Lady Outlaw

Jennie shifted her gaze from them to the luggage beside their feet. Which of the two bags held the money?

If only I had that cash...

She shook her head, though she couldn’t rid the wish completely from her thoughts. Slowly, the innocent desire for money became an idea—a bold, dangerous idea.

If she took the money, would it really be stealing? She’d only take what she needed to pay the bank at the end of the month and buy herself time to raise more funds. The ranch would be temporarily saved, and she and her family wouldn’t lose everything. The brothers had already spent some of the money—their new clothes showed that. No one would expect the full two thousand to be recovered. It’s just my informal reward for turning in these men.

Before she changed her mind, Jennie scooted to the edge of her seat. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears and her hands grew clammy. Sliding onto the middle seat, her back to the door, she leaned over to grab hold of the suitcase next to Clyde. She hefted it onto the bench and quietly cracked it open. Desperation surged through her at finding nothing but a faded bundle of sweat-and-campfire-scented clothes inside.

Jennie placed the bag back on the floor. She had to hurry before either man woke up. She scooted down the bench to reach Horace’s bag and saw that one boot rested against it. With a sigh, Jennie pivoted on the bench to face Horace straight on. She bent down and gripped the boot with both hands. She gently slid his foot toward her. The drunken Horace didn’t stir.

Exhaling with relief, she lifted the bag into her lap and unfastened the clasp. Peering inside, she sucked in a quick breath. She’d never seen so much cash in one place. She could pay the ranch’s debt in full with that much money.

No, she told herself firmly. Only what we need to buy more time. Grabbing two bundles and hoping it was enough, she shoved the money into her purse.

“What are you doing there?” Clyde demanded.

Startled, Jennie pushed the money bag behind her. Thankfully the pounding of the horses’ hooves and the creak of the wheels muffled the sound of the bag hitting the floor.

“I...uh...needed some air,” she said, motioning to the window above the coach door.

“You sick?”

“Oh, no. I’m fine.” She fanned her flushed face with her purse. “Just a tad warm.”

“It can be dangerous sittin’ in the middle there,” Clyde said in a drowsy voice as he blinked heavily.

You have no idea. Jennie willed herself to smile as she took several calming breaths. She set aside her purse and busied herself arranging her skirts and examining her fingernails until Clyde fell back asleep. When she was certain he was unconscious, she retrieved the money bag, closed it up and put it back beside Horace’s boots. Now she needed to get those guns and hand over these men to the stage driver.

Bending forward again, Jennie peeled back part of Horace’s jacket to reach his revolver. As she inched her fingers toward the barrel, she heard a snort. She jerked her head up and found Horace watching her, a puzzled expression on his face.

“You had a bee on your knee,” Jennie said, thinking fast. “I moved up to swat it away.” She blushed as she straightened.

Horace cocked his head to one side and lifted his eyebrows. “Oh...um...thanks.”

She hoped he’d join his brother in drunken slumber, but Horace stretched and sat up instead.

“How much farther we got to the next town?” he asked.

Jennie peered out the window at the afternoon sun. “We still have several hours until we stop for the night at Cove Fort. It’s a way station for travelers.” Plenty of time to get those guns, but how?

“You ever been to Wyoming?” Horace scratched at his hairy jaw.

“No,” Jennie said curtly. She needed to formulate a plan, not waste more time chatting with Horace.

“That’s where me and Clyde come from. I want to get back up there someday. Our ma’s still there.” Horace glanced out the window and exhaled a long sigh. “Sure do miss her cookin’. And my horse, Jasper.”

Jennie tried to ignore his reminiscing, but he kept on.

“Clyde made me leave Jasper behind. Probably ’cause I ride better than he does. Can shoot better, too. Pa taught me to shoot anything with a trigger.”

His words prompted similar memories in Jennie’s mind—times when her father had shown her how to draw a gun and shoot straight.

That’s it.

Jennie heaved a dramatic sigh and batted her eyelashes like she remembered her girlhood friends at church doing. “I don’t know the first thing about guns. Why, I wouldn’t know how to go about defending myself. I wish somebody would teach me.”

“I’ll show you.” He hurried to sit beside her on the middle bench and pulled his gun from its holster. “This here’s a .44 Remington revolver.”

“Is that right? Well, imagine that,” she said.

