A Big Sky Christmas Read Free Page B

he landed against the back bar cut off that yell and replaced it with the sound of bottles shattering. Ralston bounced off and landed in the floor behind the bar.
    The slick-haired bartender stood a few feet away, his eyes bugging out as he stared at Jamie. The man babbled, “You . . . you just picked him up . . . and threw him!”
    â€œYeah,” Jamie said. “Sorry about all the damage. I’ll pay for it.”
    He could well afford to. During his wanderings over the past five decades, he had cached small fortunes in gold and silver in numerous places across the West. In addition, he had an entire cave full of Spanish treasure that had been hidden there a couple of centuries earlier. All of that didn’t include the money he had made from his ranch and the other successful businesses in which he had invested, many of them operated by family members. The MacCallisters were a dynasty, and a mighty wealthy one, at that.
    Jamie was aware that the room was completely silent as he took out his poke and counted five double eagles onto the bar. That was more than enough to cover the cost of the spilled liquor. He glanced at his still half-full mug of beer and decided he was in no mood to finish it.
    â€œWhen that fella wakes up”—he nodded toward the area behind the bar where Ralston had fallen—“somebody ought to try to talk some sense into him about starting for Montana this late in the year. If he won’t listen to reason, somebody needs to warn those pilgrims he plans to lead them right into trouble.”
    â€œNobody talks sense to Jeb Ralston, mister,” the bartender said. “He has his own ideas, and he’s not shy about using his fists to defend them.”
    â€œWell, it backfired on him this time, didn’t it?” Jamie turned away from the bar to leave the saloon.
    He had taken only a couple of steps when somebody yelled, “Look out!”
    Jamie whirled around, and saw that Ralston had regained his senses and climbed to the top of the bar. He leaped from it in a diving tackle aimed at Jamie.
    Unable to get out of the way in time, Ralston’s weight slammed into Jamie’s left shoulder, the collision’s impact making Jamie stagger. He stayed on his feet, though, planted his left hand in the middle of Ralston’s chest, and shoved him back a step. With enough room, Jamie swung a right-hand punch that landed on Ralston’s jaw like a pile driver.
    The blow jerked Ralston’s head to the side but didn’t put him down. Drunk he might be, but it surely wasn’t the first fight he’d had when he was full of booze. He hooked a right fist of his own into Jamie’s midsection. The punch landed with considerable power. Ralston could hit.
    Jamie sent a short, sharp left into the wagon master’s face. Ralston came back with a left of his own that tagged Jamie on the chin. For several long moments as the saloon filled with cheers and shouts of encouragement on both sides, the two men stood toe to toe and slugged it out.
    They were pretty evenly matched, but Jamie was a little taller and heavier and had a slightly longer reach. Those things gave him an advantage.
    The wagon master fought with the intensity of a crazed animal, though, and for one of the few times in his life, Jamie found himself being forced to give ground a little.
    His back came up against the bar. Bracing himself against it, he hunched his shoulders to protect his head and snapped two quick lefts into Ralston’s face. Ralston’s nose was redder and more swollen, but it was from being hit, not drinking. Jamie whipped a right into Ralston’s solar plexus.
    The wagon master leaned forward, his face going gray from the shock of the blow. He lowered his head and plowed forward. The top of his head rammed Jamie’s chin, forcing his head back.
    Jamie grabbed hold of Ralston and pulled him in closer, grappling with him. He got his arms around Ralston’s