redhead grabbed his ear and twisted until he cried out, “Ow! You aren’t our teacher anymore. You’d better let go of me or my father will—”
Clearly undeterred by his threat, the redhead twisted harder until the boy screeched out “I’m...sorry” in a long, drawn-out whine.
The lady, with her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparked with ire, released the boy’s ear, just as Tom’s shadow eclipsed them both.
Only then did Silas appear the least bit remorseful.
“You owe the lady and the child a real apology,” Tom said. “I saw what you did. There was no excuse for it, boy.”
Silas opened his mouth, as if he had something to say in his defense. Then, after his gaze locked on Tom’s, his stance relaxed and he relented. “I’m sorry, Miss O’Malley. It won’t happen again.”
The lady, apparently the schoolmarm at one time, stood as tall as her petite stature would allow. “See that it doesn’t.”
Silas nodded, then, after a quick glance at Tom, took off to join his friends.
Tom’s gaze turned to Miss O’Malley, whose rolled newspaper had fallen to the ground.
She glanced at it, but before reaching to pick it up, she said, “Thank you, Mr....?”
“McCain.”
She nodded, then released a pent-up sigh. “You’d never know it, but Silas’s father is the minister.”
“No, ma’am. You’re right. I would have expected his father to be the town drunkard. Or maybe to hear that he’d been locked up in jail for the past ten years.”
She clucked her tongue. “Silas has a mean, spiteful side to him that his parents refuse to see. I taught school here in Pleasant Valley up until last summer and watched that boy bully the other children many a time.” She bit down on her bottom lip, as if she might be wondering if she’d shared too much with a stranger.
Her hands rested on the little girl’s shoulders in a loving, protective manner.
Satisfied that the child was in good hands, Tom doffed his hat. “Good day, Miss O’Malley.”
Then he urged the gelding across the street and on to the sheriff’s office, where he planned to ask a couple of questions and get directions to a place known as the Gardener’s House.
He might look like an uneducated half-breed, but he knew better than to ask a lady where he could find the town brothel.
* * *
Katie O’Malley held on to Sarah Jane’s shoulders as she watched the dark-haired stranger ride away.
The man was frightfully handsome, with eyes the color of fine bourbon, high cheekbones and a square-cut chin. His copper-colored skin suggested he might have a mixed-Indian heritage. And for the first time in her life, she found herself more than a little awestruck by a man’s appearance, especially one who spent his days in a saddle.
Mr. McCain wasn’t the type of man she usually had reason to talk to—or the type she should find the least bit attractive. Yet she did.
She supposed that was because he’d come to her rescue, even though she hadn’t needed him to. She did, however, appreciate the gallant way he’d made the gesture.
He’d studied her in a curious way, which had caused her pause. Then he’d simply said, “Good day,” turned his mount and headed down the street.
She wondered what business he had in town. Unable to quell her curiosity, she watched him go until he stopped at the sheriff’s office, where he left his big bay gelding tied out in front.
When he was finally out of sight, Katie returned her attention to the disheveled little girl.
“What are you doing in town all by yourself?” Katie asked.
“Blossom gave me a penny, and I wanted to buy a peppermint stick. I was going to wait for someone to take me to the mercantile, but then Sweet Heather told me to go outside and stay out of the way.”
“Where’s Daisy?”
“She wasn’t feeling good, so she went to take a nap. But she’s probably in the kitchen now. It’s her turn to cook dinner.”
Katie pulled a lace-edged handkerchief from her reticule and placed it on the little girl’s small, bloodied lip, gently dabbing at the wound. She’d championed many causes in the past, but none had touched her heart as deeply as Sarah Jane Potts.
It was time once again to talk to Daisy and insist that the woman either agree to leave with Katie for Wyoming next week or that she allow Sarah Jane to go without her.
After adjusting the ribbons in the little girl’s hair, Katie took her by the hand. “Come on, honey. I’ll walk you home.”
While they made their way to the brothel at the far edge of town, they talked about important things, like why dogs chased cats and why staring into the sun made a person sneeze.
It hadn’t taken many chance visits with Sarah Jane for Katie to realize that she was an absolute delight, and the more time she spent with the charming child, the more she longed to rescue her.
As they stepped off the boardwalk and ventured to the outskirts of town, past several lots that were overgrown with weeds and littered with debris, they made their way to the green-and-white three-story structure that served as a brothel. People referred to it as the Gardener’s House, a name that seemed fitting because of its park-like grounds, manicured lawn and rows of marigolds leading to a wraparound porch.
If one didn’t know better, one would think that it was a respectable home owned by a wealthy family. But Katie knew better.
Her steps slowed as they neared the ornate wrought-iron gate, and her hold on the child’s hand tightened. She took a quick scan of her surroundings, hoping to avoid being seen by a witness prone to gossip. As it was, her welcome in Pleasant Valley had worn thin, thanks in large part to the newspaper articles she wrote in favor of women’s rights. And she’d been hard-pressed to find many upstanding citizens willing to write the letters of recommendation she needed to provide the school board in Granville, a growing town in the Wyoming Territory desperate for a schoolteacher.
Sarah Jane tugged at Katie’s hand. “Come on. Daisy made a swing for me in the backyard. I want you to see it.”
The child led Katie around to the rear of the house and pointed to an elm tree where two lengths of rope and a wooden slat hung from a sturdy branch.
“See?” Sarah Jane said. “Want to watch me swing?”
“Not yet. I’d like to talk to Daisy first.”
The sooner she could speak to the fallen dove and get back to a more respectable part of town, the better.
“Let’s see if she’s in the kitchen,” Sarah Jane said.
As they climbed the steps to the rear entrance, Katie’s heart began to pound.
Fortunately,
