Wilde-Fire: Wonder Women 0f The Old West (Half Breed Haven Book 1)

by A. M. Van Dorn

  Darrow turned around a second after the bullet missed him. He quickly scooped up his remaining ammunition and his holster and ran down the stairs. Once he got to the bottom floor, he headed out the door towards Cassie.

  Honor noticed his hasty exit from the hotel in pursuit of her sister. Not about to let that happen, she tightened her grip on her gun and prepared to leave the barbershop in which one of the walls was smoking from the fire on the other side of it. As she took her first step, she looked up and noticed that a woman was standing right in front of her. Honor’s eyes were in the process of going wide when a fist snaked out and drove itself into her forehead, sending her reeling.

  ***

  Cassie ran towards the town’s feed shop. She didn’t hear any more gunshots, so her plan must have worked. She felt relief that bullets were not being shot at Honor or at her … yet. With haste, she dropped behind a barrel standing next to the steps of the feed shop. It looked as if it had been standing sentry since the time of Moses, due to its dilapidated condition, but it was the best cover available at the moment.

  Looking back, the glare of the fire made it hard to see the barbershop. Following a quick scan of her surroundings, her attention was drawn to movement on the other side of the street. She pulled her gun up eye level, to the top of the barrel waiting for the next flash of movement.

  Meanwhile, across the street, standing in the shadow of a chipped and faded Indian totem pole someone had once erected outside on the porch of an abandoned tailor shop, Darrow watched her, working to aim his gun on her, but a clear shot proved elusive.

  “Move, bitch!” He growled, fidgeting in his hiding place. “Just let me see your eyes.”

  Darrow continued with his frozen posture, fearful he might give his position away. All of a sudden, there was a huge crash emanating from the direction of the barbershop. Unaware she had just heard the floor of the water tower giving away beyond the barbershop to Cassie it sounded as if a building must have surrendered itself to the flames and collapsed!

  “Honor!” Cassandra yelled from her position.

  The sound of the collapse frightened her. “What if that was the barber shop?” she thought. Cassandra didn’t make mistakes too often, but when her family was concerned, all bets were off. She immediately raised herself up above the barrel to crane her neck for a better view, hoping to determine the fate of the barbershop. This mistake was greeted to the sound of a shot ringing out.

  Unseen to her, while she was distracted, Darrow had vaulted from his position by the totem pole and had taken up a better protected position behind a bench that had been turned on its side long ago. The bullet missed, but hit the disintegrating barrel and shattered it. Cassie fell back, the metal ring that tightened the barrel splitting and cutting her in the face. Grunting, she quickly ran her hand over her new cut which ran across her right cheekbone. The flash from the gun had drawn her attention, though, and now, she knew it came from right across from her. Still on her back, she raised one of her guns and shot in that direction and in one fluid motion, jumped up and fired a second shot towards the spot as her feet carried her further down the street away from her sister.

  Darrow felt the impact of two bullets burrowing into the bench. He stayed behind cover and after Cassie fired off her last shot, he stood up and spied the blonde-haired woman running further down the street. Leaping over the bench, he gave chase.

  CHAPTER 5

  * * *

  Catalina sprinted from underneath the wagon. Though she knew she had hit the man, she also knew that it hadn’t been a lethal shot. Before her, a few inches from her new position, the prostrate form of one of the earlier cuffed men had roused to life. He was crawling towards the pistol that he must have dropped when he fell to the ground. Catalina pointed her gun immediately and as she came close, he froze in place for a moment before slowly rising to his knees and raising his hands in the air.

  “Hey sweetheart,” he said, exhaling a long breath. “Avery surrenders, no problem.”

  “Talk about provin’ some people really are smarter than they look! On your feet, hombre,” Catalina yelled at him.

  Avery sighed again, struggling to get to his feet. “C’mon, sweetheart. Help an old fella up,” he said.

  The long exhale of breath was spreading quickly. Catalina found herself sighing, too, as she decided to help him. “You sure didn’t look so old a minute ago,” she grinned.

