Page 4 of Texas Glory
“What?”
“I mean how old is she?”
“Twenty-six.”
“Twenty-six?” Dallas repeated.
Dr. Freeman jerked around and glared at Dallas. “Do I need to check your hearing before I leave?”
“I just didn’t know McQueen had a sister.”
“Well, now you know. Go get some more lanterns and lamps so I can have enough light in here to dig this bullet out.”
A few hours later Dallas watched his youngest brother as he lay sleeping, his shoulder swathed in bandages. Dr. Freeman had assured Dallas that Austin was in no danger. He’d be sore, weak, and cranky, but he would survive. Still, Dallas decided he’d feel a lot more confident with the doctor’s prognosis if Austin would awaken.
Dallas assumed Houston held the same concerns. Houston had convinced Amelia to sleep with Maggie while he sat on the opposite side of the bed, never taking his gaze off Austin.
When dawn’s feathery fingers eased into the room, Austin slowly opened his eyes. With a low groan, he grimaced. Dallas eased forward. “You in much pain?”
“That worthless bastard shot me in the shoulder,” Austin croaked. “How am I gonna play my violin?”
“You’ll find a way,” Dallas assured him.
“When … I’m strong enough … I say we run ’em off their land.” Austin’s eyes drifted closed.
“Dallas?”
Dallas met Houston’s troubled gaze.
“Dallas, you’ve got to do something to stop this feuding. Dr. Freeman is right. Next time, we might not be so lucky, and I don’t want my family caught in the middle.” Houston shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “Iwon’thave my family caught in the middle. If I have to choose—”
“You won’t have to choose. I’ve been pondering the situation, and I think I might have a solution to our problem. I’ll schedule a meeting with Angus McQueen and see if we can come to some sort of compromise.”
“Good.” Houston stood, planted his hands against the small of his back, and stretched backward. “I’m going to get a little sleep.” He started walking across the room.
“Houston?”
Houston stopped and turned.
Dallas weighed his words. “Do you think McQueen’s sister is as mean-spirited as he is?”
“What difference does it make?” Houston asked.
Dallas glanced at Austin’s pale face. “No difference. No difference at all.”
“By God, you have no right!” Angus bellowed.
Leaning back, Dallas planted his elbows on the wooden arms of his leather chair. He steepled his long fingers and pressed them against his taut lips. Narrowing his dark brown eyes, he glared at the spittle that had flown from McQueen’s mouth and plopped onto the edge of his mahogany desk. He could imagine it sliding along the front of his desk like a slug slipping out at night to coat the land in slime.
Slowly, he raised his eyes to his adversary’s. “I have every right to fence in my land,” he said calmly.
“But you fenced in the river!”
“It’s on my land. Any rancher of sound reputation would side with me. None would blame me for stringing up your sons from the nearest tree. We have an unwritten code that most cattlemen honor. Once a man has a valid claim to a river or a water hole, another cowman won’t come within twenty-five miles of it—with or without a fence. No one would have questioned my right to take the fence back farther, but I graciously left miles of land open to grazing.”
“To taunt us. I don’t need grassland, damn you! I need water!”
“You have creeks and rivers on your land.”
