The Cowboy's Revenge (Ride Hard Series Book 1)

by Zoe Blake

  “We don’t need him, Clayton. We got this,” tossed back Ezra as he looked nervously towards the cabin where Emma was still laying low. The killing of the driver rattled him. Emma was right. They should have never hooked up with this crew. They were deeply in over their heads.

  As Toby started to throw the baggage off the coach, the first passenger, an elderly man, disembarked followed by a frail widow.

  As Ezra moved to assist the distraught widow, silently trying to reassure her it would all be fine. The elderly gentleman pulled open his white canvas duster to reveal a six shooter holster while a glimmer of metal bounced off his silk vest. A deputy marshal tin star.

  Pulling his gun, he fired off two shots, immediately wounding Sam and Red.

  To Emma it all happened in slow motion, like one of those flip books where the all the pictures together make it look like the object is slowly, awkwardly moving.

  The deputy marshal dove into the dirt, onto his back to shoot up towards Toby, hitting him square in the chest, just as Clayton raised his gun. Ezra threw himself in front of the widow, protecting her. Clayton fired one shot.

  Emma watched in horror as this sickening expression of shock and disbelief washed over Ezra’s face. Her brother fell to his knees, clutching his chest. Blood seeped between his fingers. Without thought, she ran out of the cabin, gun drawn.

  Clayton turned in her direction. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  Emma didn’t take her eyes off Clayton. Shouting to the marshal, “Go! Get them out of here! Now!”

  Not wanting to risk the rest of the passengers’ lives, the marshal grabbed the driver’s limp body and loaded him into the coach with the rest of the passengers before hopping onto the perch. Giving all four horses full rein, the coach barreled down the prairie road, leaving a large dust cloud in its wake.

  Still keeping Clayton in her sights, Emma inched towards her brother, lying still on the ground.

  There was nothing she could do. He was gone.

  “You killed him! You killed him! You bastard!” she shouted through her tears.

  “Yeah…and now I’m going to kill you. You little shit!” shouted Clayton as he cocked his gun.

  Emma pulled the trigger. Without thought. Without regret. He fell where he stood.

  ~*~

  Oh God! She had to think clearly. There would be time to grieve for Ezra later. At that speed the stagecoach would reach the next station within the hour. The law would soon follow. She couldn’t stay here. She had no money with no idea where to go. Her clothes were splattered with Clayton’s blood. Emma raised a fist to her lips, biting down hard on her knuckle, hoping the spark of pain would stave off her mounting hysteria.

  Wiping away her tears, she took stock of her surroundings.

  She could wait for the deputy marshal to return. Falling on his mercy…or she could take her chances and run.

  Running sounded like a better option.

  She had to think! The luggage! Emma anxiously fell to her knees in front of the pile of luggage Toby had managed to toss off the coach before getting shot. There were a few bedrolls and a saddlebag filled with an old pair of drawers and a half empty bottle of whiskey. She clawed through the pile with mounting desperation. She found an old confederate haversack with some biscuits and a few gold coins. It wasn’t enough. Leaning back on her knees, she scanned the horizon, almost expecting to see a line of horses racing towards her. Focusing back on the luggage, she realized Toby’s limp form was laying on top of what looked like a carpetbag. Suppressing a shudder, Emma pushed on his shoulder, rolling his body off the bag. Unbuckling the clasp, Emma gingerly touched the soft fabric of a folded up gown. Shaking off the feelings of loss and pain that threatened to overwhelm her, she dug through the bag finding a bible, a book of sonnets and at least one hundred dollars in gold coins.

  Quickly tucking the Colt and the old haversack into the carpetbag, Emma stood on unsteady feet. Closing her eyes, she took several deep breaths before moving to where her brother lay. Pulling the bible out of the bag, she read from Ecclesiastes 3:1-2. She never was one for church, especially after her parents’ death, but she remembered this verse from her school days. It would have to do. Reading the simple words over her brother’s body, Emma leaned down to give him one last kiss on the cheek. She couldn’t abide leaving him here but she had no choice. Deep down she knew he would have understood. Emma vowed to return when the dust had settled and learn where they buried him.

