She drew her pony as close to the prisoner as possible, careful to keep her gun aimed at his would-be lynch mob.
“I didn’t expect to find you here,” she whispered.
“Didn’t expect to find you here either,” he whispered back. “You sure have a habit of showin’ up in the most unexpected places.”
Pepper raised a fist to her, his face tomato red. “If you know what’s good for you, Lockwood, you’ll take your baby-faced deputy and go home where you belong. Me and my men are gonna clean up this town once and for all, and we don’t need help from no petticoat sheriff.” With a nod of his head, he motioned for his men to advance toward the prisoner.
Rennick leaned toward her, his voice hushed. “Now might be a good time to show them you mean business. The hammer…”
“What? Oh!” She thumbed back the gun’s hammer, and the click stopped Pepper in his tracks. The sound didn’t do much for her either; bile rose to her throat.
She swallowed and willed her voice to stay strong. “Stay right there.” Gripping the Colt hard, she moved a finger onto the trigger. It took both hands and sheer determination to keep the gun from shaking.
One of the vigilantes made a sudden move, startling her. Her finger twitched, and her gun went off with a deafening blast, practically pulling her arm from its socket. Holding her gun in one hand, she pulled back on a rein to keep her frightened horse from bolting.
The gunshot had made the men jump back. Their horses whinnied and tugged at their picket ropes, but no one fell down dead…though Scooter looked like he was about to.
The bullet had hit the ground less than an inch away from Pepper’s foot. Jumping back, he frantically patted himself up and down as if expecting to find his body riddled with bullet holes.
“Not bad,” Rennick said next to her. “Next time, aim higher.”
“You crazy dame,” Pepper bellowed when he finally recovered. “You coulda killed me!”
Her ears still ringing, she tossed her head. “And it would have served you right for taking the law into your own hands.” Something about the gun or badge—she didn’t want to think it was Rennick—gave her more confidence than anyone in her position had the right to feel.
Since everyone was staring at her, she felt compelled to say more. “So whose chest am I going to shoot this time?” As if such a thing was possible.
No one uttered a word. Instead, the vigilantes stood frozen in place like a bunch of bronzed statues.
After a moment of silence, Rennick spoke up. “It wouldn’t look good to be shot by a petticoat sheriff.” For someone with his head in a noose, he sure did sound like a man in control. “I mean, that could permanently damage a man’s reputation.”
“It sure in blazes could,” Scooter added, brandishing his gun.
At this, even Pepper backed away.
“I think they’re waitin’ for you to make the next move,” Rennick whispered, egging her on.
She inhaled. “Scoot…eh…Deputy Hobson, would you be so kind as to remove the rope from the prisoner’s neck?”
“Yes, sir, ma’am…I mean, Sheriff.” With a click of his tongue, he galloped to the other side of the prisoner and slid out of the saddle. After untying the prisoner’s horse, he handed her the reins.
Gripping the prisoner’s reins with her free hand, she kept her gun pointed straight at Pepper while her deputy attended to the prisoner.
Scooter holstered his pistol and pulled a knife out of his boot. Mounted again, he cut the rope from the tree with one easy swipe and pulled the loop over the prisoner’s head.
Rennick’s hands were still tied behind him, and she meant to see that they stayed that way.
“Escort the prisoner back to town,” she said, surprised at how calm and in control she sounded. If only they knew…
Scooter’s eyes gleamed. “Will do!” He sounded like he could barely contain his excitement. Pulling a rope from his saddle, he looped it around the prisoner’s horse. She dropped the reins, and he rode away, towing Rennick behind him.
She held the lynch mob at bay with her gun. “Don’t anyone move.” It was as much of a command as a prayer. Please, don’t anyone make me fire my weapon again.
Her order went unheeded, for as soon as Rennick’s back was turned, Pepper raised his firearm and pointed it at the two departing men.
Her heart practically leaped to her throat, and her body tensed. “You sh-shoot, and I’ll run you in for murder,” she said, hoping no one noticed the tremor in her voice.
