Lady Outlaws

by Lady outlaws (NCP) (lit)

  Dry Gulch had changed.

  The saloon across the street not only had a wide balcony on the second floor, which wasn’t there before, but there were two scantily clad women leaning over the railings. Brandi followed the direction of their gaze. The street was teaming with activity, not simply the casual stroll of meandering couples dressed in starched perfect clothes. This was bustling life. Barrels were being rolled onto wagons, a blacksmith clanked hot metal into horseshoes, medicines were being sold from the back of a cart, children were laughing and crying, and mangy dogs were dodging horse’s hooves as cowboys rode through the activity. Try as she might, Brandi could not remember seeing children when they arrived, nor had there been stray animals.

  Even the air smelled different. It was untainted except for the occasional waft of manure which, she noticed, was being deposited on a regular basis from the various horses that stood tethered outside the saloon and the hotel. An authentic week in the Wild West had gained a whole new perspective and Brandi was thoroughly spooked.

  “Sara,” she said, trying not to sound overly alarmed. “Do you notice anything different?”

  “Yes. There’s a lot more staff patrolling around this morning. Either that or more happy tourists have been brought in. This is actually a lot better than I thought it’d be.”

  “Surely they didn’t all come in during that storm.”

  “I bet this is like Disney World. You know, a network of rooms underneath, in basements. We never see the changes because they sneak up and down secretly.”

  Brandi calmed at the idea. Of course. That would explain the number of people. And the change in the buildings, well, she simply hadn’t seen correctly the night before. She had been more excited than she realized.

  “Except…” Sara said, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. “I don’t see the information center.”

  Brandi squinted, peering through the growing waves of prairie heat that distorted the horizon. “It must be there,” she said. “Behind the mirage.”

  Sara straightened her shirt. “Well, come on. Let’s get some breakfast and see what trouble we can get into today.”

  Taking a table by the window that overlooked the main street, Brandi dismissed the stares they received as they ordered coffee and eggs and freshly made bread. The few patrons in the dining room were strangers. She was on the lookout for any familiar face from the bus trip over or from the saloon the night before. All in vain. Even the little man in the foyer who had been talking with the sheriff when they arrived was gone, replaced by a younger man who smiled nervously as they passed by.

  Sara seemed unconcerned. She ate breakfast while commenting on the costumes of those who walked by the window. “That’s more what I’d expect,” she said as two men wandered past. “Unkempt hair and dusty chaps.” She grinned broadly. “This place is good. The organizers have done their homework.”

  The waitress, a little girl no more than twelve or thirteen, poured more coffee, holding the pot with a dirty towel. “That’ll be twenty cents,” she stammered, taking a step back.

  Sara found a dollar coin and passed it to the girl with a wink. “Keep the change.”

  Holding the coin in her palm the girl’s brown eyes widened. “Thank ye, kindly, ma’am,” she said. She whirled so quickly she nearly dropped the coffee pot. “Pa,” she shouted as she dashed from the dining room. “Pa, you were right! They’re lady gamblers! Look what they gave me.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Sara whispered across the table, her eyes glistening. “I think I’m going to enjoy your choice of holiday after all.”

  “Lady gamblers,” Brandi repeated. “I like it.”

  “Tell you what I like,” Sara said, her attention directed across the street. “Check this out.”

  Three horses had stopped outside the saloon. Two riders slid from the saddle while the third stayed mounted, scanning the street with care. One was as dark as the other was blonde. A black curly mane cascaded from under a broad rimmed hat. Both were wearing dark clothes, heavy long coats, and both were well heeled--the handles of pistols were clearly obvious from holsters as their coats swayed to one side. They wrapped the reins round the tethering rail while throwing glances to those in close vicinity, as though expecting that at any moment an altercation might unfold. When nothing happened, they slowly sauntered up the steps, pushing their way through the swinging doors. Only when the first two disappeared inside did the third dismount. He led his horse down the street towards the livery stable.

  “Showtime,” Sara grinned with delight. “What do you bet these guys will give your Black Jack a run for his money.”

  Black Jack. Brandi had almost forgotten. That was a disappointing display of showmanship. Why would these two be any different?

  “Oh.” Sara inhaled suddenly. “Do you suppose this is that gang you were reading about? What was the leader’s name?”

