Comanche Heart (34 page)

“You got no call to make such an accusation.”

“No call? I saw you dealing from the bottom.” With that, Swift overturned Crenton’s two cards in the hole, which gave the man three aces showing. Jerking the knife free, he revealed the fourth ace. “Every man in here is my witness. This deck is stacked agains—”

Crenton’s fist cut the declaration short, catching Swift along the jaw. Dropping the knife, he reeled from the blow, landing back first on another table, which skidded across the plank floor under his weight. Giving his head a shake, Swift angled an elbow under himself to get up, but before he could, Crenton leaped on him.

“Whoo-ee!” someone yelled.

May Belle cried, “Take it outside, you damn fools!”

The two men rolled onto the floor, their combined weights hitting a chair on the way down. Swift’s ribs took the brunt. Holding his middle with one arm, still dazed from the first punch, he staggered to his feet, fighting for breath.

Crenton jumped up. “Wanna call me a cheat again, you no-good son of a bitch! I’ll teach you some manners, by Gawd!”

The threat was punctuated by Crenton’s boot, which caught Swift square on the chin. With a feeling of detachment, Swift felt himself staggering backward. Then his body hit the wall, making a sound very like a big ball of unbaked bread dough hitting the floor. He blinked, trying to see. In the back of his mind, it occurred to him that letting the other guy take the first punch was a hell of a way to start a fight. And an even worse way to lose one.

After that, he didn’t have much time to think. Crenton came at him like a charging bull, head lowered to butt him in the stomach, arms spread, powerful legs thrusting to give his massive weight impetus. Swift blinked again and, at the last second, recovered the presence of mind to shift sideways. Crenton hit the log wall headfirst and crashed to his knees. To Swift’s surprise, the saloon owner didn’t crumple to the floor unconscious. Instead, he just shook his head and stood back up.

“Well, Lopez. Your mouth got you into this. Now let’s see you finish it,” someone said with a laugh.

Swift ran his sleeve across his bleeding chin as he gave Crenton a measuring glance. His intention had been to goad the saloon owner into starting a fight so he could teach him a lesson. He hadn’t counted on Crenton throwing such a powerful first punch or following through so quickly.

Swift gave his head another shake and leaned forward, arms slightly raised, elbows out. As Crenton came toward him, he circled, playing for time so his head could clear. Swift had done enough scrapping to know that fast footwork and precision with his fists proved good equalizers when he faced a larger man. The problem was, Crenton’s first punch had been a solid one, followed by a boot to the jaw. Swift couldn’t think clearly, let alone be quick on his feet and precise. If he wasn’t careful, he might end up feeling like a mudhole Crenton was stomping dry.

“What’sa matter, Lopez? You yellow?”

The room spun around Swift, then lurched to a stop, making him weave. He blinked and shook his head again. Focusing on Crenton, he tried to imagine being in Peter’s or Alice Crenton’s shoes, facing this man when he was mean drunk, night after night, with no hope of it ever ending. Those pictures and the knowledge that Amy had trusted him to handle this gave him added incentive. It was high time Crenton got a taste of his own medicine, and he was going to give it to him, or die trying.

“I’m here, Crenton,” Swift said in a low voice, beckoning the man forward. “Come and get me.”

Crenton grabbed a chair. “I’m comin’, you slimy little greaser.” He charged, bringing the chair down as he ran.

Swift crouched and sidestepped, sticking out a foot as the saloon owner passed. Crenton tripped and fell, hitting belly first on the chair. Swift didn’t give him time to get up. Diving, he grabbed the man by the shoulders, wrenched him backward onto his feet, and then planted his fist in his mouth. Crenton toppled, rolled, and leaped back up. Grabbing another chair, he made a wild throw, which Swift dodged easily. The chair crashed through the saloon window onto the boardwalk. A woman outside screeched and started calling, “Marshal Hilton! Marshal Hilton! A fight! A fight! Come quick!”

His head growing clearer by the second, Swift became aware that the ruckus had drawn a crowd. Years of training enabled him to ignore everything but his opponent. He circled, fingers flexing, body tensed and ready. Crenton grunted and swung, missing his mark. He caught his balance and swung again. Swift shifted and tipped his head, avoiding the blow. Crenton snarled, bent at the waist, and charged again. Swift jumped out of his path, letting the man land on the table where they had been playing poker.

