The Wrangler Read Online Free Page A

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    Dakota couldn't believe his eyes. So that's what the gal was up to. She was a gambler? Or at least it looked like she was trying to be. He shook his head, bellied up to the end of the bar and tossed his hat on the stool beside him. He signaled the barkeep. "Whiskey."
    "Comin' right up, Mister." The bartender swallowed, looking a little pale. Probably thought he was an outlaw.
    He got that reaction a lot. It wasn't entirely untrue. He tossed a coin on the bar, watched it roll. It made bartenders less leery when he paid up front. A shot glass landed in front of him. He snatched it up, turned on the stool and kept one eye on the little miss.
    "Sorry, no room at our table." A middle-aged store clerk tossed his arm in front of the empty chair beside him. "This is a regular game between friends."
    "In other words, you're not welcome." A jackass with salt and pepper hair combed sleekly off his forehead gave a smirk. "Try sitting with your own kind. Over there."
    Dakota followed the gesture toward the loser game, where down and out cowpokes in thread-worn clothes and mended chaps gambled for pennies.
    Might not be a bad idea for the gal to start off there in case she didn't know what she was doing. Thinking you were a good card player and actually being one were two different things. He took a swig of whiskey to wet his parched tongue and nearly choked when the sheriff strolled in.
    Didn't take long for the law to show up. He'd been in town, what, less than three hours.
    "Hey, Beauregard." The barkeep slapped a shot glass on the bar and slid it the lawman's way.
    "Heard you had a problem in here. Shots fired. Could hear them all the way down the street." Sheriff Beauregard sidled up to the bar and tossed back his free drink.
    "It was Tannen, hot-headed as usual." The barkeep rolled his eyes, as if this wasn't out of the ordinary. "He put a hole in the ceiling, but the cost to repair it has gone on his tab."
    "All right, then. As long as there are no dead bodies." The sheriff's gaze traveled down the bar, landed on him and narrowed. He frowned. "I haven't seen you before. You look familiar, like you remind me of somebody."
    "I get told that a lot." His guts tensed up. They always did whenever the past threatened to rise up and grab him. It was a matter of time, but the past always found a man. He set his jaw and willed his heart rate to calm down, his stomach to unclench. He shot off the stool and stood, looking the lawman in the eyes. "I'm in town looking for work."
    "There isn't much hereabouts, sorry to say." Beauregard didn't look sorry.
    "I'll be moving on if there isn't." Dakota met his gaze. There were a lot of things the lawman might not like about him. He'd run across it before more times than he bothered to count. Maybe it was the attitude, or two years of hard labor he'd done while in prison. "I don't intend to cause any trouble."
    "See that you don't." The lawman left his glass on the bar, nodded in thanks to the barman, shot a warning look to the man called Tannen in the corner and strolled out of the saloon.
    "I know someone who is hiring." The tidy shopkeeper type midway down the bar moved closer a few stools. "Are you looking for ranch work?"
    "Horses, mostly. I'm a wrangler, but I can work cattle."
    "I was doing the final fitting for Mr. Sinclair. He bought a new suit. He told how he had to fire one of his best cowhands for stealing. You might have a chance of getting the job."
    "I'll look into it. Thanks." He appreciated the tip. His gaze swiveled to the gal. Looked like she was having more trouble. The penny-ante gang shook their heads, pointing out there were no free chairs at the table. Like they couldn't draw up an extra one. He crossed his arms over his chest, wondering how long it would take for folks, even drunk folks, to figure out she wasn't what she first appeared.
    "We got an extra seat over here." A sly, deep-noted voice called above the rumble of bets and calls. The pianist came to the end of her