"Hang on in thar!"
Nug Short's words raced past the window, a mere whisper below the turbulent wind that blasted the outside wall of the stagecoach. Kitty Russell didn't have the where-with-all to holler back but then she didn't need to be told to hang on, either. Nor did she need to be told to keep the canvas flaps tied securely over the windows. She didn't need to be warned about the invasive dust and grit that stung the flesh of her exposed hands and face. But least of all, she needed no one telling her about the ponderous air that swirled through every crack and crevice in the coach while suppressing her breathing as if a heavy weight lay on her chest.
She heard the sharp snap of the whip and instantly felt the lurching forward as the horses responded with a burst of power. Whatever was roiling out there, Nug Short was bound and determined to outrun it and the jostling of a lone passenger wasn't going to stop him.
Kitty put a hand on opposite sides of the coach. A futile attempt, she muttered to herself, but it might just keep her from pitching off the narrow, thinly padded bench cushion to the gritty space below reserved for passenger's feet. Mumble as she night about her present situation, she carried no regrets about why she made the trip in the first place.
Mary Louise Latham had been a beautiful bride. In Alamosa. Colorado. A three-day journey from Dodge City. By stage. And three days back again.
This bit of inconvenience was well worth the price of seeing Mary wedded. Even more important because Kitty had voiced her opinion of this man and it was not a positive one. But she was willing to eat those negative words of advice given to that sweet young girl who once worked for Kitty in Dodge. That sugar-talking scoundrel convinced Mary to come farther west under the pretext of marriage. And Mary had gone with him. But Alan Bassop turned out to be a pretty good businessman once he got his own drinking and gambling establishment.
Mary and Alan.
Mary followed her own heart and patiently supported the man she loved, in spite of Kitty's words of warning.
As the storm raged beyond her small and confining box on wheels, Kitty could only hope her own patience would pay off in the same happy way.
While Kitty stolidly planned for this trip, Matt used every excuse to remain in Dodge City: too little room for his long legs inside a coach for three days—each way; too long to be away from his marshal duties; Festus and Newly were too green to handle whatever situation might arise. On and on. After a time, she ceased to listen to Matt's persistent drone of excuses. She knew she'd be going alone.
After eighteen years, Matt didn't really need to give such a concoction of justification. She knew the man and had the full understanding of the situation. He simply had a serious aversion to weddings and a great unwillingness to give up control of a trip to a stagecoach driver.
So, here she was, all alone and on the return leg of her trip. Just thinking about the solidly built lawman made her crave their private reunion. His company was fine; she loved his witty but dry sense of humor. But what she really wanted was his touch. Alone. And far away from the prying eyes of the Dodge City denizens. Matt Dillon was the only one that could satisfy the burning need that grew hotter the closer she got to Dodge. This trip couldn't be over fast enough to suit her.
A blast of wind tipped the coach at a severe angle and she lost her handholds. Whatever blew outside her window wanted furiously to get inside. A low, powerful sound grew closer. A moaning like a million lost souls coming toward her.
The hairs on the nape of her neck stood straight up just before the stage lifted off the ground and started to spin. Kitty screamed.