The Vigilante's Bride by Yvonne Harris Read Free Book Online

Clete rushed on. Sooner or later, the liquor would fire the fuse to Bart’s temper, and he didn’t want to be around when it did. “She said Sullivan rode in with a girl last night, said Miss Molly told the help that Sullivan found her standing in the road after the stage was robbed.”
    “Sullivan – Luke Sullivan?” Axel looked up. Quick anger flared in his eyes. “What’s he doing back here? Last I heard, he was making good money managing Granville Stuart’s place up at Lewistown.”
    Clete fell silent at Stuart’s name.
    Axel leaned back in his chair again and squared his legs, propping an ankle on the other knee. The silver spurs on his boots were Mexican and held oversized rowels, their spines honed to wicked points. He took no nonsense from a horse. Frowning, he twirled the little wheel with a finger. Well-oiled, the rowel spun with a faint clicking noise.
    “What’s the matter with you two? Don’t tell me you believe the nonsense about him being one of Stuart’s Stranglers?”
    Clete frowned. “Maybe – maybe not. They never say if they are, but he does work for Stuart.”
    Bart flicked the rowel again and waited for it to stop spinning. When it did, he uncrossed his legs and sat up.
    “Kind of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say, Sullivan coming back the same night my girl is kidnapped, same night the stage is robbed?” He swiped the back of his hand down each side of a drooping salt-and-pepper mustache.
    “Still, don’t see how it could’ve been Sullivan. There’s no way in this world Luke Sullivan would ride into the Crow reservation, not the way that man hates Injuns. You’re sure it was him who took Miss Emily to New Hope?”
    Clete nodded. “Had to be. No other tracks out there.”
    “And those tracks went right through the reservation, not around it?”
    Again, Clete nodded.
    “Well, then, our Mr. Sullivan better have a mighty good reason for that,” Bart said, slurring the words. “Otherwise, we just might stretch his neck a little. See how he likes it.”
    Wes Huggins spoke for the first time. “Not me. I ain’t messing with him.”
    “Wes is right,” Clete joined in. “He’s trouble, boss. Fellow I know in Lewistown says Sullivan wears his guns to church.
    What kind of man does that?”
    Wes broke in. “A vigilante, that’s who!”
    Bart snorted and waved a hand in dismissal. “Vigilantes don’t go to church.”
    “This one does. He goes to funerals – funerals he’s caused. Makes me squirm inside just to think it.” Wes turned to Clete, forgetting Axel for a moment. “You ever see him draw?”
    Clete shook his head.
    Wes talked faster. “I did once, up in Miles City when he got jumped – and that’s plenty for me. One minute he was just a-standing in the street, arms at his sides; the next minute, his gun’s smoking, and the other man’s down. And I swear, I never saw Sullivan move.”
    Axel waved a hand and snorted. “Watch yourselves and you won’t have no trouble with him. Stuart and his gang go after horse thieves and rustlers.”
    “Maybe you better watch yourself, boss,” Wesley blurted. “From what I hear, he’s as fast with the ladies as he is with guns, and right now the lady he’s got is yours.”
    “Shut up, Wes,” Clete muttered.
    Bart’s face turned a deep, dark red. With a thin smile he said, “I hadn’t looked at it quite like that, Wes.” He picked up a nickel-plated revolver lying on his desk, a handsome Smith &Wesson Schofield with a carved ivory handle, monogrammed and engraved. Opening a desk drawer, he took out a box of .45 Schofield ammunition. Slowly, he thumbed cartridges into each empty chamber except the one under the hammer. He scraped his chair back and stood up, shoving the revolver into the empty holster as he did.
    Adjusting the belt, he let it out a notch over his belly and worked the gun a shade lower on his hip. Spurs chinking, he crossed the room toward a rack of elk horns hanging on the wall.
    He lifted off a black