Bleeding Texas by William W. Johnstone Read Free Book Online Page B

frontier settlements, a woman who ran a saloon would be a pariah. People would think she was a prostitute or worse.
    That wasn’t the case with Lauralee. She was accepted as a member of the community. Part of that was because she had grown up here and people had known her ever since she was a little girl. She had become such a fine adult, too, that it was impossible not to like her. If anybody in Bear Creek had trouble, Lauralee was the first one there to offer her help. She nursed people through illnesses, she fed people who might have otherwise gone hungry, she helped make sure that widows and orphans were taken care of, and she was a friend to anybody who needed one.
    She wasn’t perfect—Bo knew she had a temper and was stubborn as a mule—but she was about as close as anybody he had ever known.
    Bo noticed Gilbert Ambrose across the room. He had promised Hank that he would talk to the banker, but he hadn’t gotten around to doing that yet. This evening might not be the best time to have a business conversation, but on the other hand, Bo believed in seizing opportunities whenever and wherever they arose.
    He drank the last of the punch from his cup, handed it to Scratch, and said, “Hang on to this for me, will you?”
    â€œWhere are you going?” the silver-haired Texan asked.
    â€œI’ll be back,” Bo said, which wasn’t really an answer.
    Ambrose was talking to Judge Clarence Buchanan and Dr. Kenneth Perkins. They were all roughly of the same age, a little older than Bo, and had been here in Bear Creek ever since the town was founded during the early days of the Republic of Texas.
    â€œHello, Bo,” the thick-set, florid-faced judge said when Bo walked up to the little group. Doc Perkins and Ambrose muttered greetings, as well.
    â€œEvening, fellas,” Bo said. “Looking forward to the dancing?”
    Buchanan made a face and said, “These bad feet of mine won’t let me traipse around the floor anymore. But I’ll enjoy watching the young people.”
    â€œI’m not much of a dancer, either,” the spare, dour physician said.
    â€œMy wife will expect me to haul her around the floor a few times,” Ambrose said with a chuckle. “You’re the lucky one, Creel. You’ll get to dance with Miss Parker.”
    Bo smiled and said, “That’s more good fortune than I deserve, all right. Say, I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute, Mr. Ambrose.”
    â€œWe are talking,” the banker replied. His eyes narrowed. “Or did you mean something more serious?”
    â€œI won’t take up much of your time,” Bo promised.
    â€œI didn’t come here tonight to talk business,” Ambrose said, frowning. “But I suppose we could have a word. If, as you say, it won’t take much time.”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    Ambrose nodded to Buchanan and Perkins and said, “If you’ll excuse us, gentlemen . . .”
    The judge waved a pudgy hand to signify that it was fine.
    Bo and Ambrose drew off to one side, near the coat closet, and Ambrose said, “Now, what’s all this about?”
    â€œHank mentioned that my pa had to take out a mortgage on the ranch a while back.”
    â€œI can’t really discuss your father’s business dealings,” Ambrose said stiffly. “If you want to know anything about that, you should ask him.”
    Bo reined in the impatience he felt at the banker’s attitude and said, “Hank handles the ranch’s business these days, Mr. Ambrose, you know that, and he’s the one who told me.”
    â€œThat makes no difference. The ranch is in your father’s name, so any discussion of the particulars of his arrangements must go through him.”
    â€œAll right,” Bo said, stifling a sigh of exasperation. “It doesn’t matter. What I really wanted to do was let you know that you don’t have to worry about the Star C.