Cowboy of Mine

by Red L. Jameson

  She followed him, only thinking of how to explain she wasn’t going to kill him. Her skirts were hell to get around when climbing the ladder, and she’d had to put the pistol in her pocket, but she did ascend that blasted thing.

  As a little girl, she’d watched Westerns with her dad the rare times he was home, sitting on his knee while the good guy chased the bad guy. The thought flashed through her mind as it had in the past: would she be the bad guy?

  The top of the car was slick with frost, making standing almost impossible, as was the constant gust of the frigid wind. But Bruisner was sliding to the other side when Meredith reached the top, pulling herself up. He pivoted his head, staring at her with huge dark eyes.

  “You can’t kill me over a dog.”

  “I’m not going to kill you,” she yelled over the sound of the rushing train whirling into a dark forest of boulders and trees set atop a black mountain.

  Bruisner stalled a little, looking over his shoulder at her, his gaze wary. “Why do you have a gun then?”

  “I’m sorry. I just—I’m sorry,” she said a bit deflated. “But you—you can’t talk to me like that.” Tears surfaced, her voice wobbled. Years of pent up emotions wracked through her body. She’d held in so much—all the hope to be loved had been repeatedly dashed, beaten down. She’d wanted so much for herself at one point. But somehow all that drive had been focused on proving herself to David, not even the love she might have felt for him at one time, but on earning love, earning worth.

  There, on the roof of a train’s car, she recalled Coyote viciously attacking Bruisner. The dog had thought she had worth, even though he didn’t know or understand what kind of a person she had become. He’d defended her, no matter what. And something about that, about Erva riding with her and becoming her friend, made her finally see she didn’t have to hustle any more. She didn’t have to work so hard at life, at love.

  “You never talk to a woman like that, you understand?”

  Bruisner nodded. “I—I know. I just...despite myself—”

  “Shut up. Shut up. You don’t—”

  “Where’s the gun?”

  The train jumped a little and Meredith faltered, trying to gain her balance by flailing her arms around.

  “Where’s the gun?” Bruisner, although he was unsteady too, had somehow turned and started to approach her. His blue eyes sparkled in the bright silver scythe of a moon.

  “Don’t come any closer.”

  He paused, his palms lifted as if surrendering. But he’d played this trick before.

  “Don’t you dare come any closer.”

  He was closer though. Only a few feet away and somehow gaining even more proximity.

  “Stop it.”

  “You promise not to kill me over your dog?”

  “I might if you keep getting closer.”

  “I don’t see the gun—I’m sorry. What was your name? I never got it?”

  “Didn’t you? When you were on my porch, you didn’t see my name on the sign?”

  He was two feet from her, his hands still outstretched. But his blue eyes bore into hers with a predatory darkness. He smiled slowly. “Such a clever woman. Yes, I knew your name before I even stepped foot on your property. I asked about you in that pathetic town you call home. Found out your name, Meredith Peabody. I have to admit, I’ve thought much about you.”

  She slunk a hand into her pocket, holding firmly to the pistol, while her other hand wavered in the air, hoping to purchase some kind of balance, while she backed away from her prey turned hunter. God, what had she just done? Why had she followed him? Just to apologize for having the gun in the first place?

  “Don’t step any closer.”

  “Pity. For such a clever woman to come out here all alone—it was such a stupid thing to do.”

  Icy dread filled her veins, made pumping her blood too sluggish and slow. Her body felt too heavy, too cold to do anything. He was right. She’d been so thoughtless. Her default process worked for shit.

  “On top of a train,” Bruisner towered over her, his hands not quite touching her, “how utterly romantic.”

  With her one free hand, she slapped him. It had been her left hand, and her aim had been off, hitting more his jaw than his cheek. The impact tore through her arm and burned into her shoulder.

  His head bobbed, and he swayed from the hit, but righted himself quickly. When he grabbed her arms, his smile snarled. “There’s the girl I know.”

  She cocked back the hammer of her gun, then fired before she knew what she was doing. He flung himself away from her, howling.

