Much Ado About Madams

by Jacquie Rogers

  He ambled. Growing more frustrated, she barely held back the tears that theatened. Reese could already be dead! “You can go faster than this. Git up!”

  Midas galloped past her on the horse.

  “Oh!” She kicked the mule hard. He moseyed. She could barely breath from desperation, and this...this animal just wouldn’t go any faster. She kicked him and slapped him on the behind. He flinched a bit, but didn’t speed up.

  “Run, you stupid animal! I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.” She kicked and slapped him again, to no avail.

  Ten minutes later, the wagon passed her. Titus drove and Gus rode shotgun, and all seven ladies had piled in, too.

  Tears broke through her firmest resolve not to cry. She screamed at the mule and kicked him again. His gait remained the same. Why, oh, why, did this stupid mule even exist? He’d be bear food by tomorrow, she vowed.

  Just then he lurched to a stop, jarring her bonnet over her eyes. Piffle, piffle, piffle! She yanked off her hat with one hand and grabbed the hatpin with the other. She tossed the worthless bonnet on the ground, grabbed the reins and the saddlehorn with her left hand, and jabbed the hatpin right in the mule’s butt.

  Nearly unseated, she hung on for dear life. The mule raced fast as the wind. Lucinda flopped around like a sack of loose flour and watched the ground speed by.

  She passed the wagon.

  She passed Midas.

  The cinch loosened and the saddle slipped to the right. The mule raced nearly as fast as Lucinda’s heartbeat. She clamped her thighs as tight as she could and gripped the pommel until her knuckles whitened. The ground flew by so fast that it was nothing but a blur. She dared not look, knowing she’d surely be killed if she fell off. Her muscles ached but she certainly would not pull the mule to a stop, even if she thought she could.

  Rounding a bend, she grabbed his scraggly mane and hide, or whatever she could grasp to keep from toppling off. The saddle slipped even farther to the right. Instinctively, she pressed into the left stirrup to right herself.

  Just as she managed to get back on top, the blasted mule locked all fours and skidded to a stop, hurling both her and the saddle over his head. She and the saddle bashed into a tree. Stunned, she watched the devil-possessed mule trot back to town.

  When her wits returned, she flexed her neck, arms, and legs to see if she could still move. They all ached, but they all functioned. The scattergun still stuck in the saddle scabbard, and the ammo pouch hadn’t been lost, either.

  Men’s shouts and jeers came from nearby. It must be the lynch mob! She grabbed the gun and a handful of shells, inserting one in the chamber as she ran toward the noise. Her legs tangled in her skirts when she tried to jump a log and she fell flat on her face, skinning her chin and both palms.

  She spat out dirt and pine needles. Exhausted, she dragged herself to her knees—when she spied them tossing a rope around Reese’s neck. Someone had to do something.

  Reese and the horse faced away from her. One man held Buster’s reins, another adjusted the noose. The rest of the scoundrels milled around, waving their rifles in the air and shouting disgusting words. The men were congregated in a canyon, most of them under an old tree with a big branch—a perfect hanging tree.

  She gathered her bothersome skirts and crawled forward, until she got to the very last tree over the rowdy mob. Pointing the heavy gun at them as best she could, she yelled, “Cut him loose, or I’ll shoot!”

  The man with the rope yelled, “What do we have here? One of McAdams’s precious whores?”

  Lucinda set her mouth and took aim, trembling.

  He guffawed and slapped his knee. “We’ll have a little piece of you after we take care of business.”

  In no mood to negotiate, she squeezed the trigger. The scattergun exploded.

  The recoil blew her head-over-teakettle, and her other shells landed in the dirt. She sprang back up and peeked around the tree.

  Men and horses ran everywhere. Reese lay crumpled face-first on the ground—covered with blood, the rope still around his neck.

  I killed him! She threw the gun down and ran, not caring what happened to her. Reese needed her. Gunfire sounded all around. Just as she reached him, something hit her in the backside and catapulted her on top of him.

  At least I won’t die a virgin, she thought as the black curtain of oblivion fell over her.

