Bushedwhacked Bride (2 page)
Mesmerized, Jessica gazed at the lovely antique ivory oval etched with a woman’s face and surrounded by gold
filigree. Reality seemed to fade in and out as she watched tiny, weird flickers of light bounce off the cameo’s golden
edges . . .
Chapter One
Colorado
,
1888
“Young lady, are you all right?”
Jessica blinked and shook her head. Had she lost con
sciousness for a moment? She couldn’t be sure. Feeling dizzy and disoriented, she glanced across the stage’s in
terior, struggling to focus, frowning as she noted that the
velvet upholstery appeared much newer and brighter.
How strange.
Then her gaze settled on Walter Lummety, and she flinched.
Heavens! The man she was staring at
looked
like Wal
ter Lummety. But how on earth had he managed to acquire mutton-chop whiskers, and two large toy Colt pistols at
his waist? Not to mention that he appeared older and
heavier. And hadn’t his clothing also changed? He now
wore old-fashioned striped brown pants and a leather
vest, and she could have sworn he’d been in black before.
And hadn’t the music stopped? Again Jessica shook
her head. She felt weird, out of sync, almost as if she weren’t still in the same place.
But how could that be?
“I said, are you injured, young woman?” Walter re
peated.
Why was Walter calling her “young woman”? She re
garded him in perplexity. “Well, I’m not sure, Professor
Lummety,” she muttered at last.
“It’s
Sheriff
Lummety,” he corrected.
Jessica rolled her eyes and touched her sore head.
“Whatever.”
“That’s quite a bump on the head you received,” he
continued solicitously.
Jessica held up the cameo. “You don’t know the half of
it. When I landed, this brooch poked me in the—er—
nether regions.”
Jessica was stunned to see that Walter appeared per
fectly scandalized, turning away and coughing discreetly.
As Jessica pondered this oddity, Harold reached out to
pat her hand. “Bless your heart. Are you badly injured, little lady?”
Little lady,
indeed! Jessica turned to Harold, only to
do a double take. Somehow during the last few seconds,
elderly Professor Billingsly had miraculously sprouted
long white hair and a handlebar mustache that curled up
ward on the ends, and he’d donned a much larger hat. What was going on here? Had the men brought along
these extra disguises as a practical joke? How silly! And
why were both Harold and Walter suddenly talking to her
in such a formal, flowery way?
“I doubt it’s a fatal injury,” she managed.
Stan leaned across the seats to peer at the cameo.
“That’s a right pretty piece, ma’am.” He winked at her
solemnly. “Reckon it belonged to old Lila Lullaby?”
Jessica regarded Stan in consternation. She
must
be hallucinating, for suddenly her fastidious colleague had
sprouted long sideburns, and disgusting brown spittle was
dripping from one corner of his mouth. Since when had Stan started chewing tobacco? And talking like a hick?
And when had he changed from his cowboy shirt to the
Spanish-style serape he now wore?
Even as Jessica’s mind reeled with these contradic
tions, Walter turned irately to Stan. “Lila Lullaby, indeed!
Thank heaven we’re rid of that Jezebel in these parts. Sir,
have you no sense of decorum, to mention such a tawdry
creature in the presence of a lady?”
As Jessica looked on in amazement, Stan pressed a
hand to his heart and regarded her contritely. “Sorry, little lady. No offense intended.”
Jessica couldn’t believe her eyes and ears! This was so
bizarre. Her three companions were the same, yet they
weren’t
the same. Either she was dreaming or these men
were pulling her leg.
She desperately hoped it was the latter. After all, had
n’t Stan gotten the ball rolling by suggesting they might
all have been Old West citizens riding on this very stage?
“Come on, guys,” she chided. “Knock it off.”
“Knock what off?” demanded a perplexed Walter. He
turned to Harold. “Do you suppose the bump on her head has
confused her?”
Harold thoughtfully stroked his mustache. “Quite
possibly.”
“Oh, pleeeeze!” Jessica exclaimed. “You guys are being
ridiculous, and this charade has gone quite far enough.”
