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“Jericho Sullivan,” Elijah’s voice was soft, but he had everyone’s attention. Even the bartender had stopped polishing the counter. “You are a coward. A yellow bellied coward that would threaten and terrorize a woman, because you think she is alone.”
Elijah stood silent, waiting. He understood the depth of his insult and from the tightening around Sullivan’s lips he had not missed it either. Bartley’s eyes had widened into a comical dismay and he stared slack-jawed at Elijah. One did not go around calling a man like Sullivan a yellow-bellied coward.
The sandy haired killer lurched forward drawing his gun in one smooth movement. Before he could hammer back his weapon, a sharp crack sounded in the room. The two other men flanking Sullivan who had been rising to their feet froze.
The sandy haired killer stared at Elijah with incomprehension, and then the boy looked down in a daze at what remained of his hand. Hell. Joshua’s Spencer had torn right through the boy’s wrist and blood spewed in an arch. He passed out cold. The sandy haired boy would never draw with his right hand again.
“I have every man in here covered,” Elijah said walking closer. “This is between me and this coward. Anyone who moves to interfere, will fall. Test the truth of my words.”
The problem with Sullivan gaining a reputation as a tough, ruthless man was that a time would eventually come when he had to become that man. He would need to prove his mettle to everyone by not relying only on his foot soldiers. Knowledge seeped into his eyes and a surge of hatred lit up his blue sneer.
“You want to be a big man, Sullivan. But you’re nothing but a nasty bully, and I aim to teach you what it feels like to be powerless,” Elijah said coldly.
“I have no need to fight you for a whore,” Sullivan snarled into the painful silence.
Elijah smiled. He was not sure what Sullivan saw in his face but he blanched before wiping his expression.
“I expected a yellow-bellied snake to use such an excuse.”
Sullivan fancied himself tough, a gunfighter, when in truth he didn’t want anyone beating him, or taking the fight to him. Elijah had seen enough of his ilk in the war.
A round of murmuring swept the saloon and Elijah heard what he was waiting for. Soft questions and angry whispers of how tough Sullivan was and how scared Elijah should be. Sullivan heard the words as well and Elijah enjoyed the moment Sullivan realized he had been backed into a corner. His face flushed a furious color. He didn’t like having no way out unless he wanted to look small before the townsfolk.
Sullivan rose slowly from his chair and removed his gun belt and hat. He was tall and brutish and weighed at least sixty more pounds than Elijah. Elijah unslung his guns, removed his hunting knife and dropped it on the table nearest to him.
Sullivan charged and Elijah dipped into a crouch and slammed his fist into Sullivan’s gut, dropping him on his ass. With a roar he was up, and he charged Elijah head butting him. They tumbled out, rolling through the saloon doors and over the hitching rail fencing.
Elijah felt the rattle deep in his body as they slammed into the dirt. There were several exclamations and a short scream which was cut off rather abruptly. Before Elijah could recover, Sullivan slammed a fist into his ribs then another. And Elijah realized some of the rumors about Sullivan were true. The man was a fighter. He rolled him in the dirt, but Elijah got to his feet first. He smashed a left to Sullivan’s head splitting his cheekbone wide open, and then smashed him on the jaw with a powerful right. Elijah took a few jarring fists from Sullivan before he allowed himself to sink to that cold bitter place that had saved him countless of times. Fist fighting was Elijah’s element and he had the bully right where he wanted him, and now he would break him. Elijah ducked under a right hook, responding with his own right fist to the ribcage and a quick left to the jaw. Sullivan stumbled backward, and Elijah let his combinations fly, dancing around Sullivan’s punches and defenses. Elijah’s relentless rage penetrated through to Sullivan’s befuddled brain, but he was sobering up fast. He staggered, but Elijah did not let up. He used the memory of Sheridan’s tear stained face, her fear, and the hands of Bartley beneath her skirt, the knowledge they would have raped and broken her for money, to subdue any mercy he had.
Elijah did not know how long had passed before he realized it had been awhile since he had been hit. The sweat cleared from his eyes and Sullivan was still standing, but the man’s face was a mess of purple bruises, small cuts, and streaming blood. Sullivan wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve with a hand that shook. Elijah stepped to him and slammed his fist into Sullivan’s jaw and he fell into the dust, hard. No one m
ade any sound and none of his men intervened.
Bartley made a move toward them, and dust kicked at his feet from a rifle shot. A few people scattered but most remained frozen. Elijah scanned them and then settled on Sullivan. “Mrs. Galloway belongs to the Triple K. I will kill you if you do not relinquish the claim you believe you have on her. If any harm befalls her, even if they were not of your bidding I will hold you accountable. But the next time I will not whip you, I will kill you.”
Sullivan nodded under Elijah’s piercing scrutiny. Sullivan’s shoulders drooped and Elijah was sure the fight had gone out of the man. Sullivan knew he had been beaten and beaten well. He lurched to his feet, and stumbled into the saloon, not looking anyone in the eyes.
Chapter Sixteen
Sheridan had painstakingly avoided Elijah for most of the week. Well his bed at least. She’d told him she was on her monthly flow. But slow fear had been building inside her during the last few days. Everything had been going so well. They had fallen into a comfortable routine. He’d spent the days working on the range with the men, overseeing new hires and when not on the range he had poured over the accounts with her, and planned expansions and investments. He dined with her every night, but wariness had slowly seeped into his eyes whenever she spoke of the future. He had been carefully withdrawing from her since his visit to town to deal with Mr. Sullivan.
And while she had been waiting for the axe to fall, she never imagined it would happen in such a manner. Her monthly courses had in fact not appeared. She should have been ecstatic, but all she could do was dread Elijah’s reaction. Sheridan did not want to leave Whispering Creek now when it seemed that Sullivan had finally heeded Elijah’s warning. Not when Elijah had been so carefree for the first time in years. It was far too soon. He still woke in the night with terrors chasing him, and he was still tight-lipped about the past. He refused to say anything about Emma or Nathan since leaving the cabin. And she understood. She was patient and she would wait for the day he unburdened his heart to her. The rage he must feel toward Emma, and his own guilt. Sheridan would be there when he was ready.
She sat with Beth in the parlor, gut churning with apprehension. “I think I may be with child.”
A dazzling smile split Beth’s lips to disappear at Sheridan’s lack of obvious joy. “Why are you not happy? Sheridan, you look very pale.” Beth hurried over to her.
“I—” Sheridan thrust a hand through her hair, her breath sawing harshly from her throat.
Beth grabbed her hands and squeeze. “There are times when I miss my monthly and it does not mean anything. Do you have any other signs?”
Sheridan swallowed. “My breasts are sore…incredibly so, and I chucked up my food this morning. That was when Mrs. Murphy said I may be with child.”
Beth nodded. “That is what happened to me when I carried Grayson.”
The room spun and Sheridan weakly leaned against the settee. “I cannot be,” she moaned. How could it have taken just one night in the cabin?
“I do not understand, Sheridan!” Beth cried. “Is this not what you wanted? To have a babe with Elijah?”
