worried about Frances.
Dante dropped Foster back to the floor and stood up to face the men.
“Now, maybe this is my fault. Maybe I ain’t been quite clear on exactly what is or isn’t allowed on my ranch, but you may have noticed, when I get pissed off, I don’t waste time asking for an explanation. So while I have your attention, let me lay it all out for you, clear as can be.” He pointed behind him to Cami. “Any one of you touches this woman without her permission—hell, you even look at her in a way that pisses me off—I guarantee you’ll only have ’til nightfall to regret it. And believe me when I tell you, this is the only warning you’ll ever get. We clear?”
Wide eyes were his only response from most of them. A few bobbed their head. Nobody said a word.
Good enough.
Dante stepped back and kicked Foster hard in the ribs, just because it felt good to do it. “Somebody get this piece of shit off my floor.”
Simon and Frances came forward. Not, he knew, because they gave a damn about Foster, but because they knew somebody had to do it. The rest of the hands were still frozen in place.
“Storytime’s over, boys,” Dante said. “Get your asses back to work.”
* * * *
“Stop bleeding on me!” Frances griped at Foster as they dragged him into the barracks. “This is my best shirt!”
“It was your best shirt,” Simon amended.
Foster’s response was a string of obscenities. A few seemed to be aimed at Frances, but mostly they seemed to be about Dante. Simon laughed as they dropped the man unceremoniously into his bunk. They stood back to eye him. It was difficult to tell exactly how bad the damage was. Foster’s scalp appeared to be split open from one eyebrow to the back of his head. He had his hand against the gash, but it did little to stop the massive flow of blood.
“I suppose something should be done about his head,” Frances said.
Of course he was right, but Simon didn’t feel like doing the man any favours. The incident had shaken him more than he liked to admit. Cami had obviously fought hard. She’d had a split lip and the beginning of a black eye. Still, she hadn’t been beaten. She’d stood there and told Dante to stop.
Had Lena fought like that? Would she have begged mercy for her attackers?
But nobody had been there to help Lena. The fact that Foster had been thwarted didn’t change the fact of his intentions.
“Let him bleed,” Simon said.
Frances shrugged. “Works for me.”
“The question is, can we leave him here like this, or should one of us stay with him?”
“I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”
They were interrupted by a tentative knock on the barracks door. It surprised Simon. Nobody ever knocked on the door. Any of the ranch hands or Dante would have walked right in. He was even more surprised to open the door and find Cami there. She had a pan of water, and bottles and bandages tucked under one arm. She looked up at him with Lena’s big dark eyes. “I came to check on him.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Simon asked.
“No,” she said in a shaking voice. “But somebody has to.”
He held the door open and let her come in. She stopped though, just inside the door. She glanced over at him. “Will you stay while I do it?”
“Of course. We’ll tie his hands for you, if you want.”
She bit her lip, obviously considering it. “Let’s see how he behaves, first.”
Foster was absolutely cooperative. She gave him whisky for the pain, first, and Simon noticed how her hands shook as she handed him the bottle. She used vinegar and water to clean his wounds, which had him screaming, and finally, she wrapped his head in bandages. By the time she was done, he seemed to be only half conscious.
“After a head wound like that, there’s a good chance he won’t wake up,” Simon said.
She hung her head. “I don’t want anybody to die because of me.”
Her words saddened him. “If he dies, it’ll be because he made a horrible decision. Or it’ll be
Dante dropped Foster back to the floor and stood up to face the men.
“Now, maybe this is my fault. Maybe I ain’t been quite clear on exactly what is or isn’t allowed on my ranch, but you may have noticed, when I get pissed off, I don’t waste time asking for an explanation. So while I have your attention, let me lay it all out for you, clear as can be.” He pointed behind him to Cami. “Any one of you touches this woman without her permission—hell, you even look at her in a way that pisses me off—I guarantee you’ll only have ’til nightfall to regret it. And believe me when I tell you, this is the only warning you’ll ever get. We clear?”
Wide eyes were his only response from most of them. A few bobbed their head. Nobody said a word.
Good enough.
Dante stepped back and kicked Foster hard in the ribs, just because it felt good to do it. “Somebody get this piece of shit off my floor.”
Simon and Frances came forward. Not, he knew, because they gave a damn about Foster, but because they knew somebody had to do it. The rest of the hands were still frozen in place.
“Storytime’s over, boys,” Dante said. “Get your asses back to work.”
* * * *
“Stop bleeding on me!” Frances griped at Foster as they dragged him into the barracks. “This is my best shirt!”
“It was your best shirt,” Simon amended.
Foster’s response was a string of obscenities. A few seemed to be aimed at Frances, but mostly they seemed to be about Dante. Simon laughed as they dropped the man unceremoniously into his bunk. They stood back to eye him. It was difficult to tell exactly how bad the damage was. Foster’s scalp appeared to be split open from one eyebrow to the back of his head. He had his hand against the gash, but it did little to stop the massive flow of blood.
“I suppose something should be done about his head,” Frances said.
Of course he was right, but Simon didn’t feel like doing the man any favours. The incident had shaken him more than he liked to admit. Cami had obviously fought hard. She’d had a split lip and the beginning of a black eye. Still, she hadn’t been beaten. She’d stood there and told Dante to stop.
Had Lena fought like that? Would she have begged mercy for her attackers?
But nobody had been there to help Lena. The fact that Foster had been thwarted didn’t change the fact of his intentions.
“Let him bleed,” Simon said.
Frances shrugged. “Works for me.”
“The question is, can we leave him here like this, or should one of us stay with him?”
“I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”
They were interrupted by a tentative knock on the barracks door. It surprised Simon. Nobody ever knocked on the door. Any of the ranch hands or Dante would have walked right in. He was even more surprised to open the door and find Cami there. She had a pan of water, and bottles and bandages tucked under one arm. She looked up at him with Lena’s big dark eyes. “I came to check on him.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Simon asked.
“No,” she said in a shaking voice. “But somebody has to.”
He held the door open and let her come in. She stopped though, just inside the door. She glanced over at him. “Will you stay while I do it?”
“Of course. We’ll tie his hands for you, if you want.”
She bit her lip, obviously considering it. “Let’s see how he behaves, first.”
Foster was absolutely cooperative. She gave him whisky for the pain, first, and Simon noticed how her hands shook as she handed him the bottle. She used vinegar and water to clean his wounds, which had him screaming, and finally, she wrapped his head in bandages. By the time she was done, he seemed to be only half conscious.
“After a head wound like that, there’s a good chance he won’t wake up,” Simon said.
She hung her head. “I don’t want anybody to die because of me.”
Her words saddened him. “If he dies, it’ll be because he made a horrible decision. Or it’ll be
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