When Crenton stood back up, he held Swift’s knife.

Amy, drawn by the commotion, arrived outside the saloon just as Crenton seized the weapon. She elbowed her way through the crowd, rising on tiptoe, trying to see, her heart slamming with fear. Marshal Hilton came up the street at a dead run, one hand clamped over his head to keep his hat on.

“Crenton’s got a knife, Marshal!” a man in the crowd yelled.

Amy shoved her way to the front so she could see through the broken window. Swift circled Crenton, leaping back to avoid the slashing knife. Her stomach lurched. When Marshal Hilton made his way to the boardwalk, she ran over to him.

“You have to do something!” she cried. “Crenton’s going to kill him!”

Hilton took measure of the situation, one eye narrowed. “Now, Miss Amy! Lopez can handle his own.”

“Crenton’s got a knife!” As she spoke, Amy threw a frightened glance inside the saloon just in time to see Swift kick the knife from Crenton’s grasp.

Hilton folded his arms across his chest and grinned. “Now we’re gonna see some fancy footwork.”

Amy threw him a horrified glance. “You’re not going to just stand here, are you?”

“What do you expect me to do? I learned a long time ago that it’s easier to stop a fight once the new wears off.” He winced and shook his head, leaning forward to see better through the window. “Abe’s been needing a set-down for a long while.”

The marshal no sooner spoke than he grabbed Amy and shoved her to one side of the window. The next instant Swift and Crenton came hurtling out, bringing the remaining shards of glass with them. They crashed onto the boardwalk, then rolled into the street. Spectators retreated to a safe distance, forming a half-circle around the combatants, the women screeching.

Crenton jumped up and aimed a lethal kick at Swift’s head. Amy gasped and closed her eyes, unable to watch. She heard a fist impact with flesh, a grunt, then a series of quick whops.

“All right, Lopez!” Hilton called. “Now, don’t back off!”

Amy opened her eyes to see Swift on top of Crenton, pummeling his face viciously. She wanted to close her eyes again but couldn’t. Swift’s murderous expression frightened her. He released Crenton and stood up, heaving for breath, staggering slightly before he righted himself.

“Get up,” he snarled. “Come on, Crenton! We’re just getting started! Or don’t you like fighting when you’re up against someone close to your own size?”

Crenton rolled onto his stomach and pushed to his knees. Swift circled, waiting until the man gained his feet. The moment the saloon owner did, Swift buried a boot in his belly. Crenton crashed to his knees, moaning and holding his middle.

“That one’s for Peter,” Swift snarled. “What’s the matter? Doesn’t it feel good?”

The saloon owner weaved to his feet again and charged, roaring like an enraged beast. Swift sidestepped, turned, and gave Crenton a kick on the rump to help him on his way into a nosedive that buried his bleeding face in the dirt. Amy hugged her waist, feeling sick, wanting it to stop. Since her abduction by the comanchero, violence of any kind nauseated her. As she had discovered the day of the social, even so commonplace a thing as chicken killing made her queasy.

Crenton wasn’t ready to admit defeat. He got back up and turned, which proved a mistake. Swift gave him another boot in the belly for his efforts. “That one’s for your wife, you miserable bastard!”

Crenton went down, and this time he stayed down, moaning, “I’m finished, I’m finished . . .”

Swift, who looked none too steady on his feet, staggered over to the man, hunkered, and grabbed him by the hair. After giving him a vicious shake, he snarled, “The next time you lay a hand on that boy or anyone else in your family, I’ll do worse! Far worse! Do you understand?” When Crenton didn’t reply, Swift gave the man’s hair another jerk and nudged him in the ribs with his boot. “Do you understand?”

“Yes! Yes,” Crenton moaned. “I won’t hit on ’em no more. I swear it!”

“You remember that the next time you feel in the mood to pound on somebody!”

With that, Swift dropped the man’s head onto the packed dirt and straightened. Turning back to the boardwalk, he swayed and caught his balance, then strode in a reasonably straight line toward the saloon.

“All right, folks! The show’s over,” Hilton yelled, stepping out into the street and crossing to Crenton, who still lay crumpled on the ground. “Well, Abe, looks like you met your match this time.”

“I want that man arrested,” Crenton croaked. “And he’s payin’ for all damages.”

