Capturing The Marshal's Heart (Escape From Texas) by Carroll-Bradd Linda

Author:Carroll-Bradd, Linda [Carroll-Bradd, Linda]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Inked Figments
Published: 2013-08-14T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

After what seemed like hours of bumping over uneven ground, the coach slowed and came to a stop. Thinking up a way out of this fix was tough over the whimpers and wails of three scared women. About all Jazzy’d come up with was the promise of more money if they were released unhurt.

“Remember, ladies,” whispered Jazzy, as she leaned forward and waited for their gazes to connect with hers, “keep alert to everything around you. And stick together.”

From outside came the crunch of boots approaching on the rocky soil. “I’ll git the women,” a harsh voice shouted. “Ralph, Jimmy John, head on inside and clear out any varmints that’s snuck in while we were gone.”

“Right, Charley.”

With a squeak, the door opened and slammed against the side of the coach.

Sarah sucked in a harsh breath, and Prudence clutched the other woman’s hand. Miss Torrance sat erect next to Jazzy.

A bandit stuck in his head and grinned, exposing a gap where he was missing a canine tooth. “You’ve arrived at the Desert Hotel.” A nasty chuckle followed his snide greeting.

Jazzy squared her shoulders and glanced at the women. “I’ll go first.” She grabbed the front of her skirts and climbed down, turning to help the others. All the while, her gaze scanned the area surrounding the adobe house before them. The terrain here was rockier, with less loose dirt, and more creosote bushes than mesquite. To the west, she saw a long line of meandering cottonwoods and wondered which river or creek they edged. Was it the Rio Grande, or were they even still in Texas?

The tall leader named Charley stepped forward and swept a disdainful gaze over the group. “I hope one of you knows how to cook. We’ll be wantin’ some grub right quick. And tote those bags inside.”

Jazzy stilled, willing her mouth not to smart off and put them in even more jeopardy.

Prudence stepped forward, her back ramrod straight and her haughty nose lifted in the air. “Surely, you’re mistaken. Ladies shouldn’t be climbing on top of any stagecoach.”

With arms folded over his chest, he narrowed his gaze, lips pressed into a hard line. “I ain’t mistaken. Unload the damn bags.”

Cooking and toting could be the least of their demands. Jazzy put a hand on the older woman’s arm. “I don’t mind, Prudence. Really, I don’t. Sarah, I’ll pass them down to you. Amanda can help you carry them inside.”

At the sound of their names, the shaken women blinked hard and nodded.

Not wanting to get her feet tangled in her skirts, Jazzy reached between her legs, grabbed a handful of the back hem, pulled the bulk of the skirts through to the front, and tucked the bunched fabric into the waistband of her skirt. Her silky petticoat had lost most of its bulk because of the strips she’d torn off, dropping out the window in hopes Slade would be able to follow their trail.

She climbed into the driver’s seat and then leaned on her hands to reach the luggage rack, all the while scanning the surrounding landscape.

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