“Once it’s loaded, you wanna pull the hammer back.” Horace lifted his thumb and pantomimed the action, then aimed the gun out his window. “You point at your target, squeeze the trigger and shoot.” He shrugged and passed the revolver to Jennie. “Nothin’ to it.”

Jennie pointed the gun out her window, hoping he didn’t see her hands shaking with nervous energy. “Seems easy enough.” Setting the gun on her right side, where Horace couldn’t easily reach it, she smiled coyly. “What about your brother’s gun?”

“Works the same.” Horace leaned across her to pull out Clyde’s revolver from beneath his jacket. Clyde twitched, peering at them through half-opened eyes. “I’m borrowin’ your gun for a minute,” Horace explained. His brother grunted, and to Jennie’s relief, his eyelids shut again.

“Clyde’s gun’s a Colt revolver.” Horace lifted it up for her to see. “His isn’t as fast-loading as mine since he can’t just slip a full cylinder in.”

“How do you load it? Can you teach me that?”

Horace nodded. He pushed the revolver’s cylinder to the left side and pointed to the six chambers. “The bullets go in there, but you see how you wanna leave one hole empty so the gun don’t fire if it’s dropped?”

“May I try?” Jennie asked, swallowing back the panic rising in her throat. If Horace gave his brother back the gun, her plan wouldn’t work.

He looked from her to the gun and over to Clyde. “I s’pose.” He dumped out the bullets and extended the gun toward her. “Here you go.”

She took the revolver and stuck out her hand for the bullets. Horace rolled them into her palm, but as she drew her hand back, she purposely let the bullets slip from her grip to the floor. “Oh, dear. How clumsy of me.”

“I’ll get them.” Horace knelt in the tight space and tried to capture a bullet that rolled and jumped with the stage’s movement.

Clyde sat up, rubbing his jaw. “What in tarnation are you doing, Horace?”

“Pickin’ these up.” He finally got a hold of a bullet and held it up for Clyde to see. “We dropped ’em.”

Cursing softly, Clyde leaned down to help gather the ammunition.

Now’s my chance. Keeping an eye on the two men, Jennie tossed both revolvers out her window. Her heart crashed against her rib cage as she reached inside her purse and cocked her pistol. She slowly removed the gun. Forcing herself to breathe evenly, she aimed the pistol at Horace and Clyde.

“What were ya doing with the bullets out of the gun anyway?” Clyde barked as he shoved bullets into his pocket. Neither of them paid any attention to Jennie, which gave her enough time to steady her hands and plaster a no-nonsense expression on her face. “Where’s my gun? If you ruined it, so help me, Horace...” Clyde gave a vehement shake of his head.

The back of Horace’s ears reddened with anger. “I ain’t done nothin’ with your gun. I was just showin’ the lady here how to use one.” He turned to Jennie, and his eyes went wide as saucers at the sight of the pistol in her hand. “Where’d you get that?”

“Go sit by your brother,” Jennie ordered in an even tone. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Clyde’s face blanch, then turn scarlet.

“You idiot.” Clyde whopped Horace on the side of the head as he scrambled onto their seat. “Looks to me like she already knows how to use a gun. What’d you tell her while I was asleep?”

Horace blinked in obvious confusion. “I...uh...told her about home. I didn’t say nothin’ about us robbing the stage, honest, Clyde.”

Clyde lifted his hand to strike his brother again, but Jennie pointed the gun in his direction. “Leave him alone. He didn’t say anything. I learned all I needed to know from your drunken whispers earlier.”

“Whatya goin’ do with us now?” Horace asked, frowning.

Instead of answering, Jennie pointed the pistol at the floor and fired a bullet between the men’s boots. Both of them yelped and jumped aside. “That’s a warning,” she explained. “I shoot even better at long-range, so I wouldn’t suggest making a dash for it. You’d likely break every bone in your body if you tried to jump anyway.”

The stagecoach came to an abrupt stop, as Jennie had hoped, and the driver soon appeared beside the door. He had a shotgun in his hand and a look of pure annoyance on his weathered face.

Throwing open the door, he glared at Horace and Clyde. “What do you mean firing a gun while we’re moving? You’ll scare the horses, or the lady here.” He glanced over at Jennie, and seeing her pistol, his eyes widened.

“Forgive me. That shot was meant to alert you.” Jennie smiled apologetically. “I overheard these men talking. I believe they’re the bandits who robbed that stage yesterday.”