For a full minute, Pepper held his gun aimed at Rennick’s back.
Gopher threw up his hands. “Dadgummit, Pepper. The lady has you over a barrel, and you know it. You shoot him, and I’ll take you to jail myself. So take your loss like a man, and let’s call it a night.”
Pepper lowered his arm, and Amanda dared to breathe. Oddly enough, even a rabble-rouser like Pepper adhered to a code of ethics, which is probably why he surrendered. Lynching a man was one thing, but only a coward would shoot a man in the back.
Feeling a sense of victory, even though it wasn’t entirely hers to claim, she motioned with her gun.
“Now git. All of you.” She brandished her gun again, and the men scattered like buckshot.
They ran for their horses and raced off like their tails were on fire. Watching them bolt like a bunch of scared jackrabbits, she slumped with relief and slipped her gun into her waistband. Grandmama should see her now.
After waiting to make certain no lingerers remained, she turned her horse and galloped after her deputy. With luck, maybe she’d make it back to town with Rennick before anyone figured out that neither she nor Scooter could shoot their way out of a chicken coop. Least not on purpose.
Twelve
Astride her horse, Amanda followed close behind the prisoner, ready to act at the first sign of trouble. Scooter kept a firm grip on the rope as he led the way back to town.
“I guess we showed them, Sheriff,” he said. “Whoo-eee!”
As much as she wanted to share in Scooter’s boyish delight, her earlier confidence, weak as it was, had now deserted her. Heart pounding, she held onto the reins with shaking hands and struggled to keep her emotions in check. Looking weak in Rennick’s eyes could prove fatal. He already knew her skills with a gun were nonexistent.
Even so, she doubted he would try to escape. His hands were still tied behind his back, and Scooter had taken the added precaution of tying Rennick’s boot laces to the stirrups—a trick he claimed to have read in a dime novel.
She was more concerned about someone from the lynching mob ambushing them and wanting to make a name for himself.
The way back to town was lit by the silvery light of the full moon, but a slight breeze surrounded them with moving shadows—all of which suggested danger. From the distance came the howl of baying wolves. Her pony, Molly, nickered, and her already taut nerves grew as tight as the corset cutting into her ribs.
Sheriff Amanda Lockwood. Great snakes and thunder! She still couldn’t believe it. The reality made her blood run cold, and gooseflesh crawled up her arms. She had to be out of her cotton-picking mind. She could no sooner track down outlaws than a three-legged goat. By some strange fluke, she’d saved Rennick’s neck—at least temporarily—but that didn’t mean she could do the job.
The lynch mob had been made up of misguided but well-meaning citizens. Crime had run rampant in recent months, with no end in sight. Who could blame them for taking the law into their own hands? Some of the vigilantes had known her almost all her life. She doubted any would have done her serious harm. But what if she met up with real outlaws? What then?
“When are you gonna let me go?” Rennick asked, his voice cutting through her worrisome thoughts.
She met his gaze. Big mistake, for now her worries doubled. He sat tall in the saddle, even with his hands and feet tied. What if he
somehow worked himself free? Or had a partner somewhere waiting to ambush them? It wouldn’t be the first time someone had escaped while in protective custody.
“Let you go, Mr. Rennick? Now why would I go and do a fool thing like that?”
He gave her a knowing look, as if reading her thoughts. “You don’t have a nefarious plan for me, do you?” he asked, a blatant reference to their first meeting.
She glared at him. If his plan was to intimidate her, he was doing a good job. “Are you asking if your virtue is safe?”
“A man can’t be too careful.”
“Guess not,” she said. “But if it will make you feel better, I’m taking you to jail.”
“I thought you and me were friends.”
Eyes narrowed, she studied a large granite boulder ahead. More than one outlaw had used it to prey on unwary travelers. “I don’t make friends with murderers.”
“Whatever happened to innocent till proven guilty?”
