Desperate Hearts
Copyright © 2014 by Rosanne Bittner
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Cover art by Gregg Gulbronson
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To my three grandsons, Brennan, Connor, and Blake, for bringing me so much joy and because they like “shoot ’em up” Westerns as much as I do!
July 1866
Elizabeth clasped her gloved hands in her lap, irritated by the way the two men riding with her in the stagecoach kept staring. The train she rode as far as Chicago had boarded several other female passengers, most of them respectable wives or teachers. From there on, her means of transportation was stagecoach, and as she traveled farther west, the number of women passengers dropped off dramatically until finally, upon leaving Virginia City and heading north into Alder, Montana, she was the only one left. She was now left with two bearded, tobacco-chewing men who she guessed were prospectors headed for the same gold town. It was no wonder no women were left. Why would any decent woman want to come into such rugged, desolate
country?
To
get
away
from
something
worse
back
home
and
never
be
found.
She had no experience being completely on her own, and she was scared to death, but she was determined to show confidence and not let anyone know she had no idea what she was going to do next—or that she was terrified of this wild country. Leaving what little civilization Virginia City had to offer and heading alone to an unsettled, remote gold town made her wonder if she’d lost her sanity, and others would probably wonder the same. She told herself not to appear too jittery. Such behavior only brought suspicion. Was that why the two men kept eyeing her? She dared to meet their gaze and took a deep breath for courage. “I will thank the two of you to stop staring at me,” she
said.
The coach lurched over a rock, then swayed side to side as the team pulling it made its way around a corner. Elizabeth clung to a hand strap hanging from above and prayed she wouldn’t vomit from the constant sway, or fall right into the laps of the men opposite her. The bustle at the back of her dress made it impossible to sit fully back into the seat, and she was tempted to find a way to rip the annoying bunched material completely off at the next
stop.
The coach finally steadied and Elizabeth pulled aside a canvas shade covering the window and swallowed in terror at how close they were to the edge of the rugged mountain road. She couldn’t even guess how deep the canyon that yawned just a few feet away might
be.
One of the men tipped his hat. “Ma’am, you have to excuse us,” he told her, “but there ain’t anyplace else to look in here except across to you, and I have to say, you’re a right pleasant sight. You ain’t dressed like no kind of woman who’d be out in places like this, and a woman young and pretty as you is gonna get stared at plenty, ’specially when you reach
Alder.”
Elizabeth looked away from the terrifying depths just beyond her window, deciding it was better not to watch. She raised her chin and eyed the men boldly. “Thank you for the compliment,” she answered, not wanting to appear totally
rude.
“Where are you from?” the second man
asked.
Elizabeth hesitated. “St. Louis,” she lied. She offered no further explanation as she brushed dust from the overskirt of her blue polonaise silk dress. She had only three other dresses with her, having packed quickly to make her hasty exit from New York City. To preserve what little she had to wear, she’d worn this dress for days now and couldn’t wait to take a bath and change clothes once she reached her destination. The ruffles at the hem were already looking frayed from brushing against nothing but dirt and gravel in this forsaken land. The dress’s short train was completely tattered, and from what she’d seen women wearing out here, nothing she’d brought with her was suitable for life on the Western frontier. No wonder people stared. She hated being conspicuous. That was the last thing she
wanted.
The first man who’d spoken began coughing in an ugly wheeze that ended with him leaning out the window and spitting. Elizabeth struggled not to make a face at the crude act. He leaned back inside, folding his arms. “Well, ma’am, there is pretty much only two kind of single women who go to a mining town like Alder. Either they are lookin’ to find a husband…or, uh…they are the kind who don’t want no husband…the kind that goes to a place like Alder to get rich by makin’ a
lot
of men right happy, if you know what I
mean.”
Elizabeth thought a moment, then gasped, her eyes widening in horror and her cheeks turning crimson. “I am not going to Alder for
either
reason! My personal choices are my business, and I am
not
a…a…lady of the evening. How dare you even suggest such a thing!” The remark made her so angry she fought
tears.
