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She jerked at the unexpected brutality.
Her eyes flickered to the few men and women that lingered observing them. Something was wrong. No one made any effort to approach them, and many people went about as if they did not notice she was being accosted. Jason lay on the ground, blood trickling freely from a deep gash in his forehead obviously unconscious, but no one made any attempt to intervene.
Bartley hitched his gun belt higher on his waist and satisfaction resounded in his voice when he spoke. “I will be doing much more than touching you before the day is out, Sheridan,” he assured her with that disgusting smile on his face. “After Mr. Sullivan is done with you, I will keep you for a while before handing you over to the boys. But if yer good to me, I may not pass you over to them at all. It will only be me and Mr. Sullivan between those lily-white thighs of yers.”
The hollow dip in her stomach was more than unpleasant. “You are insane,” she breathed. “Elijah Kincaid will kill you if you so much as touch me.”
“Will he?” Bartley mused. “Never figured a man would be willing to fight over a whore.”
The other two men cackled as if he related some grand tale.
The fear inside her tightened its grip. She felt sick to her stomach. She could not believe what was happening. Even though she knew they wanted her land and wealth, never had they accosted her in such a vile manner.
Bartley touched her hips, and battling the panic that tried to claim her, she gripped the basket in her hand tightly and swung it at his head. She turned and dashed toward the wagon. Iron bands of arms circled her and pulled her back. She tried to pull away from them. A cry issued from her when the arms tightened painfully.
“You are needed in the Saloon.”
“Let go of me!” she growled. “You are mistaken if you think I will enter a saloon.”
Bartley guffawed, jerking her to him so she pressed against his chest. “She still is pretending to be a lady, boys. Everyone knows you are shacking up with Elijah Kincaid and that you were giving it to him before Thomas died. That makes you nothing more than a whore. Now Mr. Sullivan could have invited you to dine with him at his hotel. But such a fancy meal and setting would be wasted on you.”
The blood drained from her face and she stilled. How did they come by such knowledge?
The noon sun pressed down on her and a bead of sweat trickled between her shoulder blades. Bartley pressed a kiss to her neck and she jerked her knees up, aiming for his nether region. Her skirt hampered her movements an
d he barely grunted.
His laughter taunted her. “Feisty…I like it.”
Her voice was hoarse with rage. “Unhand me sir or you will be sorry.”
Bartley’s eyes glittered with lust and possessiveness as he stared at her. “Do you think we believe Elijah Kincaid will fight us for a light skirt like you? Imagine our surprise when Ben Jefferson let us know you had been giving it to Kincaid and when Thomas found out he whipped you. Imagine that. All this time you were simply a no-account whore with money.”
He bent his head and tried to claim her lips. She twisted her face and his disgusting lips smacked her cheeks.
“I am going to have fun with you, darlin’. Unlike Mr. Sullivan I like my women with fight in them and you look like you have plenty.”
She pushed her hand between them trying to create space. When he refused to budge, she did not hesitate in bringing her knee to his crotch once again. He blocked her movement and pushed her away from him, jeering her with his coarse laughter.
Sheridan spun around and ran toward the wagon. Strong hands came around her and jerked her off her feet. She was spun around so fast, she felt dizzy. It was now one of the goons holding her.
“No missy, off to the saloon with you, and do not make me hurt you,” he growled.
Sheridan straightened her spine and curled her lips in disgust. “You are wasting your time. I am not interested in anything Mr. Sullivan has to say and you will release me, you slime. You will not hinder me further.”
“Mighty fine word you’re using ma’am. Hinder. What you figure it means, Omar?”
The goon chewing the jerky swallowed and a leer came over his face. “I was sort of figurin’ she is agreein’ with us that as a light tail she cannot expect to meet with Mr. Sullivan in any fancy dining room.”
Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to shed any. The slimes were toying with her.
The goon shoved her towards Omar, and he snaked a hand out to haul her towards him, grinding his hips into her buttocks. He encircled his hands around her breasts, and squeezed painfully.
Bile rose in her throat but she tried to stay calm. “Release me, you sorry excuse for a human being.”
Bartley gripped her and started to drag her to the saloon. She refused to beg those who stood and watched as if they could not fathom what would happen to her. She eyed the baker contemptuously, and he had the nerve to blush and lower his gaze. She dropped her weight and dug her heel into the earth, refusing to aid them in any way. Bartley grounded to a halt and back-handed her viciously. The blow made her stumble. Blood dribbled from her lips. She wiped it slowly with the back of her hand as she glared at him.
“If you make me sweat and ruin my new vest, I will cut your clothes from you here in the streets. It is up to you.”
