Miranda sat on the hard, narrow cot shoved up against the wall in the jail cell she shared with three other women. Every once in a while, a peeling paint chip would fall off the wall of the cell to land on the floor or one of the women. A smelly slop bucket had been shoved under her cot, and cool damp air seeped in through the windows. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

The cell had been filling up with the women for the past couple of hours. One of the young women, dressed in the skimpy costume of a saloon girl, had been pacing up and down for the twenty minutes she’d been in the cell.

“Marshal, when you gonna let us the hell out of here?” The saloon girl ran her shoe across the bars of the cell, making enough racket to block out the rowdy sounds from outside.

“Shut up, Cinnamon,” a man’s voice called. “The marshal left me in charge, and I ain’t letting you out until he says so.”

“Well, where the hell did he go? He can’t just throw me in here and walk off. I demand to have my say. And don’t call me Cinnamon, Blaine Parker.”

“There ain’t nothing to say, girl. You hit the mayor over the head with a pitcher of beer.”

“The old lecher deserved it.”

“Shut up and settle down. You’re making enough noise to raise up the dead.”

The girl, whose name was apparently Cinnamon which she didn’t want to be called, flounced over to the cot where another woman sat. She plopped down, crossing her arms, pushing up her breasts dangerously high. She looked over at her very frightened looking cot mate. “What are you in for?”

The woman cleared her throat. “Vagrancy.”

“What’s that?”

She shrugged. “No job, no home, and no money.”

“Well, hell, if ya ain’t got no job, then there’s no way to have a home or money.” She adjusted the straps on her dress and tugged the neckline up. “My name’s Cinnamon O’Brien. But if you know what’s good for you, you’ll call me Mindy. What’s yours?”

“Adelaide Markham.”

“You look like what my ma calls a ‘good, God-fearing woman.’ How’d you end up with nothing?”

The woman fumbled with the pendant she wore around her neck. “My husband and little girl died of influenza. Gerald was a gunsmith, and since I didn’t know the first thing about guns, I couldn’t keep his business going.”

“No family?”

“I’m an only child, and my parents drowned right after Gerald and I were married. Their buggy went over the side of a bridge during a rainstorm.”

Mindy reached out and touched her hand. “I’m so sorry, girl. You’ve had it hard, haven’t you?”

Adelaide nodded and swiped at the tears that slid down her face. Mindy then directed her attention to the woman sharing Miranda’s cot. “What are y’all in for?”

The pretty young brunette shrugged. “I worked with Doctor Snodgrass, selling medicine out of his wagon. I thought it was real good stuff. But it turns out it was just water that he colored with beet juice. He skipped town and left me. People filed complaints so the marshal arrested me when they wanted their money back and the hotel wanted the room fee. I don’t know why I’m here since I never got any of the money. Dr. Snodgrass took it all.”

“Damn men. What’s your name?”

“Becky Davidson.”

Mindy gestured with her chin to Miranda. “What’s your story?”

Miranda felt an instant liking for the friendly girl. She wasn’t crazy about the idea of confessing to these ladies, but since the others had owned up to their crimes, she took a deep breath and said, “I killed a man.”

All three women stared at her, a combination of wide-eyed and open-mouthed expressions.

“Did he need killing?” Mindy asked. “Looks to me like he gave you a nice black eye before you did him in.”

Miranda ran her palms up and down her arms. “Yes. He needed killing,” she whispered.

“Good.” Mindy nodded and looked to the other women for consent. They slowly nodded also. Mindy flopped back on the cot, her hands behind her head. “Seems to me we’re all in here because of men.”

Gunshots outside the jail had all four women jumping up from the cots. “What was that?” Adelaide asked.

“This town is crazy. I’ve been wanting to get out of here as soon as I saved enough money.” Mindy climbed up on the cot and looked out the window. “Another drunk cowboy shootin’ up the place.”

Within minutes, the marshal barreled through the doorway, dragging a man by his collar. He got as far as the jail cells and came to an abrupt halt. He stared at the women as if he were confused by their presence. “Aw, shit, I plumb forgot about you.”

As soon as the marshal locked the prisoner’s cell door, he turned to the four women and shook his head, mumbling to himself as he left the jailhouse.

* * *

The man the marshal put into the cell next to the women had been passed out and snoring for the past two hours. The smell of sweat and alcohol drifted from his body to where the women sat, making Miranda’s eyes tear up.

Miranda had spent that time wondering about her fate and how she’d come to this time in her life. As the only daughter of the town preacher, she and her mother had sat in the front row at church each Sunday, Miranda in a freshly pressed dress with a matching bow in her hair. She would stare up at her father in the pulpit, and with the sun coming through the window behind him, confuse him with God.

Reverend Beamer was not of the fire and brimstone ilk. He preached love and forgiveness, so different from other preachers. When he died, Miranda had been devastated. She and her mother had been forced to leave the rectory for the new pastor’s family. They rented a small apartment behind a tavern where Mother took in sewing, but with little work in their small town, she eventually packed up and headed to Dodge City.

Within a year, her mother had been coerced into marriage with Frankie who moved them into his rundown shack in Dodge City. She hated both the house and the town. It was the perfect place for Frankie and his son, Woody, though. Gunfights, saloons, and brothels. Even if she was hanged for his murder, she wasn’t sorry Frankie was dead.