  Chapter 16

  Hearing the crack of gunfire, Gus and Titus leapt off the wagon before it even came to a stop. Fannie jumped off and watched as the two men disappeared in the draw beside the road. She knew they headed into certain death, and mild-mannered Gus had no business being involved with these dangerous antics. Hell, he didn’t even own a gun.

  “Be careful, damn your hides!”

  Neither one of them heard her, but it made her feel a little better.

  The ladies gathered around her and fretted as the men made their way to Midas, who held a prime position over the vigilantes. But not prime enough for one man to take on a dozen.

  “You all got your derringers loaded and ready?”

  The ladies nodded.

  “C’mon, let’s get rid of some business!”

  Fannie led the charge down the hill, all of them screaming like banshees.

  “For Pete’s sake, shut up!” yelled Titus.

  Fannie motioned for the ladies to fan out. “We got you surrounded!” she called out to the gang of men below. “Fire, ladies”

  Derringers sounded like lethal popcorn. The lynch mob scrambled for cover behind any twig or rock they could find. Fannie puffed her chest with pride. They’d get every one of those dirty bastards.

  A shot rang out, and a hunk of tree splintered just barely above her head. She gulped. Maybe this wouldn’t be so easy, after all.

  Rounds flew from both sides. A vigilante fell to the ground, holding his leg. Another dragged him back behind a scruffy sagebrush.

  “Keep your heads down,” Gus yelled, only to have a shot zing by his ear and ricochet off a boulder.

  “Gus Stone, get your scrawny ass down before you get hurt!”

  But he didn’t heed her advice. A more stubborn man, she’d never met. What the hell did he think he could do?

  “Hold your fire!” Gus held a stick with his stained white neckerchief tied to it. They blasted the stick in two.

  “Dammit all! I said hold you fire!”

  Fannie sucked in her breath when they did as he ordered. She smiled at his victory. Somehow, he seemed very much in command—not the same Gus that had hung around the Comfort Palace for the last year or so.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” he shouted. “You pick your best man, and I’ll draw against him. If I win, we take McAdams and the girl. If you win, you can have them both.”

  Fannie crawled over to him. “What in the ever lovin’ hell to you think you’re doing?” she hissed.

  “Getting us out of a no-win situation, ma’am.” He pulled her close and gave her a downright eye-popping kiss. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  He stood, still hidden behind the tree. “I’m coming down, now. If any one of you so much as wiggles your trigger finger, my partner here, who was a sniper in the war, will take out the man with the blue coat. Do you understand?”

  No one answered. Fannie chewed her fingernails, then hid her face. She damn well wasn’t going to watch him get himself blown to smithereens.

  “Do you understand?”

  The man in the blue coat yelled, “Yeah. We got it.”

  Gus made his way down to the bottom of the draw and walked as straight and tall as any king. “One of you loan me a sidearm.”

  The bastards laughed. Laughed. Those bastards! Her Gus was too good to laugh at.

  One of them laid a pistol down on the ground. Gus strolled over, his eyes taking in every movement. “I’m going to check the cylinder for ammo, then, when I’m satisfied, you pick your man and I’ll kill him.” He kneeled and retrieved the pistol, spinning the cylinder. He dumped the b
ullets into his hand, looked at them, then reloaded and nodded once. “I’m ready.”

  Fannie bolted from behind the tree, but Titus grabbed her and pulled her back. “He’s a man, Fannie. Let him do a man’s work.”

  The man in the blue jacket came forward with a scrawny looking fellow. “This here’s Amos. He’s killed nine men, and you’ll be number ten.”

  “I reckon he’ll just have to be satisfied with those nine.” Gus jammed the borrowed Colt into his belt and paced to the right. “Anytime you’re ready, waddy.”

  Amos went for his gun. Gus shot him and three others who’d drawn their weapons in no more than a second. Fannie couldn’t hold back the tears.

  “Holy shit!” The man in blue ran for his horse, waiting on the other side of the draw. “It’s Lightning Blackie. Put your guns away, boys, we’re leaving.”

  Fannie couldn’t breathe or think, but those damnable tears kept falling. Gus was still alive, and he’d saved both Reese and Miss Sharpe—at least he did if they were still alive. She’d been so worried about Gus, she hadn’t even noticed.

