Page 152 of The Widow and the Wanted

Men who five seconds ago wanted us hanged now start backing away from Everett like sin is catching.

Goldie looks at the sky with one brow lifted, as if mildly impressed by the promptness of ancient gods.

Everett collapses against the wagon wheel.

Deputy Hepburn drops from the rear bench, face white. “Mr. Everett!”

That’s when Lula moves. The canvas flap snaps open. She steps out of the wagon before Hepburn can catch her, shawl clutched tight around her shoulders, hair coming loose, face pale as candle wax and eyes burning green.

The whole world narrows.

“Lula,” I breathe.

Okee is already moving.

So am I.

Pearl hisses behind us, “No⁠—”

Too late.

We run down the stairs so fast I near take the last four in one leap. The Gemini erupts around us. Girls shouting. Men ducking away. Goldie’s voice somewhere above, commanding calm.

We hit the front doors together.

The crowd sees us and surges back, then forward, then don’t know what the hell to do.

I don’t care.

Lula stands in the mud beside the wagon.

Everett groans at her feet, one gloved hand smeared red where he’s pressed it to his mouth. Hepburn reaches for Lula’s arm.

I draw my pistol.

“Touch her and lose the hand.”

My voice don’t sound like mine. It sounds low and old and mean enough that Hepburn freezes.

Okee steps beside me, rifle up.

The crowd backs another half step.

Lula looks at me, then at Okee, and for a second all the noise falls away. Her face changes into something fiercer. Like she’s seen shore after drowning and means to drag herself the last few feet.

Then she turns to the crowd.

“No,” she says.

It ain’t loud.

But it lands.

“No,” she says again, stronger. “You do not get to make this another lie.”

Everett coughs, blood bubbling at his lips. “Mrs. Clay⁠—”

“Be quiet,” Lula says.