into the nearest man and started swinging. As the first blow landed, he glimpsed a pair of startled violet eyes. Then the cowboys began to fight back. “Run!” he gasped as a heavy fist crunched into his jaw. “Get away from here!”
But the girl didn’t run. She grabbed her carpetbag and jumped back into the fray, swinging it like a club with both hands. Even when one of the men twisted it away from her and tossed it aside, she kept up the fight, punching their bellies and kicking their shins. The men, who reeked of whiskey, were laughing, enjoying the sport for now. But they were bound to run out of patience. When that happened, Joe knew that he’d be powerless to stop them.
Damn it, why didn’t she break loose and run ? The bastards would beat him half to death if she got away, but at least he’d go down knowing she was safe.
Joe aimed a punch at the biggest cowboy, who’d grabbed the girl’s arm again. The blow landed hard enough to bloody the man’s nose. With a grunt of pain and rage, he let her go and turned on Joe. His huge fist slammed into Joe’s face. Joe’s knees folded. “Run!” He mouthed the word as everything went black.
* * *
The world swam back into focus. Joe blinked. Only one of his eyes would open. The other eye was swollen shut. His face felt as if flesh and bone had been tenderized like a slab of beef.
As his mind cleared, he became aware of his surroundings. His body was lying on the hard boards of the platform, but his head, partly elevated, rested on something lumpy.
He groaned, remembering it all now—the girl, the cowboys, and the punch that had blown out his lights. Pushing with his arms, he struggled to sit.
“Don’t get up yet. You need to take it easy for a bit.” Kneeling beside him, the girl sponged his face with a cool, damp cloth. “Hold still. You’ve got a little cut on your chin. It’s bleeding, but I think I can stop it.” Joe sank back onto what he realized was her carpetbag, which she’d used to pillow his head.
He’d sensed that she was pretty; but only now, as she pressed the small cut with the bandanna, was he able to study her. She was young—close to his own age—with delicate features and stunning eyes, fringed by long, golden lashes. They were the color of the little spring violets he remembered from back home in the Texas hills.
Her gingham dress appeared clean and well-made, but one sleeve was torn at the shoulder. A streak of dirt smudged her cheek, and the combs had come loose from her hair, freeing her light brown curls to fall around her face. Her straw bonnet, which must have fallen off earlier, sat askew on her head.
The last thing he remembered was telling her to run.
“Are you all right?” he demanded. “Did those bastards hurt you?”
“I’m right as rain.” Her voice had a childlike quality, small but throaty, like the purr of a kitten—and she’d been about as much use as a kitten in fighting off those drunken cowboys. Even the thought of what they might have done made him want to shake some sense into her.
“If you’re all right, you’re damned lucky,” he snapped. “You could’ve been raped, maybe even murdered. I told you to get away. Why didn’t you?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I did it for the sake of my own conscience. If those awful men had killed you, I’d have felt guilty for the rest of my life.”
“Well, I can’t say you were much help. If you’d gotten away, I could’ve looked out for myself instead of worrying about you.”
She gave a dismissive little huff. “As you see, I’m fine. And I did my best to help you. If you’re waiting for an apology, you’re not going to get one.”
Joe sighed. Clearly, this was one argument he wasn’t going to win. “Well, at least, those drunks are gone, and you’re in one piece. But I can’t believe you fought them off by yourself. If you’ve got a story, I’m ready to hear it.”
She settled back onto her heels, laying the wet cloth—his own red bandanna—on the platform to dry in the sun. “One of us must have a guardian angel,” she said, thrusting out her hand. “I’m Sarah Foxworth, by the way. Pleased to meet you.”
Joe introduced himself and accepted the shake from her small, strong hand.