“What charade?” asked Walter blankly.
“This
charade!” Losing patience, Jessica reached out
and yanked on Walter’s whiskers, only to recoil at his
yelp of pain.
“Young woman, what do you think you’re doing?” he
roared.
“Sorry,” Jessica muttered, laughing nervously at his look of formidable indignation. “That must be some re
ally strong spirit gum you’re using, eh? But you don’t
have to go ballistic about it.”
Walter exchanged mystified glances with the other men.
As a tense silence ensued, Harold leaned over and
picked up the cameo Jessica had dropped when she
yanked on Walter’s whiskers. He extended it toward her with a courtly smile. “My dear, you really must don this fine brooch. Finder’s keepers, you know. And I must say
the cameo bears a striking resemblance to your lovely
countenance.”
“Why, thank you,” Jessica murmured, feeling charmed,
despite herself. “My mother always did say I have an old-fashioned face.” She pinned the cameo on her dress, only
to blink as a strange, unreal feeling again washed over her
and new, funny shimmers of light bounced off the
cameo’s edges. Heavens, that bump on the head had really jostled her brains!
Even as Jessica was struggling to gain her bearings,
she was bemused to hear the sounds of distant hoofbeats
joining the cacophony created by the horses pulling the
stage.
Stan craned his neck out the window, only to groan.
“Ah, hell.” Ah glanced apologetically at Jessica. “No of
fense, ma’am.”
Jessica ground her teeth. Her head was throbbing, and
she was about ready to punch the next jerk who called her
“ma’am” or “little lady.”
“What’s wrong?” inquired Walter of Stan.
Stan spat tobacco juice out the window. “Looks like
outlaws chasing the stage, Sheriff.”
“Outlaws?” cried Jessica.
Even as the sounds of horses grew closer, Walter was
straining to get a look out his window. “Yep. It’s the
Reklaw Gang, all right, and them scoundrels are gaining
on us.”
Jessica flung her hands outward. “The Reklaw Gang?
You’ve got to be kidding!”
Ignoring Jessica, Stan spoke urgently to Walter.
“Wouldn’t you know them bushwhackers would choose
today for their dirty doin’s, when Buck’s got no one ridin’
shotgun for him.”
Buck? Who was Buck?
Jessica wondered dazedly.
Expression grim, Walter pulled out a pistol, spun the
cylinder, then cocked the weapon. “Best get ready,
boys.”
Get ready?
In disbelief, Jessica watched Stan reach be
neath the seat, pull out an antique rifle, and throw the
lever. As if the sight of two stuffy academics about to join
in a shootout wasn’t enough to unhinge Jessica, she heard
with horror the sounds of approaching gunfire.
Gunfire! Wild-eyed, she dared a glance out her window, only to gasp as she observed that they were indeed being chased by five outlaws on horseback.
Outlaws!
It couldn’t be. Jessica blinked, but the outlandish tableau did not shift one bit. Behind the stagecoach, riding on swift horses that stirred up huge clouds of dust, were five men in Old West costumes, complete
with Stetsons, kerchiefs . . . and blazing pistols.
“What
is
this?” she demanded. “Some kind of joke? A
Saturday matinee, fifties style?”
Someone yanked on her wrist and hauled her back in
side. “Little lady, get your pretty head down,” scolded
Stan. “Before it gets blowed off.”
Wide-eyed, Jessica turned to Walter. “Who
are
they?
The
Reklaw
Gang? Did Woody hire them?”
“You heard the man—get down!”
With those terse words, Walter Lummety grabbed Jes
sica by the shoulders and pressed her downward. She
popped back up, only to watch mystified as Walter began
returning the outlaws’ fire out his window. Flinching at
the loud blasts, she then observed Stan firing his rifle out
the other window. Jessica’s mouth fell open.
“Walter, Stan, what on earth do you think you’re doing
with those toy guns?” she demanded.
Walter shot her a menacing look. “Name’s Jedediah,
ma’am, and that there’s Slim. Now hush up and lay low!”
