by Sean Lynch
“I don’t know the answers to those questions,” Pritchard said to his sister, “but gettin’ worked up over things that ain’t yet occurred makes no sense. Give me a chance to meet this Count Strobl. Who knows? Maybe he’s a swell feller.”
“And maybe he’ll shoot you on sight,” Idelle said drily.
“Folks are unloading,” Ditch remarked, pointing to the passenger cars. They scanned the people as they got off. The crowd’s eyes were on Marshal Pritchard, over a full head taller than anyone else at the station, as the passengers began to disembark. Pritchard’s, Ditch’s, and Idelle’s eyes searched for the mysterious Count Strobl.
“Who is she?” Ditch whistled, as a woman stepped off the train.
A number of women had already disembarked, but this particular female stood out dramatically from the rest. She looked to be in her early to mid-thirties, was of slightly less than average height, and possessed a remarkably beautiful face. In addition to extraordinary green eyes, she had pale skin, freckles, flaming red hair tucked under her bonnet, and a strikingly buxom figure.
Another feature that distinguished this woman from others in the crowd was the elegant, and clearly expensive, dress, hat, and matching parasol she sported. Such elaborate feminine attire might have been commonplace in New Orleans or Saint Louis, but was in stark contrast to what women in Atherton typically wore. In addition to its cost, the woman’s dress was very formfitting and exposed a great deal of her prominent bust.
The woman seemed aware that many of the men, and more than a few jealous women, had taken notice of her.
“Never seen her before,” Pritchard said.
“Would have remembered if I had,” Ditch said. “I can’t tell if she’s on the outside of that dress tryin’ to get in, or the inside tryin’ to get out.”
“Put your jaws back into place,” Idelle said, pinching Ditch until he winced. “You two clods act like you’ve never seen a girl before.”
“I’ve seen plenty of girls,” Pritchard said, “but none like her. She’s built like a burlap bag full of bobcats.”
The red-haired woman’s gaze stopped when it met Pritchard’s. She stared at him through emerald eyes. After a moment’s evaluation, she turned abruptly on her heels and headed toward the luggage car.
“Wonder what brings someone like her to Atherton?” Ditch said.
“Never you mind, Ditch Clemson,” Idelle said.
Photo by Denis Lynch
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SEAN LYNCH grew up in Iowa, served in the army as an enlisted infantryman, and spent almost three decades as a municipal police officer in the San Francisco Bay Area. During his law enforcement career, he’s been a motorcycle officer, firearms instructor, S.W.A.T. team member, sex crimes investigator, and homicide detective. Learn more about Sean at seanlynchbooks.com.