A Big Sky Christmas Read Free

well as a livery stable where his animals would be cared for properly.
    As he looked at the gaudy saloon, though, he realized that he had a thirst. It wouldn’t hurt anything to wash some of the trail dust out of his throat before he got around to those other things, he decided.
    Once Jamie had made up his mind, he didn’t wait around. He strode across the street, opened one of the doors, and stepped into the Bella Royale.
    Noise and smoke filled the air, along with the odors of beer, whiskey, bay rum, unwashed flesh, and human waste. The sawdust sprinkled liberally on the floor couldn’t soak up all of that typical saloon smell.
    Jamie’s nose wrinkled slightly. Anybody who had ever taken a deep breath of early morning, high country air like he had thousands of times in his life could never be satisfied with this . . . stench. But he could put up with it long enough to down a mug of beer. Then he’d go on about his business.
    He had seen a lot of horses tied up at the hitch rails outside the saloon, so he wasn’t surprised that the place was doing a brisk business. He recognized some of the men lined up along the bar as the ones who had ridden past him in the street a few minutes earlier.
    The one called Eldon, who seemed to be their leader, stood with his back to the bar, his elbows resting on it as his eyes scanned the room. His gaze lighted on Jamie, but stayed there for only a second. Evidently he didn’t consider the big man in buckskins all that interesting.
    That was fine with Jamie. He walked to the bar, found an empty spot where he could belly up to the hardwood, and nodded to the apron-wearing bartender who came along to take his order. The man had a pleasant, round face that seemed even rounder because he parted his thinning brown hair in the middle and slicked it down.
    â€œWhat can I do for you, mister?” the bartender asked as Jamie laid the Winchester on the bar. The man looked at the rifle, but didn’t say anything about it.
    â€œIf your beer’s cold I’ll take a mug of it.”
    â€œColdest in Kansas City,” the bartender replied with a grin. “At least that’s what they tell me. I can’t say as I’ve sampled all of it to know for sure. That’d make a good hobby for a man, wouldn’t it?”
    â€œIf he didn’t have anything better to do,” Jamie said with a grunt. He had always been plainspoken and didn’t plan to change his ways.
    The bartender raised his eyebrows and then shrugged. “Whatever you say, my friend.” He filled a mug with beer from a tap and slid it in front of Jamie. “That’ll be six bits.”
    â€œThink mighty highly of the stuff, don’t you?”
    â€œI don’t set the prices,” the bartender said as he spread his hands and shrugged. “I just work here.”
    Jamie took a couple coins from the buckskin poke he carried and dropped them on the bar. Then he picked up the mug and took a long swallow of the beer. It was cold and had a good flavor to it, to boot. Maybe it was worth six bits, after all.
    â€œAre you callin’ me a liar?” The loud, angry voice came from one of the tables where men were sitting and drinking, as opposed to the gambling layouts in the rear half of the big room.
    Jamie barely glanced over his shoulder at the disturbance. Men got their dander up in saloons all the time. It went hand in hand with guzzling down cheap liquor. As long as the ruckus didn’t have anything to do with him, he made it a habit to mind his own business.
    Another man at the table said, “I didn’t call you a liar, Ralston. I just said you’d have a hard time gettin’ those wagons to Montana before winter sets in.”
    The man called Ralston smacked a big fist down on the table so hard it made the glasses on it jump. “And I’m sayin’ I’ll do it!” he insisted. “I’ll have those pilgrims in their new homes