Hello Readers,
Welcome to this week's Tuesday Tales. The prompt for the week is "Right" .....
I decided on a change of pace this week and left Ginger and the Gray Mortuary behind to move to the paranormal historical I'm working on and hope to have released later this year. It's titled, Darkest Angel, and is Book 2 in my Angels of Deadwood Gulch Series. Emily and Slade are secondary characters in the novel, but I hope you'll enjoy this snippet from when they first meet.
Darkest Angel/Shay
He come riding from the west, a tall
man in the saddle silhouetted against the setting sun. Riding slowly, he didn't
give the impression he was in a hurry, but from the way he looked around, he was
careful. When he rode into the yard, his eyes took in everything.
Emily didn't know why she wasn't
afraid, but somehow she knew he wasn't a threat, at least, not to her.
He was cautious.
He was cautious.
She didn't fault him for being so.
Dressed all in black, she couldn't
very well deny he looked menacing, especially with the worn leather holsters
strapped to his hips, two Colt .45s in place.
When he got off the horse, she held
her breath.
What did he want?
She remained behind the waist high well
where she was drawing water to carry to the chickens. The board enclosure around the
four sides blocked most of his view of her.
“Ma’am,” he said politely and tipped
his dark hat.
He remained beside his horse, maybe
to assure her he meant her no harm. A gunfighter. The
second in three days she’d met—first Rio, now this stranger. Gunfighters weren't new to the Dakota Territory, but she’d always managed to avoid them.
Who was he?
Why was he here?
She nodded a hello and finished pulling up the bucket of water. She hefted
the full bucket on to the top of the well. Water splashed over the sides
wetting the front of her gown, her shoes, and the boards.
“That water sure looks good,” he said
in a soft drawl sliding his gaze up and down the front of her gown. “Mind
giving a stranger a drink?”
Heat crawled up her face. Were his
words sincere or did they have a double meaning? Emily shaded her eyes against
the evening sun and studied him for a long moment. The way his gaze kept
returning to her breasts, she was pretty sure his words were filled with
meaning.
And yes, she did mind, but she wasn't rude enough to say such words. He didn't appear uncomfortable with her
suspicious look directed at him. She didn't detect hostility, but Lord above,
she had the feeling he could get dangerous real fast, even if he was the
stillest man she'd ever seen.
He must have sensed her hesitation. “I
emptied my canteen some ways back,” he said, “but if you prefer not to share
your water, I can get back on my horse and mosey on.” He seemed intent on
reassuring her he meant no harm, but trust didn't come easy for Emily.
He tossed his reins over his saddle and
took a single step toward the well.
Emily let go of the pail of water and
closed her fingers around the rifle standing at her side. From where he stood,
he couldn't see the gun, but he must have instinctively known she had a weapon
because he froze. “Ma’am, my name’s Slade. Slade McKenna. I’m a U.S. Marshall.
I’m not here to cause you grief, so if you wouldn't mind, I’d sure like it if
you’d take your hand off that rifle.”
“I mind,” she said, keeping her
fingers wrapped around the barrel. “I don’t see a badge. Not on your vest. Not
on your shirt.”
“No, ma’am. It’s in my pocket. I
don’t like making myself a target. There are men who like nothing better than
putting a bullet through a badge while a man’s still wearing it.”
“I suppose that’s true enough,” she
replied. “You can have a drink of water.” She lifted the gourd dipper off the
nail where it dangled on the well post. With her free hand, she dipped it into
the bucket of water. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He took the gourd from her, careful
to keep the well between them. “You sure are a distrusting little gal.”
She didn't reply. Emily had little
use for small talk.
He handed the dipper back to her and
backed away. Reaching his horse, he grabbed the reins. “Mind if I water my
horse at that trough over there?” He’d already turned the sorrel colored mare
before he asked.
Startled, Emily snatched up the rifle
and leveled it on his chest. “Don’t move.”
He dropped the reins and raised his
hands in surrender. “Yes ma’am. I reckon I’ll just stand right here until you
tell me otherwise.”
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