“Well, I’ll be.” The driver scratched at his head beneath his hat, his gaze flitting from Jennie to the brothers and back again. “And the money?”

Swallowing the twinge of guilt that rose inside her, Jennie pointed her gun at the bag by Horace. “I believe it’s in there.”

The driver leaned into the stage and proceeded to grab the black bag, but Clyde snatched the other side of the handle and refused to let go. “You can’t have it,” he argued. “We worked and planned for months to get this cash.”

“Let go, young man, or you’ll be eatin’ bullets.” The stage driver trained the shotgun on Clyde. The two locked gazes before Clyde finally released his grip on the bag. The driver passed his shotgun to Jennie. “Hold this on ’em for a minute, miss, while I grab me some rope.”

Jennie nodded and took the shotgun in hand. Shifting the pistol in Clyde’s direction, she pointed the driver’s gun at the sullen-looking Horace.

As soon as the driver disappeared from view, Clyde glowered at her. “You won’t get away with this, missy,” he hissed. “If you think I’m going to rot in jail and lose two thousand dollars ’cause some female has a hankering to be brave, you don’t know me.”

“Perhaps you ought to have considered that possibility before you robbed the stage,” Jennie said, edging her pistol closer to him.

The stage driver returned and tied the men’s hands and feet together. With Jennie holding both guns on them, neither one made an attempt to struggle.

“You might want to ride up with me, miss,” the driver said when he’d finished.

“I believe I will.” She handed him back his gun, but kept hers in her grip. The driver climbed out, and after gathering her purse, Jennie hurried to follow.

“We’re goin’ to find you,” Clyde shouted as she descended the steps. “You’re gonna wish you hadn’t done this. Horace and I will—”

The stage driver slammed the door against Clyde’s protests and led Jennie by the elbow to the front of the stage. “Don’t pay him no mind, miss. You’ve done a brave thing. Nothing to be ashamed of.” He helped her up onto the seat. “Afraid we’ll have to turn back though, so we can turn those two rascals over to the law in Fillmore.”

Jennie nodded in agreement as she tucked her pistol into her bag alongside the cash.

The stage driver joined her on the seat and gathered the reins. He turned the stagecoach around, heading north again. Jennie did her best to ignore Clyde’s occasional shouts from below. She concentrated instead on the thrill she felt as she imagined marching into the bank tomorrow and slapping the five hundred dollars on Mr. Dixon’s desk. Let him wonder how she came up with it so fast. At least the ranch would be safe from his greedy hands, for now.

Chapter Two

Seven months later

Caleb let his horse Saul pick its own way along the faint trail through the sagebrush while he sat in the saddle, finishing his cold supper of dry bread and jerky. He didn’t have time to stop to eat if he was going to find lodging and a warm meal in Beaver by sundown.

He brushed the bits of bread from his chaps, and almost of its own accord, his hand rose to pat the pouch hidden beneath his shirt. Three hundred dollars sat inside—three hundred dollars his parents couldn’t complain hadn’t been earned through honest labor. Not that any amount of honest work would reconcile them to the fact that he wasn’t coming home to the Salt Lake Valley. They hadn’t liked it when he’d left, and they certainly hadn’t been pleased when he’d become a bounty hunter. But the real divide had come when he’d stopped bounty hunting...and still refused to come home.

Didn’t they understand how hard it was for him to think of returning to the place where he’d hoped to build a life with Liza? He’d settle down soon, but it would be someplace new—somewhere he could have a fresh start. And with God’s help, he’d be ready for that soon. One more job, maybe two, and Caleb would have enough money to outfit his own freight business.

“We’ll come back,” he murmured to Saul as he gazed from beneath his hat at the juniper-covered hills and the distant mountain peaks. He’d come to love this rugged country. “Next time, though, it’ll be with a wagon full of goods and a strong pair of horses.” Saul’s ears flicked back and the horse gave a long whinny. Caleb chuckled. “My apologies. But you wouldn’t want to pull a loaded wag—”

The sound of a large animal crashing through the underbrush silenced Caleb’s words. Reining Saul in, he twisted in the saddle, trying to discern which direction the noise came from. He gripped the butt of one of the revolvers in his holster. Neither gun was loaded, but Caleb figured whoever was headed his way wouldn’t know that.

