The Lawman Takes A Wife. Anne Avery

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      Witt quietly got to his feet.

      “Ain’t nobody tellin’ me what to play,” Crazy Mike insisted, swinging around to confront the saloon’s wary patrons.

      “Put the gun down.” Witt didn’t raise his voice, but in the silence, his words carried clearly.

      The miner’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Who’re you?”

      “I’m the new sheriff, and I’d appreciate it if you’d put the gun down.”

      Mike grunted. “Make me.”

      Witt studied him for a moment, then slowly unbuckled his own gun belt. He set it on the table, much to the consternation of his drinking companions, then held up his hands, palms out.

      “Put the gun down, Mike.”

      Mike shot a hole through the painted tin ceiling.

      “Watch the damned chandelier!” warned the outraged proprietor.

      This time, Mike deliberately aimed at that battered brass fixture. His shot sent bits of paint flying from a new hole in the ceiling a good four feet to the right of the first.

      “God dammit!” Jackson roared.

      Mike swung toward him, the gun wobbling in his unsteady hand. “Don’t cuss. Ain’t right t’cuss.”

      A warning gesture from Witt stopped Jackson from fishing beneath the bar for the gun that was undoubtedly hidden there.

      “Sure, Mike. Sorry,” Jackson said through gritted teeth.

      “Whyn’t you come back and play fer us, Mike?” one of the miner’s friends suggested.

      Mike shot the piano. Twice.

      He would have shot it again, but he was out of bullets.

      Moving slowly, with both hands up where Crazy Mike could see them, Witt worked his way toward the angry miner. The crowd happily moved out of his way. No one offered to help.

      For that small favor, Witt was devoutly grateful. He’d dealt with enough Crazy Mike’s over the years to know that “help” of that nature only made things worse. To men like Mike, one man coming after them was a joke.

      Half a dozen eager citizens was a threat that provoked more violence and got a lot of people hurt.

      And it would take half a dozen normal-size men to stop someone as big as Mike.

      He hadn’t met many men even as big as he was, but Witt was willing to bet Mike topped him by a good two inches or so and outweighed him by at least fifty pounds. The man had arms that looked like tree trunks and fists the size of a nine-pound sledgehammer.

      Five feet from the miner, Witt stopped.

      “Nice night out, Mike,” he said conversationally. “Let’s you and me go for a walk, shall we?”

      Crazy Mike tossed aside the useless gun and came at him like a bear, roaring with rage, shoulders hunched, eyes glittering with the light of battle.

      Witt sidestepped, then punched him in the gut as he passed. Hard.

      The miner’s roar died in a choking grunt as he doubled over, clutching his middle. He staggered, tried to straighten.

      Witt hit him again.

      Crazy Mike sagged, then slowly toppled onto the floor, face first. The floor shook when he landed.

      Witt could hear the crunch as Mike’s nose smashed into the wood. He winced and ruefully rubbed his knuckles. The damn fool was so drunk, he didn’t have the sense to roll.

      Silence held Jackson’s saloon in a grip of iron.

      One of Mike’s friends stepped forward, fists half raised in the wary, defiant stance of a man who felt obligated to defend his friend but wasn’t all that happy about it. Witt looked at him, raised one eyebrow in silent inquiry. The fellow wavered for a moment, then lowered his fists and sheepishly slunk back into the crowd.

      Witt scanned the rest of the gaping patrons. “A couple of you gentlemen want to help me get him to the jail?”

      “You’re gonna put Crazy Mike in jail?”

      “Well, I’ll be a—”

      “Damn straight he’s going to put Mike in jail,” said the mayor, pushing through the crowd. “It’s about time Mike realized he can’t go around doing as he damn well pleases.”

      “You might want to watch your language,” Witt advised, suppressing a grin. “The gentleman clearly objects to vulgarities.”

      The gentleman in question groaned and tried to shove to his knees. Witt reached to help him up. Mike’s head bobbled. He stared at the proffered hand for a moment, bleary-eyed, his mouth working like a dying fish’s. In the end, drink and the effects of a broken nose won out. He glared, grunted, then his eyes rolled up in his head as he quietly slumped to the floor in a dead faint.

      Chapter Four

      It was nearing ten when Molly called good-night to the last of her friends. This late, most of the town had settled peaceably behind their doors. Lamps shone through windows, but here and there the houses were dark, their inhabitants long since tucked into bed.

      A few people strolled past her—a man alone, head down and hurrying home; two men laughing; a couple, arms entwined, oblivious to anything outside their world of two.

      The sight of them only reinforced her sense of isolation.

      Four years. That’s how long she’d been a widow.

      Sometimes, especially whenever she glanced at the photograph of Richard that hung in her small parlor, it seemed like only yesterday that he’d gone out to work and never come back. There were still times, usually when she was tired and her thoughts had wandered, when she would hear a sound and look up, expecting to see him walk in the door. And sometimes, in the night, she’d turn in her sleep and reach for him, wanting his warmth and his strength, needing to feel his lean, angular body curled around her, shielding her from the world outside their door.

      There were even times when she was wide-awake, without the distraction of wandering thoughts or a weary body, when she would find herself physically aching for his touch and the glory of what they’d shared in bed.

      Especially what they’d shared in bed.

      She had never been one of those simpering misses who blushed at the mere thought of kissing a man, but she knew, now, that she had been fortunate in her choice of husband, for Richard had been kind and more than willing to teach her the secrets of what was possible between a man and a woman who loved each other. She’d never asked him where he’d learned his secrets, and he had never told her. She’d never thought it mattered, for once he’d married her, he had given everything to her—his heart and soul; his dreams. Eventually, even his life.

      It was his dying СКАЧАТЬ