A Lone Star Christmas Read Free

seem rather insistent. I’m afraid I’m going to have to take care of this myself.”
    â€œHa!” Pete shouted. “Take care of this!”
    Pete swung hard, but Tom reached up and caught his fist in his open hand. That surprised Pete, but it didn’t surprise him as much as what happened next. Tom began to squeeze down on Pete’s fist, putting vise-like pressure against it, feeling two of Pete’s fingers snap under the squeeze.
    â€œAhhh!” Pete yelled. “Dutch! Get him off me! Get him off me!”
    Dutch swung as well, and Tom caught his fist in his left hand. He repeated the procedure of squeezing down on the fist, and within a moment he had both men on their knees, writhing in pain.
    â€œLet go, let go!” Pete screamed in agony.
    Tom let go of both of them, and stepped back as the two men regained their feet.
    â€œPlease go away now,” Tom said with no more tension in his voice than if he were asking for a cup of coffee.
    â€œYou son of a ...” Pete swore as he started to draw his pistol. But because two of his fingers were broken, he was unable to get a grip on his pistol and it fell from his hand. The young woman grabbed it quickly, then pointed it at both of them.
    â€œThis gentleman may be an Eastern dude, but I am not,” she said. “I’m a Western girl and I can shoot. I would like nothing better than to put a bullet into both of you, and if the two of you don’t start running, right now, I will do just that.”
    â€œNo, no, don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” Pete cried out. “We’re goin’! We’re goin’!”
    The two men ran, and the young woman laughed. To Tom, her laughter sounded like wind chimes. She turned to him with a broad smile spread across her face.
    â€œI want to thank you, sir,” she said. She thrust her hand toward him, but when he shied away she looked down and saw that she was still holding the pistol. With another laugh, she tossed the gun away, then again stuck out her hand.
    â€œI’m Rebecca Conyers,” she said.
    â€œI’m Tom ... ,” Tom hesitated for a moment before he said, “Whitman.”
    â€œYou aren’t from here, are you, Mr. Whitman?”
    Tom chuckled. “How can you tell?”
    Rebecca laughed as well.
    â€œWhat are you doing in Fort Worth?”
    â€œThis is where the train stopped,” Tom replied.
    Rebecca laughed again. “That’s reason enough, I suppose. Are you looking for work?”
    â€œWell, yes, I guess I am.”
    â€œMeet me in the lobby of the Clark Hotel tomorrow morning,” she said. “Someone will be coming to fetch me from my father’s ranch. He is always looking for good men. I’m sure he would hire you if you are interested.”
    â€œHire me to do what?”
    â€œWhy, to cowboy, of course.”
    â€œOh. Do you think it would matter if I told l him that I have never been a cowboy?”
    Rebecca smiled. “Telling him you have never been a cowboy would be like telling him that you have blond hair and blue eyes.”
    â€œOh, yes. I see what you mean,” he said.
    â€œIt’s easy to learn to be a cowboy. Once he hears what you did for me tonight, you won’t have any trouble getting on. That is, if you want to.”
    â€œYes,” Tom said. “I believe I would want to.”
    Â 
    As Rebecca lay in bed in her room at the Clark Hotel half an hour later, she wondered what had possessed her to offer a job to Tom Whitman. She had no authority to offer him a job; her father did the hiring and the firing, and he was very particular about it.
    On the other hand, before she left to go to Marshall last week, she heard him tell Clay Ramsey that he might hire someone to replace Tony Peters, a young cowboy who had left for Nevada to try his hand at finding gold or silver. Rebecca had a sudden thought. What if he has already hired someone to replace Peters?
    No,