Tall, Dark, and Texan by JODI THOMAS

tried to talk and gulp air at the same time. “The stage has been hit. Folks are hurt back about six miles from here.” He crumpled to the dirt, exhausted and frightened. “Some of them are dead. They got to be. There is blood in the road.”
    Teagen’s fingers gripped around his rifle and he looked over at the barrel-chested trading post owner. “Anderson?”
    Elmo Anderson didn’t need Teagen to say more. “My horse is tied just off the porch. It’s not a McMurray horse, but you’re welcome to it.”
    Teagen nodded his thanks and headed for the mount. He glanced at Jessie as he passed.
    Her face paled, and a cool wind whipped loose strands of her hair across her cheek. He couldn’t help but think she looked too young to be the widowed mother of three.
    “Stay here with Elmo until I get back,” he ordered.
    She looked like she might faint, so he lowered his voice. “You’ll be safe here, Jessie. Wait for me.”
    She nodded once, then ran to help Elmo with the boy.
    The kid looked at Teagen. “You one of the McMurrays, mister?”
    “Yeah,” Teagen said as he and several others prepared to ride.
    “I thought so. Your sister is on that stage.”
    Teagen was gone without hearing more. He rode as fast as he could up the road with the other riders at his heels. In his mind only one fact kept rolling around in his head: Sage was on the stage.
    It seemed like forever before he caught first sight of the stagecoach. It was turned on one side with the door open and pointing toward heaven. Luggage lay scattered around. One box had come open, and paper blew out of it a few pages at a time.
    He slowed and moved closer, barely noticing as rain started plopping down in huge drops.
    Two men lay in the dirt. One had a pool of blood circling his head. The other’s body lay twisted like a broken toy. Both looked dead.
    The horses had been unhooked from the stage and grazed at the side of the road as if nothing had happened.
    When he drew closer, he saw an older woman sitting on a piece of luggage. Her hands covered her face, and he could hear her crying. Sage was nowhere in sight.
    Teagen rode past the bodies and the woman. He couldn’t help the dead, and the woman looked in no danger.
    A young man in a store-bought suit stood with a Bible in his hand. He didn’t seem to be comforting the crying woman or praying for the dead. His eyes were glazed over in fear. Blood dripped from a wound on his forehead, but he didn’t seem to notice.
    He stared at the riders in panic. The crying woman looked up also but just stared. Fear floated in their eyes, yet they seemed incapable of doing anything to protect themselves.
    Charlie, the blacksmith, rode just behind Teagen. He yelled that they were here to help. The woman started to cry louder, and the city fellow yelled, “Praise the Lord.”
    Ignoring them, Teagen jumped from his horse. “Sage!” he yelled loud enough to spook the horses. “Sage!”
    “What?” came an answer from behind the stagecoach.
    Teagen watched as his little sister stepped into the open. She raised one bloody hand and shoved her hair away from her eyes with her wrist. Her dress was covered in dirt and blood. His heart stopped. She took one look at him and smiled, kicking it back into action.
    “Thank God, Teagen, you’re here. I’ve got two outlaws dead and the driver wounded bad.”
    He walked toward her. “Are you hurt?” He brushed the blood off her forehead.
    “No. But we need to get these people to town. The driver may die if I don’t get that bullet out and the bleeding stopped. Help me get the wound wrapped tight.” She lifted her skirt and ripped away a section of her petticoat.
    Teagen shouted for the others to right the stagecoach.
    He followed her and saw why she was having so much trouble. The driver outweighed her three times over. Teagen lifted him off the ground as Sage wrapped a gaping wound in the center of his chest.
    “Where’s the man riding shotgun?” Teagen asked as they