Mail Order Bride Book 3
Chapter One: Secrets
Justine leaned low into the neck of her horse as he galloped effortlessly across the dusty ground. She touched her heels quickly to his sides and the gelding swerved hard to the left. Her body moved with him, as though horse and rider were one.
The pounding of dozens of hooves echoed behind her. Justine glanced over her shoulder and spotted the sheriff and his posse hot on her heels. She whipped out her pistol and took a shot back at him. One man fell from his saddle, his horse swerving from the pack.
The crack of gunfire erupted behind her and she leaned down into her horse's neck until her face was nearly buried in the gelding's black mane.
There was a crack close behind her and Justine swayed in the saddle, riding with one foot in the stirrup, one hand gripping the saddle horn as her free foot wobbled in the air. Whoops resounded in her ears as the posse drew closer. She gave the reins a firm yank and the bay gelding neatly swung to the right, propelling Justine back into the saddle and cutting off the sheriff. His horse threw her head, stumbling for a stride. It was all Justine needed to pull ahead of the posse.
Two more men drew closer, pistols drawn. Justine whirled around and shot at one of them, causing him to cry out and drop his gun. The other rider deftly swung beside her on the left and reached for her arm. His gloved hand closed over her wrist. Justine leaned back in the saddle and her gelding slowed from a full out gallop to a lope. Her attacker wasn't prepared for the sudden stop and his grip loosened as he went flying past her.
Justine touched her heels to the horse's sides, pushing him into a gallop again. But although her slowdown had shaken off her attacker, it had allowed the sheriff and the rest of his posse to catch up. They quickly surrounded her, leaving her no option for escape. All guns were trained on her as the gelding slid to a stop beneath her. Justine leaned forward in the saddle as her bay gelding lifted himself into a rear, pawing the air.
When her horse landed on all four hooves, Justine dropped her pistol and held her hands in the air in surrender. The sheriff rode forward and clamped a pair of handcuffs to her wrists. All around them, the crowd erupted in cheers and applause. The sheriff and his posse moved their horses so that she was in the middle of the pack as they rode out of the arena.
When they had ridden out of the ring, Justine tugged down the bandana that was over her mouth and nose. John, one of the younger members of the posse, swung his hat down on his knee and said in almost childlike wonder, "You almost had me going that you were gonna fall, Justin!"
Justine smiled and laughed softly. "I'm glad I am so convincing."
John nodded enthusiastically. "You sure are."
"Alright, enough chattering. We've still got a show to put on!" Hank Thompson, the sheriff said, bringing John back to the present.
Justine nodded and swung off her horse. She patted his flank and led him to the watering trough for a quick drink. She loosed his cinch as he drank thirstily.
"That's enough, boy." She pulled the bay gelding away and led him back to the makeshift corrals. There she dropped his reins, ground tying him and unsaddled him. After rubbing a curry comb quickly over his sweaty flanks, Justine ducked under the corral fence. She held a lead rope in her hands and swiftly caught a young chestnut mare with long, flashy white stockings. The mare pranced at the end of the rope as Justine led her out of the corral. The other horses lifted their heads to watch, but were too preoccupied with their hay to bother trying to escape.
She tacked the mare quickly and led her out towards the arena, joining three other riders. She swung a leg over the mare and sat deep in the saddle, gathering the reins, keeping the antsy mare under control.
When Justine heard the announcer's voice booming, she and the other three riders touched their heels to their horses' sides and took off into the arena. Moments later, several calves were released and the cow ponies got to work. The mare crouched low and cut off one of the bawling calves. It turned on its heels and dashed away, straight into the rope of another cowboy. The crowd cheered as the four riders made short work of roping the calves.
Justine waved to the crowd as she rode a lap around the arena, showing off the mare's high stepping gait. The young mare gave a little buck as they started to exit. The spectators nearest her started clapping and cheering, thinking it was part of the act. Justine sat deep in the saddle and clamped her legs tightly around the mare's sides, forcing her to stop bucking. She pranced out of the arena, as though she hadn't acted up at all.
