Laurel quickly drew her rifle from underneath its blanket covering, where it always laid, their only protection against threatening shadows. She wiped each moist palm in turn against her shift. She'd known that one ill-fated day she'd have to use the gun against the man who hated her, the man who sought her death. Her heart pounded wildly.
Heavy silence smothered the woods. Fearful for Eliza's life, Laurel walked along the side of the wagon, hoping to surprise the uninvited guest. Freshly-fallen pine needles silenced her footsteps.
A horse's snort broke the quiet. Laurel's mare pranced and nickered in answer, but stilled at the gentle stroke of her mistress' hand upon her flank. Hair bristled on the nape of Laurel's neck. Hmm, one intruder - wonder if there's more ?
Thank you, Wah-kon-tah, Great Spirit, that I am not heard.
Laurel rounded the mare's front and stopped, Never had she seen such fear on her friend's face.
She tightened the grip on the rifle butt as it threatened to slip from her sweaty grip. Raising it slowly, she aimed carefully at the middle of his back.
"Leave - her - alone." She paused listening for the leathery sounds of an unholstering gun or an unsheathing knife. "I'll shoot, I promise."
Turning on his heel, the interloper faced Laurel. Her pulse quickened as she drank from hypnotic liquid-green eyes framed by damp red hair, the color of dusty Carolina clay. Her composure strayed under the spell his eyes cast over her entire being. The rifle lowered, snapping her mind-scatter. Gathering her wits, she broke his stare and raised the weapon. With a glance at his lean hips, she mentally noted the absence of a gun belt.
Can't hide a knife in those pants. Her eyes continued their downward sweep past the straining seams of his jeans to his well-fitting riding boots. Squashing the unfamiliar stirrings of desire, she returned her eyes to the stranger's face.
"Who're you ? What do y'all want ?"
The man's eyes flashed an emerald shade of indignation at the demanding tone of the Southern drawl.
"I only wanted to ask if you ladies needed help. Your wagon wasn't here last evening and with the hotel just up the road, I wondered why you hadn't stayed there. I thought maybe you were hurt or sick or something. Or that your horse might've picked up a stone or piece of shell from the road."
Laurel's eyes narrowed. 'She stared along the gunbarrel.
"How do y'all know where our wagon was - or wasn't ?"
"I ride these trails everyday after supper. When I came down this one yesterday, there was no camp here. Now, would you please put that thing down - before you do something we both regret."
As he waited for her to make a decision, he wondered how the statuesque raven-haired,dark-eyed spitfire had managed to get her hands on a James Target rifle. The last time he had seen one of those was during his imprisonment at Andersonville. Snipers reporting for assignments had carried the deadly-accurate life-stealers slung over their shoulders. He had often heard rumors of Confederate women disguising themselves as men so that they could fight "for the cause" alongside their men.
Naw, there was no chance she could be - could she ? A Confederate sniper ?
