Honey and the Hired Hand. Joan Johnston
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grabbed hold of Mort’s shirt at the throat and half pulled the man out of the saddle. The look in Jesse’s eyes had Mort quailing even though the outlaw was the one with the gun. “That’s no way to talk about a lady, Mort.”
The outlaw swallowed hard. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”
Jesse released the man’s shirt. He straightened it with both hands, carefully reining his temper. “Back up slow and easy and keep that rifle out of the sunlight. No sense me having to make explanations to Mrs. Farrell about what you’re doing here.”
Mort wasn’t stupid. What Jesse said made sense. Besides, the Boss would skin him alive if he got caught anywhere near Mrs. Farrell. “I’m skedaddlin’,” he said.
Without another word, Mort backed his horse into the copse of pecans and out of sight. Jesse whirled the stud and galloped toward Honey to keep her from coming any closer before Mort made good his escape.
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