Chapter 7
Dorothy watched in morbid fascination, her heart pounding in her chest as Warren stepped forward, bending down as he did into what looked like a kneel, and came in under the youth’s wild swing.
He must have grabbed some sand from the road because, with a flick of his hand, he threw something in the boy’s face that made him cry out, rub his eyes, and stagger backward into his friend.
The two of them fell to the ground in a heap.
It took Warren all of a minute to strip the boys of their weapons, followed by two swift punches to ensure they stayed down and out of the fight. Then he put his fists up and grinned at an approaching youth, drawing him into a fistfight in which the boy was clearly outmatched from the get-go.
Dorothy had never had any interest in things like boxing matches, but it occurred to her that she might watch them if Warren was involved.
He moved so smoothly, clearly not enjoying the violence but also unafraid of it.
He was as confident here as he’d been consistently nervous around her up until a few minutes ago.
This, she sensed, was the real Warren, behind all the numbers and wire-rimmed glasses. Far more than initially met the eye.
Meanwhile, a large boy had Michael in a game of punch and dodge.
They moved around each other until one of the big fellow’s friends stepped in and grabbed Michael by the arms. With his arms pinned behind his back, Michael tried to use his head to hit the man behind him while kicking out with his legs in front.
The one in front was intent on getting close enough to hit Michael, but Michael’s kicks were well-timed, and his opponent went down, groaning, only to be replaced by another.
Striding over, Warren slammed his shoulder into the midsection of the youth who was approaching Michael. The blow hit him hard, and both the youth and Warren tumbled to the ground. The boy had the sense to kick out, and he managed to roll on top of Warren.
Meanwhile, Michael freed himself and began tussling with his initial assailant again. Although he was clearly more experienced, the tall youth’s reach was quite an advantage, making dodging blows difficult for Michael. The kid had a nasty right hook that Michael only just managed to avoid.
Why am I just standing here staring? Dorothy abruptly realized. She hesitated to wade straight in, knowing she’d only make matters worse, but she had to do something!
Dorothy turned to a man standing beside her. “Help them!” she urged.
The man looked at her as though she was out of her mind and shook his head. The townsfolk who had gathered, some of whom she recognized from her childhood, all avoided her eyes and started to walk away.
What has happened here to make these folks turn their backs on people in need?
More thugs had joined the assault on Michael and Warren, and skilled as they both obviously were in hand-to-hand combat, they stood no chance against fifteen other men. The two Unity men had their backs to each other and were circling around and around, trying to face all sides at once.
Lord, help me help them! she prayed fervently and suddenly spotted a wooden bar lying next to one of the buildings. Thank you!
Dorothy snatched up the bar and stepped up behind one of the hooligans. “Hey!” she yelled. “Quit it!” And she slammed the wooden bar into the back of his knees. He dropped to the ground, screaming.
Turning, she swung the wooden bar again, hitting another kid across the back. He cried out and pivoted with his fists raised when a booming noise caused both him and Dorothy to drop to the ground together, their hands over their heads instinctively.
Looking around for the source of the gunshot, her eyes fixed on a nearby man. He was short and stocky, probably in his late forties, built like a bulldog. A full beard covered a square jaw.
“Sheriff!” she cried.
“What the heck is going on here?” Sheriff Rafferty bellowed, his gun pointing up in the air.
Everyone froze.
“Don’t make me shoot you all!” he snarled. “Back up, you hooligans. Now!”
The ruffians moved back slowly, allowing Warren and Michael to get up from where they’d been pinned down. Dorothy rushed over, frantic. “Are you hurt? Is anything broken?” Without even thinking, she started to pat Warren down, searching for broken bones.
“I’m okay,” Warren said quietly. Then he hooked an arm around her waist and drew her in close to him, the move as easy and natural as his earlier awkwardness. The two sides of this shy, stoic, brave man fascinated her. It sent little butterflies of delight through her stomach.
The young man who had originally been threatening the crying woman walked over to the sheriff. “What are you doing?”
“My job,” the sheriff snapped, sounding tired. “Now come on, Brett. Take your riffraff and go home. I’ve told you a thousand times you’re not welcome in Pine Hill.”
Brett smiled. It was the kind of smile a predator might wear.
Sheriff Rafferty leveled his gun at the youth, his eyes cold with a warning. “I don’t like shooting folks, but I will if it comes to it. You know that you aren’t welcome, so off you go. Take your trash with you.”
