Miranda shifted and turned over in the uncomfortable cot and rubbed her sore shoulder. She had no idea how long she’d been asleep. She stretched and looked around the dim room. A lone candle burned in a small dish, sitting on the floor near the door. A small cloth had been draped over something on the table she’d been using for a desk while she was temporarily living in Prestons’ room at the saloon.

Apparently Preston had brought her the promised dinner and she’d been fast asleep. A loud grumble from her stomach reminded her it was way past dinner time. She threw off the blanket that Preston must have covered her with and yawning loudly, she padded across the room.

A quick peek under the towel brought a moan of delight at the sight of fried chicken, beans and rice and a stewed apple. Her mouth watered at the sight. Even though it was no longer hot it smelled delicious. She picked up the plate and brought it back to the cot where she sat and devoured the meal. Once finished, she licked her fingers then checked her timepiece in the scant moon light coming from the small window above the cot. Ten minutes past eight o’clock. Although she felt bad for Pat who had cut his finger, she hoped he would return to work soon so she and Preston could leave for home.

She was so very sick of these rooms. The only time she was able to leave was when Preston could take time away from his work and escort her on a walk around town. They visited the site of his new restaurant and hotel the day before and were both delighted at the progress. But then it was back to the room.

As she sat musing about her confinement, a slight noise caught her attention. Perhaps Preston had come to fetch her. She smiled and watched the door, but it didn’t open.

“Miraaannnndaaaa.” The blood in her veins turned to ice at the sound of Woody’s voice as he spoke softly and dragged out her name in a singsong tone.

Dear God, he’s in this room!

She held her breath and looked around frantically, trying to see him in the scant light.

“Miranda. I’ve come to bring you home, dear sister.”

It was dark enough that he probably didn’t see her, and she had no intention of alerting him as to where she was by calling for help. Instead, she quietly slid to her knees from the cot and eased her body underneath, her heart pounding. With all the noise generally coming from the saloon and gambling hall downstairs, if she screamed for help, Woody would know where she was, and she’d be dead before anyone could race up the stairs.

“Ah, you are hiding from me. That’s good. Because while I search everywhere for you, I can tell you just what awaits you when I get ahold of you.”

His voice seemed to come from near the door to the hallway.

“You have to pay for shooting Pa. That bastard marshal had no right to send you here. But I’ll find you and show you how mad I am. Miraaannnndaaaa.”

She covered her ears trying to keep out the sound of this voice and the terror it brought. Hiding under the cot didn’t seem safe enough. Her eyes finally picked him out with his back to her, looking around the room. “Miranda. Where are you?” He kept the singsong voice up which had her breaking into a sweat.

“When I find you, I will drag you out of here by your lovely hair.” He moved to the left and Miranda used that opportunity to inch back and crawl behind an old dresser that Preston had left when he’d moved everything to their house.

“I heard you. It’s best if you show yourself, girl. I spent days coming from Dodge City to this rat hole to find you. That’s not good, Miraaannnndaaaa.”

No longer able to see him in her hiding place, she hugged her knees to her chest and prayed. She wanted Preston to come, but she was afraid Woody would shoot him. She had to get out of this dilemma herself.

“There’s a burning in my belly over you shooting Pa. That ain’t good, ya know.” He waited a few moments. “You have to be punished for that.”

Miranda was certain Woody must have heard her heart pounding. She tried desperately to breathe through her nose to keep him from hearing her panting, even though she was practically gasping for air.

She peeked around the dresser to see Woody move closer to the cot and whip off the straw mattress. “Nope. Not under here.” He cupped his mouth with both hands. “Where are youuuuuuuu?” She clasped herself tightly and trembled, her whole body shaking when he dropped his hands and placed his fists on his hips and looked around the room.

In a flash she remembered Preston had given her a gun to carry until Woody was caught. She breathed a sigh of relief until she remembered she had removed it from where it had been strapped to her calf when she had lain down to sleep. In her terror, she couldn’t remember where she’d put it.

Think, Miranda, think.

“Mirrrannnddaaa. Where are you, sister dear?”

He moved toward the open door that joined the room, which had been Preston’s sitting room, to the bedroom. “Are you hiding in here? You know if you come out now your beating won’t be as bad as if I have to spend more time looking for you. I’ve wasted enough time trying to find you. I spent money that I could have used to buy me a whore.” He snapped his fingers and laughed. “Oh, that’s all right. I just remembered that once I find you and drag you back to Dodge City you will be my whore. Mirrrannnddaaa.”

Bile rose from the back of her throat, her stomach ready to empty itself of the dinner she’d just eaten. I’d rather he shoot me.

The gun, Miranda, the gun. Where did you put it?