  She crossed over and knelt to reach for his gun. As her hand fell around it, however, she was surprised to recognize it as Lijuan’s. Turning her head towards the outlaw inquiringly, she dropped her sister’s gun as she was knocked back off her haunches by a sudden stinging in her eyes. For a second, she couldn’t process what had happened and then she knew. The bastard had thrown a hand full of dirt in her eyes. Even now, she could hear his footsteps moving away from her at a dead run.

  Catalina couldn’t see anything! Cursing, she quickly got up and wiped her burning eyes. Her right eye had taken less of a hit and was clearing first and out of it, she saw the scoundrel—Avery, as he had referred to himself—making a sharp right turn into the second nearest alley, the first being blocked by a piece of timber that had fallen from a roof. She started running too, even though her left eye was tearing up, forcing her to keep blinking to get it to clear.

  Reaching the alley quickly Catalina was able to see Avery turn right at the end of the alley. Pursuing him, she found they were running down the first alley heading back towards the street. Ahead, she saw him give a mighty push to the old piece of timber partially blocking the way. With a crash, it gave way, and he bolted to the right. She was running as fast as she could up the alley when suddenly she heard the sound of a tremendous crash in the direction of the water tower. Before she could even begin to wonder what had made the noise she burst clear of the alley, her face erupted in pain from the sting of a punch to her face that laid her flat on her back.

  In the split second before she blacked out, she realized that he had stopped running to lay in wait for an ambush.

  ***

  Avery stood above Catalina’s unconscious form, nudging her waist with his foot. When he failed to see any reaction, he gently kicked her again. He saw her gun next to her, on the ground and kicked it away into the darkness. A quick glance around confirmed that nobody was in sight. The burning buildings to his left created shadows everywhere. Looking down at Catalina, an evil shine seemed to spread across his face. Darrow wasn’t there to clamp the lid down on his desires, he thought to himself.

  The chase through the alleys had looped them back to where they had started. He quickly glanced around just to be sure that nobody was in sight. All he saw was the burning buildings creating shadows everywhere. He looked back at the shed underneath the tower. He had been startled by its partial collapse of the water tower while he was lying in wait for the Mexican but he had turned his attention back towards the ambush and had not seen the death plunge of one of his partners whose perforated body now crowned the pile of wreckage. Avery shrugged it off as he had a more important matter to attend to. So, he grabbed the unconscious Mexican’s legs and began to drag her close to the door of the shed housing the well about ten yards away.

  “Don’t worry, darlin’, I ain’t gonna kill ya. You’re too pretty,” he kept grinning as if she could hear him.

  He finally succeeded in dragging her across the threshold and into the shed, so they were both hidden. After dropping her legs, he wasted little time yanking her boots clear and throwing them to the side. He unbuttoned his pants, and slid them off before lying down next to Catalina’s limp body. With a hunger in his eyes, he ripped her shirt, exposing her brassiere. His eyes drank in her supple form, but suddenly, he froze as he looked at her stomach. In all his born days, he thought he had never seen anything like this. The woman had not a trace of fat over her mid-section. He was also stunned to discover her taut stomach visibly displaying six square muscles.

  He had to shake his head. He didn’t even know
women had such things. None of the jiggly wenches he had ever laid with certainly did. Eagerly, he rubbed his hands over them, excited by their firmness. Slowly, he turned his attention elsewhere as he walked his fingers down to her pants, intending to snap free the top button. He looked back at her face and gave a start, as her eyes were open and burning with a fury.

  He quickly attempted to cover her nose and mouth, but as he did, her hands went straight for his eyes. She pressed her fingers firmly against his eyeballs.

  Catalina was gasping for air, trying to get a clean breath. She was able to keep that up, though, as he let go of her mouth and grabbed her hands. He successfully pulled them away from his eyes right before he pushed her head back, causing it to strike the stone wall of the well. Avery, the son-of-a-bitch got up then and made his third attempt of the night to flee Beacon, but Catalina was already launching onto her feet. She caught him by the shirt and heaved him backwards. He fell towards her and she quickly sidestepped out of the way as he hit the ground—ass first. Sheepishly, he looked up at her, exhaling in a rush.

