The Lady and the Lawman (2 page)

They
weren’t going to let her go. She was going to die. Or worse. She
was going to live and have these men do things to her. Fear rolled in
her stomach like the movement of the runaway coach.

She
struggled with all her might. “Leave me alone! Let go of me!”

Her
elbow struck true to the man’s stomach and his grip loosened, air
coming out of him with a
whoosh
.
Frantic, she ran blindly around to the front of the stage and tripped
over the uneven ground, falling face first into the grass with a
scream. The bone-jarring drop knocked the wind from her lungs.

Gasping
for breath, she wiped her long hair, long since loose from its pins,
from her mouth and eyes. Staring at the tall grass, she concentrated
on sucking air into her
empty
lungs
.
Breathe. In. Out. Tears welled in her eyes from the panicky sensation
of not being able to breathe. In. Out.

The
men stood directly above her with their bodies blocking out the sun,
laughing at her. After what seemed like hours, she wheezed and
coughed heavenly air. Rolling over, she came face to face with the
stage driver, the old man who so kindly helped her with her bags, his
unseeing eyes in line with hers. They stared blankly straight at her,
a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth.

She
screamed and used her heels and hands to back up, but became tangled
in her skirts and fell back to the ground with a thud and a loud,
unladylike grunt. She felt his warm blood seep through her dress,
coat the palms of her hands. She’d tripped over a dead man!

Face
down, his blood soaked the back of his shirt and coated the broken
grass around him. Mr. Cawley was...had been a decent man. He’d kept
an eye out for her ever since they left Omaha, protecting her when
the stage entered one of the larger towns. He’d even offered to
guard the door to her hotel room one night since a rowdy, albeit very
drunk, group of men heading to the gold rush were patrons as well.

These
dastardly men who held her fate were quick. One grabbed her wrist in
a snakelike grasp to keep her from running off again, pulling her up
roughly as if she were light as a feather. Her breasts pressed firmly
against his dirty shirtfront, transferring Mr. Cawley’s blood onto
him.

She'd
felt the solid expanse of a man’s chest pressed into her once
before, the night before she ran away. Her fiancé had lured her with
words and gestures, and Margaret had finally succumbed to a man's
baser desires. As if she'd had a choice. It had been one of William's
kinder moments, and those didn't occur very often. Talking with her
married girlfriends, she'd learned bits and pieces of what a man and
woman did together. But the rough coupling, quick as it was standing
up and against the wall in her parlor, was not what she'd been told
about, nor what she'd dreamt of. It had been...empty.

When
she touched herself in the darkness of night, alone and protected
beneath the covers of her bed, she felt things, pleasurable,
wonderful things that she imagined a man's hands doing. His weight
pressing her into their bed, his hands replaced by his...

A
gun cocked behind her. She froze, her body in line with the robber,
so close she felt his hot, fetid breath against her cheek. Flinching
back, she brushed loose curls out of her eyes and felt her bonnet
brush against her back as it hung from its ribbon around her neck.

They
were going to put a bullet in her back, and leave her to die!

Before
she had any more thoughts about kingdom come, she was ripped out of
one man’s arms and into the other’s like two children vying for
the same toy. The loaded weapon pressed painfully into her side.

“
What—”

One
shot fired. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart jumped into her
throat, her ears rang like church bells on Sunday. Doing a mental
tally of her body, she felt no pain. Slowly, she opened one eye and
watched as one of the men crumpled and fell to the ground.

She
gulped down the bile that rose in her throat at the sight of a hole
that gushed blood from the center of his chest. More bubbled from his
mouth.

Tobacco
Chewer turned her head roughly, forced her chin up so their eyes met.
“Do what I tell you, and I won't have to shoot you, too,” he
dared, his gun unwavering. Nodding vigorously, tears stung her eyes.
She couldn’t speak even if she wanted to. Her blurry gaze returned
to the unmoving body on the ground then back to the man threatening
her.

His
breath was potent, his teeth brown or missing altogether, but in
comparison to being shot in the chest, it wasn’t an overly
important issue. She evened her breathing and tried not to gag at his
stench, the evilness he exuded. He was gangly, all arms and legs, but
solid, wiry muscle. He gripped her arm painfully with grimy fingers,
dirt caked under the nails.

“
Why?”
she whispered. She knew why he’d shot Mr. Cawley, but she couldn’t
understand the need to kill his own partner in crime.

His
smile was menacing. “I don’t share anything with anyone.”

Not
completely innocent—not anymore, but still naïve in the ways of
the world, Margaret knew he referred to more than money or stolen
property. He practically licked his lips in anticipation as he looked
her over. She wanted to flinch away, but didn't dare. He’d already
killed one innocent man and one guilty one, certainly he’d have no
qualms about killing her, too.

He
shoved her out of the way, all but knocking her to the ground, and
turned to loot through the fallen bags and trunks. Clothing and other
belongings were tossed into the air and landed haphazardly into the
grass. She recognized her small bag and her white blouse as they were
tossed over one of his shoulders.

She
saw his gun tucked into the back of his pants, the handle out and
easily accessible. She didn’t want to take any chances to escape
with a loose cannon like him.

After
pulling out some money and a few pieces of jewelry, he strode over to
her. “Now little lady, give me all your money.” The man held out
his free hand, waiting.

