Necessary Action

Instinctively, Duff snaked his uninjured arm around the woman’s waist and pulled her away from the thrusting knife. “Are you crazy?”

Baldy, too, seemed shocked by the interloper. He grabbed the redhead by the wrist and jerked her from Duff’s one-armed grasp before pushing her to the side. “Damn it, girl. You get out of my way.”

She stumbled a few feet. But as soon as she found her footing, the redhead jumped right back into the fray. She shoved at Silas’s chest and wedged herself between the two men. “I said to stop!”

Duff’s arm went around her again, snugging her round bottom against his hip as he spun her away from the danger and pulled her to a safer distance. “Listen, sweetheart, I appreciate the effort, but you’re going to get yourself killed. And I can’t have that on my con—”

“Melanie!” Henry Fiske shouted from the porch, warning the woman to stand down instead of telling Baldy to lower the knife that was now pointed at both of them. “You forget yourself, girl. You get out of there now. This doesn’t concern you.”

Silas’s dark gaze bored into hers and Duff retreated another step, dragging his foolhardy savior farther from that blood-tipped blade. Silas snapped his gaze up to Duff’s, over the top of her head, before he flicked the knife down into the ground and walked over to the edge of the porch. Cursing Duff and the woman under his breath, Baldy dipped his hands into a bucket of water and splashed it over the top of his dirty, sweaty head.

A damp wisp of wavy auburn hair lifted in the hot summer breeze and stuck to the sweat on Duff’s neck as his chest heaved against the exertion of the fight. The woman’s breath was coming hard, too, but she kept her eyes fixed on Silas, making sure he wasn’t going to try another sneak attack. She sagged against Duff’s chest, and he realized the front of his khaki T-shirt was soaking up moisture from the long cords of hair caught between them. As quickly as he sensed the woman’s relief, he realized he was still holding on to her with a death grip. He released her and she turned to inspect the torn, bloodied cotton of his sleeve. Well, hell. She might be a lot of tough talk, but she was gutting her way through this brave little rebellion against his violent welcome.

“I’m forgetting nothing, Uncle Henry. The new guy put Silas down fair and square. He proved what you wanted him to.” Despite her succinct words, there was a soft drawl to her ng’s and vowel sounds, indicating her Ozark upbringing. “You put me in charge of the infirmary and I’m doing my job. I know you sent Daryl on a supply run, but until we restock, I don’t have the supplies to treat more injuries like this.”

She reminded him of a long-haired Irish setter after a bath, with the dripping ends of her long hair making dark spots on the front of her gray T-shirt. She was of average height and definitely on the full-figured side of things. Her face was nothing remarkable to look at. Ordinary brown eyes. Simple nose and apple-shaped cheeks dusted with freckles. Pale pink lips.

But her fingers worked with beautiful precision. She ripped the sleeve away and pulled the material down off the end of his arm before wadding it up and pressing it against the slice across the outside of his shoulder. She didn’t even hesitate at his grunt of pain. The woman certainly knew how to make a field dressing. “As it is, I may not have enough sutures to seal this cut. And I’m completely out of antibiotics. We should take him to the hospital in Falls City.”

“Is he dying?” Fiske asked.

The redhead’s mouth squeezed into a frown. “No.”

“Then you’re not going anywhere. You’re a resourceful girl. Figure it out.” Fiske’s tone made that sound more like an annoyance than the compliment it should have been. And there was nothing girlish about the curves straining the damp T-shirt she wore. “Have you been in the lake again, Mel?”

“I took a dip to cool off.” That explained the wet hair.

“Melanie?” Fiske chided, apparently requiring a different sort of answer.

She dropped one hand from the makeshift dressing over Duff’s shoulder and lowered her head to a more deferential posture. “I’ll find a way to take care of him without going to town.”

Without the pressure of her grip, the cut throbbed and blood trickled down his arm again. Thinking she’d given up on defying her uncle to help him, Duff snagged the wadded cotton from her grip and reached over to cover the wound with his own hand. But she surprised him by stretching around him and palming his backside. Her heavy breasts squished against his chest as she patted one cheek and then the other. The grope was unexpected but far more pleasurable than Silas’s fist had been. Duff turned to keep her eyes in sight, gauging her intent. “Not that I don’t appreciate a good butt-grab, sweetheart, but I don’t even know your last name.”

“It’s Fiske...oh.” Rosy dots appeared beneath her freckles as her gaze darted up to his. Her fingers stroked him as she curled them into her palm, and his buttock muscle clenched at the unintended tickle. She pulled back, dangling the blue bandanna she’d stolen from his pocket. “Um...”

“You stopped that girl’s mouth from runnin’, Mr. Maynard.” Fiske chuckled from the porch. “You’re hired.”

Chapter Three (#u730608af-c96e-51b1-83db-681c5cca6368)

“Mr. Maynard.”

With his brain sidetracked by the blush creeping up Melanie’s neck, Duff didn’t immediately answer to the name on his fake driver’s license. She not only hadn’t been getting fresh with him, but she looked mortified for him to believe that she had been. Duff backed away a step, silently cursing how easily her bold touches had distracted him. And this feisty mouse wasn’t even trying! Reel it in, Watson. She was being resourceful, just as her uncle had directed, not putting the moves on him.

