ISBN: 9780373296439

Maple Creek, Kansas1890 Tears dripped to the dust beneath her feet. Small bare feet, hardly visible beneath a voluminous gray dress that clad the girl's body in an anonymous fashion. Sh… mais…

Maple Creek, Kansas1890 Tears dripped to the dust beneath her feet. Small bare feet, hardly visible beneath a voluminous gray dress that clad the girl's body in an anonymous fashion. She held her hands against her cheeks, silently shielding her features from the man who seemed determined to strike her face. His closed fist hit the side of her head, spittle flying from his mouth as he swore, harsh words that questioned her heritage, phrases that condemned her lifestyle. She fell to the ground, curling into a tight ball to shield herself against his wrath. The rifle behind Simon's saddle had seen but little use, being carried only for his own protection as he traveled the byways of his parish, but he knew its use, and the feel of the stock in his hands was immediate as he aimed carefully at the heavyset, angry man before him. The bullet hit him, sent him spinning, and he swore ripely as he fell to the ground. Bleeding from his shoulder, he lifted his head and his cold, angry gaze touched Simon, who held his long gun ready, should he need to fire it again. The big man on the ground struggled to his feet, snatched up his hat and awkwardly gained the saddle on his mount. Within seconds he was almost lost in a cloud of dust from the dry, arid pasture that surrounded him. Simon lifted himself quickly from his gelding and dropped the reins, knowing his horse would not stray. The girl crouched before him at the side of the road, her head bent and resting against her knees, her shoulders shuddering with the sobs she could not contain and a cloud of dark hair all but covering her face. He dropped to one knee beside her, and his hand touched her shoulder, feeling the automatic flinch his gesture brought into being. "I won't hurt you," Simon said, his tone as gentle as he could manage, given the degree of anger he felt toward her attacker. She lifted her head, one blue eye almost closed from the swollen flesh surrounding it. Copious amounts of crimson fell from the torn flesh of her lip to stain the front of her dress, and the fear she battled glittered in the look she slanted in his direction. She attempted to speak, but the words were halting, garbled by the blood in her mouth, and she bent to one side and spit upon the weeds there, then sat upright and faced him with an amount of self-control he admired, even as he mourned the pain she felt. "Who is he?" His query was harsh, but she did not withdraw from his hand on her shoulder. She seemed to recognize that his anger was directed at the man who had ridden to the north, across the open pastureland and into the edge of the wooded area beyond. "Kenny Summers." Speaking those words seemed to have drained her strength, because she bent her head again, one hand reaching upward to touch her lower lip. Simon's stomach lurched as he saw the results of violence against the girl. She looked up at him then, the swelling fast closing the lid of her right eye, her left fortunately untouched. Fiction Fiction eBook, Harlequin<