Lady X's Cowboy Read Online Free PDF

sailors and assorted blowhards that came and went through the hallowed halls.  Americans, on the other hand, were unwelcome.  They’d been sour on him since the moment he took a room three days ago, and it was only because the rent was so cheap that Will stayed.
    As he entered the hotel’s lobby, he saw the desk clerk talking with a well-dressed fellow, both casting baleful looks in his direction.  Yesterday, there’d been a bit of a dust up when the desk clerk whined about Will’s boots making too much noise coming up and down the stairs.  Will did what any sane man would do—he’d ignored the clerk and went to bed.
    But it seemed that the greasy little clerk had called in the big guns.  Which explained Mr. Fancy Pants, wearing an embroidered vest stretched across his belly, giving him the once-over.
    Will wasn’t up for whatever those two had planned, but the portly Brit blocked the staircase up to his room.
    “You must remove yourself immediately.”  Unlike the desk clerk, this man had the fancy accent of Lady Xavier, though without the class.  “I own this respectable establishment, and such behavior will not be tolerated.”
    “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”  He braced one hand on the banister.
    The Brit looked as put-out as a frog in the dry season.  “Swearing, for one thing.  I have received numerous complaints about the manner in which you speak.”
    “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with the damned way I talk,” Will growled. 
    A disdainful snort shot out of the owner’s pointy nose.  “And furthermore, I refuse to provide lodging for some ill-bred ruffian.”  He pointed to the blood stains on the cuff of Will’s coat with a bloated, pale finger.  “Brawling!  That is evidence of your brutish behavior.”
    Will looked down at the blood and almost smiled.  “It ain’t mine.”
    “You attacked someone.”  The owner’s eyes widened.
    “’Cause they were on the shoot with a filly up yonder.” His patience grew thinner by the minute while his slang thickened.  “Damn it, I just want to eat my supper, then lay down and sleep for a hundred years thereabout, so just hobble your lip and step aside.”
    “What in heaven’s name are you talking about?”  The owner turned paler, his large face jiggling like fancy aspic as he worked himself into a lather.  “On the shoot?  Filly?”
    “There was a lady out in the street and some bad men were givin’ her some trouble.  I just wanted to even the score.”
    “A lady.”  The owner sniffed doubtfully.  “You mean a trollop.”
    Will’s fist shot out and tightened around the silk of the man’s neckcloth so fast that he could only gasp in fright as his feet nearly dangled over the stairs.  “She was a lady .”  Will’s voice was low and dangerous.  “And if you insult her, too, then I’ll have to feed you your teeth.  Hear me?”  He gave the owner a slight shake to enforce his point.  Releasing the man, he added, “I don’t see what the fuss is about.  It ain’t like you’re runnin’ the Ritz.”  He looked around at the dilapidated front parlor, which contained one dying palm tree, a yellowed painting of a cow and a man passed out on an uncomfortable sofa with a bottle cradled in his lap.
    “You will remove yourself at once,” the owner gasped, “or I will fetch the constabulary immediately.”
    Will fought the urge to sigh.  It was time to cut his losses.  Frugality was one thing, but it was another to put up with jackasses.  He’d heard once that discretion was the better part of valor.  Now was as good a time as any to put that into practice.  “Fine.”  He started to walk past the owner but the man squawked.
    “Where are you going?”
    “To get my things out of my room,” Will said.  “I’m going to clear out—”
    “Absolutely not!  Leave at once.”
    “I’ve got to get my saddle, at least.”
    The owner turned red.  “Saddle?  In your room?  This is not a