The Cowboy's Convenient Proposal. Linda Ford
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The silent expectation in the room held Ward’s interest despite his vow that he cared only about eating.
“Aw, Thorton, she ain’t coming,” one disgruntled cowboy murmured. “I want my money back.”
“She’ll come. She knows what to expect if she don’t.” The way the man smacked his fist into his palm sent tension crawling up Ward’s spine, the words bringing with them memories of another time, another man who said similar things and followed through with fists or boots, or anything he could lay his hands on.
“Red. Get out here. Now.” The harsh voice practically stole Ward’s appetite. But he had to eat to survive so he took a scoop of the succulent stew.
The gray blanket hanging crookedly in the doorway on one side of the room full of crowded tables fluttered. The men cheered and from behind the curtain stepped a woman with flaming-red hair in a mane of curls down her back. Her blue-green eyes flashed rebellion, as did the set of her mouth. She pulled a man’s shirt closed across her front.
“Girl, shed that shirt.”
The girl scowled fiercely.
“Need I remind you...?” The man’s chair squawked back.
The girl shuddered.
Ward’s fists curled as she shrugged out of the shirt to expose a red dress with a bodice that was far too revealing. Her skin flared bright pink.
“That’s better. Now give us a little dance. And smile.”
Red speared the man with a look so full of heat that when Ward jerked toward him, he thought he’d see scorch marks on his face. Instead, all he saw was a leer. Ward couldn’t decide the man’s age. Somewhere between his own and already worn out. The man had a clean-shaven face and wore a black coat that looked as if it might have belonged to a preacher, but the narrow set of his eyes and the humorless smile convinced Ward that the man was no preacher.
Red turned, revealing pale shoulders. Her dress didn’t quite cover a red streak the width of a belt in the center of her back.
He didn’t need such evidence to know that man named Thorton beat the woman, but seeing the bruise filled Ward with rage. He jerked to his feet, sending his chair skidding away. He’d walked away from this kind of abuse once before. He’d regretted it every day since. He would not walk away again. Not even from people he didn’t know and who were none of his business.
Thorton jerked about at the noise of Ward’s sudden rise. “Something bothering you, boy?”
“You beat this woman.”
Thorton laughed. “Only way I can get her to do what I say. She’s a bit headstrong, you might say. Ain’t that right, fellas?”
The raucous laughter of the men fueled Ward’s anger until it burned like an out-of-control forest fire. He was long past being reasonable and keeping his nose out of trouble. “I don’t aim to stand back and allow some poor woman to be used as a punching bag.”
“Is that a fact?” Thorton grinned. “Now ain’t he a feisty little rooster?”
Ward caught Red’s startled look, then she shook her head hard. As if telling him to leave it alone.
But he could not. Would not. “I’m telling you to let her go.”
Thorton grabbed Red’s arm. She cringed, then straightened and faced him squarely, defiance blaring from her eyes. But Ward knew it was only a defensive gesture. One he had grown familiar with. You can beat me all you want but you can’t control my mind.
“She’s mine,” Thorton said. “I do with her as I please. Besides, I have a duty to control her. The good book says—” The man puffed up his chest as if expounding words of utmost importance “‘—A man should rule his own household.’ I aim to do exactly that.”
Ward stepped closer. He had no plan. He didn’t know if Red was the man’s lawful wife or not. He only knew he would not allow the abuse to continue.
From somewhere a gun appeared in the hand of a man to Ward’s left, leveled at Ward. “We paid to see her dance.”
Ward hesitated, his gaze slowly shifting from the gun back to Red.
“This the way you want it, boy?” Thorton shoved Red away. She stumbled. Ward reached to stop her fall but she spun about as smooth as a fox and pushed the tipped chair of the nearest man, sending him crashing to the floor. Several men tumbled like dominos. The gun went off. Bedlam erupted.
Ward glanced down at himself. Saw no blood. He looked for Red. She was sprawled flat-out, a bright pink stain on her skirt.
“That’ll bring the Mountie,” a man near the door bellowed.
Men scattered, bursting through the door. Ward figured they must have about bowled over anyone approaching the saloon. Horses pounded away. Thorton had slipped into the back room. Only Ward and the saloonkeeper remained. And Red.
“Best get her out of here,” the saloonkeeper said.
Ward didn’t pause to ask questions or wonder. He scooped Red off the floor and beat it out the door. He scrambled to the back of his horse, Miss Red in his arms. No one asked him what he was doing or challenged his actions. Without a backward look he headed for home.
The bloodstain on Red’s dress spread but his sense of decency forbade him checking it. Unless her life seemed threatened, and it didn’t. He explored her scalp with his fingers, found a knot the size of an egg and discovered her tangled curls felt all springy and satiny under his fingers.
“I’ll take you home and turn you over to Linette,” he said. Linette was his boss’s wife and she took in strays and injured people, fixed them up and made sure they had a safe place to continue their lives. “What with Eddie—that’s the boss—and the other cowboys, I don’t expect you’ll be bothered by Thorton again. Sure hope you’re not married to that man or we’ll have to deal with the law.”
He urged the horse to a trot. He longed for a cool breeze, but the heat of midsummer beat down on them.
If he rode steady he could reach the ranch by the evening. At least with the long summer days there would still be some light. Not that he feared getting lost. ’Sides, if he did, the horse knew his way home.
Red moaned and clutched her head. She’d be confused when she came to, so he tightened his arms around her waist to prevent her from falling.
He knew the precise moment her senses returned. She stiffened like a rod. If he hadn’t expected some sort of reaction, she’d have shimmied right out of his arms and likely landed on her head again, or under the horse’s hooves.
“Relax. You’re safe. Got a little gunshot wound, but I think it’ll wait till we reach the ranch.” He realized she hadn’t heard his earlier words about Linette and Eddie, and repeated them, then gave his name.
She squirmed about to direct those green eyes at him. None of her defiance had faded. “Put me down right this minute.”
“Ma’am...miss...you don’t have to worry anymore. ’Less you’re married to that—” Best not call him a beast just in case “—that man.” He realized women married scoundrels. Usually because the man in question tricked them with words of love. Love? He snorted softly, hoping she wouldn’t notice. Love made a person do foolish things. Made them regret decisions. Sort of messed up a man’s or woman’s thinking. He’d long ago decided it wasn’t for him. Nope. He’d accept responsibility, work and do anything for people he cared about. But he would not allow his heart to rule his head.
She made an unladylike noise. “We are most certainly not married.”
“Then you’re safe. I’ll take you to the ranch.”
“I do not want to go to your ranch.”
“It’s not mine—”
“Put