A Rancher's Pride(49)

“All right.”

She gestured for Becky to leave the store ahead of her.

Outside, Kayla hurried over to Sam’s pickup truck and transferred everything into the flatbed, making sure to load the three gallons of ice cream Sam had insisted on buying into the insulated cooler they’d brought. Good thing she had remembered the cooler, or they would have left a trail of sweet ooze all the way back to the ranch.

Becky, standing beside her, suddenly gave her happy screech. One hand clapped over her eye, she took off across the sidewalk.

Pirate.

Here in town?

Kayla turned. The puppy was indeed here. He sprawled, belly flat, on the cement walk outside the barbershop. When he saw Becky running toward him, the puppy bounded to his feet. He lunged forward but was stopped short by the leash around his neck. The other end of the leash seemed to be tied tightly to a railing outside the shop.

The leather strap gave him enough leeway to jump, though, and he leaped back and forth, tail wagging, until Becky reached him.

She patted his head. Then she grabbed at his tail with one hand, pushed at his rump with the other, somehow managing to get him to sit still. But not for long. He rolled over onto his back, exposing his underside for a belly rub.

Kayla laughed. He was such a cute pup. So patient with Becky, too. And she seemed to have no fear of him at all.

After the rub, Becky reached for the leash, tugging on it as if trying to pull it loose from the railing.

Kayla started forward. She had made it halfway to the barbershop when a stocky, red-faced man burst through the doorway. With his hair half-combed, he looked as if he’d jumped out of his chair before Lou, the barber, had finished his job.

“Hey, you,” the man called, “leave that leash alone. Hey! Did you hear what I said? Drop it.” He tried to pry Becky’s fingers from the strap.

She gave a startled, high-pitched cry.

“Wait a minute,” Kayla called, doubling her speed. “You leave her alone. She can’t hear you!”

“Porter!”

The roar came from behind Kayla, drowning out her final words. Before she could turn, someone brushed by her, nearly knocking her off balance.

Sam.

He put his hand on the man’s elbow. “Take your mitts off my kid.”

“Or what?” Porter demanded, shouldering Sam aside.

The shove pushed Sam into Pirate, who had sprung up and begun jumping back and forth again. In turn, Sam’s weight pushed the dog against Becky, who lost her footing and fell against the rail.

Sam swung at the other man. The sight of his fist connecting with Porter’s chin made Kayla wince.

A crowd had started to gather, drawn from the barbershop and Harley’s.

She rushed over to the two men and wedged herself between them.

“Sam.” She put her hand on his arm. “Let’s go, okay?”

He stared past her at his neighbor. “Not okay.”

Porter backed off, rubbing his jaw and glaring at them.

“We don’t want a scene,” she hissed, nearly into Sam’s ear. “And you especially don’t want one with this man.”

For a long moment, he did nothing. Then he silently took Becky by the hand and walked away.

As Kayla breathed a sigh of relief, Becky gave one last look over her shoulder and waved goodbye to Pirate.

Porter yanked on the leash. The pup let out a low growl.

“Everything’s fine, folks,” Sam called.

“That’s good to hear.” Lou had been hovering in the doorway of his shop. After nodding at Kayla, the barber stepped back and closed the door in Porter’s face.

She hurried to catch up to Sam. He had already settled Becky in her booster seat in the truck. Kayla climbed into the cab and had barely strapped herself in when he started the engine. He took off with a burst of speed that bounced her back against the seat.

She looked over her shoulder. Becky sat looking out the window at Pirate.

“Sam,” Kayla said, “it would be nice to get home with the groceries still in the truck.”

“Yeah.” He growled the word. And sounded almost exactly like Pirate. But the truck slowed.

“What is it with you and Porter?” she demanded.

“You seemed to know all about it, with that warning you gave me.”

She shook her head. “Not all. Just some.”

“Where do you get your information?” She hesitated.

“Don’t bother,” he added. “I can guess. The women of Flagman’s Folly are always ready for a good gossip.”