Rebel With A Cause. Carol Arens

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      Unless he caught up with the bank robber soon, he’d spend a long shivering night wrapped up in the rain canvas tucked away in his pack.

      It was a shame that life hadn’t led him to be a shopkeeper or a banker where chilly nights could be spent gathered around a comfortable fire with a friend or two. Bounty-hunting was cold, dirty and occasionally heartless work, but it paid better than any easeful occupation he’d ever heard of. Any occupation that was legal, anyway.

      “There’ll be a warm stall with extra hay in it for you, Ace, once we collect that five hundred dollars.” He tipped the brim of his hat against the wind. Damned if it didn’t just smell cold.

      The horse whickered, tossed his black mane, then dug his hooves into the turf. He stood still with his nose flaring at the wind.

      “What’s the problem, fella, smell trouble?” Zane scanned the horizon but saw nothing more amiss than the ink-stained clouds that seemed to darken while he watched.

      He listened, straining to hear over the hiss of blowing grass. He recognized the gallop of pounding hooves an instant before a horse burst over the rise a few hundred feet to his left.

      “Looks like luck just fell right out of the sky, boy.” He stood tall in the stirrups, gazing hard at the horse that flew over the prairie as if it was being carried along by a wicked gust of wind. “Unless I’m wrong, Wage just lost his mount.”

      Capturing the runaway horse would be wise but would cost a good amount of time. Wage could only have a few miles on him and Zane wasn’t about to let that advantage slip away. If it came to Wage walking to the nearest town in mud up over his ankles, tied to the knot end of a rope, the man was only beginning to collect his due.

      The criminal couldn’t be behind bars soon enough. With one more bank robber put away, it would be safer for younglings to go along with their mothers to the bank. They’d never have to hear a shot crashing through glass. They’d never feel the jerk backward when—

      Zane shook his head, scattering the thought. He touched the worn lace ribbon holding his hair in a neat tail at his collar. The sooner Wesley Wage was put away the sooner he’d have his pocket full of money.

      “Let’s get him, boy.” Zane leaned forward. That was all the urging that Ace needed. The horse cared for nothing more than to run, to let his mane and tail fly straight out in the wind.

      At the rise of the first hill Zane ripped the ribbon from his nape and let out a shout. He liked the thrill of cold freedom whipping his hair as much as his horse did.

      Racing across the little valley made it feel as though Ace had wings instead of hooves. Fresh air filled Zane’s lungs and cleared his brain of lingering memories.

      Wage ought to be close, likely over the next hilltop. Coming over the ridge, he scanned the land falling away swiftly before him.

      “What the hell?”

      He almost stopped Ace in his stride to be sure of what he was seeing, but if his eyes weren’t playing tricks he’d need to push the horse to its limits.

      He blinked … twice, then leaned low and loose beside Ace’s great muscular neck.

      Wage was no more than a few hundred yards away, but he wasn’t alone. There was a woman dressed in … yes, by heavens … in her underclothes trying to keep Wage from stealing her horse.

      She wasn’t likely to win that battle, being only three-quarters of Wage’s height and half of his weight. Given Wage’s meanness he was likely to lean down from his place on the saddle and hit her to break her grip on the horse’s bridle.

      The woman’s petticoat caught in the wind and whipped up to slap her chin. She struggled with it and tried to keep hold of the horse at the same time. Zane figured he must have dust in his eyes. It looked like a piece of her undergarment had come loose and begun to whip and whirl about the horse’s hooves all on its own accord.

      Damned if the woman didn’t let go of the bridle to scramble after the bit of whatever was about to be stepped on by the horse.

      Wage, not one for missing an opportunity, took that instant to give the horse a hard kick. The pony lurched forward then galloped double-time toward the west.

      With massive clouds dimming the light, Zane nearly missed seeing the woman’s mouth form a perfectly pink circle of surprise when Ace galloped past her.

      Guilt squirmed in his conscience for hightailing on by like that. It couldn’t be noble to leave a lady stranded so far from town in her underwear, not with one hell of a storm ready to strike the earth like a hammer.

      He glanced back to see her clutching the odd white bundle that she had been chasing. Setting his sights on Wage again, he noted the outlaw was still a good distance in the lead, but losing some ground to Ace.

      One fat, chilly raindrop smacked him on the cheek. It wouldn’t be long until this whole area turned into a mud puddle. He could likely reach Wage before that happened. With Ace in his stride, the other horse might as well be walking.

      The bit of worn lace that he had yanked from his hair slapped his thumb.

      He sighed hard. Heat skimmed his lips. He sat up slow and leaned back in the saddle. Understanding the unspoken command, the horse slowed to an impatient trot.

      “Hold up, boy.”

      Zane watched Wage disappear over the next hill. His whole body and soul itched to be on the run after the outlaw. With a sour lump in his gut, he turned to look once more at the stranded woman.

      Damned if she didn’t look like an abandoned angel with her petticoat flapping and fluttering. Blue bows on her underwear caught the wind and looked like a passel of butterflies whirling wild. Through it all, she clung tight to that squirming … animal? … in her arms.

      Zane tied the ribbon in his hair then turned Ace’s head about.

      Missy’s mouth hung open in disbelief. It was surely an unbecoming gesture that her mother would reprimand her for if she could see it.

      Suzie would swoon in pure delight, though, when Missy wrote home, describing the vision bearing down upon her with his black coat tails flapping like the wings of some great dreaded bird.

      The hooves of his huge horse pummeled the ground. Clumps of sod, ripped from the soil, flew about. The earth trembled, bringing her hero closer.

      He slowed his animal to a trot. She watched the man’s mouth move. He might have spoken a colorful word. Indeed, he appeared to have uttered a whole string of them. If only she could have heard over Muff’s snarling and snapping.

      The coat settled over his thighs when he stopped in front of her. The horse’s dark hooves danced and pawed as though it longed to keep running. She managed to snap her mouth shut, but her eyes popped wide open.

      In her whole sheltered eastern life she’d never seen a man like this. The West rode wild in his smoky brown eyes. Black eyebrows slashed across his forehead like fired bullets. This was a man of adventure!

      He slid from his horse in a smooth, muscular leap. The tails of his coat rippled and snapped in the wind. Missy’s heart felt like a moth battering at a lantern.

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