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Category:
Western
Type: Fiction
Life story of cowgirl/outlaw/jailbird/deputy/rancher/
mayor who is fastest gun in west and also bisexual.
Wyoming cowgirl Jeannie Morgan is charismatic, devastating - boyishly beautiful. And the fastest gun in the west. And bisexual. Hilarious and funny when not volcanic with fury or scary, she wears mens' clothes with panache, including the Colt and her hip, fights like a man and smokes cigars.
Journalist Kate Howard comes to write Jeannie's truth and falls in love with her before writing her full story.
Jeannie has grown up to be a cowgirl on her father's Wyoming ranch. She and friend Victoria make love and Jeannie also falls in love with Bob Delaney, a cowboy on the ranch, who adores her. She's not accepted by citizens and becomes an outlaw leader. She's jailed but broken out to save her home town from gang headed by psycho out for revenge against her. She's largely accepted and made Deputy. Her heart is weakened after a fever and is forced to quit her job. She becomes the rancher she always wanted to be, but also a target for assassins. Her lover, Bob, is killed.
Carl, her foreman, becomes her lover. She becomes mayor, then quits as her heart grows worse. She makes peace with people as they discover the person she truly is. She's reinstated as mayor because the force of her personality and power brings town to peace without losing frontier character.
After her re inauguration she kisses Kate Howard, who has written that truth, properly. Kate has longed for this. She's now a member of Jeannie's 'harem', though also happily married. She keeps the kiss secret, but feels pride, pleasure and honour.
Excerpt
Jeannie Morgan’s straightened gun arm shifted from one man to the other. They both gawped at her, clutching their bleeding parts. She flicked her head and the barrel of her gun.
'Goddamn sick, the pair o' ya. An' cowardly, pickin' on an unarmed gal.’ Her husky, androgynous tones broke the hush.'Git outta here. Move!'
'Shit...'
'Goddamn...bitch.'
They stumbled into the forest, staring after her. She holstered her gun and approached me. Sunlight fully drenched her and I inwardly gasped, my mouth open. She held the look of a gorgeous youth who could leave young women dangerously breathless. I gazed lengthily at her, and my scrutiny revealed the truth of her gender. Fine features. Almost Effeminate. An indian style bandana bound shortish tousled, fringed fair hair. Our gazes clashed. Hers, unblinking, won. They were an iridescent, milky pale blue. I froze and my heart thundered. She reached out a helping hand and I struggled to my feet and clutched a burning arm. Warmth surged into those eyes, narrowed in concern.
‘Okay, Honey?’
Honey. Her voice was like honey. I nodded, alarmed at the fancy that gripped me, and shocked at this longed-for encounter. I dragged free of that discomforting, seductive gaze. She grinned crookedly, toothily at me. Gentle dimples in her cheeks deepened. My heart groaned again. My own face burned...with jealousy. I wanted to be her. And an absurd desire had taken root. Her warmth and tenderness drowned me. She glanced at my blooded sleeve, acquired when I fell, and nodded towards a flat boulder.
‘Sit there an’ let’s take a look at yer arm, Honey.’
Her sensuality radiated as I settled on the boulder, distracting me from my painful arm. She crouched and helped me remove my jacket. Her warm breath bathed my face and she smelled not unpleasant – of cowboy, I imagine. She unbuttoned my sleeve and folded it back to reveal my bloodied skin. She cradled my arm in a strong, bronzed hand. Her veins were prominent, the skin a silken sheen. Her tenderness and her voice bolted shivers through me.
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