“Well, ma’am, you can’t blame a man for askin’. I mean, you’re right damn pretty, with that dark hair and them green eyes and your youth and
all.”
The second man nodded. “You’re gonna have a time of it when men see you step off this coach in
Alder.”
Elizabeth straightened. “I can handle myself. I’ll be just fine. I…I plan to teach,” she lied, remembering the schoolteacher with whom she’d ridden to Virginia
City.
The two men looked at each other and rolled their eyes. “Teacher or not, a woman like you is takin’ a big chance in a place like Alder. You’d best buy yourself a gun, ma’am, or somethin’ else for protection. Fact is, you should have stayed in Virginia City. It’s still pretty rough there, bein’ a gold town and all, but it’s a lot bigger and more civilized than
Alder.”
Elizabeth realized they were probably right. “Thank you, sir. I’ll consider
that.”
The man chuckled. “Ain’t been called sir in my whole life,” he joked. “Most call me Spittin’ Joe, and this other man here is
Whiskers.”
Spittin’ Joe and Whiskers!
Elizabeth nodded to them. Surely in Alder there were a few decent women, and hopefully men with a bit of education who dressed respectably and kept themselves shaved. She felt a renewed anger and deep sorrow over what had happened to her mother, and hatred for the person who’d terrified her, forcing her to make the decision to run off to a place like this. If she didn’t have to find a good place to hide, she never would have considered such a destination. Alan Radcliffe would surely never dream of looking for her in a remote gold town deep in the mountains of Montana. A new life…a new name. In spite of how lawless a place like Alder might be, her situation there would be better than what she’d left
behind.
Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard a bang in the distance and something pinged against the side of the coach. The driver yelled out, “Hah! Hah!” and the horses took off at full speed. Elizabeth grasped the hand strap again to steady herself and held on to her lace bonnet with her other hand. “What’s
happening?”
“Goddamn robbers!” Whiskers answered. “You’d best get down, lady!”
More shots rang out, and before Elizabeth could duck to the floor, the coach careened one way and then another so that she instead simply had to hang on for dear life. She heard gunfire from up top and realized it must be the second man riding there. They’d called him the shotgun, and now she knew why. His job was to shoot back if they were attacked. She peeked outside again and was relieved to see they were now in open country and not about to go flying off the edge of the road into a canyon. She heard shouts and whoops behind them. More
shooting!
“It sounds like Indians!” she
wailed.
Spittin’ Joe took a handgun from where it was stuck into the waist of his pants. “No, ma’am, it’s outlaws. I think this coach might be carryin’ a payload for the bank in
Alder.”
Dear
Lord!
Elizabeth wondered if she would die right here before ever reaching her destination. Spittin’ Joe leaned out and fired a couple of shots, then cried out. His body jerked back inside at the next veer of the coach. Elizabeth screamed at the sight of a bloody hole in his head. He slumped to the floor. In spite of his unkempt condition and crude habits, Elizabeth couldn’t help feeling sorry for
him.
“God, save us!” she wept, sure she’d die today after
all.
“Hell, I don’t even have a gun,” Whiskers complained as he leaned over Spittin’ Joe and ducked down. “I think Joe dropped his outside the window when he was
shot.”
The coach swayed and tipped, and Whiskers fell against Elizabeth’s shins. There wasn’t even room for her now on the floor of the coach. She cringed as far into a corner as she could as more bullets hit the vehicle. She heard cries from up front and realized either one or both men in the driver’s seat had been
shot.
The coach careened in the other direction then. Dust rolled, and the approaching men shouted more war whoops and continued firing their guns. Then there came a cracking sound. Elizabeth hung on for dear life when the coach tipped completely to the right and crashed to the ground, sliding on its side for several feet. Elizabeth tumbled forward, then sideways, hitting her left shoulder on something. The blow sent an excruciating pain through her shoulder and arm, and she cried out as the coach finally came to a
halt.
