The Fifty-Seven Lives of Alex Wayfare (27 page)

I so did not want to kiss him.

I wrestled to regain control within, but it was harder than I thought. This host body was so much more difficult to control than the others.

Forget muscle memory. This body felt like it had a mind of its own.

In the end, just as I snagged the top edge of Judd's bandana and pulled it down to reveal his lips, I resorted to physically grabbing my wrist with my other hand and forcing it down against my side.

Judd watched me struggle with my own arm, one eyebrow raised. I could tell he wanted to ask what had gotten into me again, but thought better of it this time.

The door on the other end of the car swung open with a bang. Cask Carter stepped through, followed by two others, whom I guessed were William, with his sandy hair and towering frame, and Yates, with his salt-and-pepper handlebar mustache and slight limp. Judd pushed me away awkwardly, like our parents just got caught us doing something we shouldn't.

“Don't let me interrupt,” Cask said, striding toward us, his boots clomping on the floor. His footsteps shook the entire train car. He was a shadow even then, tall and black, moving confidently, dispersing the cool, muted afternoon light filtering in through the windows. He had a young, rugged face, handsome in a way. His brow was so heavy, it cast a permanent shadow over his eyes so you never could quite tell what he was really thinking. All you could see was a glint or two above his bandana.

All you could do was guess.

“Where's the good loot, Shooter?” he said, stopping in front of Judd and I, hooking his thumb on his belt loop. His black, shiny revolver hung loose from the forefinger of his other hand.

All four of the men stared at me. Judd looked hopeful, like he'd vouched for me for good reason, but the longer I stood there, silent, the more worried his expression became.

Cask sighed and scratched his eyebrow with the muzzle of his gun. “The loot?”

I opened my mouth and tried to let my host body take over, hoping I'd have the right answer for him, but nothing came out.

Cask turned his impatience upon Judd. “Get her off this train. I want her packed up and gone by sundown.”

He marched off, and Judd jogged after him on his long legs. “Now, hold on, Cask. She's just not herself today, that's all. That fall from the horse yesterday; I'm sure that had somethin' to do with it.”

Cask rounded on his older brother, glowering, the butt of his gun raised like he was about to strike him in the face. Everyone in the train car stared, wide-eyed and silent. “This was your idea. You said to bring a female along. You said she'd scout out the passengers so we'd know who to stick up. But look at her. She's just as useless as I said she'd be. Jesse James'd never work with a woman.”

“Actually,” I said, lifting a know-it-all finger, just like I would in Mr Lipscomb's class. Cask and Judd turned to look at me. Cask glared. Judd winced. “Jesse would work with a woman. And has. Many times.” I knew it was true from all the books I'd read on the subject. There were quite a few female outlaws in history, and Jesse James wasn't above working with who he needed to to get a job done. “Now if you hound dogs are done howlin' over pearls and watches and pocket money, maybe you'll bend an ear long enough to hear about somethin' that'll make us all rich.”

Thank God, my host body finally came through and took over. I didn't know how long I could get by with Porter's don't talk to the locals advice, especially since I was part of the gang.

Cask smiled at me, but it didn't reach his eyes. “I'm waiting.”

“Turn your attention to the safe in the last car,” I said, flicking my gun behind me. “There should be a chest in there with enough gold coins for all of us to retire. Not that I'd want to,” I said, pulling the ribbons loose from my little yellow hat. I handed it to a young girl seated just up the aisle who couldn't tear her frightened eyes away from Cask and Judd. She seemed to calm down when I helped her situate it on top of her caramel-colored hair. “I'm quite in my element being a bandit,” I told her. “Wouldn't you agree?”

She nodded, smiling.

I took Cask and Judd by the arm and ushered them toward the back door of the train car. As I passed Perfume Lady again, she tried to hand me my coat and purse. I thanked her but let her keep them.

“Shooter Delaney,” I heard her say. Her voice was round with awe. “The famous Shooter Delaney.”

 

 

I kept Cask Carter and the chest of coins in my sights all afternoon.

