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The air went out of her in a huff. “You’re right. I’m sorry for being rude.”
“An apology? I’ll admit you have surprised me, Miss Ellison.”
She reached for another stray letter. “No more than you surprised me, Mr. Ivy.”
How did she feel? What would it be like to have your business and home taken from you by a stranger? He was sorry for her, but at the same time it was his business. His home. It hadn’t been hers to take in the first place. He’d be civil with her, but he wouldn’t allow himself to be sympathetic to her plight to the point of giving up the only thing he had left of his family legacy. He must remind himself that, whatever her intention, she stole that from him. And he would get it back, no matter what.
Gunfire erupted in the street behind him. He took cover under the desk as Mary Lou scurried to her feet, reached for a pad and pencil, and headed for the door.
Mary Lou let out a yelp when Jared reached from under the desk and caught her by the arm.
“You can’t go out there! It’s not safe!”
She jerked her elbow from his grasp. “It’s my job.” She left him, mouth agape, and went to the front window. She could see several people spilling out of the swinging doors at Winston’s Grand Saloon on the opposite side of Pine Street. Someone she didn’t recognize ran up the sidewalk in her direction. He had a pistol in one hand and a man lay prone in the street behind him.
“Lord, help me.” She didn’t realize she’d spoken out loud as she pulled the door open and stepped into the path of the fleeing gunman. The man tried to avoid her and ran headlong into a post on her porch. As he tripped and landed on his back, the gun he held flew across the ground and skidded into the middle of the dirt street.
“What are you doing?” Jared came out of the newspaper office behind her. “You could be hurt.”
Mary Lou skipped down the steps and kicked the gun away as the gunman rolled over to get up.
She barked at Jared. “If you don’t stay out of my way, you could get me killed.” She turned to see Sheriff Collins emerge from the crowd around the victim. “Glad you could join us, Sheriff.”
The man in the street made a last effort to get away, but the sheriff grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. “Whoa, there. Ain’t no need in making me have to work harder. It’ll just make me less pleasant when you’re sitting in my jail.”
Mary Lou held her pencil at the ready. “What’s your name? Do you know the man you shot?”
The man protested. “Let me go. I didn’t do anything.”
The sheriff grunted. “That’s what everyone who ends up in my jail says.”
Mary Lou took a step closer. “Why did you shoot him?”
The man twisted against the sheriff’s hold but was no match for the lawman’s strength. “I didn’t!” There was something in the tone of his declaration that made her think he could be telling the truth.
“Then why run away?”
“I didn’t want to get shot.”
Sheriff Collins held up one hand. “Let me get him to the jail, Mary Lou. I’ll even give you first crack at talking to him, seeing how you helped me out when you kicked away his gun.”
“Thanks, Sheriff.” She hurried in the direction of the crowd in front of the saloon. “I’ll be by as soon as I’ve talked to the witnesses.”
The sheriff’s voice bellowed behind her. “Let me do my job, Mary Lou.”
She ignored him. If she waited for him to get back from putting the shooter in jail, most of the crowd would have dispersed.
She stopped short. The man on his way to jail might not be the shooter. She’d assumed so because he’d run away from the scene so quickly. What if he was another intended victim? Mr. Ivy would scold her for such assumptions. He’d say it was a poor journalist who lost their objectivity.
She approached the owner of the general store. “Mr. Croft, did you see what happened?”
“No, ma’am.” The older man brushed his sleeves to remove the dust of the street. “I was just heading back to the store after getting my hair cut. Next thing I know, I’m lying in the street next to some fella who just got shot.” He frowned and looked at her. “It’s a sad day when a man can’t walk through the middle of town without such an incident.”
Mary Lou agreed with Mr. Croft, but she didn’t have time for his commiserations today. “Thank you, Mr. Croft.”
She pushed her way between the gawkers and tried to get a good look at the victim. He was a stranger. Most of the people who got into trouble at the saloon weren’t from around Pine Haven. They were usually passengers from the train stopping over for business or cowboys on their way farther west who stopped into town for a rest from their travels.
Doc Willis pushed through the other side of the gathering. “Back up, folks. Let me see if I can help the man.”
People pushed back just enough to let the doctor inside the tight circle of the curious. The man groaned and became combative when the doctor touched the bleeding wound on his leg.
A deep, rich voice spoke from beside her. “You’ll only make it worse if you don’t hold still.” Jared leaned in close, causing her to shift and regain her footing. Mary Lou bristled at his intrusion.
The victim grunted and the doctor pushed the man’s shoulder back against the dirt. “He’s right. All that straining isn’t doing you a bit of good.” The doctor reached into his bag and pulled out a strip of white bandaging cloth.
Mary Lou wouldn’t be pushed aside by Jared Ivy. As far as she was concerned, he was a newcomer who threatened her paper. “How bad is it, Doc?”
“He’ll live, but he’s gonna have a whopper of a limp for a while.”
Jared’s next words surprised her. “Did anyone see who shot him?”
Mary Lou jerked her head around to face him. “I was just about to ask that.” Jared’s eyes seemed to laugh at her when two men spoke up.
“I saw the whole thing.” This man was another stranger. His words were slurred with liquor. From experience, Mary Lou knew nothing he said would prove helpful.
Winston Ledford, the owner of the saloon, spoke next. “Who’s asking?” Mr. Ledford was known for being a shrewd businessman. Most of the town hadn’t wanted a saloon, but he’d built it anyway. And the success of his business was a trial to them all. The violence of fist fights and the occasional shootings were punctuation to the endless raucous laughter and noise that never ceased to escape the doors of his establishment.
“Jared Ivy. I’m the owner of the Pine Haven Record.”
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