risking her life. It just happened that way. It wasn’t her dream so much as it was her reality and, currently, her reality demanded she blend in. Her height helped. At five-eight she was taller than most women but there wasn’t much she could do to hide her feminine curves. The best she’d been able to come up with over the years was wearing a long, oversized leather duster. It wasn’t as if she could tape her breasts down and still be able to breathe comfortably.
She glanced out at an equally tall woman in a blue silk dress, but spoke to the person next to her. “She’s doing a damn fine job of being me.”
Cole, her best friend and right-hand man, chuckled. “Lynn’s had eight years of watching your spunk to get it right, Molly. I don’t want to go getting in trouble here but she’s way more comfortable in that there dress than you’d ever be.”
Snorting, Molly watched her friend Lynnette pretend to be a shy, coy lady of class as she prepared to exit the stagecoach as it gave it one last whistle—its steam releasing from the vent on top. The coachman jabbed the release button on the side of the coach and iron steps sprang forth from a compartment just below the passenger area. The steps formed, making a loud clunking sound as they did. When they struck the hard, worn earth, the noise ended. The coachman held out his hand to Lynnette. Politely, she accepted it, taking each step slowly as if second-guessing her decision.
Lynnette’s long, chestnut brown hair was kissed by the sun in various places, as was Molly’s, leaving streaks of blonde running through it. Often people remarked on their similarities, assuming they were sisters. They were nothing of the sort. They were closer than sisters. A bond forged by years of running free in a man’s world. A bond so close it had somehow managed to make Lynnette think she was helping by sacrificing herself to the “greater” good.
Anger rippled through Molly as she watched her friend act as if she was her. When she’d woke a week prior and realized Lynnette was not only gone, but gone with the intent of pretending to be her, Molly had wanted to spit nails. That had lessened a bit, only to be replaced by constant worry. She and Cole had ridden as fast as their steel steeds could travel to track her down.
Cole treated his steed like it was his baby. Molly wasn’t as careful in her upkeep and it showed. Hers had multiple rust spots, broken seals, a problem with stopping fast and most recently a hairline-cracked cylinder with a partially working piston. It made her steed temperamental and unpredictable, traits Cole said reminded him of her. The thing was tried and true. It had gotten her to Lynnette just in the nick of time, from the looks of it.
Molly’s insides churned. Sweat trickled down her back, between her shoulder blades. Losing Lynnette wasn’t an option. They were a family, no matter how mismatched it was.
Lynnette offered a small smile, careful to keep her gaze averted from the group of men she was meeting. Molly knew why. They looked similar enough until you got to their eyes. Where Lynnette’s were blue as the sky, Molly’s were emerald green. As she watched her father put his arm out to Lynnette, Molly knew the man had no clue it wasn’t really his daughter he was greeting. The ten years since she’d last seen him had left him looking older. Less intimidating. Less all knowing. His snow-white hair was slicked back and his face looked thinner than before. Signs of age and life’s day-to-day wear and tear were evident.
It pained her to see him that way. In her eyes, her father was immortal. If only everlasting life were real then maybe she’d have time to win his approval. Doubtful. She was neither a man nor a submissive female. She also didn’t put a lot of stock in his blind faith. Her father had wanted a son. All he got was an unruly daughter.
She watched carefully as her Uncle William, her deceased mother’s only living relative,
She glanced out at an equally tall woman in a blue silk dress, but spoke to the person next to her. “She’s doing a damn fine job of being me.”
Cole, her best friend and right-hand man, chuckled. “Lynn’s had eight years of watching your spunk to get it right, Molly. I don’t want to go getting in trouble here but she’s way more comfortable in that there dress than you’d ever be.”
Snorting, Molly watched her friend Lynnette pretend to be a shy, coy lady of class as she prepared to exit the stagecoach as it gave it one last whistle—its steam releasing from the vent on top. The coachman jabbed the release button on the side of the coach and iron steps sprang forth from a compartment just below the passenger area. The steps formed, making a loud clunking sound as they did. When they struck the hard, worn earth, the noise ended. The coachman held out his hand to Lynnette. Politely, she accepted it, taking each step slowly as if second-guessing her decision.
Lynnette’s long, chestnut brown hair was kissed by the sun in various places, as was Molly’s, leaving streaks of blonde running through it. Often people remarked on their similarities, assuming they were sisters. They were nothing of the sort. They were closer than sisters. A bond forged by years of running free in a man’s world. A bond so close it had somehow managed to make Lynnette think she was helping by sacrificing herself to the “greater” good.
Anger rippled through Molly as she watched her friend act as if she was her. When she’d woke a week prior and realized Lynnette was not only gone, but gone with the intent of pretending to be her, Molly had wanted to spit nails. That had lessened a bit, only to be replaced by constant worry. She and Cole had ridden as fast as their steel steeds could travel to track her down.
Cole treated his steed like it was his baby. Molly wasn’t as careful in her upkeep and it showed. Hers had multiple rust spots, broken seals, a problem with stopping fast and most recently a hairline-cracked cylinder with a partially working piston. It made her steed temperamental and unpredictable, traits Cole said reminded him of her. The thing was tried and true. It had gotten her to Lynnette just in the nick of time, from the looks of it.
Molly’s insides churned. Sweat trickled down her back, between her shoulder blades. Losing Lynnette wasn’t an option. They were a family, no matter how mismatched it was.
Lynnette offered a small smile, careful to keep her gaze averted from the group of men she was meeting. Molly knew why. They looked similar enough until you got to their eyes. Where Lynnette’s were blue as the sky, Molly’s were emerald green. As she watched her father put his arm out to Lynnette, Molly knew the man had no clue it wasn’t really his daughter he was greeting. The ten years since she’d last seen him had left him looking older. Less intimidating. Less all knowing. His snow-white hair was slicked back and his face looked thinner than before. Signs of age and life’s day-to-day wear and tear were evident.
It pained her to see him that way. In her eyes, her father was immortal. If only everlasting life were real then maybe she’d have time to win his approval. Doubtful. She was neither a man nor a submissive female. She also didn’t put a lot of stock in his blind faith. Her father had wanted a son. All he got was an unruly daughter.
She watched carefully as her Uncle William, her deceased mother’s only living relative,
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