  Gus climbed up to her, and she threw herself into his arms. “You did it, Gus Stone, and you’re still kicking!”

  “Quit those tears, woman, you’re getting my shirt all wet.”

  She wiped her face on her sleeve and smiled at him. “Let’s go tend to Reese and Miss Sharpe.” She held his hand tightly as they walked to the tree.

  Midas knelt beside Reese who had sat up, trying to get his bearings from the looks of it. Reese looked up at Gus. “Thanks. I’ve never seen such fine marksmanship.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Who the hell’s Lightning Blackie?”

  Gus made a low sweeping bow. “Augustus Blackstone, ninth Earl of Chippenham, at your service.

  Fannie snorted. “Sure, and I’m the fuckin’ Queen of England.”

  He smiled at her and hugged her to him. “She doesn’t have your courage, I’m sure.”

  * * * * *

  Something gentle brushed her cheek. “I’m so sorry they hurt you.”

  It’s Reese. I love him so much, why does he have to be so kind? It only made matters worse, even in her dreams.

  “I’ll get him, Lucinda. He won’t hurt you again. Ever.”

  The sound of footfalls echoed on the plank floor as she heard the door open and close.

  Please don’t leave me now.

  The door opened again, and she heard someone approaching her.

  Someone’s washing me, probably preparing me for burial.

  “Miss Sharpe, wake up!” Holly’s voice echoed in the distance.

  Why does she want me to wake up if I’m dead?

  “Come on, talk to me. You have to wake up!”

  Maybe she’s dead, too.

  “Miss Sharpe, you simply have to wake up. Fannie said to wake you up, and you know that woman can throw a fit when things don’t go her way.”

  So Fannie made it to heaven, too. God certainly has a sense of humor.

  “I’ll go ahead and brush your hair, then. Getting those weeds and stickers out of this rat’s nest oughtta raise anybody from the dead.”

  Lucinda felt the sting of a single hair tugged from the nape of her neck. “Ouch!”

  “You’re awake.” Holly gently patted Lucinda on the cheek. “Open your eyes, Miss Sharpe.”

  Lucinda put every effort into raising her eyelids, still not sure if she even could. She saw a massive oak bedpost and tried to remember where she’d seen it before. “My room.” She was lying on her stomach on her bed.

  “Yes, you’re in your room at the Comfort Palace.” Holly moved into view, a broad smile on her face and her hands clutched to her breast. “I have to go tell Fannie. Stay right here.”

  Lucinda nodded. Pain seared her behind, and she remembered that Reese had been the victim of a lawless lynch mob. Was he dead? She had to know if she’d followed in her mother’s footsteps. “Reese—did I kill him?”

  But Holly had already left.

  A few minutes later, one of the twins entered the room carrying a bag. “We need to check your wounds and get that buckshot out.”

  “Which one are you?”

  “Titus.” He took tweezers, a wicked-looking knife, and several cloths out of the leather pouch he carried.

  “What wounds? And what buckshot?”

  “You were shot in the...uh, behind when you ran to Reese.”

  Shot in the...she’d no more let him check her there than, well, she couldn’t think. But he had another think coming if he thought she’d bare her…her…Perish the thought.

  “Don’t you dare touch me,” Lucinda hissed at Titus. He had the nerve to want to see her backside. She simply wouldn’t, couldn’t, allow it. As she stuck out her hand to push him away, she winced in pain. She felt all right as long as she didn’t move, though.

  “Miss Sharpe, I know what I’m doing. I had medic duties in the war—I’ve seen lots of wounds like yours.”

  “It’s not decent and I won’t hear of it.”

  “Your wounds may putrify if the buckshot stays in there. We have to clean them.”

  “Where do you get ‘we’? ‘We’ refuse to show our backsides to you or anyone else, so forget it.” She buried her face in the pillow.

  At the sound of footsteps out the door she triumphantly cast a glare toward his retreating figure, his hands raised in surrender. “You may fetch a doctor from Silver City tomorrow.” Even baring her backside to a doctor would be humiliating enough. She wouldn’t even consider letting Titus do such a deed.

