Badlands Bride. Cheryl St.John

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      Chapter Two

      Three bandanna-masked men in sweat-stained shirts and ill-fitting trousers pointed guns at the women exiting the coach. With their hats pulled low, the invisibility of faces and expressions was as threatening as the weapons. Two others in the same disguising attire sat atop horses. Another, this one barrel chested and short legged, held Mr. Tubbs at gunpoint on the ground.

      The grizzled old driver squinted from the bandits to the women, one side of his unshaven cheek jerking in a nervous twitch.

      “White women,” one of the three standing men said in awe. He wore a battered and wide-brimmed black hat.

      The tallest, standing near Hallie, jerked his gun barrel toward the back of the stage. “The bags.”

      The riders dismounted and lithely leapt onto the coach, unfastening the leather straps and tossing trunks and cases to the ground. Jumping back down, they opened the bags and trunks, pausing only seconds to shoot off resisting or locked latches.

      The bullets frightened Zinnia to hysteria. She threw her hands toward the sun and wailed.

      “Quiet!” The black-haired man moved forward and struck her with the back of his hand. Olivia couldn’t support her, and she wilted into an unconscious heap in the dirt.

      “Take what you want and go,” Olivia objected. “There’s no call to hurt women.”

      He yanked Olivia’s hair. She yelped, and her red mane tumbled across one shoulder. Grasping a strand in his leather-gloved fingers, he tugged her closer.

      She slapped his hand away and stepped back.

      “Open that pouch.” The man in front of Hallie, who appeared to be the leader, indicated her reticule.

      He stood too close; his eyes were black and unyielding. The men’s aggressiveness frightened her. She’d never seen women treated disrespectfully. This was what the papers called the untamed West. There was no law. No one would even hear the shots. They could die out here and not be found for days or weeks.

      Wisely, Hallie chose to open her bag and withdraw the contents. Three men darted forward, taking the other women’s possessions. At the same time, one climbed inside the coach.

      The leader stuffed Hallie’s money into his pocket. She swallowed her objections. It was only money, after all, and her life was more important.

      “You don’t cry.”

      Hallie stared into his black eyes, her heart jumping into her throat.

      “Do you talk?”

      She raised her chin without reply. He circled her slowly, keeping the gun pointed at her. Halfway around, she had to turn her head and wait for him to approach from the other side. The way he looked at her body sickened her and made her feel naked.

      “Lift your dress.”

      She took a step back. “I beg your pardon.”

      “You do talk.” He lowered the gun barrel to the front of her open jacket and nudged the material where her blouse buttoned. “Lift your dress, or I will.”

      Nervously, Hallie glanced at the others. The bandits searched Olivia and Evelyn’s bodies roughly through their clothing, and the women screamed. Stoically, rather than have this man touch her the same way, Hallie raised her skirt and petticoats to her waist.

      He squatted and patted her cotton-clad hips and legs with gloved hands. She clenched her teeth, nausea suffusing her insides.

      Beside her, Olivia cried out and sprawled on the ground. The man wearing the black hat straddled her. Her red hair spilled across the dirt, and her skirts bunched beneath her.

      “Wait just a gol-durned minute!” Mr. Tubbs cursed from his prone position.

      The leader, still in front of Hallie, paused with a hand on her calf. She could see plainly that the bandit on top of Olivia had no intention of stopping. The others stood watching.

      Hallie had a good idea of what that ruffian intended to do to Olivia, and it probably wouldn’t take long until the rest of them figured it was a fine idea and stopped being spectators. The leader, crouching before Hallie, bracketed one of her thighs with his gloved hands. With a strength born of terror, she kneed him in the face, knocking his hat off and releasing her skirts.

      He yelped and dropped the gun, reaching for his nose and scrambling for balance.

      Before he could stand, Hallie grabbed the gun and aimed it at him, securing both trembling index fingers on the trigger.

      Since the bandanna was still tied across his face, only the top of his head, his black brows and obsidian eyes were visible. Hastily he grabbed his hat, jammed it over his black hair and stood, bright red blood soaking through the bandanna. He backed away.

      “She won’t shoot,” said one of the others, now standing quietly.

      If she didn’t, one of them would take the gun away from her and she’d be in an even bigger fix. Before she could think about it, Hallie turned the gun toward the man on Olivia and squeezed. The weapon jumped in her hands, jerked her shoulders and set her off balance. Acrid smoke curled from the barrel and Hallie steadied herself. The black hatted man clutched his arm and backed away. “Kill her!” he shouted to the others.

      Hallie’s insides quaked and she waited for a bullet to impact with her skull. That shot had been a miracle. She could never shoot the rest before they killed her. A brief regret for the grief and shame she would cause her father and mother streaked through her head.

      “No.” The man with the bleeding nose raised an arm, his gloved palm halting the action. Across the distance separating them, their eyes met, and his penetrating black stare sharpened her already soul-piercing fear.

      He grunted a command. Hallie couldn’t tear her gaze away. If he’d told one of them to shoot her, she’d never see the bullet coming. Surprisingly however, the men gathered their stolen goods and mounted the horses.

      With a СКАЧАТЬ