Scandal at the Cahill Saloon - By Carol Arens Page 0,73

looked down at her, more grave and severe than she had ever seen him. “When Van Slyck comes, I’m going to kill him.”

“But, Cleve, you promised—”

“Everything has changed since then.”

He was right. Now that Preston knew about Cabe, the rules had changed. Protecting their son trumped every other consideration.

Still, Cleve couldn’t just shoot Preston. Bowie would call it murder. The law wouldn’t allow for the man deserving it.

She closed her eyes, thinking of what could be done. Lightning flashed; she watched it brighten beyond her closed lids. Thunder vibrated the house time after time.

Maybe Stretch had the right of it. They all ought to crawl under the table.

She cracked her eyes open in the same instant that the front window shattered, the sound muffled by thunder.

A slender, feminine hand dropped a dripping sheet of paper inside, then withdrew.

She hurried to the window and snatched the note from the floor.

Preston, it read, was holding Aggie, Lucinda and Cassie. He would hurt them unless Leanna brought Cabe to the saloon within five minutes.

From here, it would take ten minutes. No time to send for Bowie.

The man was a fool if he thought she was taking Cabe anywhere. She ought to show Cleve the note and let him take care of Preston. He wanted to…and badly.

But Cleve would kill him. He would be convicted of murder. She would lose her husband again, to prison—or the hangman’s noose.

Besides, what if Preston was trying to lure Cleve away from home? Leaving her and Cabe unprotected in the house might be his plan.

In either case, she could not tell Cleve, and chances were, the ladies were perfectly safe. Preston only mentioned them as a lure. He might be mean but, as far as she knew, he wasn’t a killer.

Since there was only one way to know, she stepped onto the front porch and dashed down the steps.

Several yards down the road a dim, wet figure emerged from a flailing bush. Preston caught her around the waist and smothered her scream with his rain-slicked hand.

“If it’s not the widow Holden? Pretty Leanna, you really are too easy.”

A woman screamed. The sound of her fear filtered through the downpour.

Cleve dropped a biscuit spread with raspberry preserves on the table in front of Cabe.

He lunged for the back door. Leanna had been resting on the parlor couch only moments ago, he was certain.

He flung the door wide to see a soaked stranger standing several yards beyond the bottom step of the porch, her red hair streaming water.

As soon as she spotted him, she closed her mouth and ran.

Stepping outside, he called to her. Something slammed his skull. He hit his knees.

When the darkness receded from his mind and consciousness trickled back, he found himself in motion, crawling into the kitchen with blood dripping past his eye to pool in the corner of his mouth.

He sat back on his haunches, then spat on the floor.

The room spun; it tilted and rolled. Van Slyck stood beside the table appearing to tick-tock. He clutched Cabe in the crook of his elbow while the child pummeled and screeched.

“Got something you want, Holden?” A wicked-looking grin spread across his face. “Ah, but make that two. Clumsy of you to let your wife slip away.”

From his position on the floor he peered into the parlor. Leanna was no longer on the couch.

Clearly gloating over his successful scheme, Van Slyck failed to notice the lumbering form silently creeping out from under the table behind him.

“I’ve got everything you hold dear, Holden. But then, I always have.”

Van Slyck did notice when Stretch chomped his great mouth around his elbow. The dog growled. A deep rumble echoed off the walls. Huge teeth clamped and held.

Pinned in place by Stretch’s jaws, evidently stunned by his predatory stare, Van Slyck screamed. He dropped Cabe.

Cleve lunged forward and caught him. Still unable to stand, he dragged Cabe backward and shoved him into the large pantry closet.

Cleve whistled even though it seemed the effort would explode his head. The dog let go of his terrified victim.

Stretch backed toward the pantry flashing his canines, drooling and growling. He plunked down on his haunches, blocking Cabe from view. Cleve slammed the door.

He needed to stand. It would be impossible to defend his position before the pantry while on his knees. Once Van Slyck quit trembling he would regain the advantage.

Cleve pushed up, inch by painful inch. He pressed his back against the door, willing his legs to support him. He wouldn’t lose this battle