by Linda Broday
“Care to explain why you’re running off my business, lady?”
The question came out silky and wrapped in velvet like her father’s did when he wanted to put the fear of God into someone. That frightened her far more than yelling. This cowboy saloon owner was someone to reckon with.
Although quaking inside, Grace drew herself up and thrust out her chin, praying her group of women were behind her. Although the quiet failed to reassure her. “I’m asserting my God-given right to free speech.”
“You tell him, Grace!” one of the women yelled.
“Free speech about?” he snapped.
“The evils of drink. It’s destroying the fabric of our society and wrecking homes.”
“And it’s your duty to straighten us men out?” he barked.
His dark glower shot a shiver of alarm up her spine, especially when he edged closer. Why couldn’t she have been born taller? She felt like a bug he was about to step on. He was every bit or more the height of her six-foot three-inch father.
How come she didn’t hear a peep from her ladies? If they’d left her…
She inhaled a deep breath to steady herself. “As much as I’m able. I cannot turn a blind eye to hungry kids and wives bearing the scars of abuse. It’s a sin and disgrace. I’m their voice.” She clasped her hands together to hide the tremble. Her parents—and many others—had warned that she’d go too far one day. Dance to the music and eventually she’d have to pay the fiddler. Anger flashing from his eyes said this might be the time when she’d have to pay up.
The belligerent clod inserted himself between them. “You gonna stand here and jaw with her all day, Brannock? Send for the sheriff. She’s breaking the damn law.”
Brannock shifted his attention to the ill-humored patron, the tense set of his shoulders reminding her of a rattler coiled to strike. “You telling me my business now, Cyril? Go home. I have this under control.”
“I came for my afternoon beer. You know I come every afternoon.”
Brannock flicked his annoyed gaze to Grace, a noise rumbling in his throat. “The saloon is temporarily closed. You’ll have to come back.”
“Just wait until the others hear about this. We’ll ruin you.” Cyril stomped away.
“You’ll have to get in line!” the saloon owner shouted, then bit back a low curse and swung his icy grays on her. “I don’t want to throw you in jail, but you’ll leave me no choice if you continue down this dangerous path, Miss—”
“Grace Legend.” She smiled sweetly. “I have a—”
“God-given right to free speech,” he finished for her. “I heard the first time. Didn’t anyone warn you about the danger of coming here?”
“I don’t listen to things of that nature.”
“You may regret that one day.” His deep voice vibrated across her skin. “I have a business to run and I intend to make money at it. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly.” She glanced up into those dangerous eyes the color of an angry sky, and before she could release a scathing retort, someone latched onto her arm.
“There you are, sis. In trouble again, I see.”
Irritated, she glanced up into her brother Crockett’s face. “Yes, here I am. I haven’t turned to a pillar of salt, landed in jail, or shot anyone.” She glanced around to find that her group of women had by this time indeed disappeared, left her to face the owner by herself. She realized then that if she was going to do this, she’d have to do it on her own. Just as she’d usually had to.
“The day’s young.” Crockett’s grin faded when his gaze went from her sign lying in splinters to Brannock. “I’m sorry about the mess. I’m Crockett Legend, Gracie’s brother. I hope there’s no hard feelings.”
The air spewing from Brannock’s mouth said there was plenty of ill will to go around. “Keep your sister away from my saloon or I won’t be so forgiving next time.” The cowboy bit the words out like they soured on his tongue then whirled and went inside his establishment, slamming the wooden doors behind the batwing swinging ones and sliding a bolt just as a woman’s scream sounded a few doors down.
One of those newfangled automobiles drove by and backfired loudly. The disappointed crowd began to disperse, grumbling at the lack of bloodshed.
Grace jerked her arm from her brother. “Not until I get my sign.”
He bent to help. “Watch out for the sharp pieces. I don’t know why you keep getting into these scrapes. Pa’s ready to throw up his hands and Mama’s wondering where she went wrong. Gracie, you don’t have to get on everyone’s bad side. Just do the right thing.”
It irritated her that he kept referring to her babyish name. She’d long adopted the more adult Grace, yet her family refused to abide by her decision.
“I am doing the right thing. I’m living my life my way, on my own terms.” She suppressed a yelp when a jagged piece of wood slid under her nail. She wouldn’t cry out. Remaining calm, she juggled what she’d picked up and pulled the fragment out then wrapped her bleeding finger in a handkerchief Crockett quickly supplied.
“Give those to me.” He took the mangled sticks from her. “What happened?”
“I was marching peaceably when a man tried to prove he was boss.” As they moved down the street, she told him about the fight with Cyril and how Brannock had snapped the sign over his knee. “The nerve of him. He’s very ill-mannered.”
Still, she grudgingly had to admit that he was also a little intriguing. He was different from the men she was used to seeing in the lower end of town. Though he was angry, he didn’t brush her aside like a bothersome fly and had sent the drunk on his way.
