Are you taste buds hungering for a western? Well, I happen to have just the story for you.
Odessa, my historical western romance set in Arizona. I love the opening, so I'm going to hope to reel you in with "just a taste."
Arizona
Territory 1880
Chapter
One
Odessa Clay struggled to
lift the overturned wagon off her father. Her muscles burned and
splinters dug into her palms, but Papa’s ashen face and eyes
squinting with pain inspired her determination. She bit her bottom
lip and struggled to stay calm.
“God, please help me,”
she muttered through clenched teeth, as she pushed, shoved, and
lifted with every ounce of strength she had left. The veins in the
backs of her hands bulged, but the wagon didn’t budge. At one
hundred pounds and barely five feet tall, she proved no match for
solid wood. Her chest heaved and each breath took effort. She brushed
sweat-dampened hair from her brow and knelt. All her struggling had
only succeeded in setting the left rear wheel into a slow spin and
creating an eerie whirring in the silence.
“Hold on, Papa. I’ll
find some way to help you.” Her nails bit into her fisted
palms.
His pale features
contorted, and fear clutched her heart. She rose and stared up and
down the trail. Nothing stirred except the hot wind that whipped her
long hair into tangles and sent a dust funnel swirling in the
distance.
Turning her attention back
to her father, she again attempted to lift the wagon’s cumbersome
weight and failed.
“Can anyone hear me,”
she screamed, searching the trail again.
The dirt unfurled like a
brown ribbon between the expanse of cactus and sagebrush. Odessa,
refusing to let her father see her hopelessness, blinked back tears.
Anger heated her blood.
This was all her fault. First her mother died giving birth, and now
her father was dying because of her. He wanted her to have a woman’s
influence in her life—have more opportunities. Their trip had gone
smoothly until Papa whipped the horses to a faster pace to combat the
heat—stir a breeze where none existed. The same wheel that spun now
had been the one that slipped into a ragged rut and tipped the wagon
over. She’d jumped clear, but her father remained pinned beneath
the sideboard from the waist down. The accident snapped the harness
rigging, and the animals ran off. What she wouldn’t give for one to
wander back right now.
She rushed to the other
side and pulled with all her might on the front wheel. Praying for
strength, she gritted her teeth and tugged until splinters from the
prickly-wooded spoke tore into her flesh. There was nothing she could
do. The wagon wouldn’t shift.
Something stung above her
left eye and she swiped her knuckles across the spot. Blood mixed
with the dirt on her hand and created rust-colored mud. She wiped the
stain on her sleeve and scanned the area for something to use for
leverage. Her father had often lifted things by using a piece of wood
or a log from a fallen tree. She hitched up her skirt and traipsed
through sparse knee-high growth, praying to find something—anything.
“Stay with me, Papa, I’m
looking.” She cast another hopeful glance at the trail. Still no
one in sight. Why had they decided to make this wretched trip to
Phoenix? Just because Aunt Susan lived there? Odessa’s stomach
churned with fear and her mind spun in a hundred directions. What if
she couldn’t get Papa out?
She spied nothing but
rocks, boulders and a broken saguaro limb too rotten to use. Her
shoulders sagged as she returned empty handed to the wagon. Her
father’s face appeared even more ashen and his breathing ragged. A
scarlet pool colored the dirt beneath him. She hunkered beside him
and took his hand. Why had God let this happen?
Before she found her voice,
his eyes fluttered open. “Don’t fret, Dessie. I’m not afraid to
die. Your Ma is waiting for me.” His weak voice faded into a
cough then his face puckered into a grimace. He licked his lips.
“Do you want water,
Papa?” She swiveled to fetch the canteen, but he grabbed her arm.
“No.” He took a shallow
breath. “I’m worried about you, darlin'. Find your Aunt Susan and
let her know what happened. She’ll take care of you.” He moaned
and swallowed hard. “All I know is she’s somewhere close to
Phoenix. Tell her I’m sor….
Odessa squeezed his hand.
“Don’t leave me, Papa.”
His hand slackened in hers,
and a final breath escaped his already blue lips. She remembered the
distinct death rattle from when her grandmother passed away a few
months back. Odessa collapsed across her father and wept. The day
started out with such excitement, and now she’d become an orphan.
Being alone in the middle of nowhere magnified the pain of her loss.
Was she destined to die too?
She sat up and gazed
through blurred eyes at her father’s face. Her chest ached as
though someone embedded a knife within her heart. If not for the
smudges of blood and dirt on Papa’s cheeks, he almost appeared to
be sleeping. In a way he was. The eternal sleep of the angels. She
splayed her fingers through his hair and sobbed. “Please wake up. I
don’t want to be alone.”
Numb and disbelieving, she
stared into space. Her thoughts drifted back to the conversation
she’d had with Papa about this trip. His deep voice still rang as
clear as a bell in her mind.
“Dessie, you deserve more
than Tucson has to offer. This place has grown too dangerous.”
The neighboring milling
sites, rich with silver ore, attracted a less desirable crowd. More
and more wanted outlaws roamed the streets, cocky and almost daring
anyone to draw down on them. The town grew, but the environment
became more dangerous, and Papa wanted to move to a place where
Odessa could get an education and perhaps find a suitable husband. At
seventeen, the thought of marriage made her queasy.
“But, Papa, I like living
here,” she’d argued. “Mama, Granny and Grandpa are all buried
in the church cemetery. We can’t just pick up and leave them.”
