McKettrick's Choice by Linda Lael Miller Read Free Book Online

by sundown.”
    â€œYou think he’ll order a raid on the herd?”
    Cavanagh shook his head. “Not without sizing you up first,” he said. “Mr. Templeton, he likes to have the facts in his possession before he makes a move.”
    They stepped into the cool dimness of the general store, and the typical mercantile smells of clean sawdust, saddle leather, onions and dust greeted them.
    Holt scanned the room for Tillie, found her standing alone at the counter, with a pile of goods stacked in front of her, while the clerk jawed with a cowboy a few feet away. Tillie might as well have been one of the outdated notices pinned to the wall for all the attention she was getting, and her eyes were huge as she watched Holt and her father approach.
    â€œWhat can I do for you—gentlemen?” the clerk inquired.
    â€œYou can wait on the lady, for a start,” Holt said, with a nod toward Tillie.
    â€œI don’t see no lady,” the clerk replied. Scrawny little rooster.
    Holt smiled broadly, reached across the counter, took a good, firm hold on the man’s shirtfront and thrust him upward, off the floor. “Then there’s something wrong with your eyesight, my friend,” he drawled, as John stepped between him and the cowhand. “You might want to invest in a pair of those fine spectacles on display in the front window.”
    â€œMac,” the clerk choked. “Ain’t you gonna do somethin’?”
    â€œNo, sir,” Mac said cheerfully, and Holt turned his head long enough to take in the cowboy. “I reckon you’ve got this coming.” He turned easily, resting his weight against the counter. “You Holt McKettrick?” he asked.
    â€œI heard on the street that you might be looking for ranch hands.”
    Holt eased the clerk down onto the balls of his feet. “I might be,” he said.
    The clerk scrambled along the counter to face Tillie with a feverish smile. “Mornin’, ma’am,” he said. “What can I do for you today?”

CHAPTER 6
    â€œM AC K AHILL,” the cowboy said, as Holt and John loaded Tillie’s purchases into the back of the buckboard. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
    â€œCan’t say as I do,” Holt replied, hoisting a fifty-pound bag of pinto beans off the sidewalk.
    â€œWe rode together, a time or two,” Kahill told him.
    â€œI was part of Cap’n Jack Walton’s bunch.”
    Holt stopped, giving Kahill a thoroughly doubtful once-over. “You were a Ranger?”
    Kahill flashed a grin. “No. I just fetched and carried. Took care of the horses. I was fourteen at the time.”
    Holt squinted. “You were that towheaded kid with the freckles, always tripping over his feet and wiping his nose on his shirtsleeve?”
    Kahill laughed. “You recollect correctly,” he said. He turned to John, then to Tillie, touching the brim of his hat both times. “I apologize for your poor treatment in the general store, folks. I surely don’t countenance such deeds.”
    â€œIt troubles me a little,” Holt told Kahill bluntly, “that you didn’t step in.”
    â€œI didn’t have to,” Kahill replied good-naturedly. “You did.”
    â€œI think we ought to hire him,” John said, rubbing his chin.
    The kid had tended horses on a few trips into Indian Territory. So what? That had been a long time back. Today, on the other hand, he’d been a party to Tillie’s mistreatment, if only indirectly, and it seemed mighty convenient, after the fact, to claim he’d been about to take matters in hand with the clerk. “Why?” Holt asked.
    â€œBecause we’re desperate,” John said simply.
    Kahill’s grin didn’t slip. “I reckon I’ve had more enthusiastic welcomes in my time,” he confessed. “I’m good with a gun, I’ve herded my share of longhorns and I need a