She
turned her back on him and walked toward the stage. A shot pierced
the calm summer day and she froze in place, lifting her arms above
her shoulders. She bit down on her lip to stifle a scream. Squeezing
her eyes shut, she waited for the second shot.

“
Where
do you think you’re goin’?”

Slowly,
she turned to face her captor and gulped at the gun. It was pointed
at her head, smoking from the end.

“
My...my
reticule fell when I was pulled from the stage.” She waved her hand
in the direction of the stage, her eyes not veering from his. “I
don’t have anything of value on my person.”

For
once, her revealing neckline was to her advantage. It would be
impossible to hide something within. Hopefully the lie didn’t show
on her face. Somehow William had been able to tell when she lied and
retribution was swift and painful in the form of a slap or a punch.
Once even a kick.

With
her hands casually at her sides, she gently pressed her left palm
into her hip, feeling the money she’d sewn into the lining of her
dress. She’d put it there for emergencies, and this certainly was
one. But she definitely wasn’t going to share its existence with
this common criminal. This murderer.

Her
captor gently released the hammer before pointing his weapon at the
ground. He nodded his head. “Go on, don’t dawdle now!”

The
man couldn’t make up his mind, but she wasn’t going to complain.
She rushed to the stage, trying not to look at either of the dead
bodies. Bending down, she grabbed her small purse off the dusty
ground where it had landed when she’d been pulled from the stage.
As she opened the small velvet bag, Tobacco Chewer yanked it from her
fingers and searched it himself. He pulled out a few coins and held
them up.

One
dirty eyebrow lifted, skeptical. “This is all you’ve got?”

Nodding,
she silently praising herself for the forethought to hide some of her
savings. “It’s all I have left after paying my fare.”

Grunting,
he stuffed the small bag, coins and all, into his pocket. Her captor
spent a long minute looking at her. Really looking at her this time,
taking in all her...attributes. She could see a new, considering look
in his eye, as if he hadn’t really seen her before. A chill went
down her spine at the unwanted caress. Head held high, she turned her
face away from his touch. She'd done this with William. She could
stand up to this man's touch as well.

He
removed his hat, wiping the sweat from his brow with his grimy
shirtsleeve. He stepped closer, looming over her, blocking out the
intense sun with his height.

“
What...what
are you going to do with me?”

“
What
do you think?” He reached out and grabbed the nape of her neck,
pulling her hair, yanking her face in toward his. He laughed, showing
crooked brown teeth.

She
knew to what he referred. Very clearly, in fact. The details of her
unpleasant, and still slightly sore, encounter with William was fresh
in her mind. The color quickly drained from her cheeks. No! It would
be even worse than William. At least her fiancé bathed at regular
intervals. She’d rather die than have this man have his way with
her. Die like the men whose blood stained the green grass red. Being
shot was a horrible possibility, but rape was a torture far worse
than a bullet to the back.

He
dropped his gaze to the exposed curves of one of her breasts.
He
cupped its contour through the navy silk dress and his eyes
practically bulged out of his head as he lifted it more fully from
the neckline of her dress. She pulled away from his touch, to no
avail. He pawed at the row of tiny buttons that held the remainder of
her bodice and easily ripped the fragile fabric, sending small
buttons flying. Her fashionable dress, now rent from collar to waist,
hung open with only her tight corset and beneath, a thin chemise,
covering her.

The
man’s hands were everywhere, breasts, hips, arms. Horrified,
Margaret screamed, “Leave me alone!”

She
fought for her life, raking he
r
fingernails
down
his face.

He
shouted, his hands lifting to his cheeks for protection. “Damned
bitch!”

Viselike
grip gone, she stumbled away, scrambled, almost falling in her haste,
catching her balance and running. Her heartbeat raced as fast as she
did. Closer and closer she came to the men's horse, her chance at
freedom. The animals’ heads were lowered, grazing on the new spring
grass as if nothing were amiss.

She
heard footfall behind her. He could easily catch her, but she kept
running, lungs burning. She couldn’t give up...give in.

Her
legs and long skirts were no match for the strong man. He caught up
to her just before she’d reached the closest animal, not-so-gently
hauling her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Struggling with
all her might, she kneed him in the belly hard enough to elicit a
loud grunt, but she wasn’t strong enough to stop him.

She
squealed when he smacked her across her bottom with a loud
thwack
and fought once again in earnest, a whirling dervish high above the
ground. The man gained control of her flailing legs, his arm clamping
down across the back of her thighs. Trying another tactical approach,
she pretended to faint, sagging against the man, hoping her dead
weight would be a nuisance.

After
being tossed to the ground like a side of beef, she tried to catch
her breath. Quick as a rabbit, the man leaped on top of her, his face
pressed to her breasts, which had popped free from the top of her
corset, her nipples exposed. The blue sky was all she could see as
she fought him off...to no avail. One hand, rough with callouses,
worked up her skirts, the hot breeze caressed her calves then thighs
as the material went higher. She felt his whiskers against her
breasts. The thought of his foul mouth touching her made her sick.

She
screamed and shifted, wriggling beneath his weight as his hand
reached higher, tugging at her pantalettes. Unseeingly, she lifted
her knee and made contact with her captor’s groin. Hard. He fell on
top of her like a dead tree in the forest with a loud groan. His dead
weight pinned her to the ground. This time, no matter how hard she
tried, struggled, she couldn’t escape.