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Where is that woman? Mac raised his arm and wiped the sweat from his forehead while he sat on the wagon seat, waiting for Mrs. Greer. Just like he waited in the lobby until Snodgrass left the hotel. He had even peeked back in the dining room to make sure she was all right, then left when he saw her talking to the waitress.
He’d knocked on the front door a half-hour before, then the back door. No one was at the house. He yanked his hat from his head and slammed it against his leg. He wanted to get the freight delivered so he could get back to his room in the boardinghouse, take a hot bath, and get a few hours’ sleep. Hopefully without dreams of Lizzie hanging in his barn. Even awake, her haunting shadow traveled with him. He rubbed the pouch he carried around his neck under his shirt. Why, why did she do it? If he didn’t find the answer soon, he was going to go mad.
A dog’s painful howling sounded down the dusty road in front of the house. Mac looked up as a bloodied hound raced out from between two houses, followed by a small ball of yapping fur. A pack of five or six young boys shouting and swinging sticks chased after the poor creatures.
The hound collapsed about ten feet in front of the wagon. The little dog stood guard over the big one and growled while the jeering boys surrounded them. One of the boys, the biggest of the lot, swung his stick at the little fella, but the dog jumped back quick enough to miss being hit. The little fella turned and bared his teeth at the bully.
“Come on, guys. Let’s rush ‘em all at once.”
Didn’t seem like a fair fight. Mac jumped down from the wagon and crossed to the small mob in a few steps. “What’s going on?”
“Mind your own business, mister.” The leader looked to be about nine or ten years old and better dressed than the rag-tags he was with.
“These your dogs?” Mac stood, feet slightly apart, his thick arms folded across his chest and stared down at the kid who glared back with a snarl on his lips.
“Naw, they’re just old cur dogs. Nobody wants ‘em. ’Sides, we was just havin’ some fun.”
Mac placed who the boy was. “Your pa, he owns the hotel, doesn’t he? What would he say about you going around beating dogs just for the fun it?” Disgust and anger filled his voice. “How would you like to be beaten with sticks?” He took a step closer to the ruffians, knowing full well his size alone would frighten the boys. One of the smaller children dropped his stick. Mac picked it up and slapped it against his other hand. “Just for the fun of it.”
A flicker of fear passed through the older boy’s eyes before he stuck out his chin. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. The dogs ain’t worth it.”
The leader gave a final sneer before he turned his back on Mac and strode away. The other boys separated on either side of him like the water of the Red Sea before Moses and gave him a path to walk through. The boys backed up a bit like the waters receding, throwing out a few jeers and taunts before they followed their leader.
The hound let out a low, pain-filled cry. Mac bent down and rubbed his hand over the dog’s head. “There now fella, let’s see how you’re doing.”
The little dog watched with tiny teeth bared as Mac gently rubbed his hands over the bigger dog’s sides, legs, and head. Satisfied that there were no broken bones, Mac got his water jug and an old metal bowl he kept under the wagon seat. He poured out some water and sat back on his heels as the dogs drank their fill.
What was he going to do with these two? The woman at the boardinghouse had a rule against dogs and cats. The small fur ball started yapping when a buggy stopped beside Mac’s wagon.
The same young man from the hotel restaurant stepped down. “What’s going on here?”
Mac shook his head. He had asked the same question not five minutes before. After a last pat to the hound’s head, he stood and wiped his hand on his pants leg. A glance inside the buggy confirmed the other party. She sat there, regal as any princess in a king’s carriage. Well, he was the great-grandson of a mighty clan chieftain in Scotland, even if he was the first son of the first son of the fifth son and therefore would never have the right to the title of clan chieftain.
He extended his hand to the man, who couldn’t be more than a year or two past twenty. “MacPherson. While I was waiting for Mrs. Greer, I caught some ruffians beating this poor hound.”
The man’s handshake was firm. “Andrew Hollingsworth.” He nodded to the injured animal. “Do you know whose dog this is?”
“Boys said he was a stray. Thought about keeping him myself.” Mac readjusted his hat on his head. He’d have to find a place for the dog to recover, but the hound would make a good traveling companion as he traveled from camp to camp delivering supplies. Maybe he could stay at the livery in between trips. He just wasn’t sure what to do with the little one. They seemed to be a pair.
Both he and Hollingsworth turned as excited yips came from the direction of the buggy. Mrs. Greer had climbed down and kneeled, petting the little furry ball, not seeming to care if her dress got dirty from the dusty street and the mutt’s filthy paws. The dog kept jumping up and trying to lick her face. Mac’s gut tightened. Lucky dog.
No! He wouldn’t go there. How could he even think about the possibility of another wife until he knew if he had killed his first?
“Drew,” the woman said. “Since Mr. MacPherson isn’t planning on taking this little one, I think we should keep her.” She faced Mac. “There’s supposed be a barn out back of the house, if you would like to put your dog there while you unload the wagon. There should be fresh hay to lay him on.”
Her voice pulled at him. He had to get away. “Thanks.”
With a nod, he picked up the wounded dog and headed toward the back of the house.
***
Mr. MacPherson hadn’t gone ten feet when the little scamp of a dog deserted Sarah and chased after his wounded friend. She stood still for a moment, then followed them.
“Sis?” Drew called out when she passed him on path, his eyebrows drawn together. “Where are you going?”
“To get my dog, of course, and to make sure the other one’s comfortable.” Sarah dug in her reticle and pulled out the key the real estate dealer had left in an envelope at the hotel desk.
“Would you please open up the house? I’ll be up in a few minutes.” She hurried toward the barn again, but looked over her shoulder. “After I check on the dogs.”
