Snippet Sunday ~ an excerpt from Ana's Wip

This is a historical western. Hero Blade Masters has run to intervene:

The desperado he’d watched run into the Land and Loan was female, and she was pinned atop a large polished desk by a hawk–faced man wearing powder blue trousers and a collarless white shirt. She pushed against the man’s shoulders and thrashed her head from side to side, trying to avoid his lips as he held her chin and tried to force a kiss.

The man moved his hand to her throat and flicked his tongue across her lips. The girl’s hands flopped to the desk. Her legs went limp.

She was being strangled!

Blade grabbed the door latch, but it didn’t budge. Prepared to kick in the door, he adjusted his stance. Shifted his weight to his back leg. Raised his leg and aimed his boot heel just left of the latch.

The man inside screeched like a bobcat.

Blade peered through the window in time to see the man clutch his side, and the cowgirl twist free. Brandishing a slender silver knife, she snatched up her hat and backed toward the door.

The man pawed at his shirt until he pulled the tail free and exposed a thin, bloody line, etched across side. “You’ll pay for this, Stormy Hawkins,” he snarled. “For this and a whole lot more.”

Stormy Hawkins? Was this the hellion who’d prodded him with a gun a few hours ago? She needed to be tamed, not rescued.

A lock clicked. The door swung open.

 “You listen good, Jonathan Vance,” the cowgirl hissed. “Our steers will be fat by fall, and we’ll pay our note on time. Until then, keep your fence cutting, steer stealing, trespassing thugs off our land! And if you ever touch me again.” Slashing the air like a sword master, she spun on her heel.

And crashed nose first into Blade’s chest.

Before she could react, he snared her hand and stripped the knife from her grip.  A strong grip, he noted. It was rather surprising she hadn’t cut into the other guy more. Impatient to see her face in clear daylight, he tipped up her chin.

Her freckled cheeks were flushed, and her hair, crimson as a St. Louis firepumper, stuck out of mussed stubby braids. Deep blue eyes narrowed in angry recognition. “You!”

Before he could explain why he was standing right in front of the Land and Loan, her hand flew to her lips. Her fingers skimmed the livid marks on her throat. Fluttered down her chest. Fell behind her back. She drew two deep, open-mouthed breaths. Full round breasts strained the buttons of her faded boy’s shirt.

His johnson twitched like an alcohol-starved roustabout approaching a dockside saloon. Stunned by his body’s reaction to this unconventional female, he forced his gaze back to her face.