A moment later, a horse and rider burst from the trees a dozen yards up the trail. “Look out,” a female voice yelled as the pair raced toward Caleb.

A woman? Out here? Caleb released his grip on the gun and wordlessly jerked his horse out of the way.

“You should leave,” the woman added, thundering past him. Her dress flapped in the wind, revealing men’s trousers under the skirt. Long red hair spilled out from beneath her cowboy hat.

Caleb peered after the retreating figure. Where would she be going in such a rush and why would she tell him to leave? Shaking his head in bewilderment, he faced forward again. Only this time he heard the faint but unmistakable sound of several horses riding hard in his direction. Someone was coming down the trail after the woman.

Out of instinct, Caleb scanned the area for a place of defense against those coming his way. To his right, on a small rise above the trail, a patch of trees provided both cover and a lookout position. He wouldn’t take action—not yet, anyway. This wasn’t his fight. He didn’t know the circumstances and he didn’t want to run the risk of being killed, or worse, having to kill a man—again. Still, from the sounds of it, there were several men coming after that woman. He’d stay out of the conflict for now, but if they appeared ready to hurt her, he’d be on hand to intervene.

He watched the woman rider until she disappeared behind a clump of trees and underbrush. She didn’t reappear. If she stayed hidden, she might be all right. Maybe nothing would come of this after all.

Caleb guided Saul up the incline, behind the juniper trees, then he dropped from the saddle. He tied Saul’s reins to a thick branch before lowering himself to his knees. He removed his bullet pouch just as five men rode into sight.

The riders’ clothes were tattered and dirty, and each of them sported scruffy beards or mustaches beneath their dusty cowboy hats. All five had guns and wore the same hardened expressions he’d seen on the four stage robbers he’d hunted down, including the last one whose face was on the wanted poster he kept in his saddle bag.

The tallest of the five stopped within yards of the woman’s hiding place and fired his rifle into the air. “Fun’s over, missy,” he sneered. “We know you’re here, and we want what’s ours.”

Caleb quickly loaded one of his revolvers and crept closer to the hill’s edge, making certain to stay hidden behind the trees. Would the woman keep silent or make a stand? Either way, Caleb didn’t plan on letting her be caught or shot by these ruffians.

“I’d watch it if I were you, Bart. You’re surrounded,” the woman called back. To her credit, Caleb didn’t detect an ounce of fear in her voice. “I’ve got the sheriff with me and his posse’s waiting down the trail for you.”

Caleb scanned the nearby mountainside, but he saw no movement, no reinforcements. She had to be lying. A heavy silence followed her brave words. In the stillness, Caleb heard the distant trill of a bird. He tightened his grip on his gun, fully expecting a volley of shots in response to her bluff. But the quiet stretched on for nearly a minute.

“You’re lying,” Bart finally shouted back. “And you’ll soon find out what we do with lying, thieving...”

Time to act. “Howdy, boys,” Caleb hollered from behind the trees. All five men whipped their heads in his direction, disbelief radiating from more than one face. “Nice to see y’all are friends. Makes sharing a jail cell more enjoyable.”

“It’s the sheriff,” a baby-faced fellow cried. “Let’s split.”

“Hold on. I still say she’s bluffin’ about him bringin’ a whole posse,” Bart said, scratching his motley beard. His narrowed gaze jumped from the hill, to the clump of trees beside the trail and back in Caleb’s direction.

Before anyone could make a move, the woman fired a round of shots that hit the ground near one of the bandits. The man let out a loud yelp and jerked his horse away. Caleb aimed at a patch of sagebrush near another of the riders, hoping to spook the horse into bolting.

The riders attempted to return fire, but the bullets whizzing past them drove them into a tighter group on the exposed trail. Caleb could see the horses—and the riders—getting more agitated by the minute. Before long, one of them turned his horse and galloped away toward Caleb. Caleb let him ride past.

Another hurried after him. “We’re outnumbered, Bart,” the man screamed over his shoulder.

Bart fired once more before pointing his horse in the direction the other two had charged. “Let’s go!” He threw an ugly look toward the trees, then up the hill as he retreated, the last two bandits behind him.

Caleb waited another minute to ensure they didn’t double back. When the trail remained empty in either direction, he replaced his gun in its holster and untied Saul’s reins.

The woman still hadn’t emerged from the trees yet. Anxious to know if she’d fared well through the gunfight, Caleb led Saul down the incline and across the trail. Skirting the copse of trees, he entered the shelter they formed and found himself staring down the barrel of the woman’s pistol.

