Authors: Ginger Simpson
She inched off the bed, opened her armoire, pushed her
clothing aside and withdrew her shotgun. Leveling it, she took aim at the
mirror hanging above the washstand holding her matching pitcher and bowl. She
peered down the rifle’s rusty site and noted a slight bend.
Frowning, she lowered the weapon and shook her head. “This
won’t do. I’ve had this old relic since I was nine. It’s time to get a real gun
and do some target practice.”
Ellie crammed the ancient piece back in its place and closed
the armoire doors. “But how can I get one?” she mumbled.
With her hands clasped behind her back, she paced. The money
I’ve saved for a rainy day.
She stood on tiptoes and reached to the far corner of the
wardrobe’s top shelf, took down a carved wooden box and spilled its contents
onto the bed. The folded money and silver she’d stashed over the years was a
pleasant surprise. Her plans for buying that good-looking Appaloosa from the
town livery would have to wait; this was a far more important purchase.
She tucked the money into her britches’ pocket and walked
out of the room, headed for the barn.
The kitchen door creaked open as she walked through. Ty
stopped driving nails into the bottom corral rail and looked toward the house.
He straightened, pushed the brim of his hat back with the hammer’s head, and
smiled at Ellie. She flashed a fleeting glance in his direction and made a
beeline for the barn.
Even sweaty with his hat askew, he made her stomach all
fluttery.
Ellie pretended to ignore him, and slipped inside. How could
she even consider him attractive when he was such a pain in her backside?
She grabbed her tack from a wall hook, opened the stall
holding Chessie, her Chestnut mare, and tossed the saddle across the horse’s
back. The mingled aroma of oiled leather and fresh straw filled the air—a far
cry better than the manure smell that lingered when the stalls needed mucking—a
job she sorely hated.
Bending, she reached beneath the animal’s girth to grab the
cinch, and sensed someone watching her. She straightened and turned around.
Ty stood in the doorway.
He leaned against the jamb, his arms crossed.
“Where you off to, Ellie?”
“Nowhere special,” she lied with a shrug of her shoulders.
Her jaw grew tight at the idea of his spying on her. She returned to the task
at hand, but forced herself to be civil. “I just thought I’d take a ride over
to Betty Jo’s for a visit.”
At once, she questioned her need to tell him anything. He
was only a hired hand, and it was none of his business where she went and what
she did. Why did he just stand there and look at her with a raised brow?
The early fall humidity dampened her temples and sent a
trickle of perspiration between her breasts. She stopped and blotted her face
with her shirtsleeve, wishing he would go away.
Far away.
“Maybe I should ride with you.” He thumped a finger against
his chin.
She spun around. “No! I…uh…I mean, no thanks. I doubt you’d
feel comfortable sipping tea and talking about female things.”
His throaty laugh bounced off the weathered timber. “Guess I
wouldn’t be much good at gal talk. But, be careful. The boys didn’t pick up a
trail on the shooter, but I doubt whoever did it is gonna hang around. I’d bet
a month’s pay the Bryants were behind it, but they probably meant to frighten
you more than hurt you. Fools that they are, they think one little bullet is
gonna scare Ben into selling. They’re probably in Sparta having a drink at the
saloon as we speak.”
His confidence
rankled
her, but she
reminded herself to keep a civil tongue. “Well, don’t worry. I’m not going
anywhere near town.” The lie came easy.
“Good idea.” He grinned. “Go on and have a nice visit with
your friend.”
She struggled to keep her gaze from lingering on his cocky
stance—the way his faded denims fit just right—and turned her attention back to
her animal. Besides, who was Tyler Bishop to tell her she could go?
Ellie led Chessie out of the stall and mounted. Ty walked
alongside as she rode out of the barn. Hopefully he was wrong about the
Bryant’s being in town because she planned to make this trip come hell or high
water. One incident wasn’t about to keep her ranch-bound; if anything, it was
the reason to go and buy that gun.
Once outside, she reined her horse and looked down at Ty.
“Tell Pa I’ll be home before sundown.”
Ty peered up from under the dusty brim of his hat. “You best
be.”
Those eyes pierced her very soul, until he opened his mouth
and ruined it. She nudged her mount in the sides and left him standing in a
cloud of swirling dirt. “Don’t tell me what to do, Tyler Bishop,” she yelled
over her shoulder. “You aren’t my boss.”
