Read Online Texas Blood Feud by Dusty Richards - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dusty Richards
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house.
When the roan was put up, he realized that that late smoke was coming from the fireplace and a light was on in the living room. The notion of warming up at the hearth made him head for the main house’s front door. He opened it quietly and in the rosy glow from the hearth, May was rocking the older girl in her lap.
“Baby sick?” he asked quietly. Pulling off his thin gloves, he held his hands out to the radiant heat.
“I am afraid Rachel’s not the healthiest baby. I try. I make sure she gets food, but it upsets her stomach a lot and she must have had a bad dream tonight.” May made the rocker go faster and hugged the child closer. “Do you think she will go?”
He turned and frowned at her.
“Louise—you said she could go on a visit to Louisiana. You’d pay her way.”
He shrugged. Why did that sound so important to May? “Yes.”
“Maybe when she’s gone away, my husband will share our bed again.”
Shocked, he stopped warming himself. Was she telling the truth? Why wouldn’t she? Slowly, he nodded, “I’m sorry, May. You have a large cross to bear.”
“I just want to be his wife.”
He saw the tears in her eyes. Two days doing Susie’s job and all the rest had worn her out—but his brother’s spurning her had hurt her the worst.
“I will press her to go on that visit.”
“Thank you,” she said, and rocked harder.
All the way to the bunkhouse, he wondered what he should do next. Damn Dale Allen’s worthless soul.
Chapter 8
The men rode horses. The rest were in the farm wagon that Reg drove behind the big black mares to the schoolhouse for the funeral. Louise, in the end, had decided to go along. May and Astria stayed home to watch the babies and old folks. The boys were dressed in suits and looked stiff-necked wearing ties. Chet wore his six-gun under his brown suit coat.
A crowd was gathered when they arrived, and lots of hard looks from the Reynolds clan came at Chet. He didn’t expect anything less, but he felt the schoolhouse was public-held land and he had as much right as anyone to be there.
He herded the two women ahead, and had reached the three-step stoop when Earl Reynolds burst through the shocked onlookers and brandished a pistol in the doorway. “Gawdamn you, Byrnes! You hung my boy.”
“Put that pistol away,” Chet ordered. “There’s women and children here.”
“I don’t give a damn. I’m going to kill you.”
Chet was never certain who hit Earl in all the confusion and women screaming, but whoever delivered the blow knocked the gun out of his hand and may have broken his forearm. Earl went to his knees screaming. A bystander swept up the revolver and promptly stripped the caps off the nipples.
Earl, on his knees, held his disabled arm and swore revenge.
“Stand aside,” Chet ordered, and the man reached for him. A swift kick spilled Reynolds on his back and Chet jammed a boot on his chest. “This is a funeral, not a bar fight. Go to your seat and pray for that boy’s delivery to God. They stole those horses and were nearly to the Red River before I caught them. That was no prank, it was thievery. He took on a man’s part of that crime and got the same in punishment.”
“I’ll kill you—I’ll kill you—”
Chet jerked him up by his collar, dragged him outside, and threw him down the steps. “Come back when you’re civil.”
“I’ll get my damn rifle—”
“You people that are kin of his get him under control or you’ll have another funeral.”
Earl’s wife and two daughters ran over to settle him. Chet nodded sharply and went back inside. The fucking war was on . A first blow had been struck, and there would be no peace in the future. Earl would never accept the truth. The “law of the range” fit everyone but him and his.
The Byrneses sat in a row of benches, midway to the front, and no one else joined them despite the overflow crowd. On the small stage in the front of the room, three fresh pine boxes rested on top
When the roan was put up, he realized that that late smoke was coming from the fireplace and a light was on in the living room. The notion of warming up at the hearth made him head for the main house’s front door. He opened it quietly and in the rosy glow from the hearth, May was rocking the older girl in her lap.
“Baby sick?” he asked quietly. Pulling off his thin gloves, he held his hands out to the radiant heat.
“I am afraid Rachel’s not the healthiest baby. I try. I make sure she gets food, but it upsets her stomach a lot and she must have had a bad dream tonight.” May made the rocker go faster and hugged the child closer. “Do you think she will go?”
He turned and frowned at her.
“Louise—you said she could go on a visit to Louisiana. You’d pay her way.”
He shrugged. Why did that sound so important to May? “Yes.”
“Maybe when she’s gone away, my husband will share our bed again.”
Shocked, he stopped warming himself. Was she telling the truth? Why wouldn’t she? Slowly, he nodded, “I’m sorry, May. You have a large cross to bear.”
“I just want to be his wife.”
He saw the tears in her eyes. Two days doing Susie’s job and all the rest had worn her out—but his brother’s spurning her had hurt her the worst.
“I will press her to go on that visit.”
“Thank you,” she said, and rocked harder.
All the way to the bunkhouse, he wondered what he should do next. Damn Dale Allen’s worthless soul.
Chapter 8
The men rode horses. The rest were in the farm wagon that Reg drove behind the big black mares to the schoolhouse for the funeral. Louise, in the end, had decided to go along. May and Astria stayed home to watch the babies and old folks. The boys were dressed in suits and looked stiff-necked wearing ties. Chet wore his six-gun under his brown suit coat.
A crowd was gathered when they arrived, and lots of hard looks from the Reynolds clan came at Chet. He didn’t expect anything less, but he felt the schoolhouse was public-held land and he had as much right as anyone to be there.
He herded the two women ahead, and had reached the three-step stoop when Earl Reynolds burst through the shocked onlookers and brandished a pistol in the doorway. “Gawdamn you, Byrnes! You hung my boy.”
“Put that pistol away,” Chet ordered. “There’s women and children here.”
“I don’t give a damn. I’m going to kill you.”
Chet was never certain who hit Earl in all the confusion and women screaming, but whoever delivered the blow knocked the gun out of his hand and may have broken his forearm. Earl went to his knees screaming. A bystander swept up the revolver and promptly stripped the caps off the nipples.
Earl, on his knees, held his disabled arm and swore revenge.
“Stand aside,” Chet ordered, and the man reached for him. A swift kick spilled Reynolds on his back and Chet jammed a boot on his chest. “This is a funeral, not a bar fight. Go to your seat and pray for that boy’s delivery to God. They stole those horses and were nearly to the Red River before I caught them. That was no prank, it was thievery. He took on a man’s part of that crime and got the same in punishment.”
“I’ll kill you—I’ll kill you—”
Chet jerked him up by his collar, dragged him outside, and threw him down the steps. “Come back when you’re civil.”
“I’ll get my damn rifle—”
“You people that are kin of his get him under control or you’ll have another funeral.”
Earl’s wife and two daughters ran over to settle him. Chet nodded sharply and went back inside. The fucking war was on . A first blow had been struck, and there would be no peace in the future. Earl would never accept the truth. The “law of the range” fit everyone but him and his.
The Byrneses sat in a row of benches, midway to the front, and no one else joined them despite the overflow crowd. On the small stage in the front of the room, three fresh pine boxes rested on top
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