The youth walked over to the woman and grabbed her by her arm. She cried out in pain.
“Arrest him, Sheriff!” Dorothy yelled.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Warren demanded, letting Dorothy go and hurrying over to the woman.
Rafferty nudged Warren out of the way. “Brett, what is this?”
“This here’s what you’d call a teaching moment, Sheriff,” Brett grinned cruelly, twisting the poor woman’s arm until she screamed. “I gotta teach Pauline here to behave.”
“Get your hands off her.” Warren, whose eyes were usually so warm and kind, looked cold as a shark as he pulled his gun and leveled it at Brett.
Not to be outdone, the sheriff drew both his revolvers and the click was audible as he cocked them. “You heard the man. Let her go and then vamoose. This is your last warning.”
Brett snarled and let go of the woman, who sagged to the ground, weeping.
“Come on, boys. Let’s go!” Brett snapped.
The ruffians sauntered down the street to where a ragtag bunch of horses stood. As they rode out of town, Sheriff Rafferty turned his attention to Dorothy, Michael, and Warren. “Am I going to have a problem with you as well?” he asked.
“Why would we be a problem?” Warren asked.
“You acted like you were the sheriff,” Rafferty noted dryly, then tapped the star on his chest. “I give the orders around here.”
“Look, those men were harassing this lady, and we just stepped in to help,” Michael protested. “We didn’t cause any trouble, nor do we mean to.”
“Is that right?” Rafferty asked. “See, all I got is your word for it, and you’re not from around here, are you?”
“No, they’re not, but I am.” Dorothy, who had been trying to calm the crying woman, straightened, hands on her hips. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
“Thought I was rid of you,” Rafferty muttered. “I was sure you left town!”
“I did,” she agreed, offering Pauline her handkerchief, “but I’m back for a spell.”
“Well, while you’re around these parts, maybe you might want to keep your nose out of things that don’t concern you,” he snapped.
“And maybe you want to explain what’s going on,” she snapped right back. “Why did you let Brett and his lot go? They were clearly breaking the law.”
“I don’t have to explain myself to you.” Turning on his heel, Rafferty strode back to his office across the street.
When he got there, he turned at the foot of the porch and warned, “No more fighting in my town, or I will be forced to arrest you, no matter who you’re friends with. Do you understand?”
“Arrest us?” Warren repeated a look of shock replacing the earlier sangfroid on his face. “What for?”
“For disturbing the peace,” the sheriff snapped. “Now mind where you poke your nose.” He disappeared into the building.
“Oh, that man is such a toad sometimes,” Dorothy seethed. “I can’t believe he would allow such terrible things to happen right under his nose.”
“It’s fairly normal,” Warren said, joining her at Pauline’s side. From the way she was slouching, she looked utterly defeated, as though the attack was the last straw that she could bear. She’d even stopped crying and was just huddled on the floor now, a sad, pitiful wreck.
“What do you mean?” Dorothy asked.
Michael sighed. “The sheriff obviously knows there’s something wrong, but his hands are tied for some reason. He can’t fix the actual problem or arrest the actual perpetrator, so he takes it out on others. We’ve seen it before. Repeatedly.”
Before Dorothy could ask for more details, Warren crouched next to Pauline. “Ma’am, are you okay?” he asked, his voice gentle.
For the first time, Pauline looked up, and Dorothy held back a gasp as she realized the woman was at least partially blind.
Her irises had a thick, milky cover over them, and her face was red with scars.
The skin around her eyes was puckered as though it had been badly burned.
There was such sadness and despondency in her expression that Dorothy had to hold back tears.
Pauline seemed to have nothing left to live for.
She hadn’t even tried to pick up her clothes and a few possessions that lay scattered in the street.
Catching Dorothy’s eye, Michael nodded and began to gather up the woman’s belongings.
Warren sat down beside her on the ground and gently took one of her hands in his. “Ma’am, my name is Warren, and these are my two friends, Michael and Dorothy. We would like to help you however we can.”
“Oh, um …” she began, and stopped to sniffle. “I’m Pauline. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Would it be okay if we righted your wheelbarrow?” Dorothy asked.
Pauline nodded. “Just don’t leave me,” she whispered. “Please. I’m afraid they’ll come back.”
“We won’t go anywhere without you,” Dorothy promised. She smiled at Warren, and he smiled back.