Florence's Good Deed
by Zina Abbott
Rejected Mail-Order Groom series
He might be out of the military, but
Ash had not lost all of his stalking skills. He angled his steps so he came up
behind and slightly to the side of the woman, who once again held out her hand
toward the man dressed as a laborer. From the grin on his face and the way his
gaze roamed her body from head to her feet, Ash guessed the nature of what the
man suggested he receive in exchange for giving her money.
Shaking her head, the woman quickly dropped her hand and turned away.
“Hey, don’t play coy with me, woman.” The stranger grabbed the brunette’s arm. “If you’re trying to hold out for more before we find a private spot, it won’t work with me.”
“Let her go.” Using his most authoritative voice, Ash stepped next to the pair and glared at the man. “If she said no, the answer is no. Now, leave her alone.”
“This has nothing to do with you, soldier-boy. I saw her first. She’s with me.”
Ash’s eyes narrowed as he glared at the workman. Soldier-boy? You just made a big mistake. Although an inch or so shorter than Ash, the man’s broad shoulders testified he was not a stranger to physical labor. However, Ash would put money on the man not having developed the fighting skills Ash had during his years in the Fifth Infantry. “She is not with you, either. I’ve been watching her, and she’s alone.” He clamped his hand around the man’s wrist holding the woman’s arm. Using his full strength, he pressed his thumb on the inside, just over veins and joint. “I’ve spent the last several years fighting the Sioux and Northern Cheyenne, better warriors than you’ll ever be.” His other hand grabbed the man’s shoulder close to his neck. He dug his fingers into the area just behind the shoulder bone.
“Ahhh!” The man’s knees buckled. The man’s shoulder, trapped by Ash’s grip, dipped. He released his grasp on the woman’s arm.
As the brunette scurried a few steps back, Ash slid between the two. Puffing out his chest, he widened his stance with arms akimbo, which placed his right hand next to the sheath at his waist that held his seven-inch knife. He hovered over the man. His voice came out as a growl. “Now, I won’t say it again. Turn around and walk away. Do not bother this woman again.” He held his position—the fingers of his right hand tapping the bone knife handle—and kept his focus on the man.
Scowling, the man glanced at the knife, and then he briefly met Ash’s gaze. He backed away several steps before he turned and loped to put distance between them.
Ash watched him long enough until he felt confident he would not return. The entire time he wondered if the woman—the one he planned to speak to and perhaps spend a little time with—had also fled. Using his peripheral vision, he watched someone who, without touching him, walked around his side. The next thing he knew, the beautiful brunette, still wearing the straw hat that, even up close, appeared more suitable for a hen house nesting box or a contribution to the trash bin, stood before him.
“Thank you, sir, for stepping in. I was not sure how I would discourage him without creating a scene.”
“I’m afraid I ended up creating the scene, but I got the desired results.” Ash smiled. Even her voice is pretty. “You are quite welcome, ma’am. Or, is it miss?”
“It’s…missus.” With both hands clutching a carpetbag that had seen better days, the woman dropped her gaze.
Ash cocked his head as he studied her. Why did she hesitate? “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Asher Henderson, former soldier in the United States Army. You are welcome to call me Ash.” He tipped his hat and then resettled it on his head at a jaunty angle.
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