She pushed against him, but it was like pressing against a wall. The man stared at her a moment, his eyes, a green-gray, searching her face. He was young, perhaps around her age, with dark blond hair, and he stood as straight as a tree. All she could think was that she should have known him after spending her entire life in Cañon City. Then he spoke.
“Mrs. Harper,” he said in a raspy voice.
Ruthann stilled. Whoever he was, he knew her. Yet she didn’t know him. The thought was unnerving.
“I’ve a message for your husband. Tell him he ought not to go taking advantage of women, unless he wishes everyone to know what sort of man he really is.”
His words made no sense to Ruthann at all. Taking advantage of women? Her mind raced, but the only thing that came to mind was Sissy. Did this man actually believe what she’d said? And what did he care about it?
“Did you hear me?” His face was closer to hers now, his breath unbearably warm against her wind-chilled face and his fingers digging into her arm. He bore a scar on his cheek that she couldn’t seem to take her eyes from.
Ruthann nodded quickly.
“You’ll give him the message?”
She nodded again. Anything to make him let her go.
“Good. I hope I don’t need to find you again. But I will if I have to.” And with that, he dropped his hands from both her face and her arm and was gone.
Ruthann didn’t even see where he’d disappeared, instead sinking with relief to the ground. The skin around her mouth ached from where he’d pressed his hand, and her eyes stung with tears. The wind whipped around her, but she didn’t care.
“Ruthann? Ruthann!”
She looked up to see Nate standing above her. He sunk down beside her, his hands instantly finding the muddy shawl and wrapping it around her shoulders. Ruthann shuddered, and he drew her to him.
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
She bit her lip as she buried her face into his shoulder. He was so warm and steady, so very safe. Her entire body shuddered again as his arms wrapped around her.
“Can you stand?” he asked.
She nodded against him as she willed the tears to stop. Together, they rose from the ground, but he didn’t let her go, not even a little, and Ruthann was grateful.
She didn’t know how long they stood like that, against the wall of the gunsmith’s building, his arms holding her tight to him. But finally, she tilted her head up.
“Can we go home?”
Without a word, he shifted his stance so that one arm wrapped around her shoulders, and he guided her the short way home.
Inside, he helped her up the stairs and onto the settee. Ruthann sunk into its welcome comfort as Nate sat next to her. He hadn’t even bothered to remove his coat or hat.
“I’m all right,” she finally said, although she wasn’t entirely certain she believed it herself.
“You aren’t,” Nate said in a solemn voice. “What happened?”
Ruthann glanced up at him. Those dark eyes, which normally held so much behind them, looked fiercely protective now. And so she told him of the strange man, how he’d followed her and grabbed her, and what he’d said about Nate taking advantage of women.
“I don’t know what it means,” she said.
Nate shook his head. “Neither do I. I suppose he’s referring to the incident with Miss Flagler. But how that would concern a stranger when her father was ready to burn down my entire life single-handedly, I don’t know.” He paused a moment. “Could he be the fellow who’s courting Miss Flagler now?”
Ruthann thought back to the gossip she’d heard from various friends. “No. From what I’ve heard, he’s a tall, thin fellow with very little hair. This man wasn’t. He was . . .” She swallowed, remember how tightly he’d held on to her. “He was strong. His gloves were dirty. He looked like the sort of man who works hard for a living.” She wondered if she’d ever forget the feel of those rough gloves pressed against her mouth. The leather had smelled of horseflesh and hay, scents Ruthann had never minded until now.
She shivered, and Nate drew off his coat. He set it around her shoulders and Ruthann smiled up at him gratefully. But instead of returning her smile, his eyes narrowed and he lifted a hand. Laying his thumb gently over the side of her mouth, he frowned. “Did he hit you?”
Ruthann shook her head ever so slightly, not wanting to dislodge his soothing touch. “No, only held his hand over my mouth.”
“Far too hard,” Nate said, and it sounded as if he were holding something behind the words, a dose of barely contained anger. He splayed his hand across her cheek, and warmth flooded her from head to toe. “He’d better hope I don’t find him.”