Justine slid off the mare's back, rewarding her with a quick drink before heading back to the corral. There she unsaddled the mare and tied her to a hitching post. She then caught a paint mare and began drawing war paint around her left eye and flanks.
"Thanks, Justin. I owe you one." It was John again, showing off his dimples in his smile. He wore nothing but buckskin pants and war paint smeared across his face and chest.
Justine nodded and handed him the mare's reins. Their show was too small to have attracted any actual Indians, so some of the men had to dress the part. Justine found John one of the more convincing ones, since his skin was naturally tan.
John scrambled onto the mare's back and waved as he rode off. Justine wiped off her hands on her pants and finished taking care of the horses she'd used. The mare's mouth was flecked with drool, so we wiped her clean and brushed her until her chestnut coat gleamed. She gave bay gelding another brushing. He nickered and nudged her with his nose. "Hey there good boy." Justine said, rubbing his forehead. The gelding grumbled in pleasure.
Since her parts in the show were over, she made sure all the horses were well groomed and untacked before heading back to her tent. She set her Stetson down on an empty crate that served as her table and wiped the sweat from her brow with her handkerchief.
"Mind if I come in?" A light, feminine voice asked from outside her tent.
Justine turned towards the voice. "Yeah, come in, Anabelle."
A blonde-haired young woman ducked into the tent and frowned at her. "Just because you dress like a man doesn't mean you have to live like one."
Justine narrowed her eyes at her friend. "Shh!"
"I'm simply stating a fact." Anabelle retorted.
"Yeah, well, if I were as prim and proper as you, I might be found out." Justine hissed.
Anabelle shook her head with a sigh. "Perhaps if you had a man to settle down with, you wouldn't need to live like this."
"I told you, Anabelle, I don't need a man. I like my life just the way it is." Justine snapped.
Anabelle held up her hands. "Alright. Excuse me for bringing it up."
"What did you come in for?"
"I wanted to make sure you were coming to dinner tonight with Mark and me."
Justine nodded. "Of course. I'll see you later."
"After you've cleaned up I hope."
Justine smiled. "As clean as a man can get."
*****
A cold night wind blew relentlessly in Justine’s face as she walked back through the nearly deserted town. Dinner with Anabelle and her husband Mark had been good, and notably better than anything she cooked for herself. She pulled her buckskin coat tighter around herself as she ducked her head against the buffeting wind.
Her path took her passed one of the few businesses still open long into the night, the local saloon. She heard raucous laughter and the shuffling of drunken footsteps as the passed the dimly lit entrance. An old wooden sign creaked above the doorway, welcoming potential patrons to the Silver Dollar Saloon.
She had nearly returned to the camp when she heard muffled, angry voices. She paused, listening. The wind whistled sharply in her ears, obscuring the voices slightly, but they seemed to be emanating from a back alley not far from the saloon.
Without thinking, Justine took a step towards the alley. The voices grew louder and then Justine heard the crack of gunfire. Though the sound was a familiar one, Justine jumped. This was not the sound of a blank being fired. There was an actual bullet from this shot.
The scene unfolded before Justine's eyes in a whirl of events. Out of the darkness, a shadowy figure emerged. Behind him, she spotted the crumpled form of a once living man. The figure's eyes met hers. Justine's heart leapt into her throat. She had just witnessed a murder and the murderer had spotted her.
He let out a guttural growl and lunged towards her. Justine gasped and spun around, racing down the street as fast as her feet would carry her. She had narrowly ducked down another alley when she heard the crack of gunfire. The bullet burrowed into the wall of a wooden house not two inches from her arm.
With a breathless gasp, Justine twisted down the side streets, desperate to lose her pursuer. She heard his heavy footsteps behind her, though speed and agility was on her side. As she ran, she spotted a ladder propped beside a house. She scrambled up it and kicked the ladder away, crawling across the rooftop as fast as she could. She slipped to a shadowy spot and hunkered down, her breath coming in shaky gasps.
