She shook her head. That couldn’t be possible. Could it?
Chapter Eight
Dynah
They say a girl needs her beauty sleep, and Dynah most certainly hadn’t gotten it last night.
First, her mother had been all over her when they got home. She’d seen the storm clouds roll in from a distance and been worried sick until Dynah and Penelope came back. Her parents had made her tell every detail of the events down at the arena. And she’d shared them. Until the part at the very end.
Because Dynah wasn’t really sure what happened in the dust storm. It had come on so fast, and with so much dirt flying around, she hadn’t seen much. As she started to describe it to her parents, Penelope, who had been in the other room, began to pass through to go back outside. Her sister had paused, and their eyes had met. And Dynah skipped the part about the lightning and wrapped up her story. As she did, Penelope let the door slam shut behind her.
She’d felt exhausted when she crawled beneath her soft cotton sheets, and she’d quickly fallen into a deep sleep. But rest she did not. Instead, she dreamed. Dreams unlike any she’d ever had before. She didn’t remember them exactly. Just darkness and bones and things that wriggled in dirt and flesh. Not the kind of dreams that the Rodeo Queen should be having. Dynah had woken again and again, but each time she drifted back off, the strange dreams returned.
And that’s how she’d arrived into the harsh light of day: tired, sore, and with dark rings underneath her eyes. Even scarier than the nightmares. Dynah’s mother dabbed rosewater on her skin to help with the color, and after breakfast, she saddled Moon and rode toward the arena. She traveled through the birch forests and fields near their homestead on the west side of Hawk’s Hollow. Drank in the scent of the steam-plows churning up fresh dirt at her neighbor’s farm. Savored the last cool crispness of morning, knowing the sun would soon devour it.
Now that registration day had passed, it was less than two weeks until the fair, and that meant all the serious contenders began to practice publicly. An intimidation tactic, mostly. Show off before the competition, have everyone quaking in their boots come the big day. This marked Dynah’s sixth year competing, so normally it would have been old hat to her. Except this was her first time competing with Moon, and this was her first attempt at the title of Rodeo Queen.
Within minutes of arriving at the arena, it became clear that they were not going to be intimidating anyone today. Moon was jittery, practically spooking at his own shadow every five minutes, which was very unlike him. Yesterday there’d been a far larger crowd, and he’d been fine. Dynah became increasingly tense, which in turn only made Moon more anxious. Finally, after about the dozenth jump and bolt, Dynah decided to take a break.
She led Moon out of the arena around to one of the big water troughs, casting a forced smile at two other girls entering the ring. Moon shoved his nose into the trough and drank thirstily, splashing her with droplets of water which she winced away from. The last thing she needed was a ruined blouse, too.
Dynah could feel the dust from the arena settling on her sweaty skin. After watching Moon drink his fill, she realized she was parched, too. Taking a quick look around to make sure no one could see her, she scooped a handful of the trough water to her lips. The warm liquid tasted of earth and metal, but she gulped it down.
From her current vantage point, Dynah could see Hawk’s Hollow’s tiny train station to the south, no more than a plank platform next to the tracks. Come next week, this whole area would be packed with traveling merchants. The annual fair drew a big crowd of Colorado residents, as well as travelers from other states. Those who wanted to watch the famous endurance race, or maybe even catch a glimpse of a few Navajo, the reservation being so close and all.
A breeze blew down from the mountains to the northeast, and Dynah closed her eyes in pleasure. There were few things in the world finer than the perfection of a cool wind on a hot day after you’ve been riding. She felt it play over her skin, slide under her curls. Beside her, Moon snorted and sighed. So, they hadn’t had the best day of practice. But they still had plenty of time before the rodeo. Dynah patted Moon’s shoulder and slowly opened her eyes.
And realized she had an audience.
The black merchants’ daughter, one of the ones who’d been caught in the cyclone with her, stood a few dozen yards away on the walkway in front of the hotel. The building closest to the arena, at the far southern end of Main Street. She didn’t know the girl’s name, only that she was staring at her. That much she could tell, even from this distance.
