As Loretta drew near the door, Tom cried, "No! You miserable coward, Henry. You send that girl out there, and you'll never sleep a whole night through the rest of your life."
Loretta touched the door planks and froze. Through the cracks she heard bells tinkling, a merry sound, as out of place as cheerful music at a funeral. She made the sign of the cross and squeezed her eyes closed, trying to remember how to make an act of contrition, but the words jumbled in her head.
"Henry, no," Rachel pleaded. "Loretta, don't open that door. If they want a woman, I'll go."
"It's not they're wantin'," Henry snapped. "One of 'em spotted Loretta down by the river the other day, and he's come back for her. They'll shoot ya down where ya stand."
Rachel whirled on her husband. "That girl's my sister's daughter. I'll never forgive you if you let her go out there!"
"Ya don't have to do it, Loretta," Tom argued. "There's some things worse than dyin', and this is one of 'em."
Loretta hesitated. Then the door squeaked on its leather hinges, swinging open a crack. A shaft of light fell across her face. She stepped across the threshold. Another step. It wasn't so hard, now that she was doing it. She took a deep breath and walked out onto the porch. The door slammed shut behind her, and the bar thudded home with an echo of finality.
Staring at her with impenetrable blue-black eyes, the warrior on the black nudged the animal a pace forward. With that relentless eye-to-eye contact, he held her pinioned where she stood. For what seemed a lifetime, he studied her, not moving, not speaking, his lance still held aloft.
Loretta's courage disintegrated, and a violent tremor swept the length of her. He noted the shudder, and his observant gaze trailed up her body in its wake. His attention fell to her hips, lingered there with an insulting contempt, then traveled upward to her breasts. Humiliation scorched her cheeks.
Loretta touched the door planks and froze. Through the cracks she heard bells tinkling, a merry sound, as out of place as cheerful music at a funeral. She made the sign of the cross and squeezed her eyes closed, trying to remember how to make an act of contrition, but the words jumbled in her head.
"Henry, no," Rachel pleaded. "Loretta, don't open that door. If they want a woman, I'll go."
"It's not they're wantin'," Henry snapped. "One of 'em spotted Loretta down by the river the other day, and he's come back for her. They'll shoot ya down where ya stand."
Rachel whirled on her husband. "That girl's my sister's daughter. I'll never forgive you if you let her go out there!"
"Ya don't have to do it, Loretta," Tom argued. "There's some things worse than dyin', and this is one of 'em."
Loretta hesitated. Then the door squeaked on its leather hinges, swinging open a crack. A shaft of light fell across her face. She stepped across the threshold. Another step. It wasn't so hard, now that she was doing it. She took a deep breath and walked out onto the porch. The door slammed shut behind her, and the bar thudded home with an echo of finality.
Staring at her with impenetrable blue-black eyes, the warrior on the black nudged the animal a pace forward. With that relentless eye-to-eye contact, he held her pinioned where she stood. For what seemed a lifetime, he studied her, not moving, not speaking, his lance still held aloft.
Loretta's courage disintegrated, and a violent tremor swept the length of her. He noted the shudder, and his observant gaze trailed up her body in its wake. His attention fell to her hips, lingered there with an insulting contempt, then traveled upward to her breasts. Humiliation scorched her cheeks.
( Catherine Anderson )
[ Comanche Moon ]
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