Free Julia: Bride of New York (Amercan Mail-Order Bride 11) by Callie Hutton Page A

walk.”
    “Fine.” He bent and leaned into her middle, then wrapped his arm around her knees and hefted her over his shoulder. With a slight shifting of her body, he strode toward the jailhouse.
    Dangling over his shoulder, her bottom up in the air, she still coughed and sputtered. Angry, but unable to shout, she used the heel of her hand to pound him on his back. It was like hitting a solid brick wall. Her position didn’t help her lungs at all, and her jaw ached from the wallop the old man had given her. Who would have guessed he had that much strength?
    Once they reached the jailhouse, Fletcher dumped her on her feet, grabbing her arm again when she stumbled.
    “You can’t arrest me.” Her effort at speech started up her coughing again.
    “Yes, I can and I am.” He waved his finger under her nose, which she swatted away like an annoying insect.
    “On what charges?”
    He counted off on his fingers. “Obstruction of justice; interfering in an official matter; disobeying an officer of the law. I told you to stay here and what did you do? You not only disobeyed an order of a law enforcement official, you inserted yourself into a dangerous situation, and then assaulted Mr. Wimbly.”
    Still gasping for air, she said, “Assaulted him? I was protecting you .”
    “What!”
    She pushed strings of wet hair from her cheek. “I thought—if I hit him over the head—you could grab the gun.”
    Fletcher covered his face with his hands and shook his head. “Wimbly doesn’t know which part of a gun is the serious end. He was in more danger of shooting himself in the foot than hitting me. Besides that, I don’t want help when I’m dealing with a fight.” He looked at her, narrowed his eyes, and cupped her chin, moving her head back and forth. “What happened to your face?”
    “He punched me on the chin,” she rasped. “That’s why I fell into the water.”
    “Dear God in heaven, Julia.” He let out a deep breath. “Isn’t there any way to keep you out of trouble?”
    She drew herself up. “I don’t have to be watched, Sheriff. I can take care of myself.” She bent over and coughed some more.
    “Yeah, I can see that.” He sighed. “Come over here by the light so I can take a good look at your injury.”
    Apparently just realizing that the two men were still arguing and coming once again close to blows, Fletcher grabbed the cell key from the wall and pointed to the back of the room. “Into the cell.”
    Old man Wimbly pulled up the straps on his overalls. “What are we being arrested for?”
    Fletcher nudged them into two separate cells. “Disturbing the peace for both of you, and assault for you, Wimbly.”
    Wimbly pointed to the other man. “And what about him? He should be arrested for stealing. Every time my wife puts a pie on the windowsill, he takes it.”
    “Maybe Martha ought to open a bakery,” Fletcher said, slamming the cell door. “Now both of you settle down. I’ll send word to your wives that you’re spending the night in jail. That ought to give you time to calm down.”
    Wimbly fisted his hands on the bars. “And that woman out there assaulted me first. Are you gonna arrest her, too?”
    Julia worked her jaw, wincing as the pain shot up her face. What a mess. How was she going to work with a bruised chin? Maybe one of the girls could lend her some face paint to cover the mark she was sure to have by nightfall.
    She never used the stuff, even though the other girls had attempted to get her to try it. They assured her it got them better tips from the men. She’d sworn she would never wear the skimpy outfit of a saloon girl either, so maybe she would also have to apply the face paint she never intended to use to get through the night.
    Fletcher left the cell area and stopped in front of her, resting his hands on his hips, staring at her. He appeared to be fighting a smile. “Sit over there.” He gestured with his chin to a chair close to the window.
    “Sheriff, I’m a bit cold