Scandal at the Cahill Saloon - By Carol Arens Page 0,74

to protect his wife and his son. He wouldn’t waste this opportunity to avenge Arden.

Muscles stiff, knees locked, nausea swallowed, he rose and stared Preston down.

“Out of my way, Holden.”

“Go through me.”

“I could blow you over with a sneeze.” He arched one brow. The dark, slick hairs formed an arrogant curve. “But I’d rather do it like this.”

The gun that Van Slyck withdrew from the waistband of his pants was a wicked thing that looked as though it had been polished in honor of this occasion.

Van Slyck drove his balled-up fist and the butt of the pistol into Cleve’s belly. Pain shot bone-deep, then rippled to his throat. It buckled his knees.

He fought the downward slide. It was no use. His legs might have been mud instead of flesh and bone for all the good they did him. Splinters from the wood door gouged his shirt and his back as he pressed against the inevitable.

He watched the barrel of the weapon follow him down.

“Not so high-and-mighty now, Holden. How does it feel to be the one on the floor this time?”

“Better than it feels to be you,” Cleve gasped. He thought he would vomit. He focused on the pain ripping his belly to hold him in front of the door. “That skillet gash made a mess of your pretty face. Won’t be so easy to charm the ladies now.”

“I charmed the bloomers off your sister…I’ll do the same to your wife. She’ll resist at first, that’s her better-than-everyone-else way. Just so you know, I’ve got her tucked away sweet and tight. Sure, she’ll fight me like a cornered cat, but in the end she’ll come around. There’s the boy—she’ll want to protect him.”

“I’m going to kill you, Van Slyck.”

The gun drew closer to his face. Only inches separated him from a hole in the brain.

“It’ll have to be from the great beyond, then. In another minute you’ll be a ghost.”

“Boo!” Cleve had the satisfaction of seeing the coward twitch.

He lifted to a crouch, with the door supporting him from behind. On the other side of the wood, Stretch began to howl in a low, eerie lament that was much more spooklike than “Boo.”

“Better be a quick shot. The dog’s after blood.” Another twitch. Cleve grinned when the gun wavered from the center of his forehead. “You won’t be his first.”

“Shut up, Holden.” He readjusted his aim and sopped a bead of sweat from his brow with his sleeve. “You’ll die in another minute but I’ve got something to tell you…a little something for you to take to your grave.”

The grin that had broken so many hearts became an ugly sneer. For once, the man’s rotten soul shone through.

“Has to do with the better-than-anyone Cahills. I know you and the slut were looking for something that night at the bank.” He giggled. If Cleve hadn’t already been holding down his bile he would have had to do it now, the high-pitched sound was that repulsive.

“Father Dear is bringing the Cahills to ruin, little by little. Has been for a while, too. Old man’s too dense to think I’m on to him, though.” Again, the giggle. “That damn family won’t have a penny left what with daddy keeping two sets of books and filching the Cahill rents.”

He pressed the barrel of the gun to Cleve’s forehead.

“That’s not all by half. Take this with you. My father knows about the day—”

A shadow dashed across the hallway.

Leanna, a sodden dripping mess, stood with the rifle from the fireplace braced against her shoulder.

“Drop the gun, Preston.” Her order was delivered as calmly as a daily greeting.

Van Slyck lifted the weapon from Cleve’s forehead. He spun toward Leanna.

Cleve hurled his weight against Van Slyck’s knees in the same instant that the Winchester’s blast shook the walls.

Van Slyck slumped facedown on the floor. Blood pooled from under his vest. One blank eye stared in perpetual shock at the ceiling.

Leanna launched herself into Cleve’s arms. Kneeling, she buried her face into his chest and wept. He rocked her and soothed her, whispering in her ear that she was the bravest woman ever born.

An instant later Lucinda and Aggie rushed through the parlor. They stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, dripping twin puddles on the floor.

“He had that coming,” Lucinda stated, brushing lank hair from her face.

“It’s hard to find a speck of grief.” Aggie stepped forward and bent at the waist to peer closer. She shrugged, then stepped back. “Cassie went for your brother.”

Bowie paced the parlor.