Callie's Heart

resemblance to any person,
living or dead, is coincidental.

Texas, 1800’s

Chapter I

           
Callie
McCade squeezed tighter against the side of the stagecoach as the heavy-set man
beside her slumped against her and began to snore loudly.
 
She also tried to keep her eyes lowered as
the two women seated across from her kept staring at her with undisguised
snobbery.

           
Callie
knew that being dressed in buckskins and a cowboy hat with a set of six guns
strapped around her hips wasn't the way a lady should present herself, but it
was the only clothes she had and the way her uncle had raised her.
 
Of course, she really didn't want to be
dressed like them, she thought.
 
They
had to be roasting to death in this Texas heat, and their corsets had to be
sucking at least two inches of their waistlines in.
 
She didn't know how on earth they were breathing dressed the way
they were.
 
When the man seated on the
other side of them looked at her and winked, Callie didn't know if he was
flirting with her or if he was trying to make her feel better.
 
He was dressed in a fine suit with vest and
jacket.
 
He looked to be in his thirties
and was sort of portly, but not fat.
 
He
had slicked back brown hair and friendly brown eyes.

           
"Where
you from, Miss?"
 
He asked, smiling
congenially.

           
Callie
looked at him again, making sure he was talking to her as the two women stuck
their noses up in the air as if offended he had even attempted a conversation
with her instead of them.
 
"Kansas."

           
"You're
a good ways from home.
 
What's your
name?"

           
"Callie
McCade."

           
"Nice
to meet you, Callie McCade.
 
My name's
Darrell Ansten.
 
I'm a writer and I came
out west to write stories.
 
I'm from
Boston Massachusetts.
 
The west holds
lots of excitement for the reader's back east and my family owns a large
newspaper there.
 
I'm going to get those
stories to take back with me."

           
 
Callie smiled.
 
"What kind of stories will you write?"

           
"People
back east want stories of outlaws, Indians, and just about anything that goes
on out here.
 
It's wild and
untamed.
 
You wouldn't happen to have a
few stories in that pretty little head of yours, would you?"

           
Callie
blushed, as the two women gasped at what they assumed was an inappropriate
remark.
 
"I've always lived in the
west.
 
I don't know anything about back
east.
 
Maybe sometime we can swap
stories."

           
"I'm
going to hold you to that, Callie.
 
Where are you headed?"

           
She
was about to reply when gunshots sounded from outside and the driver yelled at
the team of horses to git up.
 
The man
leaning against her awoke with a start and started cussing, then apologized to
the women.
 
"Looks like you're
going to get that story right now Mr. Ansten," she said.
 
She pulled her gun out of her holster and
checked the ammunition as another series of gunshots sounded.
 
"I suggest you ladies get down."

           
Callie
stood up and grabbed hold of the sides of the window and eased her head out as
another bullet whizzed by.
 
She ducked
back in, holstered her gun, then slipped through the window, and climbed up
atop the stage.
 
She about fell off when
the driver hit a hole in the road and the fast careening stagecoach bounced and
swayed.

           
Holding
onto the luggage, she made her way to the front where the driver whipped the
horses faster.
 
"There's only one
man shooting at us!
 
Don't you have
someone riding shotgun?"
 
She
yelled as a bullet slammed into the luggage right behind her.

           
"Yep
I did but he toppled over the side a ways back," he said, taking a quick
look at her.
 
"You any good with
those guns?"

           
"Pretty
good," she said.
 
You want me to
shoot back?"

           
"Darn
Tootin'!
 
We're coming to a bend in the
road ahead and I'm going to have to slow the stage down or we aren't going' to
make it!"

           
Callie
nodded, pulled her gun out of the holster, and climbed back atop the
stage.
 
The man was closer than
before.
 
He had about twenty feet to go
before he would be side by side with the stage.
 
She knelt down beside a trunk, raised her gun to aim at him when
he raised his and fired.
 
Her hat flew
off her head, and her hair tumbled down around her shoulders and back.
 
"That was my favorite hat!"
 
She aimed and fired back.
 
She watched as his black hat flew off behind
him to land in the dust.

           
"That'll
teach you!"
 
She knew he couldn't
hear her, but it sure made her feel better to know that he lost his hat
too.
 
When she saw him replace his gun
in his holster and lean low over the saddle horn and kick his mount, she knew
he was determined to reach the stage and she had never killed anyone.
 
She knew she could, but she couldn't.
 

           
Callie
fired a couple warning shots in front of the horse but it never broke stride,
and as the stage slowed, the man on horseback rode closer.
 
