The Bride's Prerogative by Susan Page Davis Read Free Book Online

territory.”
    Hiram shrugged. “Boise, maybe?”
    “Yeah. I’ll send a telegraph message to Boise. That’s good thinking, Hi. I’ll ask who the territorial lawman is.”
    That settled, Ethan felt much better. He stood up. “Right. Let me finish building that fire. While the water for scrubbing the floor heats, I’ll go to the telegraph office. Yeah. That’s what I’ll do.” He looked at the stove. The door still stood wide open, and his little kindling pile was consumed. The flames had vanished, leaving the one split log forlornly smoldering.
    He stepped toward the wood box, but Hiram put out a hand to stop him. “Go.” Hiram reached down for another supply of kindling.
    “Right.” Ethan strode to the door and looked back. “Thanks.”

CHAPTER 6
    T hat evening, Ethan walked to the mayor’s house. He’d sent his terse telegram. After that, Hiram had helped him clean up the jail, though they couldn’t completely get rid of the blood stain on the floor in the back room. Gert had offered him a small rag rug the Dooleys had used by their back door for some time. It neatly covered the spot.
    He’d ended up eating at Hiram and Gert’s again. Ethan had to admit, Gert Dooley did two things very well: cook and shoot. He’d have to be careful not to wear out his welcome in her kitchen now that he’d be spending more time in town. The three of them had agreed over coffee and bread pudding that he needed to advise the mayor that he’d found evidence of foul play and initiated contact with the U.S. marshal.
    The Walkers had a comfortable frame house on Main Street. It boasted a wide front porch and yellow paint, which made it stand out from all the weathered board buildings. Lantern light glowed through the checked curtains. Ethan knocked on the door, and a few seconds later, Orissa opened it. Her hair, as usual, was fixed in a high bun that seemed to pull her face up into a tight grimace.
    “The mayor’s not home.” Mrs. Walker never referred to her husband as Charles. He was always
my husband, the mayor
, or
Mr. Walker
.
    “Where might I find him, ma’am?”
    She huffed her displeasure. “I’m sure I don’t know.” Ethan took that to mean Walker was at one of the saloons. Where else would Fergus men go in the evening?
    “Thank you kindly.” He descended the steps and headed south on Main. The mayor being the mayor—and having to maintain his civic dignity—Ethan figured he would choose the Spur & Saddle over the Nugget.
    As he passed a few businesses now closed for the night, some homes with lanterns glowing inside, and as many empty storefronts, the burden of his new office settled on his shoulders.
    People complained about the noise and carryings-on at the Nugget. A lot. Would he have to wade through the drunks every Saturday night and attempt to keep order? Maybe he’d have a talk with Jamin Morrell before his first Saturday night as sheriff rolled around. It was only two days distant, which didn’t give him much time to strategize. What did Bert do about the Nugget? Ethan always spent weekends quietly on his ranch, beyond the reach of the music and shouting, but he’d heard people talk about it. Miners and cowboys rode miles on Saturday to sample the offerings of the tiny town of Fergus.
    He gained the boardwalk in front of Bitsy Shepard’s establishment. The murmur of conversation reached him as he opened the door. Cigar smoke wafted through the air. The scent of a good dinner lingered, and the quiet atmosphere almost comforted him. A man could come here without embarrassment. He could even bring his wife, if he had one, on Sunday when Bitsy closed the bar and served a fried chicken dinner to all and sundry. Once when they rode fence together on opposite sides of their property line, Bert Thalen had told him that he was seldom called to the Spur & Saddle. Bitsy ran a tight ship, with Augie Moore as a competent bosun. Ethan understood that to mean that Augie didn’t take any nonsense from the