She had to calm herself or she would never remember. She pictured herself unstrapping the gun and laying it….”

“Miranda. I am getting tired of this game. Your fancy husband is not going to rescue you. I made sure he was busy cleaning up the mess I made downstairs before I knocked out that boneheaded cur at the back door.”

The dresser! I laid the gun on the top of the dresser I’m hiding behind.

Slowly she eased herself sideways to make sure Woody still had his back to her. Holding her breath, she laid her hand gently on top of the dresser, slowly moving her fingers along until she felt the gun.

“Miranda! Get yer ass out here now, girl.” He turned back and shoved the table out of the way, knocking all the papers and books to the floor. “I’ll tear this place apart and beat the living shit out of you for making me waste my time.”

She eased the gun down, holding it in her lap, and took a deep breath. At least now she was ready.

* * *

Preston poured whiskey and beer for his customers, always watching the door, waiting for Pat to return. He hated just dropping off the food for Miranda and not staying to eat with her, but she looked so comfortable he didn’t have the heart to wake her. So, he covered her with the blanket and left her food wrapped with the bar towel.

He hated that Woody was still out there, disrupting his life and scaring Miranda. He hoped the man showed up soon so he could beat him into oblivion before Jones arrested him for the stagecoach hold-ups, which he’d told Preston the new marshal in Dodge City now had solid evidence for.

Even though Preston had Nelson at the back door standing guard and the usual two men at the front door to keep the peace in case things got a little rough with the boys, he still carried two guns on him and constantly scanned the room for Woody. Jones had provided them, along with Sheriff Janson, a wanted poster with the man’s description and drawing of his face that both Jones and Miranda confirmed looked like her stepbrother.

Miranda was unhappy being stuck upstairs in the room all day and he didn’t blame her. He smiled as he wiped down the bar thinking of how excited she’d been when she told him about her plans to decorate the house and make it into a true home for him.

A commotion at the entrance drew his attention. A fire had started at the front of the saloon. He’d warned his customers before about lighting cigars and leaving them burning sitting on the tables. One small fire can bring down the whole building.

His two guards raced outside with a couple of buckets to retrieve water from the horse trough. If they could douse it quickly, it wouldn’t spread through the room and eventually the entire saloon. Just as Preston was about to see to it himself, Marshal Jones walked up to the bar. “Looks like your boys have the fire under control. It’s a small one.”

“Good.” Preston poured him a whiskey. “Any news on Woody, marshal?”

“No. Wherever that vermin is hiding, no one’s seen him. I’ve passed the wanted poster all over town, and a few people remembered seeing him, but no one knows where he’s staying.”

They chatted for a bit while Preston thought about the fire. Had it been deliberately set as a distraction? He wasn’t too concerned because he had Nelson at the back door and the two men in front.

Preston checked the clock on the wall again. He wished Pat would come back so he could take Miranda home. For some reason he felt uneasy tonight and wanted her safe and sound in bed in his arms.

Crystal hurried up to the bar, out of breath, her face flushed. “Your guard at the back door is unconscious. It looks like someone smacked him on the head. I went to bring him supper and found him lying on the ground.”

Preston leaped over the bar and headed for the stairs. Jones grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Wait a minute there, son. Don’t go running off half-cocked. If Woody is upstairs, and I’ll bet he is, you don’t want to race in and get yourself shot.”

“My wife is up there.” He tried to pull away from the marshal

“I know that. But we have to go in quietly, so we don’t have him shooting up the place and possibly killing Miranda as well as us. Use your head. Get someone to watch the back door in case he tries to take her out that way. We’ll have the front covered.”

“Suppose he already has her and is long gone?”

“Well we won’t know that until we go upstairs, but we’re not going to go up charging like a herd of cattle and give him reason to kill her before we get the door open.”

Preston ran his hand down his face. “Every minute that monster is with Miranda terrifies me.”

“We’ll go up together. Quietly.” He pulled out his gun and jerked his head toward the stairs. “Let’s go.”

Once they reached the top of the staircase, Jones covered his lips with his finger and leaned his head against the door. He shook his head, indicating he heard nothing.

Preston’s heart was in his throat. Had Woody killed Miranda and was now headed back to Dodge City? He gestured to the door, his jaw tight, glaring at Jones.

The marshal placed his hand on the doorknob and slowly turned.

“Miranda! Get yer ass out here now, girl.” What must have been Woody’s voice echoed around the room right before a crash sounded as if something had been swept off a table and landed on the floor. “I’ll tear this place apart and beat the living shit out of you for making me waste time.”

Preston breathed a sigh of relief to know Woody hadn’t yet gotten his hands on Miranda. Jones opened the door wide and raised his gun. Preston raised his as Jones shouted, “Hands up, Woody.”

