Her eyes shot wider.
The angry soldier asked the now slack-jawed man with the gray eyes, “Do you want to teach the young lady some respect, too?”
Terrified, he hastily shook his head. “No.”
“No, what?”
“No, sir!”
The soldier responded with a deadly smile. “Smart man.” He then asked him, “That your friend over there?” He was referring to the blond man still standing motionless under the watchful eye and raised rifle of the woman in the wagon.
He nodded.
“What’s his name?”
“Appleton.”
“What’s yours? And don’t even think about lying to me.”
Gray eyes swallowed. “Billy Baxter.”
“And this one?” he asked of the man on the ground.
“Walter Creighton.”
He glanced across the field and called out, “Appleton! Over here. Now!”
Appleton appeared torn. His friend was lying unmoving in the dirt. Valinda guessed he wanted no part of what was going on. But when a blast from the woman’s gun tore through the air only a few inches above his head, the matter was settled. He quickly crossed the open field.
When he arrived, the soldier took in the angry bleeding gash on his throat. “What happened there?”
Giving Valinda a death stare, Appleton wheezed out angrily, “Bitch tried to shove a burning branch through my windpipe.”
The surprised soldier swung her way. He assessed her silently for a moment, before saying, “Good for you.”
Once again, something unnamed washed over her.
Returning his attention to Appleton and Baxter, the soldier warned, “If either of you ever encounter this lady again, I want you to run away like your drawers are on fire.” He leaned down from his impressive height to add, “Because if I hear that you were anywhere near her, I will find you. You understand me?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Now pick him up and get out of my sight.”
The directive didn’t need repeating. Dragging the still-unconscious Creighton between them, they left.
“Are you hurt?” her rescuer asked.
She handed him the rifle. “Once I stop shaking I’ll know.” The fear was still raw. Her ribs and chest hurt from hitting the ground, but it was her inner self that hurt most of all. What if he and the woman hadn’t come along? Trying not to let the thought of what might have happened take hold, she forced herself to draw in a few calming breaths.
He withdrew a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his coat and held it out. “Your chin and cheek are scraped and bleeding.”
She glanced down at the linen.
“Here. Let me help.”
He pressed the square to her cheek and chin, applied a bit of pressure, and gently stroked it over the now stinging skin. He handed her the handkerchief, and she took it with unsteady hands, wondering how such a titan-sized man could have such a light touch.
In a tremulous voice, she said, “Thank you for the rescue.”