Love on the Range (Brothers in Arms #3)(47)

“And will Kingston stay locked up?” Falcon asked. “We can come back in a few days, but he’s dangerous.”

“I take Cheyenne’s word for what happened. You’re a second witness, Falcon, and I saw Miss Hobart brought in. Yes, that’s enough to keep him locked up. I’m going to investigate him a bit, and I’ll wait for you to come back and testify.”

“I’ll go buy three tickets, arrange for the horses to get on board, and send another telegram to the Pinkerton Agency about the Jeffers House of Refuge.” Cheyenne turned for the door. “You bring Rachel. The train usually doesn’t stay in the station long, especially not in a town this small.”

Cheyenne was gone, running for the train station, trusting her husband to handle Rachel. She enjoyed the sweet feeling of having a husband she could fully trust.



Kevin burst into the study just as Mr. Hawkins slapped Win across the face.

Win cried out and clutched her cheek. Molly rushed to her and pulled her away from Mr. Hawkins’s fury, and his hand raised to strike Molly.

Kevin charged at Mr. Hawkins and slammed a fist into his face, knocking him back hard enough he fell over the arm of his overstuffed chair. Hawkins’s feet caught under the low table holding the china cups and coffee, and it went flying.

Kevin kept coming.

“No, stop.” Win grabbed his arm and threw all her weight against him.

Molly jumped in and grabbed Kevin’s other arm. Not because she particularly wanted him to stop. She thought a few more solid fists to the face were just what Mr. Hawkins needed.

“Let’s go, Kevin.” Win sounded shaky, near tears. Her face had a red splotch on it the size and shape of an open hand.

“I’m going with you.” Molly had had enough. She wasn’t staying in this house another minute.

“No, don’t leave me, Molly.” Mr. Hawkins dragged himself to his feet. Holding one hand to his jaw, he kept the chair between him and Kevin.

“You’re just going to have to hire a new housekeeper. I didn’t like the way you treated me, Mr. Hawkins.” Molly made sure to load that formal name he’d always insisted she use with scorn. “But I would never stay working for a man who’d hit my sister!”

At that moment, Wyatt came in. “He hit Win?”

Win gave Molly a desperate look across the breadth of Kevin’s chest. Molly let go and plowed into Wyatt as he strode toward Mr. Hawkins.

They collided hard enough she almost went over backward. She clung to him, face-to-face, her arms tight around his waist.

“I just quit. I’m leaving with Kevin and Win. Maybe you’d like to join us?” Her eyes met his and though they flashed with anger, a tiny flicker of humor shone. He shook his head a few times. His fist relaxed.

“Molly, who will feed me?” Mr. Hawkins acted like the slap had never happened. “And I thought, that is, I had hopes that we might . . . might be more—”

He quit talking when Wyatt slipped around Molly and clamped a hand on his throat. Wyatt had gotten away, and Molly had to admit she’d wanted someone to stop Mr. Hawkins’s horrible words.

Mr. Hawkins clawed at Wyatt’s hand. His face turned an alarming shade of red. A gurgling noise was the only sound he could make.

“Did you really just slap your daughter’s face?” Wyatt released his grip.

Wheezing, Mr. Hawkins said, “I’m her father. A father’s got a right to discipline his child.”

Wyatt’s hand clamped again.

Molly tugged on Wyatt’s arm, not the one he was choking Mr. Hawkins with. And she reckoned if she were really serious about stopping him, she’d’ve grabbed that one.

Wyatt escaped her grip and caught her by her upper arm.

She gasped and flinched.

Wyatt, still strangling Mr. Hawkins, noticed and looked away from his current victim. “Did I hurt you?”

His brow furrowed. His eyes shone with regret.

“No, it’s nothing.” She couldn’t quite control her eyes, which slipped to Mr. Hawkins, then away.

Wyatt ran a hand up her arm, gently. He felt the swelling.

“Did he hurt you?” Wyatt jerked his head at Mr. Hawkins.

“I’m not going to discuss it,” she said.

“That means yes.” Wyatt’s regret turned to fury.

“Let him go, Wyatt.” She admitted privately she wasn’t doing her best to pull him off the man.

“A father might swat a child’s backside for disobedience. But your daughter is a married woman. You lost any right to discipline her long ago. And slapping her so hard you left a mark on her face doesn’t count as discipline by anyone’s reckoning.”

Then, speaking slowly, as if addressing a very stupid, and slightly deaf, man, Wyatt said, “And as for Molly, there is no time ever when it’s right to leave bruises on your housekeeper.”

Wyatt shook him just a little. “You and Molly are not now, nor are you ever gonna be more to each other. You should abandon all your hopes, Oliver.”

Wyatt let him go with a tight shove that made him stumble back.

Mr. Hawkins coughed and covered his neck with his own hands. He backed farther away until the couch was between him and the rest of the room. He didn’t speak. Didn’t protest or try to grab anyone again.

But his eyes . . . all pretense of having hopes for something between them, all pretense of a boss treating his employee correctly, was gone, replaced by pure hatred. Molly would see his loathing for the rest of her life. The only real trouble was that he wasn’t looking at her with loathing. He was looking at Wyatt.