Chapter Twenty
JONATHAN BURST INTOthe house, even more certain something was wrong. And when he spotted the mess in both the parlor and the dining room, there was no longer a question.
Catherine.
Athunkand then a grunt sounded from the hallway beyond the parlor. Jonathan raced in that direction.
There, in the hallway, stood his wife, a piece of firewood in her hand and a man lying at her feet and gripping the side of his head.
He took her in his arms as she dropped the wood. Pressing her hair away from her face, he peered into her eyes, searching for any sign of pain.
“I’m all right,” she said. “But I don’t know about him.”
Jonathan glanced down at the man on the floor. A trickle of blood ran from between his fingers. “Is that . . .?”
“Mr. March,” she supplied. “He was robbing us.” She pointed at the canvas sack on the ground beside March, silverware, money, and other trinkets spilling from its opening.
“What’s happened here?” Mick O’Rourke’s brogue sounded from the entryway before he entered the parlor, the Carter brothers at his back. “Mrs. Clark, are you hurt?”
The men hurried across the parlor toward them. Once they were satisfied that Catherine was unhurt, they turned their attention to the man on the ground. The brothers hauled him to his feet.
“We’ll take him over to the sheriff,” Fred Carter said.
“Aye, he’ll be out of church shortly,” O’Rourke said. He turned to Jonathan. “We knew something was wrong when you left, and then Frank Prince scooted out right after. I followed him out, but he took off toward the other end of town. The boys and I thought to come here first, and I’m glad we did.”
“Thank you for coming,” Jonathan said, his arm around Catherine’s waist. He didn’t dare let go, not after what she’d been through.
“Let these boys take March to the sheriff. I’ll pick up the mess if you want to see to the missus.”
Jonathan nodded, thankful again for O’Rourke. If the man wasn’t careful, Jonathan would wind up offering him work.
He led Catherine into his office and helped her sit down.
“I’m fine. There’s no need to fret over me. I’ve been doing nothing but lying down lately. The exertion has done me good,” she protested.
“Not that sort of exertion.” Jonathan went to the kitchen and hurried back with a glass of water. “Drink this.”
