Reaper's Justice Read Free Page B

could really work up to hating men.
    She waited for someone to tell her what to do. The faint hope that they’d forget about her in all the hustle of getting ready to ride persisted against the logic that said they wouldn’t. Still, when the leader turned his horse toward her, she couldn’t prevent a shudder. In her dime novels, this would be the time for the hero to show up on a thundering steed, guns blazing, and bandits expiring under the hail of bullets.
    She glanced around. No hero in sight. Just winter-killed brush and brown flatlands that rolled into distant mountains. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She wasn’t going to cringe, no matter how repugnant the thought of riding with the leader was. No matter how terrified she was inside. This time she wouldn’t lose her pride. It was very hard to live without pride.
    Another horse sidled up alongside the leader’s when he was about three feet away. It was the disapproving man in black.
    “I’ll take the woman up with me.”
    José put his hand on the butt of his revolver. “Your sacrifice is not necessary, Billings.”
    Billings glanced at her as he pulled his makings out of his pocket. “I wouldn’t call having my arms around a pretty lady a sacrifice.”
    “Then why should I give this pleasure up?”
    He opened up the paper. “Because if her people come after her, we’re going to have to split up and they’ll follow whichever horse she’s riding.” He shook some tobacco into the paper. “Doesn’t make sense to lose a leader over a piece of tail.”
    A piece of tail? Never in her life had Adelaide been referred to in that way. Never had she heard of any woman referred to that way. It was as shocking as it was disgusting.
    The man didn’t even look at her as she gasped and flushed. With efficient movements, he rolled the cigarette and struck a sulphur, lighting the tip. The acrid scent of cheap tobacco stung her nostrils as he snuffed the flame between his spit-moistened fingers. “It’s up to you.”
    José looked at her, then back at Billings. He didn’t take his hand off his gun. Tension thickened the air. The big man drew on his smoke. The end glowed a bright red. Adelaide reached into her pocket, automatically searching for her worry stone. It wasn’t there. The glow of the cigarette faded. The tension remained. She rubbed the thick wool of her skirt between her fingers. It wasn’t the same. It did nothing to stabilize her emotions.
    The chill of the wind replaced the heat in her cheeks as José nodded and pulled his horse up. “The woman will ride with you.”
    Billings kneed his sorrel forward. He held out his hand. She took a step back, every muscle protesting the movement, instinctively shaking her head.
    “You can ride sitting in the saddle or across it. Your choice.”
    It was a simple truth. She forced herself to accept it. And at least she had control of this, even if the choice was a tiny thing like how she would ride against her will. Control was good. It could be won and maintained in small measures. It should be held on to. She placed one of her bound hands in his. Her feet left the ground so fast she almost didn’t have time to throw her leg over the horse’s back. Her skirt wrapped in an uncomfortable knot around her legs as she struggled to find her balance.
    She tugged at the heavy material, yanking it out from under her thighs, trying to cover the scandalous amount of petticoat and calf that showed. In the process, she kicked the horse’s side. It did a little hop to the left. She grabbed the man’s waist. Nothing but hard muscle met her touch. He swore and glanced over his shoulder.
    “What in hell are you doing?”
    She dug in her nails as the horse hopped again. She wiggled her right leg. The maneuver ended in another kick that generated another protest from the stupid horse. “My skirt is tangled.”
    “Well, cut it out. You’re scaring Jehosephat.”
    She tried a tug-and-hop maneuver. This time the