  “Devon Fault. And if it is him the brochure had it wrong. It said there were five in his gang, and I only saw three.”

  “Big deal. Let’s go over and find out.” Sara was on her feet. “This time I’ll get a few pictures.”

  Brandi slumped, uncertain she was ready to give the frontier male another try quite so soon. She had thought this might be a good day to go shopping instead and told Sara so.

  “And miss a reenactment of the only shoot-out that put this hayseed town on the map?” Sara scolded. “Don’t think so. Besides, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Untamed is an actor I wouldn’t mind saying hello to. Now that gets my Mojo going!”

  “Mojo? You watch all the wrong movies, girl.”

  The journey across the street was similar to the one to the dining room. Wary eyes turned to examine the ‘lady gamblers’. The joke was going a little too far, even for acting. Brandi strutted, deciding to play her part to the hilt.

  The inside of the saloon, however, stopped her short. Although the counter was in the same place as it had been the day before, the tables had been rearranged. A pot-bellied stove against the back wall puffed smoke, combining with the numerous cigars and hand-rolled cigarettes adorning most patrons’ mouths. A mosaic of a half-dressed woman sprawled on a fainting couch covered the wall behind the billiard table. It wasn’t there when Black Jack had mouthed off his insults; neither were the saloon girls who were exposing ample cleavages as they circled around a few leering customers.

  “Okay,” Sara said softly. “This is more than just weird. I guess they spent the whole night rearranging. But it’s good.”

  A hush had fallen over the room as everyone paused. “What?” Brandi demanded, annoyed beyond control at the impolite gapes. “You ain’t ever seen women dressed like this before?” She curled her lip and snarled, just to reiterate how offended she felt.

  “I never saw a lady dressed like that before,” said a voice from the corner. “But then, I’d bet you two gals are a long ways from being ladies.”

  “Not you again,” Brandi said, expecting to see Black Jack McCall playing poker with his sidekicks. But it wasn’t Black Jack. It was the long-haired horseman and he had fastened piercing brown eyes on her.

  “Again?” he said, tipping his hat. “I think I’d recall if I seen you before.” A wide smile beneath a thick black moustache revealed a set of perfect white teeth. Olive skin was peppered with a day’s growth of whiskers, adding to his rough, rugged appearance.

  “Oh, my,” Sara gasped, visibly wilting. “My turn to be in love.”

  He pushed out an empty chair with his boot. “Come on over, ladies,” he invited. “Join us for a drink.”

  “Won’t have to ask me twice,” Sara muttered.

  Brandi followed, amused at Sara’s sudden willingness to throw herself into this new role. It suited her, she thought. Might as well join in the fun.

  “Are you the one they call Devon Fault?” Brandi asked.

  The smile instantly dropped. He glanced sideways to his partner, who was plainly unsettled by the question. The other man shifted, his fingers lightly touching his gun.
Ice blue eyes bore through Brandi with suspicion. “Who’s askin’?”

  “Oh, don’t mind her,” Sara said casually. “She read the brochure in our room and we figured you guys might show up sometime this week.”

  Suspicion turned to confusion. Both foreheads crinkled.

  “That don’t answer my question.”

  “So it is you?” Brandi said, uncomfortable with his defensive demeanor. “I’m Brandi and this is my partner in crime Sara.” She deliberately left off the last names they had chosen. No sense causing too much jocularity since they were taking their acting profession far too seriously.

  “Partners in crime. Hear that Dev? Seems we have a lot in common with these here gentleman girls.”

  ‘Dev’, however, was not amused. He stood, grabbing Brandi’s arm with a painful pinch. “I don’t know you,” he spit through clenched teeth. “So explain, real quick, how you know my name.”

  “Unhand me, you lout,” Brandi spit back, wrenching from his grip. She wasn’t about to tolerate another arrogant man, no matter how cleverly he portrayed a role. “I ain’t in no mood to be pawed at by the likes of you, thanks very much.”

  A wash of surprise flooded Dev’s cheeks. He let go of her arm and sat again with a thump. After a second of stunned silence, the other man laughed, his black hair shaking over wide shoulders. “I do believe you should be careful of this little girl,” he chuckled. “I’m Romano Vasquez, by the way, but you can call me Romy.”

