Love's Rescue Read Online Free Page B

the window of the telegraph office, the thin man in shirtsleeves pointedly flipped the Open sign to Closed.
    “That went well,” she muttered sarcastically.
    “You seemed to be holding your own,” a deep voice behind her said.
    Jess started. The big man stood an arm’s length away, his stallion nuzzling the broad shoulder of his sheepskin coat. He was so tall that she had to lift her head to meet his gaze, and she calculated his intimidating height as six feet—and that was not counting the cowboy boots and hat. Beneath the brim, his brown eyes were calm yet keenly alert, his nose slightly hooked—Indian blood, perhaps?—and his rectangular face was undeniably handsome, dusted with a trace of whiskers. He seemed familiar, and she struggled to place him.
    “I think those fellows were fortunate we came along when we did,” he said. “You looked mad enough to shred their hides.”
    Jess stared up at him, recognition dawning. “Mr. Bennett?” She recalled him as a rancher who had come into her father’s store a number of times. He had once joined them for dinner when her father was considering investing in cattle of his own.
    “That’s right.” His dark eyes studied her face. “You’re Isaac Hale’s daughter.”
    “Jessica,” she said. “I was mad. Frightened, too, but mostly mad.” With her fingers, she combed back the hair that had come free in the struggle and winced at the tenderness of her scalp. “I’m grateful you came along when you did.”
    “We’d best move aside,” Jake said, seeing that the onlookers were going about their business and usual traffic had resumed. As they crossed the road toward the livery stable, Jess began to shiver. The wind was about as genial as a blanket of ice. Her eyes darted back to the place on the road where the men had dragged her, but her cloak wasn’t there. No doubt, she had lost it in the telegraph office. So be it. She wasn’t about to go back for it.
    Bennett tied his horse to the corral fence. The four cattlemen stood lookout near their horses at the hitching rail, and Jess paused by them, intending to thank them for their help. “Do you have another wrap?” Jake asked her.
    Jess looked at him in surprise.
    His brown hat tipped toward the telegraph office. “You went in with one,” he said.
    And the Yankee-loving telegrapher likely had it in hand, and was just waiting for her to slink back in and beg him for it. “I’ll be fine until I get home.”
    Without preamble, the rancher shrugged out of his thick sheepskin coat. “There’s more to consider than your pride, Miss Hale,” he murmured as he swung it over her shoulders. “Influenza can be a hard lesson.”
    The coat was heavy and tremendously warm. Jess extended her arms in the sleeves and buttoned it rapidly, nodding in thanks.
    The thinnest of the ranch hands, a young, wiry man, pulled his ragged, woolen scarf from around his neck and passed it to her. Jess wrapped it over her freezing head and ears and knotted it under her chin. She flashed him a look of gratitude, but he had already lowered his blushing cheeks into his upturned collar and resumed his survey of the street.
    Another of the four handed her a pair of man’s gloves. He was stout, with fiery orange hair and a bushy mustache and beard to match. An Irishman, no doubt—her grandfather had had the same flame-red hair and fair skin. This man had a look of joviality about him, though he evidently restrained it in favor of remaining vigilant about any who might return to do them harm.
    At her questioning look, Jake introduced her to the Irishman. “Miss Hale, this is Taggart.” One bright-blue eye winked. “The boy is Reese.” Jake then turned to a big, black man who was nearly as tall as he. “This is Doyle, and the Spaniard there is Diaz.”
    Doyle barely glanced at her, but Diaz gave her a jaunty salute with the knife he had drawn to carve a piece of wood. He was a contrast of brown skin, black mustache, and grinning white