Jedediah!
Wasn’t that the name of Walter’s ancestor? And who was Slim? Jessica was reeling, struggling to
make sense of the incomprehensible. But one thing was for certain—she was getting damn tired of the demented
game her colleagues were playing.
“Walter, Stan, you stop this, right now!” she ordered
furiously.
Again both men ignored her. Walter hardly missed a
beat as he emptied one pistol, holstered the smoking
weapon, drew out another, and resumed firing. By now, the outlaws’ firing and hollering had reached a deafening
crescendo, and the smell of gunsmoke was thick and
acrid inside the coach.
As Stan pulled in his rifle to reload, Jessica dared another glance out her window, only to recoil as a round
screamed past her nose. This was absurd. It was high time
to stop this nightmare—she wanted to get off.
Yanking off her bonnet, Jessica turned to confront Wal
ter. “Walter, that’s it, I’ve had it! I don’t care if you are
department chair. Since we’ve been here in the Twilight
Zone, I’ve shared my boudoir with wasps and my bed
with a colony of field mice. But this is the final straw.
Now you and these other morons have lost your minds,
and your lunatic cousin has gone and hired outlaws to
chase us.” She shrieked at the sound of glass shattering on
one of the lanterns outside her window. “And they’re fir
ing
real bullets
at us!”
Chapter Two
“Hold up there right now or I’ll shoot you dead!”
As one of the approaching outlaws shouted the order,
Jessica cautiously peered out her window. The old stage
coach rattled and groaned to a halt. Through the clouds of dust rising from the wagon wheels, she glimpsed five rid
ers overtaking the stage and dismounting.
Heavens! What horrors lay ahead for them now?
The bandits’ horses whinnied and stamped, and it
seemed only seconds later that smoking pistols were
shoved inside through both windows of the conveyance, and a hoarse voice commanded, “Throw out them firin’
irons, fellas. Now.”
Jessica watched, dumbfounded, as Walter and Stan pitched out their weapons.
The door to the stage swung open, and a masked man
with light-colored eyes peered inside, his gaze pausing on
Jessica in a manner that made her fight a shiver. “Now hightail it out of there. All of ya. And get them hands up
high.”
Struggling to forestall panic, Jessica faced down the man with bravado. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”
He fired his pistol into the air, and Jessica all but
jumped out of her skin.
“Does it sound like I’m funnin’ ya, sister?” he snarled.
With remarkable haste, Jessica clambered out of the
stage and raised her hands. Her companions followed
suit, though Walter moved in a halting, pained fashion
that puzzled her.
Then she gulped at the sight of five armed bandits prowling about them. Daring another glance at her colleagues, she noted that Walter, Stan, and Harold all ap
peared pasty-faced, half ill. Not that she felt much better.
Her stomach roiled violently and her heart slammed.
Who
were
these outlaws? Had Woody hired them? If so, the joke was wearing very thin.
Jessica quickly sized up their captors. All five wore
kerchief masks and Stetsons, making their features difficult to discern. Aside from the fact that each man wore a
different style or color of western shirt, the five were
identically attired in typical cowboy garb. Three of the
five were tall and lean, almost boyish in appearance; a
fourth was slightly shorter and even slimmer. But it was the fifth man who most commanded Jessica’s attention—
he was tallest of all, broad-shouldered, more solidly built,
and somehow, much more menacing. Jessica sensed at
once that this man was the leader, and likely older than
the rest. There was an unnerving arrogance about his
stride, his stance.
Even as she struggled to make sense of things, the
smallest outlaw chuckled and waved his pistol at Walter.
“Well, howdy there, Sheriff. Looks like we’re spoilin’
your little afternoon drive, eh?”
Jessica glanced at Walter to see that his features were
livid. “Young man, if you and these other cowards know
what’s good for you, you’ll throw down your weapons
and surrender to me at once.”
“Surrender, eh?” the outlaw taunted, rocking on his boot heels. “Well, ain’t that a hoot and a holler, boys?”
