A Big Sky Christmas Read Free Page A

by Christmas, by Godfrey! An’ if you say I can’t do it, then you’re callin’ me a liar!”
    Judging by the loud, slurred quality of Ralston’s voice, he was drunk. Jamie watched in the bar mirror as Ralston leaned over the table and made his point by jabbing a blunt finger against his fellow drinker’s chest. That man swatted Ralston’s hand away impatiently, and Ralston seized that as an excuse to start the trouble he obviously wanted to. He lunged out of his chair, fist cocked to throw a punch.
    Jamie sighed, set his half-finished beer on the bar, and turned around. “Hold it!” he snapped.
    Ralston stopped with his fist poised. He was a thick-bodied man with a round-crowned, broad-brimmed hat tilted back on a thatch of sandy hair. A soup-strainer mustache of the same shade drooped over his mouth. His face was red, the nose swollen from habitual drunken binges. “Who in tarnation are you?” he demanded as he glared at Jamie.
    Good intentions to avoid trouble notwithstanding, Jamie didn’t like the conversation he had just overheard. He stepped toward the table.
    Sensing a possible ruckus in the offing, a lot of the saloon’s patrons had quieted down to see what was going to happen. The girls who worked there, dressed in short, spangled dresses, moved well clear of the table where Ralston stood glowering at the big stranger.
    Jamie didn’t answer Ralston’s question about who he was. Instead, he asked one of his own. “Did I hear you say that you’re taking that wagon train to Montana?”
    â€œThat’s right. What business is it of yours?”
    â€œYou’re the wagon master?” Jamie’s tone of voice clearly registered his disbelief and disapproval.
    â€œDamn right I am! Jeb Ralston, finest wagon master on the frontier!”
    Jamie’s skeptical grunt made it plain how he felt about that claim.
    From the corner of his eye, he saw one of the saloon’s front doors swing open. A slender man stepped inside quickly and closed it behind him. He wore a black suit and hat and a collarless white shirt, and a pair of spectacles perched on his nose. He looked utterly harmless, and Jamie barely took note of him since nearly all of his attention was focused on Jeb Ralston.
    â€œLook, I’m not trying to pick a fight,” Jamie told Ralston. “But it’s too late in the year to be starting out to Montana from here. You won’t make it before winter, and you don’t want to be up there on those plains when the northers start sweeping down from Canada.”
    Ralston sneered at him. “How do you know so much about it?”
    â€œBecause I’ve been there myself,” Jamie said harshly. “I nearly died in a few of those blizzards.”
    â€œThis doesn’t concern you, old man. You’d better shut up and go back to your beer.”
    Jamie wasn’t in the habit of backing down when he knew he was right. “If you start to Montana now, you’ll be risking the lives of every one of those pilgrims.”
    â€œThey paid me to do the job, and by Godfrey, I’m gonna do it!”
    â€œThen they made a bad mistake by hiring a drunken fool like you.”
    He knew Ralston wouldn’t stand for that insult. He didn’t care. It was true, and Jamie Ian MacCallister was a man who spoke the truth.
    Ralston’s face flushed darker. His eyes widened with outrage. He drew in a deep breath, bellowed in anger, and charged Jamie like a maddened bull.

C HAPTER T HREE
    Jamie expected the attack. Ralston was big—although not as big as Jamie—and probably plenty strong. More than likely he had plenty of experience brawling in saloons.
    But Jamie had fought for his life in desperate battles hundreds of times. He stepped aside, grabbed Ralston, and used the man’s own momentum to heave him up and over the bar.
    Ralston let out a startled yell as he sailed through the air. The crash as