why Casey didn’t bother to wash her clothes unless she was staying in a town for more than a day, though she did bathe herself as often as possible. Right now, though, she knew she reeked, because her woolen poncho stank to high heaven every time after getting wet, and it had been drenched in the downpour the area had had a few days ago.
None of which would cause her any grief if she didn’t have company, but she did, and she’d been extremely embarrassed a number of times since Damian Rutledge III had walked into her camp.
She’d never met anyone who’d held her attention as much as that Easterner did. He was unusual, to be sure, a big man like that in such a fancy city suit, but he was too damn handsome, too. Brown hair so dark that it looked black in most lighting, broad cheekbones, a very arrogant slant to his jaw, and thick brows made his face very masculine, along with a sharply chiseled nose and a firm mouth. And he had piercing gray eyes that had given her pause more than once, in thinking he could see through to the real Casey.
He distracted her, plain and simple. She’d caught herself staring at him for no good reason, just because he was so nice to look at. He made her feel strange, too, which she didn’t like. And a couple times she’d even had this fool notion that maybe she ought to get prettied up, to let him see what she could be like, which was plain stupid. He’d be going on his way as soon as theyreached Coffeyville, and she was glad of it. Distractions like him she didn’t need.
Casey was doing fairly well for herself, all things considered. For a while, she’d felt really bad about the way she’d left home after that argument with her father, her anger keeping her from leaving her parents any explanation. She’d simply taken off without any good-byes, sneaked off in the night, to be exact.
But she telegraphed notes to her mother every few weeks, to let her know she was fine. She didn’t want them to worry about her, though she knew they would. Still, she wasn’t going home until she had accomplished her goal.
Chandos had made his way on his own. Now Casey was merely doing the same. She was proving that she could support herself without a man’s help, and do it by doing a man’s job.
Yet sometimes she felt like the outlaws whom she tracked. Knowing her father, she assumed that he was out there searching for her, and it wasn’t easy eluding him. But all he had to go on was her description, and her present description didn’t exactly match the one he knew by heart. The irony of the initials she used he hadn’t discovered yet, at least not to her knowledge, but only a few sheriffs knew her as K.C. Most folks really did just call her Kid.
Soon she might be able to go home. At least she’d come north on this trip with that hope.
It had been a prime piece of luck, being in the right place at the right time and overhearing Bill Doolin bragging about a double bank robbery planned in Coffeyville this week. Doolin was a known member of the Dalton gang, and Caseyprobably could have captured him with ease—he’d been quite drunk at the time—but had decided to wait and get the entire gang at once.
Casey had done her homework about this bunch of outlaws, talking to people, reading up on past newspaper articles, just as she always did before she set out to apprehend someone. The three Dalton brothers, Robert, Emmett, and Grattan, used to be U.S. marshals out of Arkansas. It was purely a shame when lawmen went bad, but the Dalton brothers surely had.
They’d started their illegal activities only a few years ago in Oklahoma, horse stealing mostly, then had moved up to bigger crimes when Robert, the leader of the gang, moved them to California. Their attempt to rob the San Francisco-Los Angeles express of the Southern Pacific Railroad early last year, a failed undertaking since they couldn’t get the safe open, got them plastered all over Wanted posters in that area, so they hightailed
None of which would cause her any grief if she didn’t have company, but she did, and she’d been extremely embarrassed a number of times since Damian Rutledge III had walked into her camp.
She’d never met anyone who’d held her attention as much as that Easterner did. He was unusual, to be sure, a big man like that in such a fancy city suit, but he was too damn handsome, too. Brown hair so dark that it looked black in most lighting, broad cheekbones, a very arrogant slant to his jaw, and thick brows made his face very masculine, along with a sharply chiseled nose and a firm mouth. And he had piercing gray eyes that had given her pause more than once, in thinking he could see through to the real Casey.
He distracted her, plain and simple. She’d caught herself staring at him for no good reason, just because he was so nice to look at. He made her feel strange, too, which she didn’t like. And a couple times she’d even had this fool notion that maybe she ought to get prettied up, to let him see what she could be like, which was plain stupid. He’d be going on his way as soon as theyreached Coffeyville, and she was glad of it. Distractions like him she didn’t need.
Casey was doing fairly well for herself, all things considered. For a while, she’d felt really bad about the way she’d left home after that argument with her father, her anger keeping her from leaving her parents any explanation. She’d simply taken off without any good-byes, sneaked off in the night, to be exact.
But she telegraphed notes to her mother every few weeks, to let her know she was fine. She didn’t want them to worry about her, though she knew they would. Still, she wasn’t going home until she had accomplished her goal.
Chandos had made his way on his own. Now Casey was merely doing the same. She was proving that she could support herself without a man’s help, and do it by doing a man’s job.
Yet sometimes she felt like the outlaws whom she tracked. Knowing her father, she assumed that he was out there searching for her, and it wasn’t easy eluding him. But all he had to go on was her description, and her present description didn’t exactly match the one he knew by heart. The irony of the initials she used he hadn’t discovered yet, at least not to her knowledge, but only a few sheriffs knew her as K.C. Most folks really did just call her Kid.
Soon she might be able to go home. At least she’d come north on this trip with that hope.
It had been a prime piece of luck, being in the right place at the right time and overhearing Bill Doolin bragging about a double bank robbery planned in Coffeyville this week. Doolin was a known member of the Dalton gang, and Caseyprobably could have captured him with ease—he’d been quite drunk at the time—but had decided to wait and get the entire gang at once.
Casey had done her homework about this bunch of outlaws, talking to people, reading up on past newspaper articles, just as she always did before she set out to apprehend someone. The three Dalton brothers, Robert, Emmett, and Grattan, used to be U.S. marshals out of Arkansas. It was purely a shame when lawmen went bad, but the Dalton brothers surely had.
They’d started their illegal activities only a few years ago in Oklahoma, horse stealing mostly, then had moved up to bigger crimes when Robert, the leader of the gang, moved them to California. Their attempt to rob the San Francisco-Los Angeles express of the Southern Pacific Railroad early last year, a failed undertaking since they couldn’t get the safe open, got them plastered all over Wanted posters in that area, so they hightailed
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