She heard gruff curses as her pursuer searched for her. She knew he'd found the ladder when a louder string of expletives filled the air. Justine dug her fingernails into the shingles of the roof, forcing herself to be still and breathe as quietly as possible.
After what seemed an eternity, the man's voice and footsteps disappeared, leaving Justine shivering on a stranger's roof. She didn't dare to move until her knuckles turned white and her teeth were chattering so hard she had a headache. Stiffly, she slipped down off the roof and stumbled back towards the camp, heart still pounding.
*****
By the time dawn streaked the horizon with faint pink tendrils, Justine was already dressed and down at the corrals with the horses. Being among their warm bodies put her at relative ease. She hadn't slept all night. She had sat on her lumpy cot, her mother's old quilt wrapped around her shoulders, shivering long into the night.
She ran the curry comb over her favorite bay gelding's flanks, brushing him until his coat gleamed. She slipped out of the corral and went to fetch grain. She nodded hello to Hank Thompson as they passed. She had just retrieved a bucket of oats when she spotted Tom Hanson, the announcer, talking to a man. He wore a large black hat with dark eyes shaded beneath the brim. The man gestured towards the camp as he spoke. Tom answered him in a friendly tone, but suddenly none of that was of any importance. The bucket nearly fell from her hands. The man was not just a curious citizen hoping to meet a particular performer. He was the murderer.
*****
"You are sure it was him?" Anabelle asked.
Justine's blood beat in her ears as she nodded. "I know he is."
Anabelle frowned in thought. "It was dark. You could have been mistaken."
Justine shook her head. "No, I know it's him. He's here to find me."
"Then you need to report him to the authorities."
Justine stared at her. "I can't do that. You know the authorities around here wouldn't be able to protect me. Besides, that would ruin everything I've worked for."
"You mean all your lies and secrets?"
"You know why I've done all this, Anabelle. It doesn't matter that other shows are starting to allow women as riders and gunslingers. But most of them are already married. They have someone in their lives so no one else tries to take advantage of them. I don't. It's gotta be this way."
Anabelle nodded slowly. "I know why you've done this, but what else can you do? If this man is as dangerous as you think, you're not safe here."
Justine swallowed hard. "I am aware of that fact."
Before Anabelle could reply, there was a harsh voice just outside the tent. "Open up!"
Justine jumped, panic gripping her insides.
"We are changing, sir. We will open up as soon as we are decent." Anabelle replied smoothly as she opened her trunk, pulled out one of her plainer dresses and handed it to Justine.
With shaking hands, Justine wriggled into clothing that she hadn't worn in years. As Anabelle deftly tied a bonnet around her cropped brown hair, the man outside became impatient and stormed inside.
Justine let out a surprised gasp, thankful that she now looked the part of the woman. The man that had entered was the murderer himself. His dark eyes roved across her and Anabelle, taking in all the furnishings of her tent. "Who is this?" He growled, pointing a gnarled finger at Justine.
"This is my younger sister, Maude. She rides in the stagecoach attack with me. She's just starting her career."
The man's eyes studied Justine for a moment before turning back to Anabelle. "I see. I'm looking for a young man that has hidden himself among your troupe. He committed a crime last night and he needs to be caught and punished."
"Oh dear! We'd certainly let you know if we saw such a man, wouldn't we Maude?" Anabelle gushed.
Justine nodded, still not trusting herself with words.
The man gave a vague description of Justine that could have fit half the young men in the show before leaving Anabelle's tent. Justine let out her breath in a rush, her hands shaking.
Anabelle took her shaking hands in hers. "Justine, you're not going to like what I have to say."
Justine cocked her head, meeting her gaze. "Alright, what is it?"
"I figured out how you'll be safe."
She stared at her friend for a moment, unsure of what she might say.
"You are going to be a mail order bride."
*****