The light from the wall sconce in the hallway shone into the room, outlining Woody. The man turned in surprise and fired a shot, missing both of them. Then he dove behind an older dresser Preston had left behind when they moved.

Jones and Preston stepped into the room, their guns aimed at the piece of furniture.

“Well, well. well. Look what we have here.” Woody came out from behind the dresser with his hand wrapped around Miranda’s arm, dragging her along. His gun was pointed at her neck. “Just what I was looking for. My dear sister, soon to be my whore.” He grinned, and Preston’s muscles tightened, and his hands gripped the gun tighter.

It appeared he hadn’t harmed Miranda, but she looked scared to death. Woody held tight to her one arm, and she held her other arm flush against her side.

“Drop your guns and get the hell out of my way, Jones. You too, fancy husband. I’m bringing my sister back home.”

“Won’t do you any good, Woody. There’s a warrant out for your arrest for the stagecoach holdups. If you plan on heading back to Dodge City with Miranda, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Is that right?” His feral grin revealed a mouth of rotten teeth. “Thanks for that information, Marshal. Then I guess me and the girl here are headed somewhere else.” He pushed the gun into Miranda’s neck, causing her to wince. “Drop your guns or the girl gets it in the throat. It’s payback time for killing my Pa. Either she goes with me or I kill her right here in front of her ever-loving husband.”

“Hang on Miranda,” Preston said. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the scant light from the hall lamp, the fear on her face twisted his gut. They seemed to be at a stalemate since Woody had the gun pressed up against Miranda. But hell would freeze over before he would let him leave the room with her.

“I ain’t saying it again, Marshal. You and your boy there drop your guns.”

Jones dropped his gun and motioned for Preston to do the same. With Woody’s gun smack against Miranda’s throat, they had no choice.

Woody moved a few steps forward, dragging Miranda with him. “I hate to leave this welcoming party, but we have to be on our way.”

Jones spoke softly from the side of his mouth. “Let it go, Stone. He won’t get far when he leaves here.”

“I will not allow him to leave this room with Miranda.”

“Get out of my way, or the bitch gets a bullet in her neck!” Woody shouted.

Woody moved forward. He’d taken about three steps when Miranda jerked back, poked Woody in the side of his chest, and blew a hole in his body. Woody looked at her with surprise and gripping his side pouring blood, he crumbled to the floor.

The gun slid from Miranda’s hand and landed with a thunk on the wooden floor. She raced across the room, throwing herself in Preston’s arms.

“What the—”

“I had the gun you gave me,” she panted, her face flushed. “Woody didn’t know I had it.”

Preston viewed the man bleeding out on the floor. “Apparently not.”

Footsteps pounded on the floor and the two guards from the front of the saloon pushed their way into the room. “What happened? We heard a shot.”

Preston pulled Miranda to his side and waved at the body. “Well, it appears my wife shot her tormentor.”

They all gazed at the still man on the floor who had either died or passed out. Either way made no difference to Preston since Woody was no longer a problem.

Jones walked to Woody and turned him over, pressing his fingers against his throat. “Dead.”

Miranda burst into tears and turned her face toward Preston’s chest. With relief or guilt, he didn’t know, but didn’t care either. She had saved herself and he was damn proud of her.

“I’ll notify the sheriff and get the undertaker to remove the body.” Jones stood and stared down at Woody, shaking his head. “Good riddance.”

“Come on, darlin’ It’s time to go home.”

When they returned downstairs Pat was busy behind the bar. Despite what had just gone on upstairs, the place was busy as usual. The music from the tinny piano played, the girls served drinks and dodged groping hands. The tables were full of gamblers and Crystal wandered from table to table.

She looked up at him as he and Mirada reached the bottom of the stairs. He signaled that everything was fine. She nodded and turned to answer a question from one of the girls. Everything was normal.

It was over. They could resume their life.

Miranda’s tears had dried and she slumped against him once they were snug in the coach. He reached under the seat and withdrew a blanket and wrapped it around his shivering wife. “We’ll be home soon, sweetheart.”

The cold night air was crisp and clear. The stars shone above them, and as they made their way down the center of the street passed the darkened businesses toward the snug houses outside of town, he took in a deep breath.

By the time they rolled to a stop in front of their house Miranda was asleep. He shook her gently. “We’re home, darlin’.”

Her eyelids fluttered open and she smiled up at him. He kissed her lightly on the lips and pulled back, grinning as he pushed away the fallen curls from her forehead. “Remind me never to make you mad. You’re pretty handy with a gun.”

She yawned and grinned back at him. “Yes. Remember that.”

He hopped down and lifted her out of the vehicle. With their arms wrapped around each other’s waists, they stopped and stared at the house. “Welcome home, darlin’”