“Whoa—don’t shoot.” He dropped the reins and lifted both hands in the air. Saul whinnied softly beside him.

“You’re the one who pretended to be the sheriff.” To his relief, she lowered her gun. “I thought I told you to leave.”

“Are you all right? Why were those men chasing you? Have they...” He rubbed the back of his suddenly warm neck. “Have they laid their hands on you in any way?”

Her cheeks flushed. “No. Oh, no. They knew I had some money with me—that’s all.” She pushed up her hat, revealing amused brown eyes—not the green he’d expected. “I’d say they got the worst of it.”

He’d only ever seen one other girl with red hair and coffee-colored eyes, in a mercantile in Fillmore when he’d done some work up there last fall. He suspected that young lady, though, wouldn’t go around fighting in shoot-outs or wearing men’s trousers under her skirt.

“By the way, thanks for the help.” She stuck her pistol into the holster tied around her skirt and reached for her horse’s reins.

“What were you doing out on the trail by yourself?”

Her chin lifted a notch. “No one could be spared to come with me, and besides, I can handle myself just fine.”

“Apparently, but what would you have done if I hadn’t come along?”

“I would have figured something out,” she said as she climbed into her saddle. “I usually do.”

Caleb swung onto Saul’s back. “Going up against a group of armed thugs is a regular pastime of yours?”

“Hardly.” One corner of her mouth lifted in a half smile. “What about you? You play sheriff for hapless females on a regular basis?”

It was Caleb’s turn to smile. “Not hapless in your case. But it is always a pleasure helping a pretty girl. Wouldn’t mind that as a regular job.”

Instead of blushing, a peculiar expression passed over the woman’s face. She stared hard at him a moment before she visibly relaxed again. “Are you looking for work?”

“You hiring?”

“Maybe. What can you do?”

“Farming, freighting, a little carpentry.” He purposely left bounty hunting off his list. That part of his life had ended abruptly a year and a half ago, and Caleb wanted to keep it that way.

She nudged her horse forward, in line with Saul. “Do you know anything about cattle ranching?”

“Can’t say that I do.” The question brought a twinge of disappointment. He’d never fancied himself living the life of a cowhand—a little too close to farming for his tastes. “The only cows I’ve handled in the past are ones that needed milking.”

Her brow furrowed as she shook her head. “You don’t milk these cows. What we need is some extra help on our ranch. It’s only me, my grandmother and my younger brother. I’ve been doing most of the work myself for the past twenty months.”

She set her hat on the saddle horn and rearranged her hair into a bun. “You could help with branding and looking after the few cattle we have. There are other chores around the ranch that need another set of hands. I can’t pay you a lot—maybe twenty dollars a month.” She stuck her hat back on and finally regarded him again. “I might be able to give you a little more when we sell the cows in the fall.”

Twenty dollars wasn’t much, especially when he’d heard of cowhands making closer to forty dollars in a month. Surely he could find another job—one where he could earn more money in less time.

Caleb fiddled with Saul’s reins, ready to refuse her. But the words grew cold on his tongue. He hadn’t missed the desperate tone behind her offer. Clearly she needed his help. He could work for a lower wage if it wasn’t for long, couldn’t he?

“I might consider working for you,” he answered at last, “except I don’t usually accept jobs from nameless employers.”

A trace of a smile showed on her lips and then disappeared as quickly. “My name is Jennie. Jennie Jones.”

“Miss Jones.” Caleb pulled down the brim of his hat in greeting as if they’d met on the street and not in the middle of the desert—after a shoot-out. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Caleb Johnson.”

“Will you accept the job then, Mr. Johnson?”

As had become his habit since he’d quit bounty hunting, Caleb searched inside himself for some inkling, some impression from God, that this course wasn’t the one for him. None came.

Smiling, he waved her forward. “Lead the way, Miss Jones.”

* * *

Through the blue twilight smearing the western sky, Jennie spotted the familiar outline of the corral fence. Home. “That’s the ranch,” she said, her first words during the long trip. Caleb had been equally as quiet.

She peered sideways at him, wondering why she hadn’t recognized him before. His earlier comment about helping pretty girls had sparked her memory. The man from the general store who’d come to her aid last fall had said something similar and he, too, had deep blue eyes.