  “Pleasure, I’m sure,” Brandi snapped sarcastically. Turning to Sara she said, “I’m going to get my gun back.”

  “Oh-oh,” Romy grinned. “You’re in trouble now, partner.”

  “You watch your step as well,” Brandi said, stabbing her finger at the grin that mocked her anger. “Like I said, I ain’t in no mood.”

  With that she stomped to the bar. A pale-faced bartender waited quietly for her order.

  “Does there happen to be a miscellaneous Colt back there?” she asked. “On account of I believe it belongs to me.”

  The weapon appeared on the counter. She slipped it into her belt, noticing it felt heavier than yesterday. Then she ordered a glass of beer. That too was quickly produced. As she sipped the warm beer Brandi regretted her display of temper. She was foiling Sara’s chances to have fun and that’s why they had come here after all--to have fun--and she was the one taking it all too seriously. She had just made up her mind to return to the table and apologize when a figure glided up beside her at the bar.

  “Kinda sassy fer bein’ such a little thing, ain’t ya?” he said. An elbow propped on the counter he studied her, his expression softening. “Just I don’t take too kindly to strangers. Especially ones who know my name.”

  “Go away.”

  “I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Not till you…”

  “Look,” Brandi said, swinging round in another fit of temper. “I know you’re here to put on a show to entertain us tourists, but a few manners in the meantime wouldn’t go amiss.”

  Devon puffed a short laugh. “Damn, girl, you say the strangest things.”

  “Yeah, well…” This time it was Brandi’s turn to have her words cut short. He grabbed her again, but this time it was a tight embrace. Before she could protest the too-close-for-comfort proximity with a total stranger, he leaned forward and kissed her, fully on the mouth.

  Her anger melted, draining warmth from head to toe, like a waterfall. Stunned surprise combined with ecstasy as strong arms pulled her tighter still, and her weakened knees no longer held her weight; her fingers dug into a torso that was hard and lean. His tongue fluttered over her mouth and when she finally could draw breath her nose was filled with the scent of horse and dust and sweat. She opened her eyes to find the sensuous lips curled to a knowing smile.

  “Not so tough after all,” he whispered, his breath smelling of whiskey. “If you want to be a wildcat then take me to yer bed and show me how to purr.” Both hands clamped her backside and squeezed.

  Disgust bolted through Brandi's body with a vengeance. His kiss had been so soft, so unexpected, so passionate, that her very being had shaken right off its foundation. And then he was so vulgar. Was there no gallantry in this imitation town?

  “You dirty-minded…” She squirmed to get free from the lewd hold, but he held on, laughing as she struggled, making a game of her capture. To worsen the situation, a few calls of congratulations were being directed in his favor. The men were enjoying her plight, finding it an enthralling form of entertainment.

  Unable to reach her gun to splatter a paintball in that smug expression, she drew up her knee instead. “Take that,” she yelled, as blue eyes widened with surprise and his body stiffened with pain. He let go of her and was clutching the rim of the counter instead. “Now, if you were a real man, you would have seen that one coming.”

  Free from his grip she pulled out her Colt and aimed it at the outlaw’s head.

  The realistic click of a pistol being cocked disturbed the silence that had again filled the room. Cold metal nudged the nape of Brandi’s neck. “Drop it, or yer maggot meat,” said a hard voice from behind.

  Brandi was beginning to have fun, despite another actor’s display of conceit. She was acutely aware she had become an intricate part of the show, and deciding to go along with the charade, she did as the man behind her ordered. She laid the Colt on the bar and slowly lifted both hands.

  Devon in the meantime had regained enough strength to stand erect. “I ain’t ever kilt a woman,” he gasped, “but there’s a first time fer everything.”

  Brandi didn’t have to turn to know the gun-wielding man behind her was the third in their troupe. They came into town as a team, they’d certainly be performing as a team. She was waiting for them to take a bow followed by appreciative applause from one and all in the saloon. But the act continued.

  “What now, boys?” she asked, keeping her hands high. “You taking us to your hideout in the hills?”

  “Brandi!” Sara scolded. She was being escorted to the bar with Romy. He, too, had a gun in his hand, but he at least had the manners not to point it at anyone in particular. “You are determined to be the center of attention, aren’t you?”