  Emma briefly thought about taking one of the horses in the corral, but then thought differently. The law could very well forgive her for killing a wanted man like Clayton but no one ever forgave a horse thief. Hefting the carpet bag on her shoulder, Emma followed a narrow path that seemed to lead to the Superstition Mountains, looming large in the distance. With luck, she would come across a small town or kindly homesteader.

  ~*~

  After spending a rough, lonely night sheltered beneath some mesquite trees with only the hard tack biscuit from the haversack for food, Emma headed out on the small path again. She had changed into a simple calico dress from the carpet bag. Thankfully, it fit reasonably well. That is…with one exception. The fabric stretched almost painfully tight across her more than ample bosom. Emma knew it was dangerous to walk about unprotected without her boy disguise but she had no choice. The clothes were ruined with blood. Plus, as far as the law knew, it was a young boy who got away, not a woman in her twenties. For now, she was safer as a woman.

  She had only walked about an hour when she saw a lone rider approach. Reaching into the carpetbag, she grasped the now comforting handle of her Colt, while still keeping it hidden.

  As the rider approached, Emma relaxed somewhat. It was a young boy, no more than fourteen.

  “Hello there!” he greeted her warmly as he hopped off his horse before it had even come to a full stop.

  “Boy am I glad to see you,” he said, grinning ear to ear. “Momma would have skinned me for sure if you had just come strolling into town!”

  The young man burst into laughter as he took off his hat to wipe his brow. Emma forced a smile, uneasy.

  At her continued silence, the boy leaned in to take a closer look at Emma. “You are Glendolene Rimmel, aren’t cha?”

  Emma just stared back.

  The boy waved his hand in front of her face. “Hello? Oh boy! What was I thinking! You’re probably done to death from thirst and this darn sun beating down on you!” He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a leather flask filled with water. Emma took it from him eagerly, gulping down huge swallows of cool water. The liquid almost painful as it hit her parched throat.

  “Thank you,” she croaked, realizing it was the first time she spoken since Ezra’s death the day before.

  “You are Glendolene Rimmel, our new school teacher, right?” the boy asked anxiously.

  Emma shook her head yes, unable to actually form the lie.

  The boy visibly relaxed. “Oh boy, am I glad! Momma has been making me trek back and forth from the station for three whole weeks now. Every day! We just about gave you up for lost!”

  The boy continued to chat away as he reached for the handle of the carpetbag. Emma reluctantly relinquished it. As he secured her bag to his saddle horn, she thought she heard the boy mention his name. Jed, she thinks, maybe, maybe not…he was talking very fast and everything else was moving so very fast. She missed her brother. She was tired. She was hungry. Everything about her seemed to just whirl and hum.

  Jed boosted Emma up into his saddle, before taking the reins. Walking the horse around, he made his way back home on foot, leading the horse.

  “You are going to love, Wickenburg, Miss Glendolene,” he prattled on. “Oh boy! Folks are going to be real excited the school teacher is finally here.”

  Emma closed her eyes and allowed the gentle swaying of the horse and rise and fall of Jed’s talking to sooth her like a bubbling creek.

  So she would pretend to be this Glendolene Rimmel f
or a few days.

  What’s the worst that could happen?

  ~*~

  Willow Brier, AZ - same day

  Jackson Horn turned his horse to the north and headed out. His friend Mason was no longer in danger. It was time to leave.

  As a gun-for-hire, he went where the money was good and the whiskey and women better. There was a Cattle Baron who needed to roust some rustlers and the owner of the Black Canyon Stagecoach line had been after him to track down a crew of robbers who had been hitting his line over the last few months. Horn had a reputation for relentless pursuit. Once on the hunt, nothing deterred him.

  He always captured his prey.

  Zoe Blake

  #1 Best Selling Author in Victorian and Historical Erotica

  We are all attracted to the forbidden. Addicted to the rush we get from reading something naughty...something kinky. We love to lose ourselves in the fantasy. The powerful lord who sweeps the lady away to his remote estate to ravish her. The cowboy who takes the sassy city girl over his knee to teach her a lesson. The devilishly charming pirate who seduces his beautiful captive. I write those erotic fantasies.

  Don’t miss these exciting titles by Zoe Blake and Blushing Books!

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