed out half the night. For all she knew, he’d never planned to stay at Heddy’s in the first place.
She slipped quietly into the front bedroom, saw that Melina had set her half-finished food aside on the nightstand and fallen into a deep sleep.
Lorelei sighed and sat down in a straight-backed chair to pull of her shoes. No, she told herself, she absolutely did not care what Holt McKettrick did with his free time. He could drink and carouse. He could face down Comanches. He could pass the night with a loose woman.
Well, she didn’t care about most of that.
CHAPTER 28
R.S. BEAUREGARD was, if his professional reputation could be trusted, the best lawyer in the state of Texas. Given that Holt had to trail the man through three saloons and a brothel before finally running him down in a private dining room at the Republic of Texas Hotel—where he was sharing a meal with two half-dressed women—the veracity of Beauregard’s legal talents was a matter of some concern.
“Gentlemen,” he said, with an affable smile, lifting a wineglass in blithe salute, “I don’t believe you were announced.”
Holt felt Rafe stiffen beside him, decided his brother was on the verge of saying something better kept to himself and gave him a subtle nudge with his right elbow. If there was one thing Holt didn’t suffer from, it was a lack of confidence, but standing on the threshold of that room, with its Oriental carpet, velvet draperies and gas lighting, he was conscious of his trail-worn clothes and dirty boots in a way he normally wouldn’t have been.
The women looked him and Rafe over with sultry, kohl-lined eyes. One good pull on their bodices, and they’d leave nothing much to the imagination. Both of them smiled, as if they’d read his thoughts and found them pleasing.
“We apologize for interrupting your supper,” Holt said, though it seemed a curious thing to him to have that meal at eleven o’clock at night. Hell, in a few more hours, it would be time to roll out of the hay and get to work. “My name is Holt McKettrick. This is my brother Rafe.” He paused. “We’ve got some business to discuss with you.”
Beauregard couldn’t have been over thirty-five, and Holt supposed most women would consider him handsome, in a rakish sort of way, but his eyes belonged in the face of a much older man. His beard was growing in, his clothes, though of good quality, were rumpled and stained and his hair could have used barbering.
“It would seem this is a matter of some urgency,” he remarked, patting his mouth with his napkin and pushing back his chair. He tried to stand, wavered and sat back down again, with a sheepish grin. “As you would know if you visited my office on Travis Street, I keep regular office hours. Ten in the morning until five in the afternoon. When I’m not in court, of course.”
Rafe shifted irritably, fixing to butt in for certain, and Holt elbowed him again.
“Like you said,” Holt told Beauregard evenly, “it’s urgent.”
The lawyer ran a shrewd look over both Holt and Rafe. He seemed to notice Rafe’s restrained