A tap on his shoulder took Asa’s attention away from his whiskey and the show. The first thing he noticed when he turned was the hat. Battered, ragged and sweat-stained, it had definitely seen better days. The face peering from under the Stetson wasn’t in much better shape. It was tanned the same mud brown as the crown and sported more creases than a ten-year-old letter from home. The gleam in the old codger’s faded blue eyes was speculative, making Asa wonder if the man knew of his reputation.
“I’m thinking it’d take a hell of a man to tame a pretty little mustang like that,” the old codger whispered, one lid dropping over his eye in a slow wink.
“At the very least, a brave one,” Asa said by way of response. He took another pull on his whiskey, unable to keep his eyes off the woman. Damn. She was a firecracker under all that tight-ass exterior.
“Elly always did have a bit of a temper.”
Asa shot the older man an amused glance. “A temper is throwing dishes at your husband when he walks though the door. This, this is…” He shook his head. “Hell, I don’t know what this is.”
“I imagine,” the older man chuckled, “Elly has thrown a dish or two in her day.” He swiped the top of his whiskey glass with a filthy sleeve, tossed back the contents, and wiped his bearded mouth with the back of his hand. “It isn’t Elly’s fault she doesn’t let her sweet side show. Coyote Bill brought her up rough.”
Rough wouldn’t be the word Asa would use. Intriguing was more the way he saw her. Strong. A man could go far with a woman like that by his side. “She’s something else.”
“She’s as straight as they come.”
“Her husband’s a fool.”
“I won’t argue the fool part, but he ain’t her husband.”
Asa slid his foot aside as the man punctuated his statement by spitting to the side. With his glass, he indicated Elizabeth. “Is she kin to you ?” he asked.
The old man looked shocked and then amused. “Nah, but it’s not like I’d be ashamed to find out different.” He looked at the last two swallows in the bottle before Asa. “Mind?”
“Go ahead.” The old man didn’t bother with the glass he’d set on the table. He finished the bottle in one swig, and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt before clarifying, “I worked for her Daddy for most of her life.”
“And you’re loyal to her.” Asa didn’t pose it as a question.
“Enough so that I’m giving you the go ahead.”
He said it like Asa should feel honored. “I appreciate it.”
Or at least he would if he had any idea what the man was talking about.
The old man glanced over his shoulder at Elizabeth, gave a nod of his head and then turned back to Asa.
“I thank you for the drink.”
There was something likable about the guy, so Asa nodded and said, “I appreciated the company.”
The old man’s face crinkled into a smile revealing worn yellowed teeth. “I’m sure you will before long.”
Damn. Was everyone in this town squirrelly, Asa wondered, shaking his head as the old man, chuckling at the joke only he understood, disappeared back into the crowd around Elizabeth. Brent’s voice rose over the low murmur of bets being placed, drawing Asa’s attention back to the marital drama unfolding. Dismissing the old man from his mind, he shifted in his seat to get a better view.
“That land is mine and I’m not letting you or any drunken preacher cheat me out of it.”
“Give it up, Brent.”
“Never. Without a man, you can’t hold that ranch.”
Asa sighed, knowing they’d reached the crux of the matter. As much as he admired the woman’s courage, she wouldn’t be able to hold the ranch without a man.
“I’ve thought of that.” Her slightly slanted green eyes turned in his direction. “Are you Asa MacIntyre?”
He dipped his head, so his hat shielded the expression on his face. “Maybe.”
“The same Asa MacIntyre who single-handedly brought in the infamous Crull gang?”
He tucked his chin a little lower, not liking the way the saddle bums in the corner were perking up. He’d come to town to relax. Not to have to battle with wet-behind-the ears kids dead set on establishing a reputation for themselves with his dead body. He was too close to his dream to risk that. “Maybe.”
“The same Asa MacIntyre who headed up the Kingman Drive back in ‘63?”
He sighed, recognizing I-won’t-give-up determination when it stared him in the face. “Yeah.”
Elizabeth’s voice shook for the moment it took her to ask the next question. “The same Asa MacIntyre who stopped the blacksmith from beating little Willy Jones yesterday?”
He found it interesting that her composure broke on that question. He sat up straighter in his chair and pushed his hat back off his face. “Yeah, that’s me.”