  He stuffed his supplies back into the pouch, then stood and stared at her for a moment. Then he pivoted and stomped out. “Stubborn damned woman,” he muttered as he slammed the door behind him.

  “You don’t need to curse!”

  No sooner had she rid herself of Titus when Fannie marched to the bedside in all in a huff, wagging her finger in Lucinda’s face. She turned her head to face the wall, knowing it was a childish thing—no, a cowardly thing to do, but Fannie could be overbearing at times. She doubted she had the strength to combat her.

  “Are you aware that Silver City is thirty miles from here?” Fannie demanded.

  “Yes.”

  “And that it would take half a day’s ride just to get there, another day or so for the doctor to cut loose, and at least another half day for him to get to Dickshooter?”

  “I suppose.”

  “And by that time, you’d be so wrought up with the fever, you might die of pure-dee stupidity?”

  Fannie never had been overly tactful. Lucinda failed to come up with a witty response, so she remained silent.

  “Titus knows more about buckshot than any ten doctors. I’m calling him back in here, and I better not hear a peep out of you. Do you hear? Not one peep.”

  “No.”

  She heard Fannie leave, but knew if Fannie had anything to do with it she’d have to face the humiliation of a stranger examining regions that ought not be seen.

  Not two minutes later, she heard several footfalls tromping up the stairs. The door burst open and hit the wall, bounced back on Reese, who slammed it against the wall again, breaking the plaster.

  “What the hell are you thinking, woman?”

  “Oh, Reese, you’re alive!” Pent up tears rolled down her cheeks. She didn’t even care. “I thought I’d killed you.” She raised her arms, inviting an embrace.

  He bent over her, gave her a gentle hug and brushed a kiss on her cheek. “You bet I’m alive, and I’m still in charge around here.”

  “What’s going on?” Fannie barged in without so much as a knock. Reese lurched to his feet and smiled guiltily.

  Lucinda saw Fannie behind him, and Titus, too, carrying that ominous pouch of his.

  Not waiting for her to answer, Reese strode to her bed and ripped the covers from her. “Fannie, you hold her feet. I’ll hold her shoulders down.”

  Lucinda started to struggle, but the pain and Reese’s weight stopped her. She felt Fannie grab hold of
her feet.

  “Titus, it’s safe. Come on over and start picking.”

  A tear of shame escaped to join the tears of happiness sopping her pillow. How could he subject her to such indignity?

  “It’s all right, darlin’,” Reese murmured in her ear, “I just don’t want to lose you.”

  She breathed in his bay rum and leather, and remembered the last time she noticed it was in the Idaho Hotel. His voice both comforted and excited her, but the excitement was short-lived when Titus extracted the first bit of buckshot.

  She flinched against the searing pain. “Ouch!”

  “There’s really not nearly as much shot penetration as we thought, Reese. Her clothes and corset caught most of it.” Titus picked out another.

  Lucinda grunted, then gritted her teeth to prepare for the next one, refusing to lose her composure in such a humiliating situation.

  “Good,” answered Reese. “Less chance of fever.”

  Titus must have picked out a dozen or more pellets before he finally quit. Then he sopped up a cloth with alcohol and brushed it all over her backside and thighs. First it was freezing cold, then burned like the fires of hell.

  “Getting shot didn’t hurt nearly as much as this.” She tried to sound brave, but her voice wavered.

  “You two get out of here,” Reese told Titus and Fannie.

  Fannie cleared her throat. “You can let go of her now.”

  Lucinda’s heart skipped a beat when his weight lifted. She hadn’t realized how much this man had affected her. Weeks before, she’d realized she loved him. She ought to hate him the way he exposed her backside to another man. Still, he wanted her to recover, and he honestly acted like he cared.

  Reese replaced the bedcovers over her, ever so gently. “You can lie on either side. The wounds are only in the, uh, back.”

  Lucinda mumbled “Thank you,” barely able to talk at all with that big old lump in her throat. She rolled on her left side so she could face him. She winced when she turned a little too far, and it took a moment to find a comfortable spot.

  “Thank you, Lucinda.” He smiled and brushed a stray lock from her cheek. “Your impulsive actions saved my life, I’m sure. They’d have had me dangling by the time the rest of the crew got there.”