Elizabeth momentarily choked on the dust that filled the interior of the coach. When things cleared, she found herself lying on top of Spittin’ Joe and Whiskers. She raised up slightly to see that Whiskers’s head hung grotesquely crooked, his neck obviously broken. The sight brought back an ugly memory.
Mama!
What was happening? What should she do? She put a hand to her breast, where her secret and most valuable possession was hidden in her
bodice.
Voices! Men’s voices—all around the coach. Laughter! Curses!
“Find the money box!” someone yelled. “And see who’s inside. Maybe they have money on
them.”
The pain in Elizabeth’s shoulder was so intense she thought she might pass out. She struggled to keep her wits and her consciousness. She gasped when someone flung open the door above her. A man looked down at her, then grinned and shouted, “
Yahoo!
Look what I found!” He grabbed her right wrist and yanked her up and out of the coach. Elizabeth screamed from the pain, then fell to the ground. She rolled onto her back and looked up at the five men who’d gathered in a circle around
her.
“Whaddya think, fellas?” one of them asked. “Should we search
her?”
All five men were unkempt and scruffy, with scraggly hair protruding from under filthy, worn hats and soiled clothing. All were well armed. When they grinned, they showed yellow teeth, and some no teeth at
all.
“I reckon we’d better,” one of them answered. He was fatter than the others, and his belly wiggled when he laughed. “Women tend to hide their valuables down inside their…uh…
valuables
…if you know what I
mean.”
They all roared with laughter, and the fat one reached down to grasp the front of Elizabeth’s
dress.
The
necklace!
No, it was hers! She couldn’t let them take the necklace! She kicked the man in the groin, and he let out a yowl. The others laughed more, and one of them made ready to finish what the first man started. A terrified but furious Elizabeth folded her arms tightly over her chest and scooted
away.
“Get away from me you stinking, ugly, hideous rabble!” She felt faint from the pain in her
shoulder.
All five men just laughed and hooted, one of them holding his
privates.
“She’s a fighter,” another remarked. “This is gonna be
fun!”
Just then, a shot rang out. “Step away from the woman or die!” a deep voice
ordered.
All five men looked in the direction of the
voice.
“Jesus Christ,” one of them muttered. “It’s Mitch
Brady.”
“Sonofabitch!” another
cursed.
Elizabeth managed to quickly sit up. She looked in the direction of the outlaws’ stares and saw a big man on a big horse. He slowly rode closer, and Elizabeth could see he wore two bandoliers crisscrossed over his chest, one six-gun in a holster at his side, and another in his hand, pointed at the outlaws. Two rifles were secured on either side of his saddle, as though he was prepared for war. He was so dangerous looking that Elizabeth had to wonder if he was just another outlaw come to shoot these men so he could have the loot…and her…for himself. Maybe he was the leader of these
outlaws.
“There’s five of us, Brady,” one of the outlaws reminded
him.
“Do you really think that concerns me?” the man
answered.
“Hell, it should.” One of the men pulled a gun and Mitch shot him down just as a second man fired. Elizabeth watched in shock as the second man’s bullet grazed his side. Mitch barely flinched and immediately shot down the second man. The man Elizabeth had kicked ran off, but before he could get far, Mitch shot him in the
back.
The remaining two men stood
frozen.
“You’d best drop your weapons,” Mitch told
them.
Dear
God, who are you?
Elizabeth
wondered.
Mitch glanced at her, and against a very tanned face his eyes looked as blue as the Montana sky behind him. That one look felt almost physical in its force, and it left Elizabeth
breathless.
“Welcome to Montana, ma’am,” he told her in a deep voice. “You’ll be fine
now.”
Elizabeth couldn’t find her voice. She grasped her shoulder and looked down at the bloodstained skirt of her dress, feeling faint. She leaned against the roof of the overturned coach, wondering if this was all just a bad
dream.