The Daughter by C.B. Cooper (best value ebook reader .txt) 📕

rancher watched as the stranger lifted their head.
Black pools glittered and glared at him from within a feminine face.
The stranger spoke, "She listens to you no longer. Girl, get your dress on, then go to the last stall on the left. There's a black horse there, you stay with him until I fetch you."
The girl, absolutely mortified by what the woman had obviously witnessed, snatched up her clothes and scampered gratefully down the isle, retreating into the dark.
The rancher, completely outraged, demanded once again, "Who are you!"
The woman glared at him, her lips pulling back. "Right now, I'd say I'm your worst nightmare."
"You take your ass on out of my barn and get off my property. Now!"
The rancher about hit the roof when the young woman simply continued glaring at him. "Your done giving orders around here... Isaiah

."
Isaiah froze, his wide eyes narrowing, "How do you know my name?"
Angel took a step forward, speaking calmly, softly. "Oh, I know all about you, Isaiah Fisher. I know of all the things in which you don't speak. Secret things. Dark things.
The man spit and sputtered, "This aint none of your damn business!"
"Now, that’s where your wrong, Isaiah. It is my business, and I take my business very seriously. And you and me— we got business."
His fists clenched at his side, "Go to hell!"
The young woman's smile slightly widened, "Not just yet. In the mean time… why don’t you take me to your wife."
In a fit of rage, he threw the belt to the ground. "You fucking bitch! Get off of my property. Now!"
In a flash, the woman's smile disappeared, her coal black eyes catching the light, the flames illuminating, dancing from within them. Her voice came low, but deadly clear. "It's time for you to shut up."
The rancher felt the cold hand of terror rake it's fingernails up his spine. Shivering, he screamed again, more out of fright than anger this time. "Fuck you, you fucking cunt! You have ten seconds to get out of my barn before I call my men."
Angel stepped towards him, lifting the shotgun in her right hand as she walked.
The rancher backed away until his shoulders were pressed against the wall.
Angel stood before him, twin barrels nudging his clenched lips, pinning his head to the cold wood. "Open up," she ordered.
The rancher shook his head frantically, sweat pouring down his face as he stared into inhuman eyes.
She lowered the gun to her side as she stepped forward. Ever so slowly, she tilted her head to the side and brought her face to his, "I've seen your thoughts…" she whispered.
Her voice was light and lyrical, but each word cut like the edge of a sharp razor, ran slowly upon his skin. "I know the images that float through your mind when you look at your daughter, Isaiah. Incestuous images. She's so young, so beautiful… sooo innocent. So much like her mother. Her real mother. Not that imposter who shares your bed at night. "
Isaiah turned his head away until the side of his face scraped against the rough wood, but he still couldn't escape the sickening truth behind her words.
"It's that innocence that you seek, and every day it grows harder and harder for you to resist. It wouldn’t have been long before you took what you wanted. Before you killed her completely with your depraved love."
"No." he whispered.
"Already her youthful heart grows cold and empty. Not unlike this old barn. The shame and filth you've pushed upon her grows like cobwebs in the deepest recesses, it covers the windows to her soul with dirt and grime. Her heartbeats are hollow, monotonous, constricted in the death grip of misery and despair where you’ve condemned it."
As she spoke, she ran the tip of her finger lightly along the side of his face. "I'm here to rectify the situation, Isaiah. I'm here… to save her."
Where her fingernail had touched, blood seeped to the surface of his skin, pooled, then ran in a single rivulet, dripping from the edge of his jaw onto his collar.
Isaiah's breath came in short shallow gasps. His hollow cheeks appeared even more sunken, as his eyelids drooped in defeat. "Please," he whispered low enough to insure that his daughter wouldn’t hear. "I can change."
Angel slowly shook her head, "You wont."
"I will! I swear I will," he pleaded desperately, turning to face the stranger once again. "You've shown me the error of my ways. I promise, once you leave, things will be different. I wont look at her. I wont touch her, I wouldn’t do that—ever!"
The woman before him stared into his eyes with an intensity he'd never felt before. It was like she was looking straight into his soul— seeing things that no human ever possibly could.
Holding his breath he waited.
It felt like an eternity had passed before she finally blinked.
Her eyes hardened, the light within them blazing even brighter as she whispered solemnly. "You will— if I don't stop you first."