  Damn. God damn it, what had she done? She’d been so scared. She just reacted.

  He gripped at his arm. “You shot me.”

  She backed away another step, the frost causing her to slip a bit, though she caught herself. “You were threatening me.”

  He held his hand out, and the moon revealed a little blood, just enough to make a small Rorschach blot on his palm. “You shot me.”

  “I warned you not to talk to me like that.” The pistol was wedged in her pocket, and she couldn’t seem to extract it, no matter how panicked she felt. So she just leveled it at him through her skirts.

  “This is just a game, Meredith. I wouldn’t hurt you. But you shot me.”

  “Just a game? Just a game? You’re threatening me.”

  “I’d never do anything to hurt you.” He spat, touching his forearm, which appeared to be already finished bleeding.

  “Then why grab me?”

  “It’s just a game, idiotic woman.”

  She waved the gun at him. “This isn’t a game to me.”

  Suddenly, he smiled. “But you play it so well.” He lunged for her again. This time he slapped her across a cheek. The pain was so intense, such a shock, she wasn’t sure what had happened with time. But somehow she was on her back, the frost from the train’s metal roof penetrating through her clothes into her skin, burning her into action.

  He was on top of her, doing something with her skirts.

  “Where is that blasted thing?”

  He was trying to find the gun.

  She cocked back the hammer again and fired, even though she knew the gun was aimed away from him.

  He startled, and that gave her enough time to scramble away. But he grabbed her ankle and pulled her back. One of her legs slid between his, and she cocked her knee at his groin, as she haphazardly clawed at him with her hands, forearms, anything. She missed her intended target, but did manage to knee his upper inner thigh—sensitive area all the same. Covering his crotch with one hand, he growled and lowered his body on hers. His weight forced her to realize just how stupid she’d been chasing after him when she should be with Coyote, the loyal sweet dog.

  Somehow he had both her wrists in one powerful fist of his, the rest of his body crushing her into the freezing metal.

  She whimpered.

  “Oh, Meredith, don’t cry.” His one free hand cupped her cheek like a caring lover would. It only heightened her intense fear and dread.

  He was much more powerful than Meredith had ever considered, and she thought again of how she’d put herself in this place, flat under him, his legs, hands and weight pinning her in place.

  It was such an odd thought, but flittering around in her head she remembered in Junior High School not wanting to pin a butterfly to a corkboard for an assignment. She’d decided instead to take a lesser grade. But on the day the insect classification corkboard was due, she saw them, saw the stretched wide butterflies, permanently stuck in that fatal position by pins.

  The butterflies hadn’t stupidly flown into their captors’ hands. They’d probably never thought of their abduction and death, just flickered from one beautiful flower to the next, doing as a butterfly would when they were caught and killed.

  Hot tears flooded her eyes.

  “Ssh, ssh, sweetheart. I’d never hurt you.”

  But he was.

  “Mercy me, but you are a pretty, little thing
. So little.” The hand that had caressed her cheek dipped down to her neck, stretched over her breath-way.

  “Please d-don’t.”

  “Ssh.” He hushed her, gently yet threateningly wrapping his fingers around her throat. At the same time, she felt at her hip he’d begun to grow hard. “Just...just a little kiss.”

  She turned away from him.

  She could move her head!

  Inspiration caught with the realization. His one free hand took hold of her chin or tried to, but she bucked her head free somehow. Quickly turning her head side to side, avoiding his one free hand, she saw from her periphery he’d lost his patience. He was cocking his hand back, going to hit her again. That’s when she slammed her forehead against his face.

  Somehow she smacked into his nose. Hard. She hadn’t hit him straight on, but more at an angle, and his nose snapped.

  He roared and lifted his torso away from her, giving her enough time and distance to clamber away while he clutched at his face. She wiggled her way to the end of the car. Finding the ladder, she grabbed hold of one side.

  “You bitch!”

