Gold Dust Widow: The Story of an Outlaw's Revenge

Chapter 16: Jasper

I woke up staring down the barrel of a rifle.

I blinked.

The bright sunshine almost made it feel unreal. I could feel Clara's warm body still pressed to mine, her sweet scent of fresh sage surrounding me.

Then I heard the rifle being cocked and the cold metal pressed against my forehead and I felt my stomach drop. My anger burned.

Following the barrel upwards, I saw two faces staring down at me, filthy men, with overgrown beards, and dusty, bloodstained clothing, both looking fairly angry.

"Good mornin' mister," one of them cooed, he was missing three teeth. His yellow beard was thick and wrapped around his face like a rat.

"Well, what do we have here?" The other, older, and holding the rifle arched his brows, chewing loudly on his tobacco. He nudged my forehead with his rifle. Pale blue eyes snapped across my face.

I glared up at them, squeezing Clara closer to my side, my fingers already reaching for my pistol. There was no way I was going to let them hurt a hair on her head.

She let out a gasp when her eyes flew open and to my horror, she was pulling away from me and standing up.

Completely unfazed by the gun pointed down at us. She'd wrapped her coat around her body, which I couldn't help but be glad for, I'd hate for those two men to even see an inch of her perfect naked body.

I sat up and watched wide-eyed, as the man with the rifle pressed the barrel to my forehead, and Clara, seemingly oblivious to the rifle, launched herself on the second, toothless man.

"Norman! You foul, thieving, yellow-bellied coward!" she was shouting, slapping the man upside his head. He hissed in pain, jumping away from her.

"I wasn't-" he started

"Oh, bullshit! Where is she? Where is she Norman?" she had grabbed his ear and twisted it so much that the big man was now kneeling at her feet, wincing in pain, barely able to look up at her.

"She's right here Clara," the older man hummed, his pale gaze still focused on me.

Clara was spinning away from the man on the ground and running in the direction the other had pointed.

And I came to the very startling realisation that I was lying in the dirt, and the famed outlaws Norman French and leader of the Red Right Hand Gang, Hank Brown were staring down at me. His right hand was well and truly made of wood and painted red. There was no subtlety.

I swore.

"And who might you be?" Hank was asking me, prodding me with the rifle.

"Leave him alone Hank!" Clara barked, as she reappeared leading a palomino mare, stroking her mane and cooing.

"You naked under there Clara?" Norman asked.

I bristled and made to stand up but Hank shove his rifle against my forehead and pushed me back down. I strained under the pressure, my hand already gripping my pistol. I really wanted to shoot him.

"Don't move, or I'll shoot," Hank growled.

I didn't move and for a long second, Hank just glared down at me. My fingers squeezed around my pistol under my coat as I glared back.

"Shut up Norman," Clara snarled.

She suddenly seemed to remember that she was, in fact, completely naked under her coat, and standing in the middle of the desert with three men staring at her.

I saw her cheeks blush furiously as she stalked towards the pile of her clothing.

"Where's your Winchester?" Norman asked.