A smile tugged at her lips. It pleased her to put him in his
place and leave before he could utter a sound. Her smile blossomed into an
actual giggle at the thought of him wheezing and sneezing in the wake of her
departure.
The invigorating gallop created a cool breeze across Ellie’s
face. She pushed thoughts of the gunshot from her mind, relaxed back against
the saddle cantle and took a deep breath of fresh air. Her mare was so
accustomed to the downhill trail to town there was no need for a heavy hand on
the reins. The leather straps hung loosely alongside the mare’s neck while
Ellie kept sync with Chessie’s movement.
Along the rim, Ellie admired the beauty of Calf Killer
Valley, so named after a Cherokee chief whose tribe inhabited the area in the
early 1800s. Ellie couldn’t recall ever seeing an Indian, but she tried to
picture what the chief might have looked like.
Amid the sprawling fields of wheat, tobacco and rye, she
imagined tepees and red-skinned people. Yet, most of them had Ty’s face and
eyes.
She stopped daydreaming and focused on the type of sidearm
to buy and tried to determine a good spot to practice, out of prying eyes. The
area around the old mineshaft about five miles from the ranch came to mind.
She’d have to pass the rock house where the stagecoach stopped, but the spot
was well beyond there.
“Yep, that’s the place,” she muttered and spurred her mount
faster, anxious to get to Sparta and make her purchase.
Chessie’s sure-footedness handled the oft-traveled trail
with ease. The ruts left by countless wagon trains ran deep, marring the road
taken by hundreds in search of a place to settle–many in Bon Air and others
passing through and following the bigger Caney Fork River to surrounding areas.
Ellie’s thoughts strayed to the many coalmines hidden deep
beyond the trees peppering the hillsides. Luckily, there was one that had
played out and would serve her purpose just fine.
Lost in reverie, the usual hour trip seemed much shorter.
Before she realized it, she was in town.
Ellie slowed Chessie to a walk, waved at Reverend Franklin
as he left the church, and reined the mare to the hitching post in front of the
mercantile. She dismounted, stood on the plank walkway and brushed the dust
from her clothing before going inside.
The bells on the door jingled.
Percy McCord looked up from the counter, and flashed a huge
smile.
His teeth reminded her of Chessie’s—long and yellowed. In
addition to his horsy appearance, countless freckles dotted Percy’s pasty skin,
and fire-red curls framed his face.
“Good day, Miz Roselle. You’re looking particularly lovely
this fine day.”
“Thank you, Percy.” She smiled.
“What can I do for you?”
The way he rubbed his hands together when he spoke made
Ellie uneasy, but she forced herself to return his smile. God forbid he mistook
it for any type of interest in him. Despite his good manners, he repulsed her.
She walked to the counter. “I’d like to look at some of your
sidearms please.”
One red brow arched.
“Sidearms?
Why
Miz Roselle, what in the world are you going to do with a gun.”
“It’s a gift,” she lied. Her lips tightened into a thin line
of impatience. She hated untruths. Why was everyone always in her business?
First Ty, now Percy.
Men!
Percy moved to the weapons’ display case and gestured. “We
have a large assortment. Will this be on your father’s account?”
“No, I’m sure I have enough money of my own.” She crossed
her fingers and studied the guns in the new-fangled glass display.
“I’d like to hold that one.” She pointed to a shiny silver
revolver.
Percy handed it to her. “It’s a beauty, just got it in this
week. It’s one of those new Colts.
A thirty-six caliber.
But depending on who the gift is for, that big ol’ Colt might be a little too
much. You might want to take a look at this new Smith & Wesson twenty-two
caliber.” He gestured to another pistol.
Ellie eyed the blue plated weapon with rosewood grips and
wrinkled her nose. “It looks so small in comparison.”
“Yes, but this one is a single action, seven shot model
rather than the old cap and ball design. It’s much easier to load and fire.”
Percy eyed her suspiciously, “Are you sure this ain’t for you Miz Ellie? If it
is, I’m certain you’ll find the Smith more suitable to your abilities.”
A typical man’s attitude.
Her jaw tensed. When would people quit treating her like a
child?
