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Before she could think of an appropriate response to that eyebrow raiser, he frowned and pursed his lips. “At least not right away. I’d have helped,” he said with a placating smile. Then he shrugged. “Eventually. Most likely. Maybe. To be honest, it would have been right amusing to watch a little girl like you try and haul his considerable backside into that wagon.”
Nora’s eyebrows hit her hairline. No one, and she meantno one, had ever called herlittle. She was scraping six feet, which made her a good hand or two taller than most men in town. Sturdier, too. A fact most of the men she’d met didn’t find too attractive. The man before her had her beat, in height and muscle, but not by much. He, however, wasn’t looking at her but kept his narrowing gaze on her father.
“But…” He shrugged again. “A man face down in the street does tend to draw attention, and since I’d like to avoid that as much as possible, your and your father’s quick departure works very well in my favor. So…”
He gestured for her to take one of her father’s arms. She sputtered, not sure how to respond…until he winked at her and gave her a half smile that had her heart hopping around in her chest like a rabbit through a lettuce patch. The charming gesture didn’t fit with the grubby man before her. Neither did the manicured nails and soft hands that grasped her father’s arm. Something was definitely off with the man.
As was her reaction to him. What the hell was wrong with her? She wasn’t the sort to get muddleheaded by a pretty face. If there even was a pretty face under all that dirt. The bone structure was definitely there, but the rest was a bit…smudged.
But there was something about him that had her sitting up and paying attention…and she was too busy for that kind of nonsense.
The glare she attempted to aim at him misfired, as he’d already turned away, rendering her reaction moot. She’d have to remember to glare at him doubly hard next time he looked her way. Though…maybe she’d wait until after he helped her load her father into the wagon. She did need his help, after all.
“Well, come on,” he said, grunting as he half lifted her father.
His tone tempted her to take her time, but her father was not a small man, and she wasn’t sure how long her would-be-savior could hold him. Best to get him in the wagon before the poor man’s spine gave out. Her lips thinned, but she grabbed her father’s other arm, and together they hefted the front half of him into the wagon.
The man surprised her again by jumping into the wagon, grabbing her father under his arms, and pulling him the rest of the way in. Then he hopped down and removed his hat so he could mop his brow with a handkerchief.
“Will you need help getting him back out of there?” he asked.
Her eyes widened. “Are you volunteering?”
“Absolutely not,” he said, his eyes darting around the crowd that had grown enough that they were only a few feet from the wagon now. Though no one was paying any attention to them. “No offense, but I’ve got my hands full trying to save my own ass,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on the sheriff, who stood at the front of the crowd with the preacher, who was addressing everyone, and their mayor, Mrs. DuVere.
Nora didn’t hear what Preacher was saying, though, as her ears were too busy ringing with the man’s vehement rejection of her request. Not that it had really been a request.
“If you had no intention of helping me get him out of the wagon, why did you ask if I needed help?” she said, her temper rising.
He looked back at her, brows raised. “Just being friendly.”
She glowered. “I’m not sure you’re understanding the meaning of that word. ‘Friendly’ would be helping me get him back out. Not telling me you have more important things to do.”
“But I do. I thought women liked honesty.” He clapped his hat back on. “I already helped you once. Claiming more of my assistance is rather forward of you.”
“Excuse me? I didn’t ‘claim’ your assistance in the first place. You offered.”
“And you happily accepted. And I haven’t heard so much as a thank-you, by the way, not that I’d expect someone of your…your…your…” He waved his hand toward her, implying all manner of things about her person, her upbringing, and probably a number of other attributes with that stuttering indignation of his.
“My what?” she said, folding her arms and glaring at him.
He snapped his mouth shut and glared back.
“That’s what I thought.” Like he was one to talk, standing there covered in dirt and horse shit and looking—and smelling—like he’d spent the last month rolling around with coyotes. Not that she’d be rude enough to say so. To his face.
“At the very least, you owe me an apology for your appalling behavior,” he said, his tone rivaling that of the snootiest prima donna.
“Mywhat? You really think I owe you an apology?”
“Yes,I do,” he said, his words seeming to echo around them, though he hadn’t spoken that loudly. Or maybe it was a real echo, because he frowned, his eyes roving over the crowd again. But she wasn’t finished with their conversation yet. Not by a long shot.
“First of all, I didn’t ask for your help. I was doing just fine on my own.”
He snorted, and she held up a finger to stop him from making any other sound. “I was!” she insisted. “I am perfectly capable of handling my own problems. I do it all the time.”
“Do you now?”
“Yes,I do! But I don’t have the time or patience to explain myself or— Don’t shush me!” she said, swatting at the hand he held up to stop her tirade.
