Free Cowgirl's Rough Ride by Julianne Reyer

“I don’t make love like something
you read in one of them papers. It’s gonna be rough and it’s gonna hurt.”
    His words rang in her ears. But she
didn’t care what he did to her. This was her guardian angel. The one who would
free her from this harsh and hopeless life. And she would go with him to the
ends of the earth; riding by day, camping around a fire at night, riding into a
hail of bullets.
    Brutal Bill was a legend in these
parts but he was so much more to her.
    Most of her years had been spent on
the farm, trapped, like an herb ground between pestle and mortar. In the twenty
summers she’d seen, the last few had been the worst. With only herself to tend
to things, the farm was falling apart. He was her ticket out.
    “Do what you will, good sir. Just
take me with you.” She pleaded while kneeling on the hard, degraded wood floor.
    He shifted his weight from one gun
holster to the other, the dry grit scuffing under his boot.
    “And what would I do with some farm
girl? I kill for a livin’ and the road is my home. That ain’t no place for a
girl.” He fixed her with a hard look, his gray eyes red from the dust.
    The elements had taken its toll on
his features; the skin on his cheeks was stained and sunburned. Crow’s feet
spread from the corners of his eyes. A scratchy shadow ran along his strong
jaw, though she could tell he normally shaved. Although his full lips were
cracked, she still wanted to kiss him.
    She looked at the floor, searching
for something to say to convince him.
    That morning she’d gone out to get
a pail of water when she noticed dust up the road. Even if she had anything of
value, the outlaws weren’t interested in robbing her. They were on the run and
they only wanted a place to hide. If her father were alive, she was sure they
would have shot him. The only reason they kept her around was for their own
personal entertainment.
    She thought she was done for. All
these years spent working her hands raw, just to be used and thrown away like a
dirty rag. As she faced death, she realized she didn’t want to go out as a
farmer’s daughter.
    So the three men had held her down,
ripping her dress, when one of them went flying across the room, shot through
the window. The boom of the rifle was deafening. The other two let go to reach
for their guns, but it was too late. The quick pistol shots sounded like a
single bang and the outlaws both jerked and spun.
    Then she looked up and Bill stood
in the doorway, pistol in one hand, rifle over his shoulder. Hell nor brimstone
could keep her from going with this man. She’d asked him to marry her on the
spot. He might have been convinced if she had defended herself. I wish I
still had Pa’s gun.
    “I can shoot,” she said, hoping he
wouldn’t laugh. “My Pa taught me to keep the wolves away. And I can cook.”
    “Can you, now?” He squatted down in
front of her, his gun belt and spurs jingling as he moved. “Well here, I wanna see
how you handle a real gun.”
    He pulled one of his handguns and
turned it, handle first, for her. Fearing a trick, she hesitated. But he nodded
his head, urging her to take it. “Go on.”
    She reached up and slipped the palm
of her hand along the smooth, pearl handle. It was an expensive looking gun,
much more ornate than her father’s simple weapon. Taking it in her grip, she
hefted the weight. It was heavier, too, but felt natural in her hand.
    A shadow passed in front of the
doorway. Even with the sun in her eyes, she could make out a man with a dust
cloth wrapped around his face, a gun in his hand; death was in his eyes. She’d
missed one of the outlaws in the chaos.
    Before she could scream, her arm
flew up and her gun fired.
    Heart pounding, she opened her eyes
and saw Bill halfway to standing, his other gun in his hand. The doorway was
empty except for dust and gun smoke swirling in the rays of light.
    “Well, now,” Bill said bemused,
holstering his gun. “The little girl can shoot. I just might