I was in the stage. Quickly, I dropped down to ensure my entire person was beneath the edge of the window, my pale hair a beacon in the sunshine. Darting a glance around the small area, I searched for a place to hide. It was a silly venture; the space was spartan and offered nowhere to go. Except out.
"There's nothing of value. No bank box. Nothing." Silence. Then, "Why in tarnation are you taking to robbing the stage? Have you lost your mind? Your spread not keeping you busy enough? Isn't it best to keep your identity a secret, or are you planning on shooting me dead?"
I gulped down the panic that lodged in my throat. Would he shoot us?
"McCallister, quit your yapping," the man replied. "The woman. I want the woman."
My eyes widened in surprise. Oh God. He wanted me. The outlaw wanted me. I'd heard stories of stages being robbed with often deadly results. But those had just been stories. This was real life.
"She's destined for Apex and Meecham," Mr. McCallister countered.
"Not anymore."
The man didn't say more, as if that was the final say in their conversation.
The voices came from the door at my right, so slowly, carefully, I opened the door on the left, hoping to slip out.
"Did you think to hide in plain sight? There's nothing but prairie all around." The deep voice now spoke to me. Without me hearing, the man had opened the door and witnessed my attempted retreat. If I'd been paying any attention at all, if I hadn't been so panicked, I would have noticed the air was cooler, fresher even. The gloomy space was brighter with the sunshine pouring in the open doorway around the man's figure.
I sucked in a lungful of air, closed my eyes and started my count that always helped to instill calm.
"Well?" the outlaw asked, disturbing my efforts.
Turning tentatively, I met the man's gaze. Or at least I tried to, but he was just a black silhouette against the brightness. Standing as he was, the stage only showed him from hip up, a wide brimmed hat on his head. I could tell he was tall, broad shouldered, solid, but that was all.
"Why...." I cleared my throat, squinting from the bright sunshine behind him. "Why do you want me?" I asked, my voice surprisingly steady considering the situation. "I'm of no importance."
"Why not?"
"You don't know me." I shook my head slowly.
"You don't know Horace Meecham either," he replied. "Come."
He held out his hand to me, patient. The outlaw was patient?
I just stared at it, as if it were a snake with venomous teeth.
He sighed. Loudly. Before I had a chance to retreat, he reached in and grabbed me about the waist, lifting me from the floor and out into the bright sunshine as if I weighed less than a bag of feathers.
"Oh," I gasped at the surprising move. Squinting once again, I shielded my eyes from the sun and tried to pull away. His hands were large and easily spanned my waist. There was no question he could restrain me readily enough, but he let me go, the warmth of his hands on my skin, even through my dress, raised goose flesh.
I bolted, in which direction I did not know.
"There's nowhere for you to go," he called out. "You can't hide. I will catch you."