  “Please, sweetheart. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” he pleaded. “I’m just an aging man. I saw a pretty gir— “

  “SHUT UP! STAND UP!” Catalina shrieked at him as she stared down at him, her fury still raging in her eyes. She felt a heat growing around her that had nothing to do with the firestorm.

  Avery began to cry and even he didn’t know if the tears were a mixture of the shame for his disgusting advance or for not getting away with it. But for sure, he knew part of them was the fear that he was going to die at the Mexican woman’s hands. He had no choice but to plead for his life.

  “STAND UP!” Catalina yelled again.

  He did exactly as she instructed him, watching as she pulled out her bullwhip. She whipped it once to make it snap as she stared at the pathetic excuse for a man that he was.

  “Please. Please, don’t hurt me! Don’t kill me,” he pleaded again.

  His disgusting mouth, his dirty un-shaven face, Catalina thought, gave the man no chance of an acceptance of his apology. She cracked the whip again and striking him across the forehead, giving rise to a reddish welt almost immediately. He stumbled back in agony, and as he did, his legs ran into the well. He stopped, with his back pressed against it. Catalina regarded him again and slowly looked down at her ruined shirt for the first time as reality hit her.

  “Did you actually think you were gonna force yourself on me, you little piece of shit!? Answer me!” she yelled.

  When he said nothing outside of whimpering, the whip cracked a second time, hitting him above his other eye and breaking the skin instantly. As warm blood tricked into his eye, Avery’s body lunged back and he plunged, screaming into the darkness of the well.

  ***

  Honor Elizabeth had never been hit that hard by another woman. Ever!

  She fell down against the long-forsaken barber’s chair, knocking it over as she slid to the floor. Her gun went one way and her body went the other. Shaking her head, she looked up in time to see the one of the side walls suddenly mushroom with flames as the fire finally burned its way through from the other side. The heat assailed her but she didn’t have time to worry about that as her adversary casually strolled across the threshold.

  “Sacre bleu! It is good to know I can still throw a punch like I used to,” Jeanne Marie said, holding up her tight fists to show Honor. “Beat a woman to death with these once in Quebec City. She slept with my man … what was I to do, mademoiselle? But enough fun, au revoir.”

  Looking up at her enemy, Honor noticed that the barrel of a Smith and Wesson was being drawn up inches in front of her face. The woman with the French accent was about to thumb the hammer when Honor let fly a kick to her left leg, striking her in the knee. Her movement obviously shocked her adversary, as the jovial look on her face disappeared instantly.

  Honor bounded up then and pushed her back so hard her gun flew from her hand and clattered away on the flooring out of sight. The two women struggled with each other, trying to get the upper hand, when finally, Honor head-butted her. Jeanne Marie fell back as Honor Elizabeth quickly scanned the ground for either one of their guns, but both were lost in the shadows cast by the fire. When she turned around, Jeanne Marie had managed to pull out a nice-sized buck knife that she had strapped to her ankle. Honor, spreading her legs to prepare for a hand fight, shook her head and swished her tongue around in her mouth gleefully.

  “Oh, you French pastry, you surely just made a most grievous error, if that is your intention of how you are going to play this!” she teased the woman.

  She quickly drew her equally imposing knife from her waist, too, and she switched it back and forth between her two hands, showing her skill.

  “Think that impresses me, bitch? So what?! Your hands are good for more than just picking cotton!?” Jeanne Marie hissed.

  “I assure you that these hands have never picked an ounce of cotton, as I was fortunate never to endure the suffering inflicted on so many of my people,” Honor grimaced, still stylishly wiggling the knife in between her fingers. “These hands, however, have used this to put an end to many an adversary we Wildes have faced over the years. Shall we? Just say qui.”

  Jeanne Marie grunted. She threw her knife in the air and spun her body, and as the knife came down, she caught it and swung it at Honor. Honor, who was completely prepared, dodged the impressive strike, and then countered. She moved to the side and as she did, she moved the knife from her right hand to her trailing left and cut Jeanne Marie with a reverse uppercut swing. Jeanne Marie was surprised by the move and stepped back, holding her newly cut arm. Honor was in position. Jeanne Marie stepped up and without hesitation, moved towards her.