Her cellmates had warmed up to each other and had swapped stories about their pasts. The general concession was they all wanted to get as far away from Dodge City as they could. They continuously jumped as shouting and gunshots peppered the air while they talked quietly amongst themselves.

The front door of the jailhouse opened, and Marshal Jones walked up to the cell, a woman wearing a low-cut red satin dress, dangly earrings, and face paint alongside him.

“All right, ladies. I want your attention.” He turned to his companion. “This here is Miss Nellie. Until about an hour ago, she was the owner of one of the finest brothels in Dodge City.” He smiled at the woman and continued. “The place just burned to the ground, and all her girls left to work for another house.”

Miranda’s head snapped up. Surely, the man wasn’t suggesting they take the places of the runaway girls? She’d just killed a man to keep from doing that very thing.

“What the hell is this about, Marshal?” Mindy said. “If you think I’m going to work for Miss Nellie, you’re crazy.” She nodded at the woman. “No offense, Miss Nellie. It’s just that I don’t have a hankering for spending my time flat on my back.”

“None taken,” Miss Nellie said, her lips twitching.

“Although that’s not why Miss Nellie is here, missy, you might not be so quick to dismiss a job. Stuart stopped me on the way over so I could tell you to turn in your dress cuz you’ve been fired.”

“Well, hell. Ain’t that just like a man? Takes the mayor’s side in this without even hearing what really happened.”

“Forget it, girl. What I have to say to you”—his eyes swept over the other three women behind bars—“all of you is I have a proposal.”

Miranda licked her dry lips. Could her life be going from bad to worse? Wasn’t there a law against whoring?

“Since Miss Nellie’s place just burned down, she has nowhere to go. All of you are a burr under my saddle. I can’t have women in my jail, but none of you have a job or a place to stay. This town is dangerous, and I’m sorry to say being in the jail is no safer. And I need the room.” He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair.

“So, this is the deal. There’s a wagon train passing through Fort Dodge from Independence that’s headed to Santa Fe, New Mexico territory. Now, I happen to know there are plenty of men down that way looking for wives.”

Miranda’s interest perked up. Could her luck have turned and the Marshal wouldn’t hang her, but allow her to leave? She held her breath as she waited for him to continue.

Adelaide gasped. “Marshal, surely you’re not suggesting—”

“Yes, ma’am, I am suggesting. You gals will either get on that wagon train with Miss Nellie here as your escort or wait until the circuit judge comes around when he sobers up. He’ll be so blasted hungover, he’s liable to send y’all off to the state prison.”

“That’s outrageous. You can’t force us to marry strangers.” The one who had said she was involved with Dr. Snodgrass clutched the cell bars, her knuckles white.

“No, ma’am, you’re probably right. I can’t do that. But what I can do is leave you sitting here until the circuit judge makes his appearance. Sometimes we don’t see him for six months.”

“I’m willing,” Miranda said.

The marshal eyed her with sympathy. He’d been nothing but kind to her since she showed up last night. After getting her to calm down, he gave her a shot of his whiskey and told her to start slow and give him the whole story.

Once she’d finished, he leaned back in his chair. “Miranda, I’ve watched you grow from a young lady when you first arrived in Dodge City with your mama to a handsome woman. When your mama saw fit to marry up with Frankie Smith, I knew you were both in trouble.

“That man has been a burden to me for years. And that son of his is no better, and if possible, even worse. I’m going to stick you in jail while I go out to your place and look things over. Right now, that’s the safest place for you.”

He escorted her to the jail cell and locked her in. “I’ll get my deputy to stay here with you.” He began to walk away then turned back. “One more thing. When was the last time you saw Woody?”

“A few weeks ago.”

The marshal nodded. “I’ll be on the lookout for him.”

After that, all she’d heard from Marshal Jones were a few words this morning before the other girls had started to arrive. He’d told her Frankie was, indeed, dead. He’d already hauled his body to the undertaker. He said he would give some consideration to what he would do with her, although given the man’s history, it looked as though she shot Frankie in self-defense.

She’d breathed a sigh of relief but knew she still had to face Woody. If she could join the wagon train and get as far as Santa Fe, she could take a job there and save enough money to go farther west and disappear so Woody would never find her. Her attention was drawn back to the conversation between the marshal and the girls.

“When do we have to decide?” Mindy wanted to know.

“Now.”

“Well, lordy be, Marshal, you sure don’t believe in giving a gal a whole lot of time to decide. And how will we get the money to buy supplies and a wagon?” She waved at the other ladies. “As you well know, we don’t have a penny between us.”

“I’ll have the town pay for it. I’m behind on collecting the monthly operating fees from the saloons and brothels. Once I get that, there will be enough money.” He dismissed his seizure of the town’s funds with a mere wave of his hand.

“There is no time for y’all to decide on this. The wagon train is already at the fort and will be pulling out soon. Miss Nellie has to get a wagon ready to go this afternoon. I can send word to the wagon master to hold up for maybe another day or two, but that’s about it.” He fisted his hands on his hips and glared at them. “Now, what will it be?”

The four women looked at each other.

Adelaide shrugged. “I don’t see that we have a whole lot of choice.”

Miranda agreed with her cellmate. Maybe they had no choice, but as soon as they got to Santa Fe, she would start looking for a job, even if she had to wear one of those saloon girl outfits. As much as she craved the sort of life the marshal was offering them, she didn’t need a husband.

She needed to disappear.