It was a small wooden chest, small enough to balance in one hand and stuff inside a saddle bag. When he'd knifed it open on the train, the shine of the coins lit up each of our faces. I knew from my research there were at least four priceless coins in that chest. I wasn't about to let Gesh get his hands on them.

After we left the train behind and melted into the deepening shadows of the woods, we came across five horses tied to trees. I stopped, too timid to go any closer, even though I could sense which horse was mine.

She was a black mare, strong and sleek, with a white patch on each of her flanks. Her saddle was padded and made of supple leather. She snorted at me, but I didn't step up to her.

I'd never been on a horse before.

But it would be just like driving the Corvette, right? I'd just let my host body do its thing and everything would be fine.

“Still scared of that filly?” Judd asked me. He hefted himself on top of his charcoal-colored stallion.

“Still?”

“We told you she didn't like women.” Judd grinned, showing his teeth for the first time that day. His bandana was now nestled around his neck. One of his front teeth overlapped the other. “But you insisted on takin' her anyway. You never listen, do ya?” He laughed and turned his horse around, ready to ride off.

Cask, William, and Yates had all mounted their horses too. And they didn't look like the types to wait for me to get my bearings.

Taking a deep breath and flexing my hands, I untied my horse and pulled myself up into her saddle. I wedged my feet into the stirrups. The ground rocked beneath me. It was so far down. Remembering that Judd said I'd fallen off her the day before didn't help matters. I vowed to keep my chin up and eyes on the horizon, otherwise I was sure the forest floor would pull me down to meet it in a wave of dizziness.

I struggled with my skirt until I could straddle the horse properly, then nudged her in the belly with my heels. She took off after the others at a jolting trot. I closed my eyes and held on. Thankfully, we didn't ride for long.

The moment we approached our campsite, my horse decided our ride was over. She dug her hooves in the dirt and almost bucked me over her head. I climbed down, taking the hint, happy to be rid of her too. I hoped I could ascend back to Limbo before I had to ride her again. The insides of my thighs and my tailbone felt battered and bruised. Part of me thought she rode roughly just to spite me.

The campsite was deep in a wooded valley, shrouded by thick evergreens, twisting vines and brambles. It was actually a great hiding spot. No one could see the fire that crackled at the center if they happened by, but they'd be able to smell the food cooking a mile away. I hoped the Carters knew what they were doing, cooking out in the bare woods. If it were up to me, it would be jerky, bread and apples for the entire trip. Not even a fire to warm the bones. It was just common sense. But maybe this was how they'd all get caught or killed in the next few months. Stupidity.

There were three small canvas tents set up around the fire. An iron kettle hung over its lapping flames. Soup bubbled inside, offering curls of steam up into the cold November sky. A fifth man I hadn't met yet knelt at the kettle, head down under a wide-billed hat, stirring the soup. Cask, William, and Yates migrated toward the kettle, rubbing their cold hands together and commenting on how good it smelled.

Cask dropped his saddlebags against a fallen log near the fire. My eyes were stitched to its seams. The chest of coins was still inside.

“I guess you'll be wantin' to get out of that getup,” Judd said, walking past me. His eyes were fixed on his hat in his hands, dusting leaves and dirt from the rim.

“Um, I guess.” I looked down at my dress, not really sure what he meant. Did he mean I would want to put on a different dress? Or was that some kind of veiled suggestion to get naked?

I hated not knowing what people meant when I descended.

When I didn't budge, he looked up, his eyebrows raised, then shot a quick glance at the canvas tent to his right. That tiny glance let me know which tent was mine. I strode toward it, head held high, like I wasn't confused at all.

Inside, I found a bedroll spread out on the ground with a few blankets and pillows. A leather sack sat at its foot. I rummaged through the sack and found a pair of dark pants and a cream-colored long-sleeved shirt that looked to be my size.

So that's what Judd meant. I guessed Shooter Delaney didn't like to wear dresses. I smiled to myself as I unbuttoned my dress and peeled it from my shoulders. There were a few things I liked about my 1876 self so far. I was independent, strong, wore whatever clothes I liked, didn't get bossed around by the likes of the Carters.