  They exchanged feints with each other until Jeanne Marie kicked her left foot in a savage upswing, striking Honor Elizabeth in the stomach. Honor doubled over, not expecting the kick. Jeanne Marie struck again, hitting her on her arm with a slicing motion.

  Honor’s eyes smarted as she felt the sting. She quickly looked at her arm and saw the sign of blood blossoming through the sleeve of her dress. She, however, licked her lips and shook her head with newfound fury. Her father Whip, had just given her the dress for her birthday and it was ruined with blood! Her hazel eyes fixed on the French woman sparking with vengeance.

  They were even, though—a cut for a cut—and the fire was now consuming the wall and starting to do a fine job on the ceiling above them. Honor noticed all this with a weary sigh. She wanted to leave the building, but pride wouldn’t let either lady leave. So she swung her knife once more and ripped Jeanne Marie’s shirt across her midsection. Jeanne struck back, attempting to do the same, but Honor Elizabeth moved to the side and caught her arm.

  The females were face to face now. Their eyes were matched up and their strength was even. It was diamond cut diamond. They tussled and moved each other back and forth. Jeanne Marie was able to get a little momentum and slammed Honor against the doorframe. Honor’s head was hanging out of the door, but she still had Jeanne’s arm, which made it possible to throw a backhand that knocked her back. The space between them was only three feet, and when Honor thought she could easily lunge at her adversary and land a deadly blow, a wooden beam from the ceiling lost its support and fell in between them. The building shook and the large dirty mirror that hung on the wall dropped to the floor. It remained upright, but half of the glass shattered and went flying out.

  The beam had fallen so that one end was pressing against the wall and the other to the floor leaving it at an angle. Honor fell back and Jeanne reacted quickly, dropping down in an attempt to strike from below angled fiery beam. She was aiming to stab Honor’s legs, but Honor moved too fast. She withdrew her legs and then used them to spin her body around and dropped to the floor, slashing out under the beam as well. Unfortunately for Jeanne Marie, she had caught sight of one of the lost guns visible in one the shards of the mirror and was turning to retrieve it when Honor Elizabeth cut Jeanne in
her Achilles tendon on both legs.

  Honor quickly bolted to her feet afterwards with her ears ringing from the shriek of agony from her foe who had crashed to the ground. The rumbling from above intensified too, the sound of an imminent crash rhyming with Jeanne Marie’s cries of pain. Immediately, Honor concluded that the building was seconds from collapse. For a heartbeat that seemed to span eternity, Honor Elizabeth looked down at the fallen French woman and came to a decision. She grabbed the woman’s ankles, making her own hands slick with blood and gave a savage yank backwards so that both of them tumbled out the front door as the rest of the ceiling came crashing down.

  For a long moment, Honor Elizabeth lay on the warm dusty streets of Beacon on her back and gasped for air. The smoke she had inhaled made her cough and she knew she had to get a distance from it. Slowly, she rose and dragged Jeanne Marie over to the other side of the street until they were free from the heat and smoke of the conflagration that had once been a barber’s shop—for the fine people of Beacon to get a shave and a haircut. She considered this as she gazed at the sight of the building engulfed in flames. Finally, she looked down and wiped the blood from her hands onto the back of the barely conscious Jeanne Marie’s shirt.

  “The cost of saving your wretched life will be one new dress,” she pouted through curled lips, both to a half-conscious Jeanne Marie and to herself. “… and not just any old dress. A nice one all the way from New York. Thank you very much!”

  CHAPTER 6

  * * *

  Cassie ran into the last building on the street, the one furthest from the fire that had now spread to over three quarters of her side of the street. She charged through what had once been a set of double doors but had long since rotted and fallen to the ground. Her mind was only vaguely aware of the bleached sign above the store advertising it as Nellie’s Bakery, while her ears picked up the telltale jingle of Darrow’s holster and spurs approaching fast.