When the girl realized she’d been caught, she ducked her head and hastily stepped into the hotel entrance. Though she needn’t have bothered. Dynah was quite used to being stared at by men and women alike. She laughed under her breath and gave Moon another pat on the shoulder. “Want to give it another go, boy?”
She turned Moon around and came face to face with three of the gnarliest-looking cowboys she’d ever seen. Bloodshot eyes, crooked teeth (where they had them at all), and the whole lot of them in dire need of a bath.
“You’kin give me a go if ya like,” one of them said in a raspy voice.
The other two let out a hoot and a cackle, like a pair of coyotes. Dynah’s mouth fell open. These men clearly weren’t from around here. That was simply not the way one spoke to ladies in Hawk’s Hollow, let alone Dynah Johnston.
“I kin show ya somethin’ else strong ‘tween ya legs,” growled a second man. His eyes looked more than bloodshot, they almost seemed to be… glowing. Hungry.
She found her voice. “Excuse me! I have to be going.”
The cowboys stood between her and the arena entrance. She attempted to go around, but they moved with her, blocking her passage.
“Stick around, sweet thang,” cooed one of the men.
The others leered at her. “We ‘ave something’ you’ll like… promise.”
“I said, excuse me! I am trying to get to the arena!” Dynah snapped. “Leave me alone.”
“Don’ be like that… we just wanna be friends wicha.”
One stayed in front of her while the other two moved around to each side, effectively blocking her from anything but moving backward. Moon snorted and pranced, his eyes rolling. The cowboy closest to her reached out a grubby hand. His fingernails were so long, they almost looked like claws…
“Stop!” she shrieked, throwing a hand out to shield herself.
The cowboy stopped. His red eyes bulged, and his dagger-like fingers dropped to his side. He coughed, and it sounded wet. The cough turned into a gurgle, and his skin purpled as he began to choke. He raised both hands to his throat as if he couldn’t breathe.
Dynah gasped and stepped back as the cowboy fell to the ground. She swung up onto Moon in one fluid movement and spun him for Main Street. Horror and confusion rose in her chest as she fled.
She didn’t look back as she galloped through the center of town.
Chapter Nine
Willow
The gun shop landed on the list of Willow’s favorite places in the whole world. Not the fancy one up on the north side of Hawk’s Hollow near the wealthy neighborhoods. But the little hole-in-the-wall down Scarlet Street off Main. More of an alley than a street, really. The gun shop and the smithy were the only stores down here, run by two brothers. Two brothers who knew Willow quite well.
“Why’d ya go chop off yer hair?” Harvey called the moment she stepped foot inside.
A sprawling, open-air shop, it looked more like a barn than a storefront. The forge, a massive stone structure taller than Willow, stood in a covered dirt stall adjacent to the room where the guns and other finished products lay on tables and shelves, up a set of steps away from the blazing coals. Luckily, no one else was there, other than his brother Jonas. Willow raised a finger to her lips and made a hissing sound.
A deep, throaty chuckle rose from Jonas, who stood at the forge, muscles gleaming with sweat from under his tunic. “Isn’t it obvious, brother?
She’s trying to enter the competition in a couple weeks.”
Harvey wrinkled his brow. “Girls are allowed to enter the rodeo, aren’t they?”
Jonas looked over at Willow from beneath huge, bushy black eyebrows. “It ain’t the rodeo our Willow is keen to enter.”
Willow felt a swell of something suspiciously similar to affection. It felt nice to be seen. To be known. She quickly brushed aside the emotion. Luckily, these two were the only ones in town who paid any attention to her whatsoever. No one else would notice that a lanky cowboy had replaced the girl with the outlaw daddy.
“I trust you two will keep my secret,” she said, drawing herself up in an attempt to look intimidating.
Jonas chuckled again. He was six and a half feet tall, at least, with arms almost as big around as barrels. “Sure thing… Will.”
“That’s actually the name I used in the race,” Willow said. She stepped up to the top of the stairs, and a waft of intense heat from the forge blew into her face.