  Only thinking of getting away, she hefted herself over the edge and fell heavily to the platform below. At first she worried she’d lost her breath, but her lungs took a shaky inhalation. Her back and hip, she’d landed on, throbbed immediately, and she worried she’d broken something, but she struggled to her hands and knees and crawled her way through the train’s door.

  “Meredith! Oh my God!”

  Meredith looked up in time to see Erva racing toward her. Behind Erva, rushed two waiters and a man dressed in all black, whom Meredith suspected was the train’s security. In a blink, Erva held her close, examining her on the floor.

  “Oh my God, you’re hurt. What did he do to you?”

  Meredith fought to try to maintain some control and pointed up. “He’s on top of the train.”

  The man in all black opened his suit’s coat, revealing a harnessed pistol at his ribs. It reminded her of Jake, and how she longed for him. She’d been so wrong to push him away. If he didn’t want her, that was one thing, but she’d tried to protect herself from future harm, when there was no reason for it. A preemptive attack when there was only peace from Jake.

  The man in black flew out to the platform and away from sight, but Meredith heard him climbing the ladder.

  “We’ll catch him, brave miss,” the Russian waiter said as he neared with a very young man who nodded his head.

  Meredith hissed and drew her face away from Erva who’d been inspecting with her fingers.

  “Sorry,” Erva whispered, retracting her hand, holding it in the air. “I was trying to look at the cut in your lips.”

  “My lips are cut?” Talking hurt. A lot. Her lips felt too heavy, and where Bruisner had slapped felt fire-poker hot.

  Erva nodded. “On the side, between your lips there’s a little cut. Let’s get you inside our sleeper so I can look at you better, help mend these wounds.”

  Erva helped Meredith to her unsteady feet. Meredith shook and wobbled, clutching onto Erva with all her might as they walked slowly through the hallways to their sleeper.

  “Coyote?” Meredith’s voice cracked with strain and shame.

  “Come to the room, sweetie.”

  By not answering, Meredith understood that Coyote had probably passed away, while she’d been out trying to hunt down Bruisner like a mad woman. What had she been thinking? She hadn’t obviously. She’d almost gotten herself raped or killed or both. God, she had been stupid, just reacting like that, not thinking through the consequences.

  Ah, the story of her life...She knew this song too well, and it nauseated her.

  Finally, Erva opened the heavily curtained door to their sleeper. She shuffled Meredith to one of the long benches, then hurried back to the door, ensuring the curtains concealed them, while Meredith searched the room for Coyote, for blood.

  “Meredith’s hurt,” Erva said in a hushed tone.

  From the storage closet a huge man rushed out. Dark, handsome, raven-black hair hanging down his back. Meredith had seen him before. In her dream. He crouched in front of her, big hands extended out, but never quite touching her.

  “Baby girl, what happened?” His voice was whisper soft, but low, rasped with sentiment.

  His eyes—oh God—his eyes were warm brown and so familiar.

  “What did that asshole do to you?” Now his voice rumbled with anger.

  Meredith reached out and gently touched one of his furrowed black brows. It took a few tries, but finally she asked, “Coyote?”

  A loud knock rumbled through the sleeper. Coyote straightened, his fists beside him.

  “Miss? It is I, your waiter from before,” the Russian waiter said through the door.

  Meredith reached out and touched the warmth of Coyote’s arm, not quite believing it was really him. He turned and looked down at her, his eyes softening.

  “It’s all right.” She tried to smile, but, damn, that hurt. Flinching, she held her face with one hand, hating that her eyes were watering.

  “May I come in, miss?” The polite and kind waiter asked.

  She had to find out his name. Meredith nodded to Erva and Coyote.

  He hovered over her, gently wiped a tear before it fell. “Brave, brave girl.” He kissed the top of her head, and before Meredith’s eyes he morphed into the canine she knew, then curled under the bench seat opposite her, effectively hiding from view. And holy crap that was bizarre to see.

