Lady Outlaw. Stacy Henrie

wanted to keep the brooch would just upset her, Caleb tried a different tactic. “Probably so, but I can think of a way to repay me,” he said as he went to pick up another handful of peppermint sticks they’d missed near the door. When everything was gathered together, he turned to face her again.

      “I can’t eat all of these by myself. How about taking a few off my hands?” He offered her a fistful of candy.

      The absurdity of the whole situation made her smile, just as he’d hoped. “All right,” she said. “I’ll take some.”

      She shifted her things to one arm and took the candy from him.

      “I hope you enjoy them,” he said, smiling back. “Always a pleasure to help a pretty girl.”

      For some reason, his compliment left her looking close to tears. Her reaction made him want to take her hand, ask her what was wrong. But if he tried, he was certain she’d tell him it was none of his concern. And she’d be right. Besides, now that he’d mailed his letter, it was time for him to be moving on. Tipping his hat, he gave her one more smile.

      “Good day, miss,” he said, then headed for the door.

      * * *

      Not until the stranger had disappeared did Jennie think to ask him his name. The unexpected kindness of this man almost made her forget Mr. Dixon and the debt, and she suddenly realized that she’d never even thanked him. Hurrying to the door, she tried to spot him, but he was already out of sight.

      Oh, well, Jennie thought as she left the store. There wasn’t really time to talk to him anyway. If she didn’t hurry she might miss the stage that would take her home to Beaver and she certainly didn’t have money to stay a second night in the boardinghouse.

      She tucked the candy into her purse with her money and the four-shot, pepperbox pistol she always carried while still toting her suitcase, then she hurried to the booking office. The stagecoach stood out front, its six horses already hitched up. The man inside informed her that the driver would be along any minute.

      Jennie purchased her ticket and sat outside on a nearby bench to wait. With nothing to read or do, except think over her mostly horrible morning, her mind soon filled with recollections of home. She pretended she was already riding her horse Dandy down the familiar wagon-rutted trail toward the ranch, past the corral fences and empty bunkhouse. Past the faded red barn where fourteen-year-old Will would be shoveling hay to the other pair of horses. Up to the two-story frame house with its front porch where Grandma Jones would be sitting in her rocker, mending clothes—the smell of her freshly baked bread mingling with the scent of meadow grass.

      The possibility of losing everything she’d worked for and held so dear made her chest tighten. “What am I going to do?” She stared at her hands as if the gnawed fingernails and cracked knuckles held some kind of answer.

      The sound of footsteps approaching brought up Jennie’s chin. She watched as the stage driver made a thorough inspection of the coach before coming over to greet her.

      “Afternoon, miss.” He nodded, and Jennie forced a smile as she stood. He placed her suitcase on the top rack of the stage. “I hear it’s just you and me today.”

      “Not a bad thing,” she said, thinking of the crowded stagecoach she’d ridden in for two days before reaching Fillmore.

      “Up you go then.” He held her elbow in a gentle grip and helped her inside.

      Being the only passenger, Jennie had her pick of one of the three benches. She chose the one facing forward. She settled onto the lumpy, cracked leather next to the window and set her purse in her lap.

      As the driver moved to close the small door, two gentlemen sprinted up to the stagecoach, each holding a piece of luggage. Jennie gathered they might be brothers with their matching dark hair, bushy eyebrows and brown suits.

      “We got seats on this stage,” the older-looking one said. He held up two stubs of paper.

      From the window Jennie watched the driver inspect their tickets before nodding.

      “I can place your bags on top, gentlemen.”

      The one with the tickets shook his head. “If it’s all the same to you, we’ll keep ’em with us.”

      The driver shot him a puzzled look, but he didn’t insist they use the top rack. The men climbed into the stage and sat on the rear-facing seat. They squeezed their two bags in the narrow space beside their feet. Jennie noticed each man wore impeccable clothes, without a trace of dirt or signs of heavy wearing, and each carried a revolver in a holster beneath his jacket.

      The younger and stockier brother eyed Jennie and grinned. “You traveling by yourself, little lady?”

      Jennie responded with a simple nod as she slipped her hand into her purse and fingered the handle of the pistol. The young man likely didn’t mean anything by his flirtatious manner, but she wanted to be prepared if things turned sour.

      “Don’t worry, miss,” he continued. “Should we run across any Injuns or bandits...” He held open his jacket and tapped the butt of his revolver with a fat thumb. “We’ll protect you.”

      “Shut up, Horace.” The older brother drove an elbow into Horace’s side. “You’ll have to pardon my brother’s rambling. Learned it from our ma.”

      With a scowl, Horace twisted in his seat to face his brother. “What you talking about, Clyde? We ain’t seen Ma for eight years, so how do know what she did and didn’t do? I told you, we oughta gone back home this winter, hole up before our next—”

      “There he goes again.” Clyde clapped a hand over Horace’s mouth and smiled. “Can’t help himself.”

      Jennie lifted her brows in amusement. The brothers’ rough manners and speech didn’t match their fancy clothes. What type of work did they do? Before she could ask, the stagecoach lurched forward. Jennie gripped the window ledge to keep from bouncing off her seat.

      “Should’ve ridden those good horses we had, instead of takin’ the stage.” Horace righted himself and straightened his skewed hat.

      “Here, have a drink,” Clyde said. He pulled a silver flask from his jacket and wiggled it in the air. Horace seized the container and guzzled before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

      This ought to be interesting. Jennie began chewing on her thumbnail. They’ll either drink themselves into a stupor or get fresh. Given how her day had gone so far, she couldn’t trust that they’d choose the option she’d prefer. She didn’t feel like talking much—not after her long morning—but a little conversation might divert their attention from the alcohol.

      “What exactly is your line of work, gentlemen?”

      Horace chuckled again and glanced at Clyde. “I’d say we’re in—”

      “The money-making business,” Clyde finished, a deadpan expression on his face.

      Jennie waited for them to elaborate, but neither one did. Horace returned to his drinking, and Clyde stared out the window.

      “Are you from around here?” she tried next.

      Turning from the view, Clyde sized up Jennie as if trying to determine the reason for her questions. “Nope,” he said after a long moment. “We’re a ways from home.”

      “What sort of money-making business brought you to Fillmore then?”

      Horace smiled. “She’s a real talker, ain’t she, Clyde? Not shy or silent like a lot of other girls.”

      “Give me that.” Clyde snatched the flask from Horace. “That’s enough talkin’.” He gave Horace a stern look and took a long swig. Lowering the silver container from his mouth, he frowned at Jennie. “If it’s all the same to you, miss, we’d prefer to do our drinking in peace and quiet.”

      “Suit yourself,” Jennie muttered as she faced the window. Silence