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the town hall’s skeletal frame.
It would take everyone’s combined effort to get the building completed in time for the festival. Looked like his livery wasn’t getting a roof anytime soon.
“Here we go again,” Zeb muttered.
Pete turned in time to see Edward Gundersen rounding the corner of the mercantile. The glare on the big Norwegian’s face, along with the bunched shoulders and clenched fists, told Pete the man was spoiling for a fight. And, of course, Rebecca’s brother was walking straight toward the Tullys.
As if Pete’s day hadn’t been filled with enough conflict, now he had to break up another Tully fight.
“Leave this to me,” he said, looking to his right and then his left before stepping off the planked sidewalk.
“Not on your life,” Zeb said. “This is my concern, too.”
Pete and Zeb made it halfway across the street when Edward closed the distance between him and the brothers. Sal Tully, the oldest and meanest of the three, said something low and menacing. Pete was too far away to make out the specific words.
Edward raised his hands in a show of surrender, as though he was trying to behave rationally and stay calm despite the anger on his face.
The Tullys advanced on him anyway. Shoulder to shoulder, they created a wall of hard muscle and bad attitude.
Out of the corner of his eye, Pete saw Will Logan heading toward the fight from the opposite direction. It was anybody’s guess who would get to the group first.
Edward pushed back.
Pete broke into a run. Zeb’s footsteps pounded behind him.
Just as Edward raised his fists in obvious defense, the two youngest Tullys grabbed him from either side and slammed him against the wall of the mercantile. Edward’s elbow broke through one of the store’s new windows. The high-pitched shriek of shattering glass rang out over Edward’s grunts.
The boys held Edward in place while Sal pounded his left side. The brute focused on the same spot, over and over again.
People spilled out of buildings from both sides of the streets. One woman in particular rushed forward.
“How dare you start a fight in front of my store,” Matilda Johnson said in an outraged voice.
In the next moment, Pete drew alongside her. He nearly clipped her on the shoulder in his attempt to rush past her. Matilda’s pinched-faced daughter, Abigail, yelled at him to watch his step. But then she saw Zeb and her face softened. She approached him, but he barked at her to stay back.
Unfortunately, the Tully brothers had Edward down on the sidewalk by then. The hard thuds of boots connecting with human muscle and bone were followed by Edward’s grunts.
Furious, as much by the underhanded tactics as the growing audience they were attracting, Pete grabbed the closest Tully by the shirt and waistband. One hefty swing and the man went flying into the street. Pete reached for the next brother, but Zeb already had his hands on him.
Tully number two landed on top of his brother.
They tumbled over each other, arms and limbs tangling together. Dust swirled in the air, twisting around them in a choking brown cloud. Will warned them to stay down. Three of his ranch hands joined him, circling around the brothers.
Sal continued kicking Edward. In unison, Pete and Zeb lifted Sal backward and then slammed him against the wall in an identical move to the one his brothers had used on Edward.
Zeb told the crowd to go back inside their homes and businesses. “Nothing to see here,” he added.
That only drew the gawkers closer.
Pete pressed his forearm into Sal’s collarbone and glanced over his shoulder at Edward. “You all right?”
Moaning, Edward lifted to his knees, released a breath, then collapsed back to the ground. “I think he busted my ribs.”
Sal strained against Pete’s grip. “Serves you right, you dirty immigrant.”
As one, Pete and Zeb slammed Sal harder against the wall. “Keep your mouth shut,” Pete growled. “Or I’ll shut it for you.”
“What?” Sal jerked his chin in an angry gesture. “Like you’re so good? I know what you are, and I know what you do behind closed cellar doors with unmarried women.”
A wave of unconscionable anger flooded Pete’s ability to think logically.
But just as he raised his fist, Edward reached out and yanked Sal’s foot. Hard. “You’re scum, Sal Tully.”
Unprepared for the attack, Pete and Zeb lost their grip and Sal tumbled to the ground.
The crowd gasped.
Edward muttered a string of angry Norwegian as he struggled to grab Sal. Sal didn’t deserve the effort. The realization helped Pete calm his own anger.
“That’s enough, Edward.” He lifted his friend off Sal while Zeb shoved the oldest Tully into the street with his boot heel.
Sal ended up on top of his younger brothers, who were still tripping over one another in a whirlwind of cursing and dust.
Fingers squeezed into white-knuckled fists, Will waited until all three found their footing at last. “You’ve officially worn out your welcome. I want you out of my town now.” He paused. “And if I see any of your faces around here again I’ll make sure you wished you were never born.”
Sal wiped his nose with his sleeve. “I ain’t scared.”
Will held his ground. “You should be.”
Opening his mouth to speak, Sal closed it when he took note of the ranch hands closing ranks around Will.
With the odds no longer on his side, Sal accepted defeat at last. “Let’s go, boys.”
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