He knew better than to let any woman get in his head and derail his focus on his assignment. He looked over the top of Melanie’s wild red hair and nodded his thanks to her uncle. “I trust the open space and quiet time to think you promised me starts now?” He glanced around the circle of lingering onlookers and hardened his voice to a steely timbre. “Or does anybody else want to try to get their licks in?”

Fiske laughed as a few less-daring souls skittered away from the audience. “I promise we have a predictable routine and plenty of opportunities for you to make a living away from outside influences here.” The laughter ended as Henry eyed the slender young woman who had hurried over to help Skinny Guy off the ground. No doubt suffering from battered pride in addition to his bloody nose, he seemed only too happy to drape his arm around the pretty brunette’s shoulders and limp toward the side of the house. “Roy?” Skinny Guy turned. “You did well today. You didn’t quit. I can’t ask for anything more.”

Roy nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“But you aren’t going anywhere alone with my daughter,” he warned. “Silas, you take Deanna on into the house.”

“Yes, sir.” The big guy seemed eager to obey that order.

“Silas will do nothing of the kind.” The blonde who’d been leaning against the post walked to the edge of the porch to rest her hand on her husband’s arm. “Young people need a little time to themselves.”

Henry patted his wife’s hand before seeking out his daughter. “All right, then, tend to Roy. But, remember, dinner’s at six, and I expect to see you there. We have company coming.”

“Who? Silas?” the young brunette whined. “He’s not company.”

“You do as I say, young lady,” Henry ordered.

“Daddy—”

“Deanna Christine...”

The young brunette looked from her mother to her father. “What if Roy and I have plans? I’m not a baby, anymore. I’m almost twenty-two. You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Six o’clock, young lady. Or you won’t be seeing Roy at all.”

Deanna pouted out her copper-tinted lips. “Yes, Daddy.” She wound her arm around Roy’s waist and leaned into him. “Come on. I’ll make those boo-boos feel all better.”

Abby squeezed her husband’s arm before retreating to the corner of the porch to watch her daughter leave. “She’ll be fine, dear. I promise.”

Leaving his daughter’s love life up to his wife’s supervision, Henry repeated his order. “Give Mr. Maynard his bag and get cleaned up.”

Silas waited for a moment, then pulled the knife that was stained with Duff’s blood out of the ground. He held the blade down at his side as he picked up the duffel bag. Since Melanie was working on a field dressing for his cut again, Duff reached out to take the bag. “Thanks, Baldy.”

The big man didn’t immediately release the strap. His eyes sent the message that he was top dog at this place. “You may have the job, but you’re still on probation, Maynard. And you’ll be reporting to me.”

Duff was a big man, too. And backing down wasn’t part of the role he needed to play. He yanked the bag from Silas’s grip. “Just don’t expect me to salute you.”

Silas’s nostrils flared. He muttered something under his breath before wrapping his big bear paw around Melanie’s elbow and pulling her away from her work. “You’re going to that dance with me in a couple of weeks.”

It wasn’t a question. Despite Duff’s vow to keep his hormones in check on this assignment, he dropped the bag to pry Silas’s hand off the woman.

“Are you kidding?” But the curvy redhead didn’t need his help. She smacked Silas’s hand away and gestured toward the corner of the house where the young couple had turned out of sight. “Ask Deanna if she’s who you want to be with. I’m not interested in being her substitute.”

“Silas.” The vein throbbing in the big man’s forehead receded at Henry’s summons. “Now’s not the time to be thinking about who you’re taking to the Hanover Lake festival. On second thought, you clean up later. We have work lined up that needs to be dealt with today. There’s a truck coming in later tonight.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Wipe your feet,” Abby reminded the two men as they entered the main house. “And take your hat off, Henry. Don’t worry, dear. I’ll keep an eye on Deanna.”

The two men disappeared into a room on the left side of the hallway before the front door closed. Fiske’s office? Definitely a place Duff wanted to get a firsthand look at. And he wanted eyes on that truck, to see whatever was being shipped in or out. But it was too soon to make a move without raising suspicions. Fiske and his lieutenant were probably discussing him and where they could put him to work. Hopefully, something on a night shift so that there’d be fewer people to see his comings and goings when he left the compound to meet with his task-force handler.

“Welcome to our farm, Mr. Maynard.” Abby Fiske offered him a silky smile as she came down the stairs. She swung her long hair off her shoulders and glanced at the redhead. “You couldn’t spare a minute to put on a little makeup, dear?” she chided before giving him a head-to-toe once-over that made him feel like some kind of prize bull that was up for sale. “My husband will send someone for you when he’s ready. Now all of you—the show’s over.” She shooed the remaining onlookers back to their jobs before she, too, disappeared around the corner of the house.

Once Duff confirmed the key players and uncovered how the illegal operation worked, he’d be one step closer to finding the man who’d pulled the trigger that had left Seamus Watson with a traumatic brain injury and a long road to recovery. Grandpa Seamus had learned to walk again, and was regaining some use of his left hand. But retraining himself to speak and enduring months of painful physical therapy had left the once-vibrant octogenarian a white-haired shell of his former self.