Again she fired in front of the horse but to
no avail.
 
Evidently, the horse was as
used to being shot at as the man on its back.
 

***

           
Clint
West spurred his mount faster, riding low over the saddle horn.
 
He couldn't believe that a woman was
shooting at him.
 
When he had seen her
climb out of the stage and pull herself up on top, he had thought she was a
boy.
 
It wasn't until he shot her hat
off and saw all that blond hair fall about her shoulders and shine like spun
gold in the sun, that he realized she was a woman.
 

           
He
knew that Devil's bend was up ahead and waited for the stage to slow before
urging his horse faster.
 
He didn't
think a woman would shoot him, at least he hoped not.
 
After all, he knew this stage wasn't carrying anything
valuable.
 
He just wanted to collect his
future wife and be done with it and get back home.

           
Clint
rode up beside the driver and pointed his gun.
 
"Halt those horses now!"
 
He yelled, as the driver glanced at him, and then whipped the team
again.
 
"Stop!"
 
He aimed and fired at the driver's hat and
watched it fly off his head.
 
When that
didn’t work, he cussed, and spurred his mount in front of the stage a ways
ahead on the road right before the bend in the road.
 
The driver had no choice but to haul up on the reins and stop the
stagecoach.
 
He rode up and looked up
into the barrel of a six-gun.
 
“Put that
damn thing away before you hurt someone!”

           
“That
someone will be you if you don’t let us pass!”

           
“I’ve
come to collect my bride that’s supposed to be on this stage.
 
I didn’t want to go all the way into town
for her.”

           
“You’re
bride?”

           
“My
intended.
 
Her name’s Callie
McCade.”
 
He watched as her deadly
expression turned to one of surprise.
 
“That’s me and you must be Clint West!”

           
“You’re
Callie?”

           
“Yes.”

           
Clint
watched her climb down from atop the stage and stare up at him.
 
“Boy when you go after your woman, you don’t
mess around!”

           
He
groaned.
 
Leave it up to old Ned to
raise a hellion.
 
He looked at the coach
driver.
 
Sorry about the trouble and
there comes your shotgun man up the road.
 
Doesn’t look any worse for wear after falling off the stage.
 
He reached down and helped Callie mount
behind him and kicked his horse in the sides.
 
He didn’t like people and he wasn’t about to be caught by the law to go
get a woman he didn’t want, but had to.
 
Damn Ned for sending her, but he knew the man must have good reason.

           
He
rode for an hour before they reached his place.
 
He owned it all legal too even though he had to lie about his
name.
 
He had the signed deed and that’s
all he needed to prove his worth.
 
He
reined up before the house, helped Callie dismount, then rode to the small
coral by the barn and unsaddled his horse.
 
He opened the coral gate so it could get some feed and water before
turning back to see Callie standing there waiting for him.
 
“Well, aren’t you going to go inside?”

           
“Yes,
but I didn’t want to be rude and walk in without an invite first.”

           
Clint
reached around her and pushed the door open.
 
“Go on in.”
 
He said, walking in
behind her.
 
He saw her look around and
knew she must think it a pretty meager place to live, but he’d done a find job
building it.
 
He had a living room with
a huge fireplace and a kitchen table and chairs and a pump with running water,
two bedrooms, a storage cellar, and a small room in back for the chamber pot
and a metal tub to take a bath in.
 
“What do you think?”

           
“It’s
really nice.
 
Why even Uncle Ned and I
don’t have a place this big and we don’t have boards on the floor to walk
on.
 
You must be mighty rich!”

           
He
puffed out his chest.
 
“Not rich, but I
have funds available.
 
Your room is back
here,” he said, walking across the living room and down a hallway.
 
Mine’s on the left and yours is on the
right.
 
Which reminds me, where’s your
stuff?
 
You didn’t get a bag off the
stage.”

           
“There’s
just me.
 
I just got the clothes on my
back, my guns, and hat.
 
Oh, and Uncle
Ned said I was supposed to give you this and you’d take care of the rest.
 
He told me not to open it and I didn’t
although it was mighty tempting on the way here.”

           
Clint
watched her reach inside her shirt and take out a piece of cloth tied with a
string.
 
He reached out and took it,
untied the string from around it and saw the stack of notes inside.
 
There was a note.
 
Don’t let Callie read this, but this is her dowry.
 
I’ve been saving for a long time.
 
By the time she gets to you and you read
this, I won’t be here anymore.
 
You’re
the only person I could think of that would take good care of her.
 
She’s a good girl.
 
Ned.