sheriff doesn’t call me anything else.”
“K.C., eh? That’s actually a nice name, if you take it in that context, rather than as initials. Mind if I call you Casey?”
The kid noticeably stiffened for a moment, then just as noticeably relaxed. “Don’t make me no nevermind,” was all he said.
That wasn’t quite true, but Casey obviously wasn’t going to make an issue over it. Damian smiled, imagining the boy objected to a name that was known to be used by either boys or girls. And boys his age did tend to get sensitive about such trivialities.
They fell silent again after that. For the most part, it had been a long and boring day on the trail, which Damian supposed he could be grateful for. Boring meant nothing else unfamiliarand dangerous catching him off guard and making him feel so totally out of his element.
About an hour before sunset, Casey headed back toward the river to make camp. He had a fire going in just a few minutes and quickly prepared some dough and set it aside to rise. But then he mounted up again as Damian was still seeing to getting their guests settled.
Damian was alarmed for a moment, thinking he was being abandoned, until Casey said, “Try not to break any more noses while I’m fetching dinner.”
Damian blushed furiously. Casey didn’t see it. He’d already ridden off.
Chapter 7
C asey was probably as glad to see Coffeyville the next morning as Damian was. She preferred traveling alone. She couldn’t relax and be herself when she had to be constantly on guard. She couldn’t manage a quick bath if water was at hand. She couldn’t even see to nature’s needs without slinking off to hide, while her companions just found any old spot with no thought to who else was around. But she couldn’t get annoyed about the embarrassment it caused her, since they all thought she was one of them.
And that was her fault. Not that she went to any concerted effort to appear other than she was. It had never occurred to her when she left home that pretending to be a boy would make things easier on her.
She hadn’t exactly been looking for “easy” at the time, just the opposite actually, if she wanted to get her point proved soon. The only thing she had done was hack off her hair to shoulder-length, and only because, with the clothes she needed to wear for the trail, that long braid dangling down her back would have drawn more notice, and she’d never liked being the center of attention.
The male attire that she wore was necessary, suitable as it was for riding, which was how she did most of her traveling. But it was the thick woolen poncho that fooled folks, hiding all her bumps and curves. And she wore that by preference. The poncho, wide in front, was easier to lift out of the way to draw her weapon than a jacket would be. A jacket, typically shoved behind the gun before it was drawn, would sometimes fall forward again or get in the way, and that could be detrimental to one’s health.
So folks looked at her and, as tall as she was, just naturally assumed she was a boy. She saw no reason to change that misconception. It kept her from being bothered when in towns. It kept her prisoners from thinking they could take advantage of her because she was of the fairer sex. Funny; how they would have less problems accepting apprehension from a young boy than from a woman. But it was true. Some men just didn’t take women seriously at all.
If asked, she’d be honest. After all, she wasn’t masquerading, she was merely letting folks keep their first impressions. And if no one wanted to get too close to her, which might help that person notice things he otherwise wouldn’t, that wasn’t intentional either. That she stank a bit, well, there was a good reason for it.
She had to hunt her own food, and critters could sniff out humans too easily. Masking her scent she’d learned from her father. She couldoccasionally get right on top of a critter that way, before it sensed danger.
Which was
“K.C., eh? That’s actually a nice name, if you take it in that context, rather than as initials. Mind if I call you Casey?”
The kid noticeably stiffened for a moment, then just as noticeably relaxed. “Don’t make me no nevermind,” was all he said.
That wasn’t quite true, but Casey obviously wasn’t going to make an issue over it. Damian smiled, imagining the boy objected to a name that was known to be used by either boys or girls. And boys his age did tend to get sensitive about such trivialities.
They fell silent again after that. For the most part, it had been a long and boring day on the trail, which Damian supposed he could be grateful for. Boring meant nothing else unfamiliarand dangerous catching him off guard and making him feel so totally out of his element.
About an hour before sunset, Casey headed back toward the river to make camp. He had a fire going in just a few minutes and quickly prepared some dough and set it aside to rise. But then he mounted up again as Damian was still seeing to getting their guests settled.
Damian was alarmed for a moment, thinking he was being abandoned, until Casey said, “Try not to break any more noses while I’m fetching dinner.”
Damian blushed furiously. Casey didn’t see it. He’d already ridden off.
Chapter 7
C asey was probably as glad to see Coffeyville the next morning as Damian was. She preferred traveling alone. She couldn’t relax and be herself when she had to be constantly on guard. She couldn’t manage a quick bath if water was at hand. She couldn’t even see to nature’s needs without slinking off to hide, while her companions just found any old spot with no thought to who else was around. But she couldn’t get annoyed about the embarrassment it caused her, since they all thought she was one of them.
And that was her fault. Not that she went to any concerted effort to appear other than she was. It had never occurred to her when she left home that pretending to be a boy would make things easier on her.
She hadn’t exactly been looking for “easy” at the time, just the opposite actually, if she wanted to get her point proved soon. The only thing she had done was hack off her hair to shoulder-length, and only because, with the clothes she needed to wear for the trail, that long braid dangling down her back would have drawn more notice, and she’d never liked being the center of attention.
The male attire that she wore was necessary, suitable as it was for riding, which was how she did most of her traveling. But it was the thick woolen poncho that fooled folks, hiding all her bumps and curves. And she wore that by preference. The poncho, wide in front, was easier to lift out of the way to draw her weapon than a jacket would be. A jacket, typically shoved behind the gun before it was drawn, would sometimes fall forward again or get in the way, and that could be detrimental to one’s health.
So folks looked at her and, as tall as she was, just naturally assumed she was a boy. She saw no reason to change that misconception. It kept her from being bothered when in towns. It kept her prisoners from thinking they could take advantage of her because she was of the fairer sex. Funny; how they would have less problems accepting apprehension from a young boy than from a woman. But it was true. Some men just didn’t take women seriously at all.
If asked, she’d be honest. After all, she wasn’t masquerading, she was merely letting folks keep their first impressions. And if no one wanted to get too close to her, which might help that person notice things he otherwise wouldn’t, that wasn’t intentional either. That she stank a bit, well, there was a good reason for it.
She had to hunt her own food, and critters could sniff out humans too easily. Masking her scent she’d learned from her father. She couldoccasionally get right on top of a critter that way, before it sensed danger.
Which was
Similar Books