Sarah reached the barn while Mr. MacPherson, still holding the whining animal, struggled with the latch. She wanted to help, but she couldn’t take the final step that would put her so close to him. “I’ll get that if you step back.”
He looked over his shoulder, shrugged, and moved.
She hurried forward, lifted the latch, and pushed the door open. Dust motes danced in the sunlight, lifted by a breeze that moved through the barn. She covered her nose and mouth with her gloved hand, but she couldn’t hold back a tiny sneeze. “Please excuse me.”
Mr. MacPherson nodded and headed to one of the stalls and laid his hound down. The little dog raced over, sniffed around, then settled next to her friend.
“They’re such a set,” she said, “like the salt and pepper shakers in the restaurant. It might be a bit hard to separate them when the time comes.”
“Aye, but they’ll adapt.” Mr. MacPherson gave his hound a last pat on the head and stood. The man seemed to grow bigger and bigger.
Sarah couldn’t get her breath. Moisture rolled down her back. The man was so huge, so menacing. She had to get away. Light shone through the door, leading her to safety. She kept her eyes focused on the tree just outside, but it seemed to move farther away by the second.
Some monster reached out and tripped her. With a yelp that almost matched her new dog’s sounds, she felt herself falling. She braced for the hard-packed dirt floor that rose to meet her. The monster’s arms snatched her and wrenched her upright. She fought it, screaming and crying. She beat it with her closed fists, but it wouldn’t let her go.
“Shush, shush, little lassie. You’re all right.”
A monster with a Scottish burr? No, that can’t be right. The arms loosened but still held her. Her hands stilled as she opened her eyes. No monster, just Mr. MacPherson.
Sarah stepped backward, out of his arms. “Oh.” A whimper escaped her lips when pain shot up her right leg. She shifted her weight off her foot and wobbled. Mr. MacPherson grabbed her elbow and steadied her. Shaking inside, she batted at the large fingers that held her arm.
He dropped his hand as if he had touched hot coals.
“I think I did something to my ankle.” She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out in pain.
“Would you like to return to the house and have your brother help you?”
Her jaws were clenched so tightly together that she couldn’t speak. She nodded.
He extended his elbow.
She didn’t want to touch him but had no choice. She couldn’t stand here balancing on one foot until her brother came looking for her. She grasped the freighter’s arm. With slow, faltering steps they made it out of the barn and a few feet farther before the pain roared back to life.
She took a step, then covered her mouth to muffle the cry of pain.
Mr. MacPherson let out a huff as he looked down at her. “We can go like we are, causing more pain than is needed and take an hour to get back to the house, in which time your brother’ll come looking for us, if for no other reason than to defend your honor.” One of his eyebrows rose, causing the skin on his forehead to wrinkle on one side. “Or we can do this.”
He lifted her into his arms and started toward the house once more.
“Put me down. Do you hear me? Put me down.” She beat at him again with her fists, but she was no more effective against his domination than she had been against Alfred’s.
“Hush, lass, or your brother’ll be racing ’round the corner any minute and I’ll have to thrash him. And I wouldn’t like to do that, since I like him well enough.”
She quieted down. The bully was right. Drew would try and protect her, but he wasn’t a fighter and might get hurt. She tried to relax. The man really wasn’t hurting her. He had just startled her. She nodded.
As they came to the front of the house, they met Drew heading toward them.
“Sarah? Are you hurt?” Drew’s eyes moved from her to the man holding her and the way his arms were wrapped around her. His eyebrows raised the slightest bit as though he were examining some kind of bug or trying to solve a difficult problem. “Sarah?”
“I twisted my ankle, and Mr. MacPherson’s helping me get back to you.”
“Let’s get you inside out of the sun.” Drew rushed up the steps and opened the door. Mr. MacPherson followed him, never letting go of her.
Sarah tried not to let Drew’s actions bother her. After all, he was helping, but couldn’t he have at least tried to get her out of the big man’s arms?
***
Mac forced his fingers not to grip too tightly while he carried the poor lass into the house. Why was she trembling so? Was she afraid of him? He hadn’t done anything to scare her so, had he? He handled her as gently as if she were one of his wee babes, although there was nothing about the woman that reminded him of a child.
Inside, he looked at the first room off the hall to the left, probably the parlor. Good, there was a chair sitting over to the side. Not much else, but at least there was something for her to sit upon. With his long stride, he reached it in a matter of moments, then eased her onto her feet before helping her to the chair.
Once seated, she let out a long sigh. “Thank you for your assistance.”
“Think nothing of it. With your brother here to help you, I’ll be unloading the wagon.” He hurried outside. Once there, he took a deep, deep gulp of air. What was it about that woman that caused his gut to tighten? He balled his hand into a fist and smashed the side of the wagon. He wasn’t good for any woman, especially not one who shook like the aspen when he touched her.
He rubbed his bruised knuckles then untied the ropes that held down the tarp over his freight. Time to get back to work. If only he could find Hank as easily as he found freight to haul. He grabbed the last box he’d loaded back in Denver several days before and took a deep, cleansing breath before heading for the house. If he could get this finished soon, he would have time for that bath before dinner, then a long sleep before heading back to Denver for another load to take to the mining camps.
“Mr. MacPherson, could you use some help unloading your wagon?” Hollingsworth stood nearby in his shirtsleeves.
“Won’t your sister be needing you?” The image of the trembling woman had not left his thoughts or his heart.
“Sarah’s fine. She doesn’t need anybody. She’s about as strong as a person can be.” He reached up and took hold of one of the crates. Utter despair mixed with a tinge of anger rested on the young man’s face. “Unfortunately, she’s had to be.”
The young man stomped his way back into the house.
Mac followed a little slower, pain jabbing his middle. No woman should have to be that strong.