Lina blinked at him. How would this mess of a man know about Papa’s money? Or was she even more naive for not considering Papa might have had associates who’d survived the encounter with Hawk and his men? Associates who knew about the treasure. Associates like . . . this man?
Lina tilted her head, studying the man in front of her. Was it possible he’d known her father? If he did, he certainly didn’t know where the money was. If he was smart at all, he would have already searched every place they’d been.
Which meant he hadn’t ridden with Papa. He was acting on something he’d heard third hand.
“I know about as much as you do—nothing,” she replied.
“Hmm. We’ll see about that.”
And without a warning, the man grabbed both her arms and began dragging her toward the door.
Chapter Twelve
HAWK SIGHED. IT WASgoing to take more than one night in Mad Dog Gulch to put an end to things like this happening. Angry men had too much to drink and then took out their discontent on the town. And there were far too many of them in this town for the marshal to handle. He needed more men—men who wouldn’t back down, who’d hold their ground, and who didn’t show a lick of fear.
And for now, that was him, Garland, and the rest of his men from Perseverance.
He’d sent Jackson down the opposite side of the road to check on those businesses, while Garland stayed with the others to ensure tempers had cooled and to help Marshal Beech round up any troublemaking stragglers. Hawk himself went door to door on the east side of the town’s main road, stopping into saloons and any other place that appeared open, and checking the windows and doors of places shut up for the night.
He was just beginning to breathe easier when a knot of men tumbled from the last saloon on the road. He paused and squinted through the darkness. A couple of the men appeared to be shuffling along . . . was that a woman?
A high-pitched shriek and a flash of skirts confirmed Hawk’s suspicion. He took decisive steps forward, his hand resting on the pistol at his side. “You there!” he called out. “Unhand the lady.”
The men stopped still, the big one in the front blocking Hawk’s view of the woman they’d drug out from the saloon.
“That ain’t no lady,” a surly fellow, pink in the face with a shock of red hair under a dirty dun-colored hat, said.
“Your opinion of the woman doesn’t matter. It appears she doesn’t wish to accompany you, so I’ll ask one last time—let her go.” Hawk let his fingers curl around the grip of the revolver, ready to draw if the need presented itself. He’d had more than enough excitement for one night, and he hoped the men would use sense, unhand the woman, and be on their way. Across the road, Jackson paused in his inspection of the buildings on that side to watch the situation unfold.
The one who appeared to be the leader of the group shoved aside the bigger man in the front. He held the lady by the arm and pulled her with him as another man gripped her other arm.
She stumbled forward, her sky blue skirts a stark contrast to the men’s unwashed clothing. She wore no hat, and her blonde hair had begun coming loose from its pins. Hawk squinted again. That hair . . . it was uncanny the resemblance to—
He sucked in a breath when her face tilted up.Lina. What in the world was she doing here? A hundred different emotions coursed through Hawk’s veins as he dragged his eyes from his wife to the men who held her in his grip. Anger, fear, rage, confusion—they crashed and ran together, and it was all he could do to keep a lid on it all.
He squeezed the grip of the revolver and gritted his teeth together as the man with the filthy hat and missing teeth said something to him. Hawk didn’t hear a word of it. He was vaguely aware of Jackson crossing the road toward him.
