Diamond in the Rough

Tarleton had backed Sassy into an aisle of cattle feed sacks. He had her in a tight embrace and he was trying his best to kiss her. His hands were on her body. She was fighting for her life, panting and struggling against the fat man’s body.

“You sorry, son of a…!” John muttered as he caught the man by his collar and literally threw him off Sassy.

She was gasping for air. Her blouse was torn and her shoulders ached. The stupid man had probably meant to do a lot more than just kiss her, if he’d locked the door, but thanks to John he’d barely gotten to first base. She almost gagged at the memory of his fat, wet mouth on her lips. She dragged her hand over it.

“You okay?” John asked her curtly.

“Yes, thanks to you,” she said heavily. She glared at the man behind him.

He turned back toward Tarleton, who was flushed at being caught red-handed. He backed away from the homicidal maniac who started toward him with an expression that could have stopped traffic.

“Don’t you…touch me…!” Tarleton protested.

John caught him by the shirtfront, drew back his huge fist, and knocked the man backward out into the feed store. He went after him, blue eyes sparking like live electricity, his big fists clenched, his jaw set rigidly.

“What the…?” came a shocked exclamation from the front of the store.

A man in a business suit was standing there, eyebrows arching.

“Mr….McGuire!” Tarleton exclaimed as he sat up on the floor holding his jaw. “He attacked me! Call the police!”

John glanced at McGuire with blazing eyes. “There’s a nineteen-year-old girl in the tack room with her shirt torn off. Do you need me to draw you a picture?” he demanded.

McGuire’s gray eyes suddenly took on the same sheen as John’s. He moved forward with an odd, gliding step and stopped just in front of Tarleton. He whipped out his cell phone and pressed in a number.

“Get over here,” he said into the receiver. “Tarleton just assaulted Sassy! That’s right. No, I won’t let him leave!” He hung up. “You should have cut your losses and gone back to Billings,” he told the white-faced man on the floor, nursing his jaw. “Now, you’re going to jail.”

“She teased me into doing it!” Tarleton cried. “It’s her fault.”

John glanced at McGuire. “And I’m a green elf.” He turned on his heel and went back to the tack room to see about Sassy.

She was crying, leaning against an expensive saddle, trying to pull the ripped bits of her blouse closed. Her ratty little faded bra was visible where it was torn. It was embarrassing for her to have John see it.

John stripped off the cotton shirt he was wearing over his black undershirt. He eased her hands away from her tattered blouse and guided her arms into the shirt, still warm from his body. He buttoned it up to the very top. Then he framed her wet face in his big hands and lifted it to his eyes. He winced. Her pretty little mouth was bruised. Her hair was mussed. Her eyes were red and swollen.

“Me and my damned barn,” he muttered. “I’m sorry.”

“For…what?” she sobbed. “It’s not your fault.”

“It is. I should have expected something like this.”

The bell on the door jangled and heavy footsteps echoed on wood. There was conversation, punctuated by Tarleton’s protests.

A tall, lean man in a police uniform and a cowboy hat knocked at the tack door and walked in. John turned, letting him see Sassy’s condition.

The newcomer’s thin mouth set in hard lines and his black eyes flashed fire. “You all right, Sassy?” he asked in a deep, bass voice.

“Yes, sir, Chief Graves,” she said brokenly. “He assaulted me!” she accused, glaring at Tarleton. “He came up behind me while I was putting up stock and grabbed me. He kissed me and tore my blouse…” Her voice broke. “He tried to…to…!” She couldn’t choke the word out.

Graves looked as formidable as John. “He won’t ever touch you again. I promise. I need you to come down to my office when you feel a little better and give me a statement. Will you do that?”

“Yes, sir.”

He glanced at John. “You hit him?” he asked, jerking his head toward the man still sitting on the floor outside the room.

“Damned straight I did,” John returned belligerently. His blue eyes were still flashing with bad temper.

Chief Graves glanced at Sassy and winced.

The police chief turned and went back out into the other room. He caught Tarleton by his arm, jerked him to his feet, and handcuffed him while he read him his rights.

“You let me go!” Tarleton shouted. “I’m going back to Billings in two days. She lied! I never touched her that way! I just kissed her! She teased me! She set me up! She lured me into the back! And I want that damned cowboy arrested for assault! He hit me!”

Nobody was paying him the least bit of attention. In fact, the police chief looked as if he’d like to hit Tarleton himself. The would-be Romeo shut up.

“I’m never hiring anybody else as long as I live,” McGuire told the police chief. “Not after this.”

“Sometimes snakes don’t look like snakes,” Graves told him. “We all make mistakes. Come along, Mr. Tarleton. We’ve got a nice new jail cell for you to live in while we get ready to put you on trial.”

“She’s lying!” Tarleton raged, red-faced.

Sassy came out with John just behind her. The ordeal she’d endured was so evident that the men in the room grimaced at just the sight of her. Tarleton stopped shouting. He looked sick.

“Do you mind if I say something to him, Chief Graves?” Sassy asked in a hoarse tone.

“Not at all,” the lawman replied.

She walked right up to Tarleton, with her green eyes glittering with fury, drew back her hand, and slapped him across the mouth as hard as she could. Then she turned on her heel and walked right back to the counter, picked up a sack of seed corn that she’d left there when the assault began, and went back to work.

The three men glanced from her to Tarleton. Their faces wore identical expressions.

“I’ll get a good lawyer!” Tarleton said belligerently.

“You’ll need one,” John promised him, in a tone so full of menace that the man backed up a step.

“I’ll sue you for assault!” he said from a safe distance.

“The corporation’s attorneys will enjoy the exercise,” John told him coolly. “One of them graduated from Harvard and spent ten years as a prosecutor specializing in sexual assault cases.”

Tarleton looked sick.

Graves took him outside. John turned to McGuire.

The man in the suit rammed his hands into his pockets and grimaced. “I’ll never be able to make that up to her,” he said heavily.

“You might tell her that you recommended raising her salary,” John replied.

“It’s the least I can do,” he agreed. “That new employee of yours—Buck Mannheim. He’s sharp. I learned things I didn’t know just from spending a half hour talking to him. He’ll be an asset.”