“You want him arrested?” a man from the crowd yelled. “I was in there when it started, Crenton. You cheated at cards, and you threw the first punch. I’d say you’re the one to go to jail.”

Swift came out of the saloon just then, hat in one hand, sheathing his knife with the other. Hilton turned toward him. “You want to file a complaint, Lopez?”

Swift saw Amy, and his expression hardened. He leveled a cold gaze on Crenton. “What do you say, Crenton? Do you and I have an understanding or not?”

Crenton grimaced, trying to sit up, one hand planted on his ribs. “He threatened me, Marshal! You heard him! Threatened my life just a minute ago!”

Hilton frowned. “I guess with all the noise, Abe, I must’ve missed that.”

“Other people heard! Speak up, somebody!” Crenton threw a wild look at the spectators. No one in the crowd came to Abe’s aid, and more than a few looked away with expressions of disgust on their faces. Abe’s treatment of his family in the past hadn’t earned him much popularity, and even though Alice Crenton no longer dared to make her husband’s rages public knowledge, people still remembered the time she’d had Abe tossed in jail. “Somebody had to’ve heard him!”

Swift swiped at the blood on his chin. “What counts is that you heard me, Crenton. Touch a hair on that boy’s head again and we’ll see if I was threatening or promising.”

Abe glanced at Hilton. “You heard that, didn’t you?”

The marshal nodded. “Nothing specific, though.” He looked to the crowd. “Any of you hear anything specific?”

None of the bystanders volunteered to speak. Marshal Hilton smiled slightly. “I guess nobody heard anything, Crenton.”

Swift came toward Amy, dusting his hat clean on his trousers and reshaping the crumpled crown. As he stepped onto the boardwalk, he clamped it on his head, tipping the brim low over his eyes. She riveted her gaze to his torn knuckles, then to the cut on his chin. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh, Swift! Your poor hands!”

“I’m fine, I tell you!” He narrowed his gaze. “A lot finer than you’re gonna be. What are you doing here?”

“I heard the noise and I—”

He clasped her arm and pulled her none too gently into a walk. Under his breath he said, “Don’t you ever come near a fight again. Is that clear?”

“But I—”

He gave her arm a light shake. “No buts. Don’t you ever—He could’ve pulled a gun instead of a knife!”

“Other women were there.”

“I don’t give a damn about other women! When the dust clears after something like this, I don’t ever want to see you standing there again. If I do, I’ll kick your little fanny all the way home.”

Amy stared at his harsh profile, frightened for an instant by the picture his words conjured. He looked angry enough to kick her now. Taking measure of his broad shoulders and whipcord build, it was a threat she couldn’t take lightly. Then the absurdity of it hit her, and she smothered a smile. He had just pummeled a man for being abusive to his wife and children. It didn’t seem likely he’d commit the same sin himself.

He threw her a glare. “What’s so funny?”

“I—” She shook her head, making a valiant effort to keep a straight face. “Nothing!”

He narrowed his eyes. “I take it you don’t think I’d kick your butt?”

Amy fastened her gaze on the planked walkway, amazed to realize that he was exactly right; she didn’t believe it for a minute. And knowing he wouldn’t felt absolutely wonderful! She lifted her gaze to his. Though she knew the urge coming over her was unforgivably childish and that this was no time to tease, she couldn’t resist. “I think you’d have to catch me first.”

Before he could react, she bolted away from him, gaining several yards before she whirled and stuck out her tongue at him. Swift didn’t look as if he were particularly amused. She walked backward a moment, poking out her tongue again. He scowled, lengthening his stride, the heels of his boots tapping sharply on the boardwalk. Amy retreated as he advanced, very much aware that seeing him in a temper a month ago would have terrified her.

When he lunged for her, she whirled and ran. Within seconds he caught her around the waist and nearly lifted her off her feet. She laughed and looped her arms around his neck, pleased to see a twinkle had replaced the glitter in his eyes.

“Now what are you going to do, Miss Amy?” he challenged.

“Surrender,” she said softly.

His gaze clouded with tenderness. “Promise me you’ll never go near a fight again? If anything happened to you . . .”

“I promise.”

He bent his head and touched his lips to hers in a fleeting kiss, then seemed to remember where they were, that others might see them. Drawing her into a walk, he angled off the boardwalk into the street. Amy put an arm around his waist and tipped her head back to look at his chin.