Her shoulder was burning. Blood had soaked her shirt sleeve and around the collar. Sporadic dashes had taken her back to the barbershop, where she lay panting beside the front corner of the building. Down the street she could see the livery, flames dancing in the curls of dark smoke.

A wave of guilt washed over her, thinking of Sam and his business. Another mission if she managed to get out of this one. She strained to see where they might be coming from, calculating how many might be left. Taggart for sure. The one who limped off the street, and one more who had been part of the ambush.

Who was the other shooter? Walter?   She hoped not, but couldn't help being grateful. The sound behind her made her roll to one side, the right side as luck would have it, because the spot she left was riddled by several bullets. At the rear of the shop she saw the man duck back from sight, and she got up, moving crabwise around the front.

When he showed his head again, she fired, hearing a yelp, then fired again, missing as he dashed across the space between the buildings. Emm crouched back down against the building wall, watching where she thought he might come from. She figured the yelp might just have been fright.

At the back of the general store, Butch Singer painfully yanked a wood splinter from his face, cursing at the blood that leaked into his eye. He wiped at it but it was still blurry, and he felt his advantage sliding away. He hurried to the far side of the store, away from her, and broke in through a window.

The owner was on the floor behind the counter, a large shotgun in trembling hands across his lap. Singer pointed his pistol at the man and took the gun, threatening him silently. He crept to the front window and studied the street where the woman had been. Carefully, he opened the door and eased himself out onto the porch, shotgun aimed and ready. All he felt was something hit the side of his head and then nothing. He tumbled forward, discharging the gun and blowing his boot off as he fell off the porch onto the road.

Emmeline gave him a cursory look and slipped inside the store.

"Anybody here?"

The head and a pair of eyes appeared over the counter, followed by a shaky voice. "Is he—?"

"Yes, can you help me?" She went to the counter, tilting her shoulder toward him. "I could use a bandage and another shirt."

"Oh my goodness!"

"A bandage and shirt?" She urged.

She reloaded again while the bandage was being wound around with inexpert haste. The shirtless woman was more distracting than the wound, and he was relieved when she nodded and slipped on a new top.

"I'll try and make this up to you."

"No. No, please. It's- it's on the house for- for . . ." He waved a hand toward the street.

"Thank you." Emm started for the door and jumped back at the sound of more gunfire.

When the voice spoke from behind her, she knew she had been outmanoeuvred. She turned slowly to find Taggart with his pistol poking the store owner's cheek.

"Having that bushwhacker was a shrewd move, lady."

"Don't know what you mean. I was alone."

"Tell that to a few of my boys." He jammed the gun harder at the man.

"Let him go, Taggart, this is just between us." She slipped her gun into the holster and held her hands out to the side.

"Hah, you think I'm nuts? No, lady, you're gonna pay like yer mama did, and fer gettin' Jess killed."

Ice slid down her back, and she felt the bile rise in her throat.

"Now, before I start cripplin' this fella, you can drop the gun and take that shirt back off."

Emm saw the store owner's eyes roll up into his head, and she bit back the impulse to just shoot them both. With deliberate moves, she began doing as he demanded. The gun belt slipped to the floor, and she began unbuttoning the shirt from the top.

"That's it. Keep goin'." He poked the man with the gun, making him cry out.

She kept her eyes fastened on his as the shirt hung open slightly, one hand casually behind her back.

"C'mon, c'mon. Don't stop now." Rafe's tongue came out and he wet his lips lasciviously.

"You might want to know, before I kill you, Jess is just fine, you buried a sack of feed."

He glared and snarled at her. "Liar."

The store owner whimpered pleadingly, "It's true, Miss Jess is alive."

Rafe ground the barrel of the gun into his cheek. "Yer both lyin'"

"And as for my mother . . ." Emm's steel voice cracked the room.

Her swift move didn't register with him until he felt the stabbing pain in his throat and he staggered back, clutching at the blood soaked, thong wrapped handle of the knife buried there. Wide-eyed and uttering gurgling sounds, he kept falling back until he hit the wall and sat with a thump on the floor, staring at the woman calmly fastening her shirt.

The door burst open, and the store owner shouted a warning as a man crashed in waving his pistol. When he saw Emm, and Rafe against the wall, he took aim, the shot slamming harmlessly into the ceiling as he flew forward, crashing against the counter and to the floor with blood spurting from his chest.

"You okay, Miss Whitlock . . . Emm?"

"Jim?" Her backup! He actually came back – again!  "Am now."

He came to stand beside her, looking down at Taggart. "Should I get the doc?"

She gave him a cold look, leaned down and wrenched the knife free. "Don't think doc can help."

Rafe gurgled again as more blood left the wound and he slipped slowly to the floor, feeling her burning stare right to the end.

"I was thinking about your arm." Their eyes met, and neither could prevent the beginning of an exhausted laugh.

A Brief Epilogue

The hotel saloon was packed. Standing room only, and Hiram Tully, bank manager and ersatz mayor, stood behind the bar, which had been closed for the occasion. In his loud voice, he gave a summary of what had happened and why the people had gathered, telling the town folk that the dark cloud of fear that had pervaded the area for so long under Rafe Taggart and his gang was gone.

The crowd, most of whom already knew what had happened and why, drowned out the rest of his pontificating as they called for Emmeline.

Standing by the kitchen door, sporting her neatly contrived sling, she said her piece, mentioning Jessica, Walter, and Dint, as important players in her actions. She announced a handsome tab in the saloon for the doctor, and a substantial sum of money for Sam Drury to rebuild his livery.

In the midst of yells and applause, she and Jim headed to the street, where their horses were waiting, ready and packed.

Rain nuzzled her as she allowed Jim to help her get mounted, and then offered him a bump with her head as well.

"Appears you've been accepted. That's quite an honour."

"Ain't your horse I want acceptance from." He climbed into his own saddle and they began a slow trot away from the hotel. The crowd came out onto the street to watch them leave, shouting and cheering as they went.

Sheriff Toby watched from the hotel door. The advice she had given him began to make a little sense as he realized he could now be the sheriff the town wanted.

"I hope that isn't you being needy again." Emm peered at him from under her hat brim, the cheers from the town fading behind them.

"So many ways I could answer that, Miss Whitlock."

She laughed and reached across, slapping his thigh. "I'd love to hear them all."

"When we get back to Ebbotville. Your arm'll need time to heal."

"It's more than my arm that's healing now, Jim."

"I know. And I want to help with that. There's some things I'd like to say, but not out here on horseback."

"Jim Rogers, are you intending to court me?"

"I think you need to take me serious, Emm. Your horse seems to like me."

Rain's head came up and she blew, making them both take a shocked breath and then laugh. Emm kicked her flanks and took off at a gallop.

"I want to get to Ebbotville before she changes her mind."

The words came back to him, and his heart swelled, and he broke after her, calling. "Tell her I'm needy."

END