He and his cohorts all but split their sides laughing.
Then the bandit waved his weapon toward Jessica. “Hey,
who’s the pretty girlie-girl you got there?”
As Jessica’s heart lurched in fear, Walter glared.
“Young man, I’ll have you know this is a perfectly respectable young lady. I’ll not hear you cast aspersions on
her character.”
The man turned to his partners. “Aspersions, eh?” he mocked, and the men guffawed.
A second man stepped forward. “All right, Billy.
Enough jawing. Let’s get down to business.”
The smaller man turned angrily on the second outlaw.
“Gabe, don’t you be givin’ these folks our names or, hell,
I reckon we’ll have to shoot ‘em all.”
At this casual mention of murder, the five captives
cringed, and several of the bandits chuckled. Meanwhile,
Gabe calmly cocked his weapon and aimed it up at the
driver. “All right, pops. Throw down the strong box or I’ll
fill your belly full of lead.”
Jessica glanced up at the driver’s seat, only to go wide-
eyed. Since she’d last seen him, Woody Lynch had grown
a full beard and had gained at least twenty pounds. What
was going on here? She couldn’t even be sure this man
was
Woody.
The driver’s hands were trembling. “Sorry, boys. We
ain’t got no strong box.”
Gabe angrily strode forward. “What do you mean, you
ain’t got none? Get on down here, pops.”
Amid the loud groaning of the stage’s springs, the
heavy man slid to the ground and raised his hands. Jes
sica did another double take, staring flabbergasted at
this man who looked like Woody but wasn’t Woody.
Nobody could have grown a paunch like that in ten
minutes!
Gabe strode about, cursing as he examined the coach
from various angles, evidently looking for cubbyholes where valuables might be stashed.
Abruptly he pointed his pistol toward the driver. “Hey,
pops, what kind of sissy stage line is this, anyhow?” he de
manded. “I ain’t never seed no yeller stagecoach before.”
A third outlaw stepped up to the door. “Hey, Gabe,
lookie here. ‘LL.’ Ain’t this Lila Lullaby’s old parlor
wagon?”
Gabe ambled to the door, then let out a raucous squeal.
“Well, I’ll be hanged. You’re right, Wesley. We got us a gall-durned hussy wagon here.”
Wesley turned to Jessica. “You one of Lila’s gals,
honey?”
As Jessica sucked in a horrified breath, Walter angrily
retorted, “I already informed you contemptible scoundrels
that this is a perfectly respectable young lady! Why, she’s
the new schoolmarm, on her way to Mariposa.”
Jessica was flabbergasted. This was certainly news to
her!
Gabe stepped closer, and she could see mischief gleam
ing in his blue eyes. “Schoolmarm, eh? Reckon she’d
mind learning us boys a few lessons in earthly pleasures?”
As the outlaws howled with mirth and elbowed one an
other, Jessica seethed, yearning to slap the arrogant
scoundrel’s face. But, after Billy had discharged his
weapon to scare her, she knew better.
“I told you this woman is upstanding,” blustered Walter.
A fourth outlaw stepped forward to confront Walter. “Oh, yeah? Then how come she’s ridin’ in this here bor
dello on wheels?” A devilish chuckle escaped him. “You
fellas are having some fun with her, ain’t ya?”
As Jessica made a sound of outrage and her companions appeared mortified, Walter angrily gestured toward
the driver. “That’s a low-down, evil lie. Now, you boys
must have heard that Buck Lynch bought this here stage,
after the previous sheriff chased Miss Lila and her gals out
of
Colorado
City
.”
Buck
Lynch? So Woody Lynch was
Buck Lynch now? And what was this nonsense
Walter was spouting about his predecessor chasing Lila Lullaby out of
Colorado
City
?
“Do tell, pops,” drawled Bill in obvious disbelief.. He pulled out a small
cloth bag and extended it toward the captives. “All right,
folks. Fork over your valuables. Quick like.”
The captives hesitated, regarding one another with un
certainty.
“I said rattle your hocks!” Billy ordered.
