Read Online The Sons of Grady Rourke by Douglas Savage - Free Book Online Page B

and the Wortley Hotel—who hired the likes of Jesse Evans to rustle Chisum cattle—shook his head as if truly disappointed.
    â€œThat ain’t much of a choice, Patrick.”
    â€œEveryone keeps telling me that you can’t live in Lincoln without you make a choice of sides. It don’t make any sense to me. But I suppose I done what I had to do. I choose Tunstall and Chisum. I ain’t going to lose Pa’s ranch.”
    â€œAll the same,” Evans said, “you ain’t chose right. Not like Sean here. He’ll be riding with us and the House.”
    Patrick looked at Sean until the older Rourke brother had to tum his head to face Patrick squarely.
    â€œI can come over here if you’ll come back to the ranch, Sean.”
    â€œNo. I’m part of the House now. And the House don’t take to Chisum cattle or to their bank.”
    Before Patrick could respond, a sturdy middle-aged man entered the cantina. He was tall, in his late forties, and had black hair and a black mustache that curled down past the corners of his mouth. He wore a silver star on his shirt. Jesse Evans the bandit smiled broadly and waved. The lawman nodded and walked toward the table. Two of Evans’ men moved their chairs sideways to make a chair-size space between them. The new man pushed a seat between them and sat down. He immediately looked at Patrick.
    â€œYou’re Grady’s other boy?”
    â€œYes. Patrick.”
    â€œI’m Sheriff Bill Brady. You’re the one who ain’t never soldiered?”
    â€œYes,” Patrick stammered and looked down at his dirty hat atop the rough table. “Sean here and our brother Liam was soldiers. And our Pa. But I ain’t been.”
    â€œThat’s all right, son. I didn’t mean no disrespect. I wore the blue, like Jimmy here, in the war. I know Sean wore the gray. But it don’t matter out here. I was a major in the New Mexico Volunteer Cavalry. Fought more Navajo and Apaches than Rebs during the war anyway.”
    Patrick nodded. He wished for a drink so he would have something to fidget with instead of his hat.
    â€œYou staying at Grady’s place?”
    â€œYes. I’m running the ranch now.”
    â€œAlone?”
    â€œI ain’t got no help.”
    Sheriff Brady looked at Sean, then back toward Patrick.
    â€œGuess not.” The County Cavan–born sheriff spoke with a thick Irish accent. “Well, Lincoln’s a good town. Hard, but good. When we get rid of McSween and the Englishman, it will be even better. Good place to raise children.”
    â€œBrady ought to know,” Jesse Evans laughed. “He’s got eight of them and another in the oven.”
    â€œThat ain’t no way to talk about my wife, Jesse,” Brady said without malice.
    â€œWell, it’s true, ain’t it?”
    â€œIt’s true.”
    â€œThe sheriff is a politician, too,” Jesse offered to break the momentary tension. “First Lincoln delegate to the Territorial House of Representatives back in ’71.”
    â€œThat was a long time ago,” Brady smiled to reassure his outlaw friend. “Been sheriff here since ’76.” He looked over at Patrick. “When you get settled, you come on over to my place at Walnut Grove, four miles east of town. My wife, Bonifacia, will show you some home cooking like only a Mex woman can make.”
    â€œThat would be welcome, Sheriff.”
    William Brady nodded and stood. He touched the brim of his hat, smiled warmly at Dolan, and walked over to the bar where he joined a few men drinking and laughing.
    Turning back toward the company at hand, Patrick saw Melissa Bryant enter carrying a wooden tray. She set some plates in front of two dusty men sitting two tables away. From their side of the round table, both Rourke brothers watched the woman lean over the table.
    â€œThat’s Melissa,” Jesse Evans said softly. “She don’t