“Not my problem,” she said.
“Case you’re interested, I didn’t kill nobody. He was dead when I found him.”
Something moved, and she gasped, but it was only a coyote. She swallowed a mouthful of air to calm her nerves. “Tell it to the judge.”
They rode in silence for several minutes before he asked, “Aren’t you at least interested in who the real killer is?”
“Right now, I’m hoping it’s you. It would save me a lot of trouble.”
Rennick surprised her by laughing. Scooter turned his head to look at him but said nothing.
Gripping the reins tight, she lifted her chin. “What’s so funny?”
He was laughing so hard, he could hardly get the words out. “Just thinkin’ about the looks on their faces when you announced you were the new sheriff.” His hoots rolled across the landscape like thunder.
Glancing nervously over her shoulder to make sure they weren’t being followed, she then focused her gaze on the road ahead. Her only hope was that they reached town before anything sinister happened.
“Laugh if you must, Mr. Rennick. But if you recall, I’ve saved your neck twice.” Who knows what those highwaymen would have done had it not been for her peacock-feathered hat?
“That you did, Miss Sheriff. That you did.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Still, I can’t help but wonder what those hombres would say if they knew you couldn’t shoot straight if your life depended on it.”
Scooter looked back at her before addressing the prisoner. “I thought you said the sheriff shot her target square on the chest.”
“That she did,” Rennick said and laughed again. The light of the moon made his eyes sparkle and his teeth glisten. For someone on the way to jail, he sure did look unconcerned. Looked mighty handsome too, even with his beard.
“Don’t worry, Miss Lockwood…I mean Miss Sheriff. All your secrets are safe with me.” His warm, smooth voice and knowing gaze left no doubt as to his meaning.
Cheeks blazing, she silently cursed him. If he hinted at the contents of her hope chest one more time, she might just use him for target practice.
Main Street was deserted when they reached town, but Amanda didn’t dare let down her guard.
They rode single-file down the middle of Main to the sheriff’s office. Scooter dismounted first and tied his horse to the hitching rail.
Amanda slipped out of the saddle and wrapped Molly’s reins around a post. “Help him down,” she said, resting her hand on the grip of her gun.
“Will do, Sheriff.” Scooter untied Rennick’s shoelaces and then helped him off his horse.
Amanda took up the rear as Scooter led Rennick up the boardwalk steps and through the office door. She took a quick glance around before following them inside. Everything went smooth as clockwork.
Until it didn’t.
Just as they reached the door leading to the cellblock, Rennick kicked the gun out of Scooter’s hand. Amanda cried out in alarm. Before the deputy could react, Rennick head-butted him with such force, Scooter went flying backward. He hit the door with a thud before slithering to the floor.
Somehow, Amanda had the presence of mind to pull out her Colt. “Stop or I’ll shoot!”
“Like heck you will,” Rennick growled.
He started past her, but Scooter reached up and grabbed him by the leg before he made his escape.
Rennick fell to the floor, and the two men scuffled. Just when it looked like Scooter had the advantage, one well-placed foot sent him sailing across the room.
Holding the barrel of her gun with both hands, Amanda hit the back of Rennick’s head as hard as she could with the grip.
Body rigid, he turned, his face lit with surprise. He opened his mouth as if to speak…but instead crumpled to the floor.
Scooter scrambled to his feet and picked up his pistol. He and Amanda stared down at the prone body lying at their feet.
“Gee willikers,” Scooter said, rubbing his shoulder. “He almost got away.”
“Are you all r-right?” she stammered.
“Better than he is.” Holstering his own weapon, Scooter grabbed Rennick under the arms and grinned up at her. “Like Grandpappy always said, a spur in the head is worth two in the heel.”
Amanda drew in her breath. She was shaking so hard, she could hardly think. “I-I didn’t mean to hurt him.” The thought of seriously harming someone filled her with horror. “Is he…”
Scooter leaned over and poked Rennick with his gun. “He’s still breathing.”
