Clint Murray was bent over the axle of the wagon when Netty opened the one eye that would cooperate. The other was swelled shut, her jaw was tender to the touch and her head pounded. The Mexican thief had packed quite a punch. She groaned inadvertently as she sat up, Clint turned.
“Don’t bother getting up Miss Bingham. It will be a bit before this wagon is ready to roll. Can I get you something?”
Netty’s emotions picked up where they left off the previous evening. What cruel twist of fate had made her brother’s killer her savior? Clint stood there, looking at her questioning, a picture of innocent chivalry.
“No, thank you, Mr. Murray. I feel I should get up to work out the stiffness.” He rushed to her side and helped her up. "Thank you again,” she barely whispered, “I think I will go
