Renegade's Heart by Michelle Kidd (best ereader for students .txt) 📖

to a crouched position.  From there she glanced over the boulder that she'd used for cover the night before.  Confound it, Edgar! He must have fallen asleep during the last watch. Now they were surrounded. 

 A pale yellow light spilled between the trees. Her eyes recognized Big Stan beside her.  The barrel of his gun rested on the boulder. His good hand ready on the trigger.  "I ain't going down without a fight, Sheriff."

 "Aww, come on, boys," the sheriff drawled. "Ain’t no need for bloodshed. Besides, the wife's got breakfast waiting for me back at the house.  I'm starved­­, and I’ll bet you are too. You, boys, come real peaceful-like, and we'll get you a plate of nice, hot vittles. Sarah Sue at the diner cooks up some pretty tasty grits and eggs."

 "This isn't going to end well," Big Stan hissed to no one in particular.  He made hand motions for Edgar and Ernest to be ready.  Seth lay on his belly with his gun drawn too, but fear etched his boyish face. Big Stan gestured to Frankie that she and Seth should get on the horses. Frankie shook her head no.

Her own reluctance surprised her. Here was an opportunity. She could take Seth and start their new life. Yet now the occasion arose, she remained rooted to the spot.  Her head told her to run, but her heart rebelled.  This was her family—a family of thieves—but family all the same.  This didn't seem the time to run.  Big Stan and the boys needed her.  When she hung up her guns, she didn't want to slink away like a coward.  She would do it on her own terms.  No. She shook her head. They would stay . . . and maybe . . . they’d make their escape without anyone getting hurt.

That idea exploded as Frankie watched Big Stan squeeze off a shot.  It knocked the Sheriff's hat in the dust.  The man hit the ground and scurried behind a rock for shelter. 

"Now that was a warning.  Next time I won't be aiming for your hat."

"Okay, okay. Have it your way." The voice sounded more annoyed than scared. "At least give me the pleasure of knowing who I'm about to bring down."

"The name's McNeill—Big Stan McNeill."

"Stan McNeill . . . well . . .  this is a treat. You've got quite a price on your head, Mr. McNeill."

Frankie swore she detected a measure more respect in the man's voice.  The elusive McNeill Gang. There were posters everywhere, but only rough sketches. The figures barely resembled any of them. Oddly enough, there was little comfort in the thought. She had no idea how they would escape now that they were pinned against this rock.

 "Yes, sir, I'm real honored to be taking down a sought-after criminal like you.  Been looking for you a long time."

 "Well, shoot, Sheriff, I'm afraid you're going to have to wait a little longer."  Big Stan said.  "I ain’t got any intention of being caught today."

 Frankie noticed drops of sweat rolling down Big Stan's face despite the chill. He didn't look well. His skin was pasty. His hands trembled. 

 "Let's just get on with it," cried an annoyed voice from the shadows of the forest.  "If you two are finished exchanging pleasantries, I've got work to do back at the ranch, Sheriff."   

 "Quite right," replied the sheriff.  "What say you, McNeill? Give up?"

 "Not a chance!"

 "I figured you’d say that.  Looks like we have ourselves a stand-off." 

***

 Frankie watched Seth chew his nails and spit them into the dirt. He had gnawed most of them down to the nubs. Once more she waffled.  Was she making the right choice by staying? With the money she and Seth had earned in their share of the bank heist, plus the funds she'd saved, they might do all right. Yet a niggling sense of loyalty wouldn't allow her to leave. Thieving wasn't right, to be sure, but again, she came back to one thought. Family. The word resounded inside her brain, and this was the only family she'd ever known. How could she run away and leave them? She wasn't a coward.   

As if sensing her indecision, Big Stan eased over to her, low, so as not to be seen.  "Girl, I've been thinking . . . the way I figure, you and the boy are young. They'll go easy on you—once they find out you're a female and all.  And him . . ." He jerked his chin indicating Seth.  "Well . . . you know, him being all simple-like. You two give yourselves up, and they'll go soft on ya."

Frankie blinked. "That's your plan?  Are you insane?  What about you, Edgar, and Ernest?"  Frankie shook her head.  "Uh-uh. I'm staying.  I'm no coward—and I'm not afraid to fight."

 "Don't you see, gal?  Tell ‘em I forced you.  You surrender, and the boys and me . . . we'll slip out and be gone before they know it." 

 Frankie choked. "You mean you want Seth and me to give ourselves up just so you can get away!  And here I—"

 "Now don't get your dander up.  I ain't going to run off and leave ya.  We'll meet up again in the next town.  They ain't going to lock up no girl and simpleton."

 "Don't call him that? You’d give us up to save your own skin!"

 Big Stan's eyes narrowed.  Frankie could almost see the wheels spinning behind his steel orbs. “Okay."  He nodded.  "I understand how it’s going to be—and I thought you was the smart one. You’re going to turn all girly on me. Don’t you get it . . . it’s a matter of common sense—they ain't going to do nothing to no boy and girl. You rather we all go down? This would give the boys and me a chance to get away. You'll get off Scot-free while we hang."  He sniffed with disgust.  "Just like your mama."