“Darlin’, where they’re
at is a much better place, believe me. Besides, your Ma wouldn’t
want you raised in this God-forsaken place. This town wasn’t like
this when we first came here. The population is being overrun with
gunslingers and fallen women. It’s not fittin’ for a girl your
age not to be able to walk down Main Street and be safe.”
“But where will you work,
Papa?”
“I’m sick of mining and
I can’t afford cattle to start a ranch. I can find something in
Phoenix. Hear tell the Phoenix-Maricopa Railroad is about to start.
There’s bound to be something I can do. Don’t you worry your
pretty little head. I’ll take care of us.”
And so the decision was
made.
Slumped beside her
father’s still form, she lapsed into another crying fit, wishing
she’d argued more for staying in Tucson. When she had no more tears
to shed, she took stock of her predicament and realized she was
wasting what was left of daylight.
Her only choice was to
leave and hope some kind soul would come along and bury Papa. There
was no more she could do. Determination to see her eighteenth
birthday built within her breast. Dying wasn’t an option, but
living was. If indeed her time to pass had come, she wasn’t going
willingly.
Should she sit and wait for
help to come? What were the chances? Granny always told her an
idle mind was the devil’s workshop, and Odessa wasn’t about to
tempt fate.
Unlike their few belongings
strewn about, Papa’s rifle, the food they’d packed for the trip
and two filled canteens were somewhere beneath the wagon. Odessa
wriggled under the bed and crawled toward the front. Cactus stickers
poked through her clothing and pebbles and stones scratched her legs,
but she found the things she needed. Inching backwards with them in
tow, she made her way out from under the overturned rig and, rising
to her knees, inhaled the fresh air. Her fingers held tight to the
pouch holding the few spare bullets Papa had brought.
Pondering her options, she
muttered an oath. She wouldn’t have minded if they’d stayed in
the town where she’d been raised. Tucson had grown in the past
year, with another general store, a new boarding house, and two
laundries operated by Chinese men in silken suits and funny little
hats. But her father saw danger she didn’t. “Oh, Papa,” she
groaned. “You didn’t have to die because of me.” A lump formed
in her throat.
She stood, purposely
avoiding the other side of the wagon and his body, and bent to pick
up the lap blanket normally kept stored beneath the seat. After
shaking the dirt and thistles from the cover, she folded the material
across her arm. Although the late April day grew hotter, desert
nights were often cold and unpredictable. Flash floods were common,
and even an occasional snow flurry wasn’t an odd sight on the
higher plains.
The thought of being alone
at night raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Predators filled
this barren land and she had no desire to become a meal for one.
Something rustled through the nearby scrub brush. She jumped, but
sighed when she heard nothing further. At least if she remained with
the wagon, she’d have some sort of shelter and could start fresh in
the morning. She’d spent the night with Granny’s lifeless body in
the house, so being with Papa was the lesser of her concerns. He
loved her in life, and death wouldn’t change that. Perhaps he’d
watch over her and keep her safe.
Odessa propped the rifle
against the wagon, hung the canteens and pouch from a wheel hub and
spread the blanket by the tailgate. Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t
eaten since breakfast. Papa had planned to stop for an early dinner
in a good place to camp for the night, but the trip hadn’t lasted
that far.
She dropped to the
ground, tucked her skirt around her legs, and pulled a sandwich
wrapped in a blue-checkered cloth from the basket. The thought that
Papa lay only a few feet away stole the taste from the ham and
brought tears to her eyes again. While she chewed, she watched the
bright orange sun sink into the western sky. Her heart hammered with
dread of the coming night.
The temperature dipped
along with the sunlight. The air grew cold and raised goosebumps on
Odessa’s arms. She kept vigil at the end of the wagon and snuggled
beneath her blanket. A golden slice of moonlight hovered above. The
outline of the nearby saguaros took on a human appearance. Arms and
legs and faces masked by darkness. She shivered as a coyote howled in
the distance.
Before long, another desert
dog launched into a hair-raising cry, only to be answered by yet
another. This one sounded too close. Letting go of the blanket,
Odessa reached for the carbine and pulled the weapon across her lap.
She’d never shot at anything other than a bottle on a tree stump,
but having the rifle slowed her racing heart.
Her gaze scanned the
shadows for movement. An occasional rustling indicated something
small skittering about, but that didn’t frighten her as much as the
continued yowling that grew nearer. Her rigid shoulders ached and her
eyes blurred from staring. Despite only muted moonlight, being so
exposed made her uncomfortable.
What if the remaining food
attracted the coyotes? Odessa pushed the basket back beneath the
wagon then realized a dead body was more likely to attract scavengers
than her meager fare. Feeling foolish, she stood and gathered her
canteens, then lay on the dusty ground and inched her way back
beneath the tailgate, pulling the rifle in with her. There was not
room enough to spread the blanket, and despite the stickers and
pebbles poking at her, she’d much prefer the discomfort to the
sharp teeth of a hungry animal.
On her stomach and
clutching her weapon, Odessa peered into the darkness. She focused on
happier times when Granny was still alive and told stories of her own
childhood. Most of them were tall tales, but what she wouldn’t give
to be back next to the hearth and a roaring fire, listening to those
yarns. Her favorite had always been about the ghost who lived in the
pasture, but the fright Granny inspired by telling her spirit story
was nothing compared to the lump of terror building in Odessa’s
belly. She never realized the night held so many strange noises.
******
Let Logan Carruthers Be Your Next Hero!, 
