He waited impatiently for a wagon to finish lumbering by before he could catch a glimpse of what was happening. His heart dropped when he spotted Hannah, pulling on the arm of a man who looked as if he spent his nights in a pasture. One of the other girls—the raven-haired one who’d married Watson—clung to the other end of a crate filled with food.
Rafe was already halfway across the road when another man shoved Mrs. Watson to the ground. A few of the items spilled from the crate. Hannah still held onto the arm of the other man with all her might.
“Law!” the thief who’d pushed Mrs. Watson shouted before taking off down the road. The man Hannah held onto wasn’t as quick to react and found himself on the receiving end of Rafe’s fist.
Hannah yelped and jumped backward as the man fell to the ground.
Furor clouded Rafe’s mind at the sound of her voice. It was bad enough when thieves like this robbed a working man, but for them to accost women was more than he could stand. It took all of ten seconds for him to get the man in handcuffs.
“Don’t. Move,” he seethed at the thief.
“I’ll keep an eye on him.” Warner stood at the top of the steps, apparently drawn outside by the commotion.
Rafe shot him a grateful look before turning to Hannah, who had just helped Mrs. Watson to her feet. He took both Hannah’s arms in his hands and scanned her face. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, and wisps of red hair danced against her cheeks. He examined her from head to toe, but aside from a slightly askew hat and a streak of dirt on her skirt, she looked unharmed.
It was a good thing too, because the thought of her having so much as a bruise on her skin made Rafe itch to hit the man on the ground a few more times.
He let go of Hannah and turned to her friend. “Mrs. Watson? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She sounded as if she also wouldn’t mind getting a lick or two in on the man. But instead, she scowled and swiped at the mud on her skirts.
Rafe bent down to collect the items that had fallen from the crate. He hoisted it up and handed it to Warner.
“Could you hold on to that while I deliver our friend here to the jail?” Warner took the crate, and Rafe turned to Hannah and her friend. “Ladies, wait inside, and I’ll return to escort you home.”
“I think we’ll be fine to walk,” Hannah said. She smiled at him as if she hoped that would hide the waver in her voice.
“It isn’t a request,” he said gruffly. If anything happened to her . . . His heart slid somewhere south, and he had to swallow before meeting her eyes to ensure she understood.
Hannah didn’t reply, but she nodded. Mrs. Watson looked relieved, and together they followed Warner into the shop.
Rafe yanked the thief up from the ground and quickly delivered him to the jail. Hawk had already gone out again. If there were evera day to call Jackson or Morrell into the office, this would have been it. Rafe would’ve felt better with someone watching over the jail with this wretched man in it. He carefully locked the door to the building before returning to fetch the ladies and their goods.
It didn’t take long to escort Mrs. Watson back to the saloon, which she entered with a look of distaste on her face. Rafe felt a twinge of sympathy for her husband. Hannah might not be impressed with him, but at least she wasn’t openly resentful of his profession.
At the house, he set the crate down in the kitchen. A quick glance showed everything one might need to make biscuits or even a cake. Rafe’s mouth watered at the thought. Mrs. Garner’s diner, where he ate most days, was decent enough, but the thought of having all he wanted to eat in his own kitchen was even better. He turned to Hannah, hoping she might give away some of her plans for supper that evening.
Instead, he found her gripping the doorframe and casting a sad look at him. She quickly moved her gaze to the floor.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, all thoughts of supper fleeing his mind. He could have smacked himself on the forehead. Of course he knew what was wrong—she’d just been accosted and almost robbed on the street. “Why don’t you sit down?” He pulled out a chair from the table.
Hannah shook her head before meeting his gaze. She still looked sad, and he found himself wanting to wrap his arms around her.
He shook off that unexpected thought. “I’m sorry they frightened you,” he found himself saying. “But you needn’t worry about them now.”
“I know. Thank you.” She paused, dropping her hand from the doorframe. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I feel I should apologize for taking you away from your work.”
Rafe lifted his eyebrows. “What do you mean?” Helping people and keeping the town safe was his work.
She lifted a shoulder and dropped it. “Vivi and I are no strangers to rough men in the streets. I should have stepped back inside and asked Mr. Warner for assistance the moment I knew they intended to stop us.”
“It wasn’t your fault. This town isn’t used to ladies.”
She gave him a real smile this time. “I figured that out.”
Rafe tried and failed to return her smile. He rested his hands on his hips, thinking. Hannah hadn’t been here but a day, and something had already happened. How was he going to keep her safe? Whether she cared for him or not, he was responsible for her.