“Stay away from him, sis. Deacon Brannock has a reputation for showing no mercy.”
“What does that even mean?” Was he a cruel man? She didn’t feel that from him.
“Do I have to spell it out? He’s ruthless. He crushes people. If a man doesn’t pay his tab, Brannock takes him into the alley and they settle up one way or another.”
“How would you know?”
“I hear talk.”
Grace cut a glance at her brother who at age twenty so strongly resembled their father, Houston. They shared not only the same dark hair and eyes but muscular build and toughness. Houston once drove two thousand head of longhorns up the Great Western Trail, battling cattle rustlers and bad weather the entire way. Though she’d been just a babe, Grace had gone along with her mother. The harrowing stories of near-death situations were ingrained in her.
She’d survived for a reason. Wasting her life in foolish endeavor like needlepoint and cooking wasn’t her idea of living a meaningful life. No, she had a purpose to fulfill, doing important work that changed lives.
Grace could see Crockett doing something like that too. And succeeding. By all accounts, he made a good living as a cattle buyer and kept a home in Fort Worth as well as on the Lone Star Ranch. Her brother seemed to have a forty-year-old mind in a young body. His life was set, and Grace envied that. She moved from one thing to another, never satisfied.
Crockett laid the mangled sign down and opened the door of his home. “Sis, you have to stop getting in these fights that you can’t win. You’re worrying the family, especially Mama.”
Her parents called her their crusader, always fighting against injustice of some sort. First it was saving her baby pig from slaughter. She’d made signs and sat in its pen until her father relented. That graduated to armadillos, the favorite tree where she sat to read, children’s rights, and protesting the sale of wild horses and burros. You name it, she’d been involved. But this was different. Images of the battered women and children she’d tried to help over the past year flitted through her mind. Ava, Hilda, Beth Ann, and May. Beaten bloody and crying, but in the end staying with the only life they knew and preserving their marriage at such a great cost to them and their children.
The silent face o
f Libby Daniels frozen in death followed the endless line of those beaten. Grace stilled, recalling her best friend who’d married a charming man with a violent side and a taste for whiskey. She and Libby had gone to the ranch school together from age six. Libby had been the daughter of one of Grace’s father’s hands and had fallen in love with a drifter Houston hired to ride fence.
Less than six months after the wedding, Grace found Libby lying dead in the snow a few steps from headquarters.
Her vacant eyes staring heavenward still haunted Grace’s sleep.
Grace blinked hard and whispered, “I can’t stop. Lord, I wish I could, but I can’t.”
Her brother put his arms around her. “I don’t understand what drives you. Go home and accept one of the dozens of marriage proposals you’ve gotten.”
Not on a bet. Grace rolled her eyes. Her family was constantly trying to marry her off. On Sundays, she’d never known which cowboy would be sitting at their table, so she stayed away from the ranch as much as possible. She just couldn’t take the cowboys’ hound-dog eyes.
She laid her head on her brother’s shoulder. “There’s more for me than marriage and kids, Crockett. I have things I have to do.”
He was silent for a long moment. Finally, he let out a long sigh. “Please be careful. Promise me.”
She’d finally found the one cause that lodged in her gut, unable to shake. She was done with burying friends and acquaintances due to abuse. Shutting down these saloons and the flowing liquor would help save so many lives, marriages, and families. This would be her life’s calling. This would settle the restlessness in her bones and bring calm and much peace to her soul. This would define her life.
“I’ll do my best.” She pulled away from Crockett and glanced through the window in the direction of the Three Deuces Saloon.
Deacon Brannock didn’t scare her…that much.
A Cowboy of Legend
On sale April 2021!
About the Author
Linda Broday resides in the panhandle of Texas on the Llano Estacado. At a young age, she discovered a love for storytelling, history, and anything pertaining to the Old West. Cowboys fascinate her. There’s something about Stetsons, boots, and tall, rugged cowboys that gets her fired up! A New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Linda has won many awards, including the prestigious National Readers’ Choice Award and the Texas Gold Award. Visit her at LindaBroday.com.
Christmas in a Cowboy’s Arms
Stay toasty this holiday season with heartwarming tales from bestselling authors Leigh Greenwood, Rosanne Bittner, Linda Broday, Margaret Brownley, Anna Schmidt, and Amy Sandas.
Whether it’s a lonely spinster finding passion, an infamous outlaw-turned-lawman reaffirming the love that keeps him whole, a broken drifter discovering family in unlikely places, a Texas Ranger risking it all for one remarkable woman, two lovers bringing together a family ripped apart by prejudice, or reunited lovers given a second chance, a Christmas spent in a cowboy’s arms is full of hope, laughter, and, most of all, love.
Everyone will be uplifted and believe in the joy and wonder of the season through these wonderful novellas.
—RT Book Reviews
For more from these authors, visit:
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