  He wasn’t hurt, but she had seen on his shirt-less torso a blue-purple bruise where the knife had been inserted. But thank God for...well, gods. Yes, she’d heard of Coyote before, the trickster god. But having met him, known he’d escorted her across a small section of Montana, and had defended her against a creep—okay, her mind was having a hard time with it all and her thoughts became fuzzy.

  Erva glanced in Coyote’s direction then opened the door.

  Instantly, the kind waiter winced when seeing Meredith, and she tried to cover her cheek. It still felt on fire and must have looked it.

  “May I come in?” he asked of Erva, glancing at Meredith too.

  Meredith nodded and Erva opened the door wider for him and the teenage fellow accompanying him. The tall waiter stifled in his careful steps and said something in Russian to the boy. The young man nodded once, then wheeled around and flew out of the sleeper.

  “I told him to get you some ice and something to relieve your discomfort.” He slowly sat opposite her, his hands had stretched out to her, but now were on his knees, his knuckles turned white. “I’m so sorry he hurt you, miss.”

  “Meredith, please call me Meredith.”

  “Did you catch him? Catch the man who hurt my friend?” Erva’s voice quaked with rage, the reediness a little eerie sounding.

  The waiter shook his head. “No. The lawman found no one on top of the car, but he’s searching the train now.” He glanced back at Meredith. “We’ll find him, miss, er, Miss Meredith. We’ll find him. We won’t rest until we do.”

  “Do you think he jumped?” Erva asked, her voice calming a tad.

  The waiter shrugged. “It is a possibility. And if he did, I hope he was skinned alive.” He glanced at Meredith. “So sorry to be vulgar, but no one should strike a woman, especially one such as you.”

  Meredith didn’t know what exactly that meant, but didn’t want to ask. Soon enough the young waiter returned with ice and some black pills that smelled horrid. Worried about whatever might be in the pills, Meredith discretely put them in her pocket, feeling the cold lines of the pistol there.

  What had she been thinking?

  For the next twenty minutes the waiters, especially the headwaiter, Nik, catered to her. Erva fluttering around, sometimes sitting close to her, cradling her in her arms like she was child. Meredith hadn’t felt so cared for since...Jake.

  Jesus, what had she been thinking?

  Nik gave her some vodka, and although she wasn’t a bi
g drinker, the alcohol went down smoothly and settled in her stomach, warming her. Ice helped her face feel better, but she wanted the men to leave, so she could place it on her butt. She’d fallen hard on it and wondered about the size of the bruise. Soon enough the waiters did take their leave, all talking about the search within the train for Bruisner.

  Left alone, Erva made sure the curtains to the car’s door was firmly in place. But before she was done, Coyote sprang out—morphing into his human form, wearing just leather leggings and a breach clout—and sat close to Meredith, cuddling her close. He kissed the top of her head again, and after the vodka she was too fatigued to keep her eyes open.

  She felt more than anything Coyote scoop her in his strong arms and place her on one of the beds. Calling out for Erva, she smiled as her friend came and whispered away all her fears, caressing her hair, while Coyote stood guard, one eye on her, it seemed, and one eye protectively watching everything else, like Jake. Oh, she had to get him back. She just had to.

  Chapter 15

  Mr. Baker, the vice president of the Butte Mining Company, gave a heavy sigh, lifting his rounded stomach and barrel chest. He wasn’t the tallest of men, but at one time had been a muscular bloke. Now, thanks to striking rich with the Butte Mining Company he was fattened up the way men did when life was more satisfying than anything they’d ever imagined. Jake envied him.

  They were talking in Mr. Baker’s large study in his mansion of a house. Everything was opulent to the point where it almost hurt the eyes. Even though it was midmorning, all the gas lamps were bright, making Jake want to shield his eyes. Or mayhap the light was so intense because it was the new fangled electric light bulbs.

  Jake never wanted lavishness for himself, thinking of how he liked things a wee bit simpler. Mayhap not as modest as Meredith kept her house. Nay, he’d like to shower her with gifts of strong yet comfortable furniture, and a bed that might not squeak so much. Ach, he shouldn’t have let himself think of her. Again.