“Clever,” Jonas said dryly.
She made a harrumph sound in her throat and approached the closest table of shiny metal objects.
“What’s clever abo’ that?” Harvey called as he carted buckets of scrap metal over to the forge for Jonas to melt down. “Oh,” he said a few moments later. “I get it now.”
Jonas grinned and winked at Willow. “What’re you looking for today?”
“Just looking,” she responded. “I don’t have any money to spend.”
“Well, let us know if you need anything.” Jonas bent his head and began hammering on a piece of metal laid across his anvil, something that looked like it might become a dagger. Orange sparks flew into the air around him, falling harmlessly on his thick leather apron.
Willow nodded, eyes gleaming as they roved over the latest inventory. Jonas clearly trusted her a great deal to turn his back with all this firepower right under her nose…but the brothers were some of the only decent people in this backwoods town. She’d never steal from them.
Beneath the loud clinking and clanking from Jonas’s hammer, Willow caught the soft whir of wings in the corner of the shop. She strode over to the far side, furthest from the forge and the entrance, to see the latest gadgets that Harvey had built. One wouldn’t guess it from engaging him in conversation, but Willow knew he had a creative brain. She marveled at the tiny clockwork owls, steam-powered dragonflies, and even a brass rooster that somehow sensed the coming sunrise. There were larger birds, too, clockwork hawks and eagles that could deliver messages faster than the Pony Express. The guns still owned her heart, but these came in a close second.
Willow had just turned her attention back to a table of weapons when she heard a voice over her shoulder.
“Getting an upgrade before the competition?”
She spun. People didn’t usually sneak up on her. She’d learned how to be quiet—and how to listen—from her mother. Her eyes widened. It was the mysterious stranger from the arena yesterday. He wore a dark blue plaid shirt that made his eyes pop. Damn, he was pretty. But far more importantly, how had he gotten the drop on her?
“I’m happy with the iron I’ve got.” Willow patted the gun at her hip.
The cowboy peeked down. His gaze felt hot on her skin—men didn’t tend to stare at a woman’s hips in public. But then, he didn’t know she was a woman. “Colt Army Model? 1860?”
“Uh, yeah. Good eye.” She didn’t know what else to say, so she studied the guns intently. In fact, she’d made of point of ignoring boys her whole life, and she didn’t see a reason to stop now. Her fingers absentmindedly brushed over the cold barrel and smooth wooden grip of the closest one.
“Colt Dragoon,” the cowboy said. Even his voice was beautiful. Velvety and dark, a rush of raven wings.
“I know,” Willow said, trying not to sound snappish. Both because he was right, and because his allure had started to really get on her nerves. “Have you ever shot one?”
He nodded. “Not my favorite.”
“Heavy as hell, that’s for sure.”
She moved down the long table of weapons, eyes and fingers searching like a truffle pig for just the right thing. The cowboy stuck with her every step of the way. He seemed to be standing awfully close, so close she could feel the heat of his body wash into her. It made her head all fuzzy, which was not at all what she needed right now.
“Smith and Wesson Model 3,” she said, her hand resting on one of the pistols. “I used to have one of these.”
The cowboy flicked his gaze to hers. “What happened to it?”
“Lost it in a bet,” she said, a low whistle escaping her teeth. “A sad day.”
“I can imagine.”
He stopped moving, and Willow instinctively stopped, too, like there was a line connecting them. “Now this is an interesting gun.”
Pale gold, with a tiny barrel, rings that formed a knuckle duster, and a short knife at the end. “An Apache Revolver,” Willow whispered in reverence. “It must be a new arrival. I’ve never seen one before, but I’ve read about them.”
The cowboy cocked his head to the side. “A sharpshooter who reads?”
“Well, don’t you?”
A chuckle. “I suppose I do.”
Willow picked up the Apache gingerly, sliding her fingers into the knuckle rings. She turned and pointed it across the room, squinting one eye slightly to sight her invisible target.
“It’s not much for distance,” the cowboy said. “But at close range? Not half bad.”
