Lancer’s Sons Chapter Ten
Lancer’s Sons Thanks to Chris Petrone for the Beta Chapter Ten Harold Whittaker was packing iron. The damn fool had strapped on a six-shooter, then lost his head before finishing breakfast—must be Lancer-Luck—ever since Johnny signed his name that way—not that his Madrid-Luck… Whittaker backed up a step. Johnny didn’t dare look at Scott—couldn’t miss it if Whittaker’s fingers twitched closer to his gun. The man’s face had gone from red to gooseberry purple, anger coiled as tight as a rattlesnake. They’d sure enough had their warning—it was the strike he and Scott had to watch for. Silence pressed down on the dining room, heavy and thick. Too quiet for comfort. Johnny’s hand brushed the grip of his Colt, familiar and solid. He almost smiled at the feel of it. Bang. Bang. Bang. The pounding on the kitchen door broke the stillness. Damn. Talk about timing. If Johnny had been a nervous man, he might h...