Free The Bride's Prerogative by Susan Page Davis

Libby confessed. “Go ahead and shoot a few rounds.”
    Gert shrugged as though it was nothing to her.
    “That’s a nice rifle.” Libby nodded at Gert’s weapon.
    “Hi got it off a miner. He’d gone broke on his claim and needed enough cash to get out of the territory. Someone told him the gunsmith might buy it.” Gert shook her head. “Of course Hi gave him more than he should have.”
    “Your brother’s got a soft heart.”
    “No, he didn’t like the look of the fellow. I think he wanted to make sure he got far away from Fergus.”
    Libby laughed. “I hope he didn’t give more than the gun was worth.”
    “Did I say that? He could have got it for less though.” Gert swung the Sharps up to her shoulder.
    Libby jumped at the sharp crack. To her, it seemed Gert fired as soon as the rifle reached a horizontal position.
    “Sorry,” Gert said. “We didn’t plug our ears yet.”
    Libby reached into the depths of her reticule once more for a wad of wool. Within a few minutes, they were taking turns firing their weapons. Gert aimed at the farther marks while Libby shot at the nearest.
    After firing six rounds in succession, Libby lowered the Peacemaker and exhaled in disappointment. She looked over at Gert and said loudly, “I’m just no good at this.”
    “I was watching. You’re getting closer. Remember what I told you last time—aim, steady, squeeze.”
    “I thought I was doing that.”
    Gert lowered the stock of the rifle to the ground. “Load up again, and I’ll pay closer attention, but I think you’re improving.”
    Libby noticed a woman walking toward them from the direction of the road. “There’s Mrs. Landry.”
    Gert swung around. “Sure enough.”
    “Hello,” Emmaline Landry called.
    “She lives out here, doesn’t she?” Libby asked.
    Gert nodded toward the nearest hill. “Yonder. Her man’s ranch backs up against Bert and Ethan’s spreads.”
    Emmaline trudged along holding her skirt up a few inches. She still wore her apron and had a smudge of flour on her cheek.
    “I misdoubt my eyes. What are you ladies doing out here? I heard shooting like a battle and thought I’d better investigate.”
    Gert laughed. “No fighting, Mrs. Landry. We’re just having a little target practice.”
    “Shooting? Whatever for?” The rancher’s wife looked at Libby. “Now, Gert I can understand. But you, Miz Adams?”
    Libby smiled. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve decided I no longer want to be helpless. Part of my husband’s legacy to me was this pistol. After what happened to Sheriff Thalen, I thought it was time I learned to use it.”
    Emmaline’s eyes darkened. “The other day, one of our neighbors had a bucket of milk stolen—bucket and all. Can you believe it? But what’s that you’re saying about the sheriff? We was at the funeral, and all I heard was he’d fallen and hit his head.”
    Libby looked at Gert, and Gert inhaled and pulled her shoulders back.
    “Sheriff Thalen didn’t bump his head,” Gert said. “He was murdered, and that’s the honest truth.” Emmaline’s jaw dropped. “No.”
    Libby nodded. “I’m afraid so, Mrs. Landry. We’ve no idea who did it, and so I asked Gert to teach me to shoot. If anyone comes creeping around the emporium at night, I want to be ready.”
    “That’s not a bad idea. Are you planning to do this again?”
    Gert looked inquiringly at Libby. “Maybe. If Libby wants to practice again.”
    “Could—” Emmaline looked over her shoulder toward the road and back again. “Could I join you? Micah’s got a shotgun I think I could handle.”
    “Sure,” Gert said.
    Libby smiled. “You’d be welcome. How about Thursday afternoon?”
    “Suits me.” Gert hoisted the Sharps onto her shoulder.
    “I’ll be here.” Emmaline caught her breath and lifted her skirts. “I ‘most forgot. I left bread in the oven. Thursday!” She ran for the road with her shawl and bonnet strings fluttering behind her.

CHAPTER 8
    C yrus Fennel was nearly