With no time to lose, Blake fired the rifle over their heads and slapped the reins on the backs of the horses. The wagon shot ahead, rumbling over the ground. Keeping the reins between his knees, Blake cocked the rifle, aimed high, and fired again. He was a good shot, but between the jouncing wagon and the danger of hitting the woman, he couldn’t risk aiming lower. He could only hope the gunfire would scare the bastards off.
Leaving their victim, the two men sprinted for their horses. By now Blake was close enough to recognize them. They’d been part of the gang at the next table in the saloon. The big, bearded one was Sig Hoskins, the man Blake had punched. The other man was his sidekick, a little toady named Lem.
By the time Blake could pull the team to a halt, the two men had mounted up and were fleeing for their cowardly lives. But this wasn’t over, he vowed. Once he let the Calders know what their cowhands were up to, the pair would be jobless. He might even be able to talk the newly hired sheriff into jailing them. Either way, he would see to it personally that they weren’t welcome in Blue Moon.
He watched them long enough to make sure they weren’t coming back. Then he turned his attention to the woman.
By now she’d scrambled to her feet and was brushing the dust and grass off her clothes. She’d found her straw hat and jammed it down on her head, low enough for the brim’s shadow to hide her face. The basket and bundle she’d been carrying lay in the grass, the contents partly scattered. So far he hadn’t heard her make a sound.
Leaving the rifle in the wagon, Blake swung to the ground and started toward her. Her voice stopped him.
“Don’t you come near me!” The hoarse whisper rose from the depths of terror and humiliation. She might be on her feet, but she was still paralyzed with fear.
He went no closer. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I’m a friend. I won’t hurt you.”
She shook her head. “You’re one of them.”
“No, you’re wrong,” he said. “I’m not like those men. Did they hurt you?”
“Not in the way you mean.” She kept her gaze lowered, refusing to look at him. The hat brim shadowed her features, but she sounded young, and her figure was small-waisted. A girl.
“Where’s your family? I can take you to them.”
She didn’t answer.
“I can’t just leave you. You won’t make it anywhere on foot. What were you doing out here alone?”
Again there was no answer.
“I’m going to gather up your things and put them in the wagon,” he said. “Then I’ll wait until you’re ready to come and get on board. All right?”
She hesitated, then gave him a slight nod. At least he was making progress. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Hanna.” The name was a whisper. “Hanna Anderson.”
“Well, Hanna, you can call me Blake.” He kept his voice low. “I realize that you’re probably scared of me—hell, after what you’ve been through, I don’t blame you. But I give you my word I won’t hurt you. Now let’s pick up your things and get you out of here.”
Blake walked over to where the basket and the stuffed flour sack had been flung. Children’s clothes lay strewn on the dry grass, along with loaves of bread, some boiled potatoes, a slab of bacon wrapped in cheesecloth, some dry beans tied in a kerchief, and a precious, unbroken jar of blackberry preserves. He dropped to a crouch and began reaching out for the scattered items, then putting them away.
“I’ll do it.” A slender hand, suntanned and callused, invaded his vision. He felt a shock of recognition as he looked up into stunning blue eyes below the brim of her hat. But it wasn’t the eyes that riveted his attention. It was the ugly bruise that purpled her face below the left cheekbone.
She read his dismay. “They hit me because I wouldn’t stop fighting them. I kept on anyway, for as long as I could.” She began replacing the spilled food in the basket, brushing away any traces of dirt. Pausing, she looked directly at him. “I know you, don’t I?”
“You might.”
“At the dance. I was with your brother. You came out to warn us.”
“That’s right. And I saw you again at the fire when you wet down my blanket.” Blake had finished stuffing the clothes back into the flour sack. He waited while she finished filling the basket. “You won’t have to worry about those men. I got a look at the bastards. I know who they are, and I’m going to make sure they pay.”
“My father and my brother will make sure. I won’t be able to keep this from them when they see my face.”
Her words set off warning bells. Blake could picture a bloody feud of vengeance and countervengeance between settlers and the ranching families. It could start from a spark like this incident and spread like a prairie fire. He had to stop it now.
“Keep your father and brother out of this, Hanna. If they get involved, there’ll be no end of trouble. Your family could lose their house, their farm, and even their lives. Let me deal with those men. I’ll talk to the Calders and to the sheriff. At the very least, you’ll never see them again.”
“You should be saying this to my father, not to me.”
“I plan to.” Blake picked up the basket and the bundle, carried them to the wagon, and stowed them under the bench. “Now let’s get you home.”
“Not home. I was taking these things to the family whose house was burned. My father will be at their place. Take me there.”
“Fine. Since that’s where I’m headed with this load of wood, you can guide me.”
“It’s about two miles east of here. You won’t have any trouble finding it.”
“Thanks.” He turned, waiting for her to follow him. Standing now, she took a few careful steps, then stumbled. Pain flashed across her bruised face. She pressed her lips together, then shook her head. “I’ll be all right. Just a twisted ankle.”
Blake remembered then that he’d seen her limping. That would’ve made her easy prey for the monsters who’d almost raped her.
“Let me help you.” He strode to her side and scooped her up in his arms. She didn’t resist him, but he could feel the tension in her rigid body as he carried her to the wagon and lifted her onto the bench. Only then did he notice the smears of greasy dirt and the missing buttons on the bodice of her faded gingham dress. The memory of those men, touching her with their filthy hands, would stay with her for a long time. He probably should have asked her permission before picking her up.
It wouldn’t hurt to check her ankle. It could be sprained or even broken. But the intimacy of taking off her high-topped boot and touching her leg might put too much of a strain on her. Soon she would be with her family. They could look at her ankle and do what was needed.
As he took his seat on the wagon, she shifted to the end of the bench, widening the distance between them. Blake understood. The girl had been through a hellish experience. He couldn’t blame her for being nervous and distrustful with a man she barely knew.
It wouldn’t do for him to appear too friendly. He kept his eyes fixed ahead as he drove the team, giving her a choice. She could talk to him or be silent.
* * *
Hanna fingered the tender bruise on her cheek. Given a few weeks, it would heal and fade. But the memory of those two cowboys holding her, their dirty hands groping her body, their faces leering down at her, would be part of her forever.