The Rustler by Linda Lael Miller Read Free Book Online

own way when I grow up, though. Mother said so. I needn’t plan on getting one nickel of the Langstreet fortune, since I’m a bastard.”
    As concerned as he was about Sarah, and the fact that some yahoo called Charles Langstreet the Third was evidently plotting to relieve her of the Stockman’s Bank, Wyatt stopped again and looked down at Owen. “Your mother called you a bastard?”
    Owen nodded, unfazed. “It means—”
    â€œI know what it means,” Wyatt interrupted. “Does this papa of yours know you’re running loose in a cow town, all by yourself?”
    â€œI’m not by myself,” Owen reasoned. “I’m with you. And you’re a deputy. What could happen to me when you’re here?”
    â€œThe point is,” Wyatt continued, walking again, “he doesn’t know you’re with me, now does he?”
    â€œHe knows everything,” Owen said, with certainty. “He’s very clever. People tip their hats to him and call him ‘sir.’”
    â€œDo they, now?”
    The bank was in sight now, and Wyatt saw a tall man, dressed Eastern, leaving the establishment, straightening his fancy neck rigging as he crossed the wooden sidewalk, heading for the street.
    Spotting Owen walking with Wyatt, the man smiled broadly and approached. “There you are, you little scamp,” he told the boy, ruffling the kid’s hair.
    â€œThis is Wyatt Earp,” Owen said. That explained all the chatter.
    â€œWyatt Yarbro. ”
    â€œCharles Langstreet,” said the dandy. He didn’t extend his hand, which was fine with Wyatt.
    Wyatt glanced over Langstreet’s shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sarah through the bank’s front window. He didn’t know much about Owen’s papa—but he figured him for trouble, all right.
    â€œYou’re not Wyatt Earp?” Owen asked, looking disappointed.
    â€œNo,” Wyatt said. “Sorry.”
    â€œBut you’ve got a gun and a badge and everything.”
    â€œCome along,” Langstreet told the boy, though his snake-cold eyes were fixed on Wyatt’s face. “Aunt Sarah has invited us to supper, and we’ll need to have baths and change our clothes.” His gaze sifted over Wyatt’s borrowed duds, which had seen some use, clean though they were. “A good day to you—Deputy.”
    With that, the confab ended, and Langstreet shepherded the boy toward the town’s only hotel. Owen looked back, once or twice, curiously, as if trying to put the pieces of a puzzle together.
    Wyatt made for the bank. A little bell jingled over the door as he entered.
    Sarah, standing behind the counter, looked alarmed, then rallied.
    â€œOh, it’s you,” she said.
    Wyatt took off his round-brimmed black hat and tried for an easy smile, but the truth was, the inside of that bank felt charged, like the floor might suddenly rip wide open, or thunder might shake the ceiling over their heads. “Everything all right, Miss Tamlin?”
    She blinked. “Of course everything is fine, Mr. Yarbro. Whyever would you ask such a question?”
    â€œPartly because it’s my job.” He indicated the star on his shirt. “I’ll be looking after Stone Creek while Rowdy’s out of town. And partly because I just met a boy named Owen Langstreet down by the depot.”
    She paled. “What did he tell you?”
    â€œJust that his father means to take the bank away from you.”
    Sarah tried to lasso a smile, but the rope landed short. “This bank belongs to my father, not to me. Mr. Langstreet is merely a—a shareholder. There is no need to be concerned, Mr. Yarbro, though I do appreciate it.”
    Wyatt nodded, went to the door, replaced his hat. “I’m a friend, Sarah,” he said. “Remember that.”
    She swallowed visibly, nodded back.
    Wyatt opened the door.
    â€œMr. Yarbro?”
    He stopped,