Sam and Zeb streaked across the prairie, their horses necks stretched flat, their noses pointed in a north-eastern direction, each trying to beat the edge of the charging buffalo herd.
Sam sent up a quick prayer, praying that none of their horses hooves found their way to any of the hundreds of prairie-dog holes. The speed they were traveling would snap a horses leg in two like a dry matchstick.
Sam chanced a quick look behind them. The buffalo were closing in.
Their big shaggy heads bobbed up and down, their eyes wild. Tongues lolled in their exertion, their breath becoming one, filling the air with the sounds of their labored breathing. Horns clacked sharply together as they ran side by side, crashing wildly across the prairie.
Zeb followed directly behind Sam, his packhorse straining on it's tether, loaded down with all of their gear. But he was lagging further behind, pulling Zeb back with him, as the tense seconds ticked by.
Sam veered his horse to the left and yanked back on the reigns. The horse arched his neck, chewing at the bit, fighting Sam as he tried to slow him down. Sam jerked harder. The horses legs stiffened beneath him, slowing him down just long enough for Zeb to catch up.
Sam grabbed for the knife at his waist as Zeb flew past. The long blade glimmered briefly, before being plunged down, it's razor sharp edge slicing through the taut rope.
Released from his burden, Ol' Ugly took off like a shot, his legs churning, his hooves kicking up the muddy soil beneath him. Sam loosened the grip on his own reigns and gave his gelding a solid kick. It didn’t need much urging to get the hell out of there, and quickly caught up to Zeb. Side by side the men rode hell bent for leather.
As the land beneath them began it's slow incline towards the crest of the low ridge, Sam looked back again.
They had just barely cleared the edge of the buffalo herd, but Zeb's packhorse wasn’t so lucky. Sam watched through the driving rain as the horse, laden down with all of their wet gear, stumbled and then fell. It somersaulted, flipping ass over end when the wild raging herd caught up to, then over took it.
The horse's panicked squeal was cut short as it was trampled under the heavy pounding hooves of the stampeding buffalo.
The men's horses carried them up the rise and down the other side. Bringing their mounts to a sliding stop, the men looked at each other through the rain, neither believing how narrowly they had just escaped certain death.
Their elation was short lived, however.
"You reckon Barney made it?" he asked, gazing towards the top of the ridge, as if hoping that the packhorse would appear at any moment.
Sam shook his head sadly.
Zeb slowly wiped the rain from his face. "I didn’t think so," he murmured glumly, then sighed, his narrow shoulders rising and falling. "He was a good hoss." he said, with a slight hitch in his voice.
Sam nodded slowly in heartfelt understanding. Men like Zeb didn’t have family. They led solitary lives, sometimes going for months before seeing another living soul. And in their loneliness, oftentimes their animals became just like their family. He could see the old man was taking the loss especially hard, and suspected that was the reason. "That he was, Zeb. That he was."

It was late into the evening by the time they reached the shelter of the tall trees. They were cold and soaked to the bone as they went about unrolling their bedrolls. That was the only thing either of them still had, and that was only because they had been tied behind their saddles.
Earlier, after the buffalo were long gone, Sam had rode out to still form of Barney the packhorse. Trying not to look directly at the poor horse, or what was left of him, Sam had kicked around at what was left of their supplies. He found a few pots, smashed flat and ground into the mud. Their food was nowhere to be seen. Everything was gone. Either buried far beneath the dirt and mud, or carried and kicked along by a hundred sharp hooves.
As the men snuggled down into their wet blankets, Sam spoke. "Tomorrow we'll ride the rest of the way to the fort you were talking about. I don’t have much money on me, but we should be able to get a few things."
Zeb didn’t answer, but Sam heard a sniff come from the old man's direction.
"I'm real sorry about what happened to Barney, Zeb."
After a moment, he heard Zeb clear his throat. "It weren't yer fault. These things just happen I guess."
"Yeah, but that don’t make it any easier, does it?"
"No, I guess not." After a long moment, Zeb spoke again. "Sam?"
"Yeah."
"Do you think that maybe you could say a little prayer for ol' Barney? He sure was a good ol' hoss."
Sam's stomach tightened at the thought. "I don’t think the Lord is on speaking terms with me right now."
Zeb thought a moment before he answered, "I don’t believe I've ever heard any mention of the Good Lord turning a def ear to anybody."
Zeb's reply hit Sam hard. How could he refuse his friend something that obviously meant so much to him? The old man was in pain, and if a few words brought him comfort…
He began quietly, "Our Father, who art in heaven…


The next morning dawned clear and bright, and as the men prepared to ride on into the fort. There was no mention of what had taken place the previous day, or the loss that Zeb had suffered, or the fact that he had openly sobbed while Sam had prayed for his recently dearly departed horse.
"Beautiful day, isn't it?" Zeb said casually, as they tied their bedrolls behind their saddle.
"Just glorious," Sam smiled. "How far do you think the Fort is, Zeb?"
"Oh, I reckon we got us a good five miles or so. If'n we hurry, we could probly get us some breakfast somewhere's."
As Sam slid his butt into the saddle, he looked over to his friend, "I don’t know how your financial situation is… but mines not real good."
From the back of Ol' Ugly, Zeb gave him a blank stare. "How's my what?"
Sam smiled at his friends confusion. "I don’t know about you, but I aint got much money."
"Oh… Oh! Well, why in the hell dint ya just say that in