Shooter Delaney was shaping up to be my kind of gal.

Sort of.

If only I knew more about her. Me. Why did I decide to become an outlaw? Just to hack off my Texas lawman father? Had I ever shot anyone? Killed anyone? Did I have blood on my 1876 hands?

I let my hair down from its tight bun and wriggled out of my corset and petticoat. I stretched my arms over my head. I hadn't realized how confining all that underwear was until my body could breathe again. How did women wear all that stuff back then?

While I was in mid-stretch, I heard a whistle from outside, followed by a few muffled chuckles. My head whipped over my shoulder. The flaps at the front of the tent were closed and no one was peeking in, but dammit. The light from the fire on one side of my tent cast my shadow in perfect precision on the other. The Carter Gang was enjoying their own private shadow peep show, courtesy of Alex Wayfare, time traveler extraordinaire.

I flopped down onto the bedroll and wrestled into my pants and shirt. My body burned red hot, through and through. At least one good thing would come from something so mortifying – sleeping out in the November cold would be a cinch.

After I pulled on a pair of worn-in cowboy boots, I sat in my tent, arms and legs crossed, face red, refusing to emerge. I couldn't face them. I couldn't walk out there and feel their eyes on me. Their teasing, hungry eyes, scraping and grating over my body.

They shouldn't have watched. Gentlemen wouldn't have watched.

I snorted a laugh.

I wasn't dealing with gentlemen. I was dealing with outlaws. Of course they'd watch. Of course they'd steal a glance and not think twice. Of course they'd stare and ogle and take what wasn't theirs. Of course.

“Dammit,” I swore aloud. In all my embarrassment, I'd forgotten to keep an eye on the coin chest.

I crawled to the tent flaps and peeked outside. A deep-blue sky peeked through a canopy of naked treetops, but dark, black night had settled on the forest floor. Wind rustled in the evergreens and swayed bare branches. The four members of the Carter Gang were seated around the fire, spooning soup into their mouths from shallow tin bowls. The light of the fire licked the leather of Cask's saddlebags at his feet. The chest must still be inside. Why else would he keep the bags so close?

The fifth guy, the one I hadn't met yet, sat with his back to me beside Judd. I watched as my horse, a wisp of black movement amid the black night, stepped up to the fifth guy and nudged him with her nose. She nickered low and soft. He stroked her forehead, then handed her a carrot from his pocket. She devoured it in less than a second, then snuffled his coat pockets for more. He laughed and pushed her head away, telling her to “get.”

Note to self: If you have to ride that horse again, make sure you have carrots. And lots of them.

I took a deep breath and left the safety of my tent, pulling a thick wool coat over my arms. Not only did I want the extra bulk around my body, but I wasn't as immune to the cold weather as I thought I'd be. (I would've given anything for a pair of warm sweats and a stocking cap.) I'd also found a holster in my sack and fastened it around my hips. I figured the Carters would know I'd keep my pistol close, but I didn't want to flaunt it. It made me feel safe to have my gun snug against my hip, hidden.

I wrapped the coat tight around me, shivering, and strolled up to the kettle. All eyes fell on me, followed by cat calls, laughter, and whistles. The red hot heat in my gut found its way to the surface of my skin again and spread out in a thin sheen of sweat. I tried to summon the sass and strength of my host body. I got the feeling Shooter Delaney wouldn't be embarrassed by anything. Not even an accidental peep show. She wouldn't have let them see her sweat.

I stuck out my chin and reached down for the lid on the kettle. The fifth guy jumped to his feet and snatched the lid off before I could. A puff of steam wafted up between us.

“Here, let me.” He ladled the soup – chicken and potato – into a bowl. He handed it to me, along with a spoon, through the cloud of rising steam.

I reached out and took it from his hands. My palms grazed his knuckles. The steam swirled and lifted, then dissipated, leaving clear, cold air between us. He looked up and met my eyes, and for the first time that night, I saw his face.

I dropped my bowl into the soup with a splat.

It was Blue.