Renegade's Heart by Michelle Kidd (general ebook reader .TXT) 📕

Her eyes flickered between the clock tower and the bank doors. She held her breath, willing them to come out.  Deep in concentration, she didn't notice the approach of a young girl about half her size until she was right on her.  The youngster thrust out a hand in greeting.

“Hi, I’m Misty.  What do they call you?” 

Clad in worn breeches, and a wool jacket, she might have been a boy if not for her long, dark hair. Frankie’s mouth worked nervously, but no sound came out.  Any minute her brothers would rush out the bank and this child would be in danger.  She had to send her away.

“Look, kid, scram!”

“How old are you anyway?” Misty continued, unaffected by the rebuff.  “I never saw you around here. Is that red hair you got peeking out under your hat?  I never saw a boy with red hair.  ‘Except maybe Albert Pinkerton.  He has red hair and freckles, and he’s—”

“Did you hear me—I said, git.”  The words came out through clenched teeth. “You see these horses, here?  They don’t like nosy little girls, now go!”

Misty cocked a dark brow.  “I’m not afraid of horses.  It looks to me like you’ve got a handle on them . . . although you are a might skinny.  Why do you have so many horses anyway?” 

Frankie was incredulous. Shouldn’t this girl have gone running back to her mama by now? Was there something wrong with her? Her hands itched to grab the child and shake her, scream at her, anything to get her away from the danger to follow. Under different circumstances, she may have found the little imp charming, but right now, she was putting Frankie as well as herself in a dangerous situation.

Just as Frankie was about to do something desperate, help came from the most unlikely source—a dark-haired man with a blond in tow.

“There you are, Misty.  I thought you were going to wait in the wagon.”

“Oh, I was, but I wanted to talk to this boy and see his horses.” 

The man looked from his daughter and extended a hand.  “My apologies, son.  The name’s Daniel Myers, and this chatterbox is my daughter, Misty.  She can sure talk the bark off the trees.”

The stranger turned his eyes on Frankie. Her already pounding heart lurched as if it might jump clear out her chest. Mercy! She had never seen eyes so blue.  She swallowed hard, trying to find her voice.  “No problem, mister.”

“He don’t talk much,” Misty commented to her father. 

“Doesn’t talk much,” he corrected.  “You probably haven’t given him a chance.”  He placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder and steered her towards the wagon.  “Let’s let this young man get back to his work.” 

For a second, the stranger hesitated—stared at her, pinning her with those brilliant blue eyes.  He tilted his head, his eyes narrowed for the briefest of minutes.  Did he know?  Did he suspect?  Then he smiled, nodded, and shepherded the group back to their waiting wagon.

Frankie felt like a bolt of lightning had shot through her.  Her cheeks burned.  For goodness sake, he had only smiled at her.  What on earth had caused her to react so?  She marveled at the deflated sensation in the pit of her stomach. Family. Was that what was missing from her life? She watched the man speaking with the woman and wondered what it would be like to have a husband and child.  She wouldn’t treat them like—but she didn’t have time to finish the thought.

The sound of gunfire jerked her from her reverie—the strange incident forgotten.  Smoke and bullets whizzed by as the door to the bank flew open, and her twin brothers filled the frame.  They fired off several shots as they ran towards her. 

“Go, Frankie!” Edgar yelled. 

Frankie stood, planted on the spot. The horses pulled on the reigns. Where was Big Stan? Where was Seth?  Like magic, Big Stan barreled through the door.  A limp form tossed over his shoulder.

No!

“Dang it, Frankie, you hear me?”  Edgar yelled, as he grabbed the bridle from her and swung himself into the saddle.  “Mount up, let’s ride, gal.”

Big Stan ran at her with a shower of bullets whizzing by him. “Go, go, go.” He stumbled and caught himself. A shot nicked him in the shoulder, then another, but he kept running.

The sight of blood spurred her into action.  She ricocheted her body into the saddle, watching horrified as Big Stan slung Seth’s body up to Ernest, before mounting his own.  Seth’s lifeless head rolled and fell backward against his brother’s barrel-like chest.

“Is he . . .” she couldn’t say the words. 

“Just grazed.” Big Stan grunted.  “He passed out.” He dug his heels into the side of the horse.  “Yah!”

She had to believe he was all right.  How was she going to mount on legs that felt as shaky as seedlings in a windstorm?  Reflexes took over as bullets came sizzling by her.  She nudged her mount to run, casting desperate looks over her shoulder. 

The McNeill Gang raced out of town and into the cover of the nearby woods. Branches tore at them.  The brown and green colors passed in a blur. Distance. They needed as much distance between themselves and the law as possible. They rode in silence through the forest, along fields, passing few farm houses, careful to avoid people.   

 By the time they slowed the horses and allowed them to drink from a muddy stream, the trees stood silent and black against an orange sky. The Blue Ridge Mountains appeared purple in the distance. They followed the creek as it tripped over and cascaded down rocks until they turned aside and climbed a sharp ridge.  Day faded into night. It was completely dark when they approached a formation of rocks. 