 Frankie's eyes glittered.  "You take that back. I'm nothing like her.  I'm twice as smart as she was. As a matter of fact . . .” She jabbed her finger in his chest. "I'm smart enough to realize that every time you want something from me you think that calling me a girl is an insult.  You're not going to manipulate me into doing something stupid."

 "Well, now . . .  that so.  You'd rather sit here and let us all get shot!"

 "Sh-shot!  Fr-frankie, I don't want to be shot."  Seth trembled.  He didn't cry but rocked back and forth.

 Frankie didn't realize their voices were loud enough to carry. "Hush, It won’t come to that."

 "N-no shooting.  N-no shooting." The words tumbled out of Seth's mouth in a sing-song chant.  His eyes glazed as he swayed.  

 "Seth," Frankie said in a soothing tone.  "Calm down and let me think." He was working himself into a state.  It was never good when he became this agitated.  He was unpredictable. 

 He chewed his nails and fidgeted.  "Pl-please, l-let's surrender.  Can't we . . . I-don't want to be shot again.  So-sorry, Frankie, but I gotta d-do it."

 Frankie wanted time to think. Time to formulate a plan. Confusion gripped her when she caught sight of him rising. What was he doing?  "Seth, don't—" She rushed to stop him, but before she reached him he was on his feet—the gun still in his hand. 

 "I-I want to su-su—"

 "Put the gun down, son," yelled the sheriff.

 "I—I—what?"  He looked confused.  "N-no, I—"

It happened so fast there wasn't time to react. Frankie hardly knew what followed, but heard the sickening blast.

Thump.

The bullet made a dull sound, like thumping a ripe watermelon, as it hit Seth full in the chest. The front of his shirt sprouted crimson.  They watched helplessly as he fell in slow motion—as if an invisible hand guided him to his knees. 

 Frankie gasped. “No!” She scrambled toward him, pulling him in her lap. No, no, no!  Not Seth—not Seth.  "You're going to be alright," she told him.  "You're going to be all right."  Even as she said the words, life was draining from his eyes.

 "Fr-frankie, I'm going to see that Jesus." His eyes grew distant.

"No, you're not, Seth!" Frankie snapped.  "Don't you dare leave me." But she knew there was no use.  There was nothing she could do to hold him here.  "Seth, I love you, you hear!  Please, don't leave me," she pleaded. 

 It's okay, Fr-frankie.  D-don't cry, I—" but his words trailed off as he stared blankly.

What was wrong with him? Why wasn’t he talking to her? She shook him, the horrible truth slamming into her gut. Frankie choked back a sob as she gathered his body to her.  Oh, why was she so bullheaded—why hadn’t she left when she had the chance?  It was her job to protect him. She'd failed. She'd never forgive herself.  What idiot had fired?  Didn't they see he was trying to surrender? 

 Around her, Frankie was aware that her brothers were firing back.  Bullets exploded against the rocks, trees, and dirt where Frankie sat still cradling Seth.  She didn't care.  She picked up her gun, eyes blazing, and began squeezing out round after round. How she wished the cowards would come out from behind the trees so she could shoot them. 

 No one was going to get away with killing her brother.  She couldn't see much for the blue clouds of smoke billowing from the rifles.  The acrid smell of gunpowder and jolt of the rifle was satisfying. She didn’t know if she was hitting anything, but the force of the gun in her hand somehow gave her a sense of control.

She emptied her Winchester and scratched around for more cartridges. Nimble fingers loaded the chamber gate, worked the lever to bring up the round, and lifted the gun to her shoulder. She fired two shots before a bullet struck her and slammed her backward against the stone; it felt like her entire shoulder was missing. The impact stunned her.

 "Dang it, Frankie, move!" Ernest barked.  She was vaguely aware of being dragged.  Gray sky and rock exploded around her.  Instinctively, her hand went to her wound.  It was wet and sticky, covered with blood.  Earnest yelled something—she couldn’t understand. There was dirt, dust, and pain—so much pain.  Was Seth out the way?  She didn't want him to get shot again. No, she couldn't protect him now. He was gone. Her thoughts were running together. She heard Seth's voice. He was asking her if there was a heaven. Maybe—she didn't know. If so, he would be there. Would she? Was she dying? She tried to rise, but something struck her head.  An explosion. Frankie's world went black.

 

 

Chapter 3

 

A blustery gust caused Daniel to burrow deeper into his jacket. He jammed his hat on his head in a vain attempt to keep the wind from snatching it away. Despite the afternoon sun, the day was raw. Concern knit his brows as he noticed vultures gliding in a low, sweeping arc overhead.  He turned Sadie, his chestnut mare, in the direction of the birds. She plodded along in a four-step gait, approaching the flock. The sight of the scavengers made shivers of revulsion run up and down his spine.

As Daniel drew near, he saw the predators had alighted on something. He fired several shots in rapid succession and watched as they scattered