Rosalie watched him swallow slowly as his eyes darted to her lips. When he brought his gaze back up, she saw desire, longing. She had seen that look in many men’s eyes over the years, but this was the first time that it caused her breath to hitch.
A round of shots were fired from behind the coach, followed by the sound of splintering wood echoing throughout the interior. In an instant, Paden’s expression turned to one of determination. “Everyone, get down,” he ordered.
Leaning forward, he retrieved his revolver from the back of his trousers, gripped a leather strap that hung from the ceiling, and stuck his head out of the window. He fired his gun, then exclaimed, “There are six road agents!”
Reaching for the revolver holstered to her right leg, Rosalie put her head out the other window and aimed at one of the robbers. She fired, hitting him squarely in the chest. As he fell from his horse, she shouted, “One down!”
The roar of a shotgun came from the top of the coach. The stagecoach hit a section of deep sand, forcing it to slow its progression and allowing the robbers to get closer. More shots were fired in their direction, forcing them both back into the safety of the coach.
Paden’s eyes were burning with intensity. “Be careful, Rosie.”
“You too, husb..” Her words stopped when a loud thud came from above them. Rosalie’s heart filled with dread. “The shotgun messenger has been shot. Cover me.”
“Cover you? For what?” he shouted.
In a swift motion, Rosalie removed her skirt and propped herself up into the window frame. She reached up to grip the horizontal metal bar framing the length of the roof and pulled herself up on top of the coach. The messenger was sprawled out, his vacant eyes staring up at her, the shotgun resting next to him. A bullet whizzed by her face, reminding her that she needed to think fast, or she would be killed. She made a split-second decision, deciding to use the shotgun rather than her revolver.
Dropping down, Rosalie pushed the messenger up against the metal bar, intending to use him as a shield, and laid on her stomach. She grabbed the shotgun, rested it on top of the body, and pressed it into the crook of her shoulder to minimize the recoil from the blast. Then, she took aim at one of the road agents and fired. She missed.
She cocked the shotgun, keeping the robber in her line of sight, and fired. This time she hit her target, and the force of the blast caused him to be knocked off his horse. Two down. Four to go.
A shot rang out from beneath her and another criminal fell off his horse. Three down. We are halfway there, she thought. The three remaining road agents were nearly at the back of the coach, and she could now make out the blue bandanas covering the bottom half of their faces.
Taking aim, she fired again, hitting one of the robbers in his left arm, but it wasn’t enough for him to lose his seat in the saddle. The road agent took the gun in his right arm and fired at her, hitting the barrel of the shotgun, propelling it out of her hands.
Twisting onto her back, Rosalie cradled her right hand against her, waiting for the jolting sensation to go away. It was pure luck that the bullet hit the shotgun and not her hand. A string of shots came from the coach, and she glanced up to see that Paden had disposed of another road agent. Now there were only two robbers left.
One of the robbers pointed at the window of the coach and started firing at random. The other road agent rode past his partner and took aim at the driver. He fired, and the stagecoach jerked to the side. Before he had a chance to fire again, Rosie shook out her right hand, then reached for the derringer in her corset. She rolled onto her side, took aim and shot the robber.
Turning her sights to the lone road agent, the man’s steely gaze latched onto her, and she felt her heart stop. It was Bill Garrett! He winked at her, and she could practically see the sinister sneer beneath his bandana. She started to point her pistol at him when he veered his horse off into a section of pine trees.
“No!” she shouted. He was gone!
The stagecoach weaved from side to side, forcing her to grab the metal bar to brace herself. She held on tight as she rose to her knees and saw that the driver was hunched over on the driver’s box. Moving quickly, she dropped down next to him and grabbed the reins out of his hands.
Making no effort to take the reins back, the driver shouted in pain, “Have you ever driven a stagecoach before?”
“No!” she yelled back. “Trial by fire!”
“Here. You need to wear gloves,” he grunted as he removed his thick gloves and shoved them toward her. “Keep the lines taunt or the team won’t give you any heed. We are only a few miles out of town. Just follow the...” He stopped and hissed in pain.
Despite the jangle of trace chains, the pounding hooves, and the rattle of the bouncing stagecoach, Rosalie somehow managed to barely make out Paden’s voice from behind her. “Let me steer the team!”
“Do you know how to drive a stagecoach?” she questioned, not daring to turn her head to look at him.
“No, but I am a fast learner.”
The driver humphed next to her, clearly displeased by their conversation.
“I can handle the team. You stand guard,” she ordered.
A long moment passed before she heard him say, “All right, I can do that.”
For what felt like hours, Rosalie strained to hear the driver
