Jim just looked at him, like he didn’t hear or was so drunk he couldn’t understand.
Wyatt pulled the man closer using his shirt collar. “Are you listening to me?”
Jim seemed to focus, but only for a moment, before his eyelids started closing. His head slumped forward. If Wyatt hadn’t been holding him up by his shirt collar, he would have fallen face first. Wyatt eased him down gently against the outside of the saloon. He did not awaken. Indeed, he turned his shoulder to the wall and started emitting a soft snore.
Wyatt turned to the third man and knew he wouldn’t be any help either. He was just standing there, as if he didn’t know where he was, before he staggered back into the saloon.
Wyatt watched him disappear beyond the swinging batwing doors and took a breath. He wasn’t quite sure what to do. Leave Jim and Duggan in the middle of the sidewalk so everyone walking by could trip over them? Haul them into the back of his wagon and drive them over to the Marshal’s office?
In the end, he strode into Conrad’s saloon, pushing through those same batwing doors. He returned within moments, followed by two men, one he knew as Seamus, who bartended, and the other as Gilroy, who ran the faro game. The three of them dragged the drunkards into the saloon.
He wiped his hands as he left the bar and approached the wagon. Sheridan sat in the high seat, her body stiff, her expression still filled with fear, watching every move he made. Tears brimmed on her lashes, but she didn’t cry.
“Are you all right?”
“No, I am not.” Her voice cracked, just enough to be noticeable.
“What happened?” He took her hand, hoping to offer some comfort, some strength. With his free hand, he pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket. It was crumpled, but it was clean. He reached out, intending to dry her eyes, had second thoughts and simply handed it to her. “Tell me.”
Her words were hesitant, and her voice shook but she told him everything. His anger flared. How dare Duggan accost her simply because she walked down the street. It didn’t matter that the man thought she was one of Josie’s girls. That was no excuse.
“How did you happen to be in this part of town?”
“I went to see Mr. Steele.” She swiped at her eyes then dabbed at her nose.
Surprised, he simply stared at her. “You went to see Mr. Steele?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“He’s the richest man in town. I was hoping he’d buy Josie’s business.”
“Did he talk to you?”
She shook her head. “He wouldn’t open the door. Kept telling me to go away.”
“I’m not surprised. Mr. Steele hasn’t left his house or seen anyone since he moved here, except for Ben and Mr. Stanton. I heard he was severely burned in a mining accident.” His gaze swept over her, checking for bruises. There were none, for which he was thankful, but he still thought someone with medical knowledge should see her. “Let me take you to Doctor Ben. Have him look at you.”
“I don’t need to see Doctor Ben. I’m not hurt, Wyatt. I’m just scared.” Her eyes were glittery, but not with tears. “And angry. Who was that man? How dare he accost me simply because he thought…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Jeff Duggan. He used to be a cowboy over on the Lazy J. He got fired along with his companions. They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
“No, but they didn’t help either. They just watched. They thought it was funny.”
“I’m sorry, Sherry.” He glanced at the batwing doors of Conrad’s Saloon, shook his head in disgust, then climbed into the wagon beside her. “If you don’t want to see Doctor Ben, then the least we should do is see Marshal Goodrich. Tell him what happened.”
“I’d rather not. I’d rather just go home. Please.”
He nodded, though he didn’t like it. Devlin Goodrich took care of this town better than any marshal he’d ever known. He’dwant to know what happened, if only to keep a sharp eye out for Duggan and his friends. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just stop by his office, after I drop you off, and let him and his deputies know what happened. Can’t have men like Duggan thinking they can assault young ladies on the sidewalks.”
She agreed but didn’t offer to go with him to the Marshal’s office. Instead, she asked, “Did you break his nose when you hit him?”
“Maybe. Sounded like it.”
She straightened in her seat and admitted, a little sheepishly. “I might have broken one of his toes when I stomped on his foot.”
He looked at her, startled, then smiled. “Good for you, Sherry. I’m proud of you.”