In amazement, Jessica watched Walter, Stan, and
Harold step forward and hand over antique pocket
watches, ornate belt buckles, and a few old-fashioned
bills. What had happened to her colleagues’ modern wrist-
watches and wedding rings?
Billy extended his bag toward Jessica. “Now you,
lady.”
Jessica hurled the bandit a mutinous look. Since she
hadn’t worn a watch today, she pulled off her college ring
and tossed it in. The cameo she wore was neither noticed
nor requested.
Billy pawed through his treasure trove. “Aw, shit.
Mostly worthless bandwagon junk.” He pulled out Jessica’s ring and whistled. “Well, lookie here, Luke. This is
mighty peculiar.”
The one named Luke stepped closer. “Yeah, look at
them strange numbers. 1994. Wonder what they mean?”
“Maybe the number of notches on your bedpost, eh, lit
tle lady?” suggested Wes, and the outlaws broke up
laughing.
Jessica glowered and tapped her toe.
Face red with anger, Walter Lummety took a heavy,
pained step toward Billy. “Young man, I shall not tolerate
any further insults to this lady.”
“Oh yeah?” Again, Billy discharged his pistol in the
air, causing the captives to cringe anew. “Hush up and get
back in line, Sheriff. I’m sick of your lip.”
Shame-faced, Walter hobbled back, while Jessica
flashed him a grateful look.
The driver cleared his throat. “You boys finished
now?” he asked in a high whine. “‘Cause if’n you don’t
mind, think we’ll just mosey on back to
Colorado
City
and patch up this here stage.”
Billy tossed Jessica’s ring back in the bag. “Hell, yes, we mind, pops. Fact is, them dofunnies and ditties you
folks forked over are about as worthless as a whore’s
smile after a busy Saturday night.”
“Now, Billy, watch your language,” scolded Gabe.
“There’s a
lady
present.”
Again the outlaws roared with mirth, while Jessica was
about ready to pop her cork.
Pocketing the bills, Billy contemptuously tossed the
bag on the ground and cocked his pistol at the captives.
“Now hand over some real money, folks, or there’s gonna
be some of you on your way to the bone orchard.”
Amid gasps of fear, Walter protested, “But we’ve given
you all we have, young man.”
Billy shoved his pistol into Walter’s chest. “Well, that
just ain’t satisfactory, Sheriff.”
By now, Jessica had had all of the abuse she could en
dure from these bullies, and her outrage overrode her fear.
She surged forward and shoved Billy’s pistol away from Walter’s chest. “You stop that right now,” she ordered.
For a moment, Billy regarded Jessica in mystification;
then he laughed. “Hot damn! If you ain’t a feisty one.”
Eyes blazing with fury, Jessica shook her finger at him.
“I don’t care if Woody did hire you and these other
thugs.”
“Who’s Woody?” he asked.
“And what are thugs?” inquired Gabe.
Ignoring their questions, Jessica continued scolding
Billy. “My point is, you have
real bullets
in your weapon,
and you will kindly not point it at Professor Lummety.”
Billy stared at her another moment, then tipped his hat
with his pistol. “Why, yes, ma’am.”
All of the bandits chuckled.
At last the big, silent one ambled forward, picking up
the bag on his way. He fixed his dark, intent stare on Jes
sica, looking her over in a most insulting way, and she
struggled not to shiver. Then, for the first time, he spoke,
and his deep, compelling voice sent a chill down her
spine.
‘Time to go, boys. There’s nothing more for us here.”
Despite herself, Jessica was riveted by his words. Although he spoke in a drawl, he sounded better educated
than the others; in fact, he possessed the deepest, sexiest
masculine voice she’d ever heard. By contrast, his co
horts’ nasal twangs sounded hokey and coarse. But this
man’s western inflections were shot through with pure
sin and seduction.
Not that she wouldn’t like to shoot him, anyway.
“But, Cole,” protested Billy, “we can’t give up yet. We
ain’t got no strong box.”
“They don’t have one, Billy,” Cole replied patiently.