Free Donovan's Bed: The Calhoun Sisters, Book 1 by Debra Mullins Page A

your hands on me anymore.”
    He stared at her for a long moment. “I never said you weren’t good enough, Sarah. You’re just not the right woman.”
    “That’s almost the same thing.” Her chin jutted proudly as she met his stare.
    “Fine.” He shoved his hat on his head, then handed her the shoes he held in his other hand. “I believe these are yours?”
    She snatched them from him. “Out!”
    “I’m going.” He started to the door, but paused and glanced at her over his shoulder. “I’ll be back, sweet Sarah. And we’ll see what’s what.”
    Sarah snarled an unladylike curse and flung her shoes at the door that closed behind him.
     
     
    Women. Who could understand them?
    Donovan heard the two thuds against the door moments after he closed it, and he couldn’t help but grin. Her shoes, no doubt. Any other woman might indulge in a fit of maidenly tears, but his sassy girl had a temper like a tornado.
    The grin slipped from his face. When had she become his Sassy?
    He turned to head down to the saloon, where he’d left Matt and Amos—and stopped abruptly when a shotgun barrel jabbed into his gut. He lifted his gaze to Buford’s—or was it Beau’s? —beady-eyed face.
    “Goin’ somewhere, Donovan?”
    Donovan took a step back and came up against another shotgun that poked him in the kidney.
    “Doesn’t look like it,” he said. His mind swiftly calculated the odds, even as he noted a dozen possible weak points. There were two of them—no, three, he corrected as the third brother walked up with Bessie in tow. And the girl wasn’t much of a fighter, but she sure was a heck of a screamer.
    The thought of listening to her caterwauling until death parted them was enough to make a man long for a bullet in the brain.
    “Ya got him!” Bessie breathed with admiration.
    “Sure did.” The Beaumont behind him shoved him hard with the shotgun, making Donovan wince. “Anything for you, Bessie. You know that.”
    “Let’s go get the preacher and get you married up afore sundown,” another brother suggested. He glared at Donovan. “And you’d better make my sister the happiest woman in Wyoming Territory, you got that, Donovan?”
    Donovan nodded, his fingers curling into his palms. He could take them. He knew he could. Easily. He had fought and won in worse situations. But the Beaumont brothers weren’t the brightest fellows he’d ever encountered, and they were likely to start firing at anything that moved if he made a break for it. And that meant that innocent people might get hurt.
    He could let them take him over the to church, which stood apart from the main buildings of the town. Then he would take them down and make his escape. His body tensed, poised for the slightest opportunity.
    He wasn’t about to marry Bessie Beaumont, shotguns and brothers be damned. But neither would he be responsible for the deaths of innocent people.
    Never again.
     
     
    Sarah worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She had peeked out the window of her office to watch Donovan walk away only to witness his capture instead. And now she was torn.  
    She glanced over at the Winchester rifle that hung on the wall. She knew how to use it. As a woman who often worked alone late at night, she had felt it a wise precaution to have some means of protecting herself. Burr was a quiet town for the most part, and when the sheriff had died nearly two years ago, they hadn’t even bothered to replace him. But a woman could never be too careful, as she had learned three years before.
    She felt her throat close up and willed away the painful memories. Donovan was in danger. There were three of them, and though Donovan himself was a tall man, the Beaumont brothers all topped him by at least three or four inches and outweighed him by fifty pounds. She had no doubt that one-on-one, he could handle himself. But three-to-one odds stretched the limits of any man’s ability.
    She had to help him.
    Her mind whirled as she hurried to