  Brandi shrugged, unconcerned. “Another ballad would be nice,” she grinned. “Lady outlaws strike again.”

  “I hope fer yer sakes, yer not working for Victor Trilby,” Devon said. “Or yer outlawin’ days will be over sooner than you think.” He glared at both of them in turn, waiting for a response.

  “Trilby ain’t here,” the man behind Brandi said. “As far as I could gather, he ain’t ever been here either.”

  “That don’t mean these two ain’t on his payroll, Budd,” Devon said. “Could be one of his tricks.” He took Brandi’s wrists, holding them together with one hand. Only then was the gun against her hair removed.

  “I doubt it,” Budd said without expression. “He hates women almost as much as he hates you.”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Brandi smiled, uncertain as to why there was need for so much bantering. “This was fun and you boys have made a great scene, so lighten up and I’ll buy everyone a drink.”

  The room stirred. Chairs were being pushed aside, boots scraped across the planks as men scattered. One of the saloon girls whimpered. Silhouetted in the doors was the massive bulk of a man holding a shotgun. Two others who held Peacemakers in each hand flanked him. All the weapons were pointed directly at them.

  “Devon Fault,” he bellowed, a voice deeper than thunder. “You and yer outfit come peacefully and no one’ll get hurt.”

  “Oh, great,” Brandi sighed. “Act two.”

  Devon let go of Brandi’s wrists and stepped in front of her, staring menacingly at the strangers who filled the doorway. There was as much electricity in the air as the previous evening’s thunderstorm. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere with you, Jackson.” Devon scowled.

  “Now, now,” Jackson said, his tone patronizing. “You done gunned down three innocent men in c
old blood and that makes you a rascal of the highest order. Quiet little town like this don’t want no murdering yella-bellies in their midst, and I’m here to see that justice prevails.”

  “Those ‘innocent men’ burned down my home with my brother still inside. And you ain’t here for justice, Jackson. Yer here fer the reward money.”

  “A thousand dollars of Victor Trilby’s money is appealing, I must admit, but the real bonus is seeing yer mangy carcass riddled with buckshot, on account of the poster says dead or alive, and I prefer dead.”

  “Ain’t ever gonna happen.”

  Sara, who was hiding between Romy and the bar, was slowly slipping her hand into her carpetbag. Pulling out the camera, she motioned to Brandi to pick up the gun Devon had placed on the counter. Brandi squashed a giggle. This would throw a monkey wrench into their performance, but oh, what a picture!

  Sara soundlessly mouthed a count. “One, two, THREE.” On three she sidestepped Romy, camera poised in front of one eye, while Brandi fell into a shooting stance beside Devon.

  “Smile,” Sara shouted. A flash followed one deafening shot.

  Brandi fully expected the huge man in the doorway to be thoroughly annoyed with her interfering with such an excellent presentation. And she fully expected to be reprimanded by Devon and his gang for foiling their plans for the ultimate Hollywood shoot-out. And oddly enough she had expected to receive applause from the audience. The last thing she expected was for this Jackson fellow to stagger backwards and topple onto the boardwalk.

  A shrill shriek broke the frozen second that followed.

  Devon had jerked both pistols from his holster. A volley of realistic gunfire crisscrossed the room, shattering bottles, knocking down oil lamps, and saturating the air with burning gunpowder. Brandi lost her footing and rolled onto the floor. A spur swept dangerously close to her face and she scrambled to get back up. Clamped in her hand was the Colt, a thin line of white smoke twirling from the barrel.

  There was no time to consider the implications of what had just happened. Shouts and curses added to the pandemonium of movement and Brandi found herself being hoisted off her feet and carried towards the door. A dizzying swirl of floor and ceiling, and then bright sunshine confounded the disorder. Not until she was roughly thrown onto a hard saddle did she see Sara, looking frightened and bewildered, propped on a saddle in front of Romy. He spurred his horse with a loud “yeah” while shooting another quick round. A rock-hard body pressed against Brandi’s back while tensed legs urged the horse beneath them into motion. The animal bolted off so quickly Brandi would have certainly fallen, except for the arm that tightened around her breast, holding her in place.