“You’ve shot one before?”
He nodded. “May I?”
The cowboy reached out and slid the Apache off her fingers. As he did, their fingers touched, and a pulse of heat ran up her arm. Willow was very much aware of how close they were standing. For several long moments, she forgot she was supposed to be pretending to be a man. Which reminded her that the cowboy thought she was a man. Which probably meant that the sparks she felt flying between them were, in fact, only flying one way. She tried not to feel too deflated. Perhaps men always stood this close to one another? The secret life of the male of the species.
The cowboy lifted the Apache, turning it this way and that to admire its delicate construct. “A beauty, that’s for sure,” he said, looking at her as he said it. Willow felt another wave of heat, and this time it had nothing to do with the forge.
A sudden commotion outside broke the moment. A horse galloped down Main Street, and a group of a half-dozen cowboys, who had most definitely just come from the saloon, sauntered (stumbled, really) onto the side street. Willow sighed. She loved everything about the annual fair. Except the influx of annoying visitors from out of town. The drunken cowboys stumbled inside the entrance to the shop.
“Well, what ‘ave we ‘ere?” whistled one of them.
“Looks like acoupla squeaky clean saplins’ with no weatherin’ at all,” said another, pointing at Willow and the handsome cowboy. “You two run on down to the toy store, ya hear? Guns are for real men.”
“And I suppose you think that’s you?” Willow said, crossing her arms over her chest and widening her stance. “Jonas! You’re gonna need to mop one of these boys off the floor in a minute.”
“Callin’ fer backup, little’n?”
“Hardly,” Willow scoffed.
“Take it from me, gents,” the handsome cowboy said, “This one here packs a mean punch. He may not look like much, but he breathes fire.”
“I think I’d liketa see that,” one of the newcomers said.
“Me, too!” chorused the rest of the group.
Jonas emerged from behind the forge, wiping soot from his hands onto his apron. “Gentlemen. Public intoxication is not permitted in Hawk’s Hollow. Go sleep it off before someone calls the Sheriff.”
Harvey emerged behind his brother, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Cert’n’ly,” said the one who had started all the talk. “After we see the little fire-breather, ‘ere.”
“I hardly think
you’re in any condition to fight me,” Willow growled.
Her eyes scanned for a way out, but the group entirely blocked the entrance to the shop, and most of the narrow street beyond. Not that she was planning on running from a fight. But her odds weren’t so good.
“Boy, you so skinny I could blow ya over wit’ one big huff,” one of the men said, roaring with laughter.
Willow felt a heat building in her chest. Pure energy, surging into her. Like the lightning that had struck during the cyclone the day before. She didn’t believe in miracles, but something had kept her alive. Kept all of them alive.
And that same feeling coursed through her veins now. Rawness. Light. Power.
“I’ve never seen such a pathetic lot of men in my life,” Willow said. “If I were you, I’d look to the company I kept.” She swept a disdainful look over them all, felt that heat radiate toward the drunken cowboys.
They followed her gaze and began eyeing each other. The next moment, insults began to fly back and forth faster than bullets. Voices rose, chests puffed out. Then a punch flew, and the next thing Willow knew, the cowboys were brawling in the dirt.
“I’ll go get the Sheriff,” Jonas said with a sigh, jogging around the heap of men.
Harvey just stared wide-eyed, mouth agape, looking from Willow to the pile of men and back again. Willow stared, too, the scene before them so surreal she almost didn’t believe her eyes.
“Come on,” the beautiful stranger said. “Let’s get out of here before they come to their senses.”
They skirted around the brawlers, and soon were back out on Main Street.
“Well, that was certainly interesting,” the cowboy said, shooting Willow a look.
“Yeah.” Her brow wrinkled. “Remind me never to drink. What a bunch of imbeciles.” A horrible thought crossed her mind. “Do you think those guys will be in the race?”
The cowboy shrugged. “Probably. In it for the prize money. Rule breakers who’ll do anything to win. You better watch yourself.”
A War of Daisies Page 4
