“I can’t. There’s just enough for the rent,” she pleaded.
“You’re holdin’ out on me. Tha’s what you’re doin’. I won’t stand it—not a minute.”
His eyes were glazed. He thrust his bullet head forward threateningly. Mollie recognized the signs of the abusive stage of intoxication. Presently he would begin to beat her if she opposed him. But she was desperate. She could not let him take the rent money.
“You can’t have it. That’s all there’s to it. You just can’t have it,” she cried.
Mollie flew to the till as the man came round the counter. She was between him and the money. He tried to thrust her to one side, but the space was narrow. For a few seconds he tugged at her in vain. Then his temper leaped out. He struck her again and again while she tried to shield herself from the blows.
Neither of them heard the door open or saw a man step into the room. Neither of them saw him take the counter in one flying leap. An arm reached out and plucked Dodson from his victim. It hurled him back against the wall, where he struck with great force, hung for a moment, and dropped limply to the floor.
Mollie lifted her eyes to those of Scot McClintock and into the white face came two flaming flowers. For in the eyes that burned down into hers she read that which brought a burst of music into her heart. She had fought against this—oh, how she had schooled herself to deny it! But with his strong arms round her, his heart beating against her own, what was the use of pretending any longer? Her supple body made a little motion of nestling closer. She began to sob quietly.
“He—he——”
Scot brushed her explanation aside. “Forget him. He’s out of your life. It’s you and I now. I kept away. I gave him his chance. I gave you yours to go it alone. That’s ended. I’m going to take care of you now.”
He lifted her flushed face and kissed it.