 The others had already dismounted by the time Frankie caught up with them. She saw the outline of her brothers as they attempted to get Seth to his feet. Their voices sounded muffled.  She swung her feet to the ground and tried to find her own footing.  No easy task after riding all day. She sensed the horse's movement as if it was still beneath her.  The saddle creaked as she slid down and walked her mount toward them.  Turning her head, she listened for the possible warnings of lawmen in pursuit. To her relief, only the sound of the creek lumbering over ice, rocks, and leaves greeted her ears.

  "We'll settle here for the night," Big Stan announced.  "The stream will give us plenty of water for the horses, and the rocks should provide a bit of a shelter until we can move again at daybreak.”

 "How's Seth?"

 "He'll live.  We’ll make a man out of him yet," Big Stan replied with a hoot.  "If not, next time Seth can look after the horses and we'll bring the gal with us.  She can shoot a darn sight straighter than he can anyways."

 The three men enjoyed a good belly laugh, as Edgar stood Seth to his feet and clasp him hard on the shoulder.  "Wake up, boy." 

 Seth groaned but didn't come fully alert. 

 "I say we toss him in the creek," jeered Ernest. 

 Frankie's eyes flashed.  "Don't you dare! Put him over there—I need to check his injuries.”

 When Edgar made no move, she stormed toward him. "Get out the way! I'll do it myself." 

 She wedged her shoulder beneath Seth's wilted figure.  Bearing his full weight, she forced him to take his first awkward steps.  "Come on, Seth, you can do it . . . just a little ways." 

 Frankie stumbled on roots and rocks, almost falling before she maneuvered him to a large, flat boulder.  "Don't stand there with your mouths hanging open—go to the creek. I need water.  How do you expect me to clean these wounds?"

 Ernest stomped away on his mission, muttering to himself.  "I liked my idea better."

 "Edgar, start a fire." 

 "Hold on a minute, gal!" Big Stan said.  "We got the law on our tail. You don't wear the pants in this outfit, I do." 

 "That's great."  Frankie sighed. "I guess you're too proud to have me stitch your arm up as well. Would you rather we watch you bleed to death?" 

 Big Stan looked down at his wound for the first time.  His sleeve was stiff and rust colored.  Fresh blood oozed out to mingle with what had already congealed on his shirt.  "Fine, but not because you say, but because I say."

 Frankie rolled her eyes and busied herself by removing Seth's jacket.  When Ernest returned with the water, she poured it on her handkerchief and began washing the blood away.

 "I-is it bad, Fr-frankie?" he asked.  His eyes reflected fear in the dim moonlight. 

 "I can’t be sure until we get the fire built, but I don't think so.  Looks like it went clear through." She smiled.  "You're lucky." 

 "G-guess Ma was l-looking out after me, huh?" Seth whispered.

 Frankie gave him a wink. He rewarded her with his beautiful smile. 

 "Want me to get that fire started, Frankie?" Ernest asked. 

"That would be a big help." Her expression softened as she watched him bend down to gather sticks.  Ernest reminded her of a wayward child. They twins did their best to mimic Big Stan's rough exterior, but at heart, they were decent men. "Thank you, Ernest."

 "Not a big one, mind ya," Big Stan groused.  He propped himself against a rock with his feet crossed and his hat over his eyes.  "Need to have my head examined."

 "You'll need more than me for that."  Frankie laughed.  "But I'll be happy to take a look at that shoulder when I'm done with Seth here." 

Seth's wound was superficial. By the time she bandaged it, the blood flow had stopped. Big Stan’s were going to require more effort. No matter what she did, she couldn't stanch the flow.  The bullets had gone through, but she had no way of stitching it together. There was only one thing to do.

 "I can't get the bleeding to stop, and you've lost a lot of blood." Frankie caught her lip between her teeth as she waited for him to understand her meaning. 

 "Why are you sitting there jawing? You know what needs to be done—do it!"

 Her fine brows dipped with concern.  "Edgar, Ernest, you want to hold him for me?"

 "Ehhhh . . . no need for that."  He waved the twins away.  "Do it!" Whatcha' waiting on, you ain't getting all girly on me, are ya?"

 Her green eyes flashed with determination.  "Course not."

 She got to her feet, went to the fire, and held the blade over the dancing flames.  Satisfied it would do the job, she returned to his side. 

 Their gaze met and held.  Then, without a word, she went to work. He let out a string of vile curses that made her ears ring as the stench of burning flesh assaulted her nose. When she had finished, she stood back and clenched her jaw, the only outward show of repulsion. "If we pack the other bullet wound, I believe it will heal on its own." 

 He fell back against the rock, sweat dotting his brow.  He didn't utter a sound.  A quick jerk of his chin indicated his only sign of approval.

 "Get some rest," she told him.  "I'll take first watch."

***

 A movement startled Frankie.  Her eyes searched the predawn sky.

 "Alright boys, come out where I can see your hands." 

The words jerked Frankie fully alert.  She scrambled