Buffalo Hollow, Dakota Territory, 1884
He rode into the tiny town, pulling his hat low over his face. It wasn't likely anyone here knew him but he wasn't taking a chance. He wouldn't have stopped—just kept riding north until he reached Canada, someplace deep in the mountains where no one would ever find him—but he was out of supplies. A man could get mighty hungry living on rabbit cooked over a low fire.
He swung from his horse in front of the general store—Tate's Mercantile—checking both ways up and down the dusty streets of Buffalo Hollow, Dakota Territory. Would the sense of being followed ever leave him? Even in the wilds of the Rockies. He shivered in the cold wind. It threatened snow. The lateness of the season was another reason for urgency.
He stepped into the store and immediately sensed that something was wrong. He noticed two rough, dirty men leaning against the counter. The woman at the till looked cautious but not frightened, though, so he held back, waiting to see if he should proceed or slip away.
"Come on, missee. We only want to have us a good time. You can surely 'commodate us." It was the taller of the pair, a man with hair like an overgrown porcupine and stubble to match.
The younger, shorter one with a nasty leer chortled.
"I'll get your supplies, but then I'm asking you to be on your way." The pretty young thing spoke as calm as could be, even though he noticed that she clung to the far edge of the space behind the counter.
"We ain't in no rush, is we, Stook?" The younger man had a rusty-hinge voice.
Holt edged closer, unnoticed by the pair. He figured by the way the gal's eyelids flickered that she'd seen him and was preparing to deal with three rowdies. Well, he'd soon put her mind at ease about that. Holt wasn't another troublemaker—though some claimed otherwise.
He was about to provide his own suggestion that the pair move along when a tiny voice whispered from a nearby doorway. "Lizzie, can I come out now?"
The drifters jerked upright. Stook grinned wickedly. "Lookee here, a little doll. I betcha she'd like to play with us, wouldn't you, darlin'?"
Lizzie, the child had called the woman behind the counter. Seemed to suit her—all feisty and fiery eyed as she sprang toward the blue-eyed youngster. "Emma, I told you to stay with Pa."
Pa? Where was her father? Why wasn't he out here taking care of this pair of ruffians?
Stook moved with the sly quickness of a snake and grabbed tiny Emma's arm before Lizzie could reach her. "Now let's negotiate something more fun. You—" he pointed at Lizzie "—start being 'commodating. Or—" He jerked the child's arm.
Emma cried out, her sky-blue eyes wide as a bucket.
"That sounds fair, doesn't it, Joe?"
Holt had had enough. He stepped forward. "Don't sound fair to me. Two big men picking on two girls. Didn't your mother teach you better?"
The pair spun around as if struck by lightning. Just as fast, Joe pulled out a gun.
Holt was unarmed, but the gun didn't scare him half as bad as it should have. Lord, looks like we'll be meeting face-to-face soon. Might as well die this way as from a hangman's noose.