She held the revolver like an expert, measuring its weight
and overall feel, but eyed the one to which he pointed, and then shook her
head. The Colt was much more impressive. Its heavy weight wielded unbridled
power in her hand. She turned and aimed toward the door just as it opened.
Ty Bishop.
“Whoa, don’t shoot,” Ty threw up his hands. His eyes
widened. “Is that thing loaded?”
She quickly dropped the gun to her side, certain her face
matched Percy’s hair. “No it isn’t, and what are you doing here?”
“A better question is what are you doin’ here. I thought…”
“I changed my mind, if that’s all right with you,” she
snapped. “And why are you following me?”
“I’m not. Your pa sent me to pick up a few things he
ordered.” With a huff, he turned his attention to the clerk. “Are they here,
Percy?”
“Yes sir, Mr. Ty. Got those nails and rope in yesterday,
same time as I got the new Colt Miz Ellie is holding.”
Ellie promptly laid the gun back on the counter. “I was just
curious, that’s all.” She gave Percy a stern look then walked over to the yard
goods.
“But…Miz Ellie, you asked…”
Ellie didn’t want him to spill the beans. “I came to look at
material for a new dress, Percy. You must have misunderstood me.”
“But-but,” he stuttered. “You asked to see a sidearm.”
She forced a giggle and ignored the confusion on the clerk’s
face. Ellie fluttered her eyelashes at him and waved a limp wrist in his
direction. “Oh, Percy, you silly goose, why would I say that? I said I need
some yardage—just a might longer than my arm. When you showed me the new guns,
I didn’t want to appear rude.”
She averted her eyes from Ty and feigned interest in a piece
of flowered material. “This will do nicely.”
Ellie carried the fabric to the counter and promptly paid.
Without another word, she picked up her parcel and left.
Outside, she quickly led Chessie around the corner and
stuffed the package inside her saddlebag. She’d wait until Ty left before going
back, and then swear Percy to secrecy.
She tied the mare’s reigns to the stair rail leading up to
the back door of the boarding house and hugged the wall, waiting for the mighty
Mr. Bishop to leave. It seemed only minutes before he rode by the alley where
she hid. She held her breath, thankful he didn’t glance in her direction.
Lingering outside gave her an opportunity to rethink her
options. Maybe Percy’s recommendation about “load and fire” was the best idea
for her. It sure would be easier.
When she felt certain Ty had ridden far enough away, she
darted back inside.
“Percy,” she demanded. “Get me that Smith & Wesson, some
bullets, and find a holster small enough to fit me. And don’t say a word.”
His mouth fell open in surprise. “But, Miz Rose…”
She looked at him with a raised brow. “Just do it, Percy. I
aim to learn how to use that gun, and if you tell anyone, you’ll be my first
victim. Do we understand each other?”
He closed his mouth and nodded. Without another word, he
gathered everything together and put them on the counter.
Ellie buckled the leather gear around her waist to verify
the size. She handed it back to him. “This fits just fine. Wrap it all up for
me, please.”
He rolled the merchandise in brown paper and pushed it
across the counter toward her.
“How much do I owe you, Percy?”
“That’ll be twenty seven-fifty, Miz Roselle.”
Ellie counted out the cash then pointed her finger at him.
“Remember what I said, Percy. Don’t you tell a
soul.
”
Again, he nodded like an obedient child; appearing so
confused Ellie almost ruined her moment of power by laughing.
* * * * *
Jeb Bryant peered through the bars of the town’s lone jail
cell while Joshua perched on the edge of a rickety wooden frame. “The least
they could do is wash the beddin’ in this place,” he drawled. “This blanket
smells like every drunk in town has pissed on it.”
“Quit worryin’ about the damn blanket.” Jeb turned and
snapped. “I don’t aim to stay here long enough to bed down. Pa should be here
any minute to get us out.
Joshua squared his shoulders. “Well if you hadn’t been so
quick to whip out that pistol of yours, we wouldn’t be here. This is
all your
fault.”
“I guess you think I should have let that card shark swindle
me out of my money?” Jeb argued. “I’m not about to let anyone cheat me.”
“You can’t ever let anything go. Always tryin’ to be the big
man, and then it becomes my problem because we’re twins. If you get into
trouble, I get blamed right along with you. I really get sick of you sometimes.
If we’d gone on home like I wanted after your hair brained idea, instead a
ridin’ into town, this wouldn’t have happened.”