“So would I, but Hank’s not saying, and I’ve tried to get it out of him more than once.”
“I’ve tried too, but all he will say is “a private donor who wishes to remain anonymous”, which is mighty strange in my opinion.”
“Do you think it was Hank himself who posted bail?”
“No, he was madder than a hornet about having to let her go. I don’t think it was feigned. Shit!”
Morgan was over the bar in a heartbeat, and Mead watched as he strode across the saloon and yanked Jane off the lap of a grinning cowboy. Spinning her away, he shoved her into Doc’s arms, who was also on his feet and ready to jump in.
“Look, but don’t touch,” Morgan barked at the young man, his finger in his face. The stillness that came over the room was thick with tension.
“Sorry,” the cowboy replied, his hands in the air. “Guess I misunderstood. The little lady didn’t seem to mind sitting on my lap.”
“It doesn’t matter what she minds,” Morg roared. “It matters what I mind. Keep your hands to yourself,” he continued, his gaze sweeping the room as one hand moved to rest on the butt of his pistol.
Fancy shrugged and began playing the piano again and quiet conversation resumed. Turning to Doc Brubaker, Morgan scowled at Jane, who blushed. Then her chin came up, and she glared at him. Before she could start demanding to be treated as a grown-up woman, a common spiel he’d suffered through more than once, he nodded toward the doors.
“Get her out of here, Doc,” he pleaded, “before she gets into more trouble than she can handle.”
Still holding her arm, Doc nodded and began towing her from the saloon. She left regally, a stiff smile pasted on her face. That was only until they hit the boardwalk. Then she dug in her heels.
“Take your hands off me, you old fuddy-duddy,” she demanded.
“Old?”
“Yes, you must be all of…what? Forty?”
“For your information, I’m twenty-nine, but that must seem ancient to an immature brat like you,” he snapped as he pulled her toward the entrance to his office a short walk from the saloon.
“Is that all?” she sneered. “The way you act, one would think there wasn’t a drop of youth left in you. You’re no fun at all,” she continued with a disdainful sniff.
“That’s because I’m a serious man doing a serious job. Lives depend on me and yes, maybe I have lost a good part of whatever humor I had, but your behavior doesn’t exactly inspire me to be jovial.
“You don’t make me laugh, Jane. In fact, you worry me, and that annoys the hell out of me. I have more important things to concern myself with besides a silly twit who’s far too pretty for her own good.”
“You think I’m pretty?” she asked in surprise.
Doc snorted.
“You know damn well that you are! But for some reason, you seem to want to hear it from any man who will pay you the least bit of attention, even if that attention will bring you to ruin. I swear I don’t know what to do with you.”
“What do you want to do with me?” she whispered when he opened the door, pulled her inside, and locked it behind them.
“I would advise you to stop this at once,” he ordered. “I don’t believe you would like it if I told you.”
“I might,” she countered. “How could you possibly know?”
“Because I am a man, while you are still a child.”
“I am not!” Stomping her foot, she tried to pull away from him.
On the stairway to his quarters, he smiled. It was just like her to insist she was a woman while acting like a temperamental toddler. Then he shook his head, bent at the waist, and tossed her over his shoulder.
“All right, I’ve had enough, little girl. Let’s see how grown up you feel after I spank that naughty bottom until it’s as red as a shiny apple!”
“No,” she squealed, pounding his back as he carried her up the stairs.
Doc didn’t release her until he’d backed up to a straight-back chair. Sitting down, he swiftly pulled her over his knees, tossed up her ridiculous dress, and exposed her tiny drawers.
