Nicole Foster - Hallie's Hero

But today Redeye had had the boy’s money on the table before Ben even sat down. An hour later, Barlow staggered to his feet, yanked out his gun and called the kid a cheater.

Now Jack didn’t have time to consider how stupid he was about to be.

Taking two running steps off the porch, he slid his Colt out of the holster, aiming and firing in one swift motion.

The shot caught Redeye in the shoulder. Barlow staggered, lost his footing and fell on his backside, dropping his gun, an almost comical look of surprise twisting his face.

Glancing at Ben, Jack saw him drop to his knees and double over, clutching his stomach.

Jack shook his head and, holstering his gun, strode over to where Redeye still sat in the dirt, holding his bloody shoulder. Jack kicked Barlow’s six-shooter several feet to the side, resisting the urge to kick Barlow along with it.

Redeye glared at him through bleary eyes. “Damn you, Dakota. The kid was cheatin’. He had this comin’.”

“You had this coming. Although with two bottles of that rat poison they call whiskey in you, I don’t know how you could tell one way or the other.”

Before Barlow could argue, Jack reached down and rifled through the other man’s vest pocket, pulling out a crumpled wad of notes. Barlow made a grab for them, but Jack easily snatched the money out of his reach. “Part of this is mine. And you might remember next time that the game’s played with only four aces.”

He was just about to turn his back on Redeye, give Ben his share of the money and disappear before the sheriff arrived, when a wagon came clattering up the dirt street straight at him, the driver practically standing, urging the horse on in a headlong gallop.

At the last moment, the madman holding the reins reared back, jerking the horse to a stop and jumping down from the seat before the wheels stopped sliding.

“Ben!”

Jack first thought the wiry figure in the baggy duster was a boy—until he saw the lumpy braid underneath her sorry-looking hat slap her back as she ran toward Ben. Even then it was hard to believe anything that dusty and rumpled could be female.

“Are you all right? What happened?” the girl demanded, dropping to her knees beside Ben and running her hands over him. Ben, still bent over, answered her with a groan.

“He was trying to get himself killed,” Jack said, walking up to them.

The girl looked up, ran her eyes over him and frowned. “What would you know about it?”

“More than you at this moment. Trust me, darlin’, he was close enough to hell to smell smoke.”

“It looks to me like he wasn’t doing too badly,” she said, flipping a hand to where Redeye still sat in the dust, chaperoned now by Joe Bellweather from the general store as Joe waited for his son to fetch the sheriff.

“C’mon, Hal, Ben couldn’t hit a bull’s rump with a banjo, even when he ain’t been drinkin’,” one of the cowboys still lounging on the porch of the Silver Snake called out.

A loud outburst of laughter greeted his remark, and Hallie flushed. But she kept her chin up and refused to look away. “And I’m supposed to believe one of you gentlemen helped him?”

“No, you should be thankin’ your friend there for keepin’ Ben out of a pine box. He drew so fast Redeye didn’t have time to blink.”

Hallie turned back to the stranger, who seemed to think very little of shooting a man on the main street in the middle of the day. He looked more like the fancy-dressed gamblers who came through town than a gunslinger, but you never could tell. “Is that true?”

“Oh, I think Bill probably blinked a couple of times. Here,” he said, reaching down to take Ben’s arm before Hallie could refuse his help, “let’s get him in the wagon before he decides to sleep it off in the street.”

More than ready to end being the afternoon’s entertainment, Hallie helped get her brother to his feet and half carried him to the wagon. She started to guide Ben to the seat, but Ben’s rescuer shook his head and hefted him onto the back floorboards instead. Ben, his eyes screwed shut, curled up on his side, moaning softly.

Jack pulled off his hat, wiping his brow with the side of his hand. He wondered how many times the girl did this in a week. From the way she handled Ben, he figured she spent a good deal of her time getting the kid out of one scrape or another, although it was hard to understand why. Ben Ryan was nothing but trouble.

Hallie watched Ben a moment before reluctantly turning from her brother to the man who’d helped him. She supposed she owed him, but right then she wished he could have been anybody else.

From the look of him, she guessed she’d been right from the start, and he was the kind that made his living flipping cards in every saloon and hotel he passed through. But even if he wasn’t, she immediately mistrusted that lazy, charming smile that seemed to be there in his eyes even when it wasn’t on his mouth.

He reminded her of a phrase she’d once heard Tenfoot use to describe a rogue stallion: long, hard and fast. His hair, overlong and tousled, looked a hundred different shades of dark gold, as if the individual strands hadn’t been able to agree on a color. It insisted on falling over one eyebrow, giving him a slightly rakish air that, combined with a wicked smile, Hallie was sure he used to his advantage.

“I’m Hallie Ryan,” she said gruffly, sticking out her hand.

If he was surprised at her hesitation or her gesture, he didn’t show it. “Jack Dakota,” he said, taking her hand in a firm grip, at the same time studying her from her hat to her boots. From the look in his eyes, Hallie got the impression he disapproved of every inch of her.

Why should she care? She’d thank him and he’d be on his way, and that would be the end of it. “I guess I owe you, Mr. Dakota. You saved my brother’s life. Thank you.”

“I hope you didn’t hurt yourself sayin’ that, Miss Hallie.” Jack grinned when she scowled. Then, pulling out the wad of notes he’d taken from Redeye, he counted off several and handed the rest to her. “Ben’s money. Don’t bother thanking me for it, since he lost some of it fair and square to me. Most of it’s there, though.”

“How generous,” Hallie muttered, thumbing through the notes, not about to give Dakota the satisfaction of seeing how much getting her money back meant to her.

Jack watched her, trying to figure her out. He’d known his share of women, but Hallie Ryan stuck out like snow in the desert. Then again, it was hard to tell she was female from the way she looked and acted.

Though tall for a woman and on the thin side, she might be pretty if she stripped off the dust and the cowboy garb, and stopped scowling. He couldn’t tell the color of her hair with it haphazardly braided and stuffed under that twisted wreck of a hat. But she did have beautiful eyes, clear and direct, an unusual shade of soft green that reminded him of wild sage and sunshine.

Hallie shifted a little, uncomfortable with his scrutiny. “Look, Mr. Dakota—”

“Jack.”

“Mr. Dakota, like I said, I owe you for helping Ben. If you’re ever in Paradise again, you’re welcome to call on us if you need anything.”

“Well, Miss Hallie, I may be calling sooner than you think. You see…” Jack leaned against the wagon, thumbs hooked in his belt. “I plan on staying in Paradise.”

“Staying?”

“Don’t look so surprised. I can’t leave until I collect on your neighborly offer, now can I?” Suspicion flared in her eyes and he laughed. “Don’t get your fur ruffled, Miss Hallie. I was only thinking of asking for a little advice. Ben told me you know more about ranching than any man in the territory.”

“Ben says a lot of things when he’s had too much whiskey. Besides, why should you need advice on anything to do with running a ranch?”