“Thank God.” She slumped against the desk. “We better get him into the cell before he comes to.” And while she still had her wits about her.
Thirteen
What to wear, what to wear…
Amanda pulled the clothes out of her wardrobe one by one. She examined each skirt, shirtwaist, and dress with a critical eye before tossing it aside. One discarded skirt struck the wall, knocking a “Votes for Women” handbill to the floor.
Her bedroom looked nothing like her sisters’ rooms had looked when they lived at home. They favored floral wallpaper, ruffled curtains, and dressing tables encircled with Swiss-dotted skirts.
In contrast, Amanda’s stark white walls were plastered with handbills supporting all the causes she’d favored through the years. Books were crammed into every nook and cranny. Hat forms molded with felt in various sizes, shapes, and colors stood drying on windowsills and floor. Handmade silk flowers and colorful ribbons spilled out of drawers and haphazardly stacked boxes.
She yanked another skirt off a wooden peg. Nothing so far had suited her needs. What does a woman sheriff wear anyway?
“Watch it,” her sister Meg cried, ducking to keep from being assaulted by an airborne frock.
Meg and Josie had rushed to the house the moment they read the election news in the extra edition of the paper. Both had expressed horror in no uncertain terms.
Meg looked especially upset. Today, blond wisps escaped an untidy bun as if she had pinned her hair up in a hurry. “I still can’t believe people actually voted for you. Of all the crazy things you’ve done through the years, this has got to be the craziest.”
Josie made a face. “And that’s saying something.” She stabbed her index finger at the Two-Time book of town ordinances that lay open on her lap. Amanda had brought it home from the sheriff’s office to study.
“Listen to this,” Josie continued. “‘It’s against the law for a lady to lift her skirt more than six inches while walking through a mud puddle.’ What do they expect you to do? Walk around with a tape measure?”
Amanda sighed. Two-Time had more laws than a dog had fleas. Unfortunately, most were aimed at regulating the behavior of women. Few laws actually dealt with the illegal activities of criminals.
Josie continued. “‘And women of uncertain chastity are not allowed on the streets after dark.’” Sh
e shrugged. “That takes care of half the women in town.”
“And look at that one,” Meg said, reading over Josie’s shoulder. “‘It’s against the law for women to raise their voices in public, curse, or wear fake mustaches.’”
Amanda rolled her eyes and placed the index finger from both hands beneath her nose to imitate a mustache. “Oh yeah, that’s what I want. A hairy lip.” Maybe then she’d look more official.
Josie laughed. “Just be sure not to raise your parasol on Main, or you might spook the horses and land in jail.” She kept reading, each law progressively more ridiculous or impossible to enforce than the last. “Oh, here’s one you should be familiar with. ‘Women are not allowed in saloons, barbershops, or other domains sacred to men.’”
“Sacred my foot.” Amanda made a face. Waltzing into the Golden Spur Saloon to demand it close on Sundays had earned her a stint behind bars. Nothing sacred about it.
“I especially like that one,” Meg said, pointing over Josie’s shoulder. “‘It’s illegal for a volunteer fireman to rescue a woman wearing a nightgown. If she wants to be rescued, she must be fully clothed.’”
Josie burst out laughing. “Look at this one…”
Amanda scowled. “You two are supposed to be helping me pick out an outfit.” She had to look like a sheriff, even if she didn’t feel like one.
Meg held up a plain dark skirt. “What about this?”
Amanda had already rejected the skirt once and was about to reject it again when something occurred to her. She grabbed it out of Meg’s hand and held it up to herself.
“Do you suppose Mama could turn it into a divided skirt?”
“I don’t know why not,” Josie said. “You know what a sewing whiz Mama is now that she has a stitching machine.”
Amanda rushed to the bedroom door. “Mama!” she called, sticking her head into the hall.
Moments later, Mama came running up the stairs. “What is it?” Her gaze took in all three of her daughters as she wiped her hands on her spotless apron.
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