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

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    S URE ENOUGH, she was there, behind the Republic Hotel, with a battered dishpan full of supper scraps. The dog, an old yellow hound with a notch bitten out of one ear and signs of mange, gobbled them up eagerly.
    Holt stepped out of the shadows. “Evening, Miss Fellows,” he said.
    She started, almost dropped the pan, but she recovered quickly enough. “Mr. Cavanagh,” she said coolly. “Or is it McKettrick? I’ve heard both.” She wore an old calico dress and a tattered shawl, and the brim of a man’s hathid her face. Evidently, feeding the dog was something she did in secret.
    â€œI go by McKettrick now,” he said. “But you can call me Holt.”
    â€œIf I choose to,” Lorelei agreed. “Which I don’t.”
    He laughed. “Fair enough,” he said.
    She bent, stroked the dog’s head as he lapped up the scraps. There was something tender in the lightness of her hand, something that made Holt’s breath catch.
    â€œWhat do you want, Mr. McKettrick?” A corner of her fine mouth twitched ever so slightly. “As you can see, there are no fires to put out.”
    â€œGabe told me you went to the courthouse every day during his trial. I guess I’d like to know why, considering that you didn’t seem all that kindly disposed to him yesterday. I believe you referred to him as a horse thief and a killer?”
    She regarded him steadily. “The people he murdered were decent. Maybe I just wanted to see that justice was done.”
    â€œMaybe,” Holt agreed. “And maybe you figured a man who made a habit of feeding a starving dog wouldn’t be inclined to butcher a rancher and his wife just for something to do of an evening.”
    Even under the brim of the hat, he saw her eyes shift away from his face, then back again. “He’s going to hang,” she said flatly. “If you knew my father, you wouldn’t waste your time thinking otherwise.”
    â€œIf you knew me,” Holt answered, “you wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
    She took a step toward him, index finger raised for shaking, then stopped. Sighed heavily. Her shoulders sagged a little. “I don’t know who you think you are,Mr. McKettrick, but you don’t want to come up against my father and—my father.”
    â€œYour father and Isaac Templeton?” Holt prompted.
    â€œIs that what you were going to say?”
    Color suffused her face. “Just leave. Go back to your wife and children.”
    â€œI don’t have a wife,” Holt said. “My daughter is with people who love her. And I’m not leaving until I’ve finished my business here.”
    Lorelei opened her mouth, closed it. Smacked the now-empty dishpan against her thigh in apparent frustration. Turned away.
    He whistled to the dog, and she spun about, watching as the hound trotted over to lick his hand.
    â€œDon’t tease him,” she said anxiously.
    â€œI’m not teasing him. I’m taking him back to my ranch. We could use a good watchdog.”
    She almost smiled, Holt decided, but damned if she didn’t catch herself in time. “His name is Sorrowful,” she said, in a soft voice. She was a complicated woman, Holt decided. Setting fire to wedding dresses, watching murder trials and loving an abandoned dog enough to bring him supper scraps.
    Holt ruffled the critter’s floppy, misshapen ears. “Howdy, Sorrowful. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
    â€œSince when do you have a ranch around here?” she pressed, sounding worried. “I know everybody in this county, and you’re a stranger to me.”
    â€œSince I bought the Cavanagh place,” Holt answered, watching for a reaction.
    Her throat worked. “Next to Mr. Templeton’s spread,” she murmured.
    â€œYou friendly with him, too?” Holt asked lightly. “Or maybe your father is.”
    She bristled.