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Killian felt a smile start. "Most people don't call me a pig to my face, lady." He leaned closer, whispered, "They're afraid I'll kill them."
"You can't kill me, you idiot," she said. "It's my dream."
The sheer craziness of the remark caught Killian off guard. He leaned back and studied her, frowning.
Something was wrong with this woman. Really wrong. Nothing about her was ... normal. Not even her clothes. She wore a huge red sweater that hung past her hips. A deep gash of a neckline drooped almost to her waist, showing a band of flesh and a black clingy thing that covered her breasts. The jeans she wore looked to be a hundred years old, bleached to the color of foam and mottled with ratty holes. Even whores wore more.
And clothing wasn't the only strange thing about her. Her hair was cut short, like a man's, only it sort of ... flared up on top, the stand-up curls defying the laws of gravity. She had a narrow, pale face with sharp cheekbones and full, puffy lips that would have been damned kissable on another woman.
"Yer crazy, lady," Purty said quietly.
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Killian loosened his grip on her, and she immediately spiraled away. She made a grunting sound of satisfaction, then folded her arms across her chest and squeezed her eyes shut. "Wake up, wake up, wake up."
He watched her, completely at a loss. "What in the hell are you doing?"
She ignored him. "Wake up, wake up, wake up."
Skeeter turned frightened eyes on Killian. "She's crazy," he murmured. "And she knows my name."
"Mine, too," Mose said in a suspicious voice.
"Wake up, wake up." She sighed audibly. "Goddamn it, wake up."
"Jesus H. Christ, boss," Mose growled, saddling his fresh horse. "We been witnessed by an insane woman. I say we shoot her and get the hell outta here."
"You can't shooter for yappin', Mose," Purty said, tying the money bag around his saddle horn and climbing into the saddle. "I say we take 'er back to the ridge. We can figger out how she knows so much up there."
It made sense. And Killian didn't have time to think of a better solution. "Okay, Purty. You take her with you."
Purty laughed, a rich, rumbling sound that seemed to shake the dusty earth. "I done my time with crazies, boss. Sorry."
Skeeter held up his hands before Killian could even speak. "Don't look at me, boss." He cast her a nervous look. "She ... scares me."
Killian gritted his teeth. Perfect. "Fine. She goes with me. You boys go ahead'n take the fresh horses. I'll ride the black for a few more miles. She can ride my roan."
Purty grinned at Killian. "You're gonna need a mite bigger horse, boss. That roan's sorta puny."
The woman's eyes popped open and drilled Purty. "Purty, you make another crack about my weight and
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I'll cram those decaying, yellowed teeth down your knobby neck. Got it?"
Purty threw his head back and laughed. The hacking sound reverberated across the silent desert. As the sound faded away, he shook his head and pulled down the brim of his dusty brown hat. "Boss, you got your work cut out for you. See ya back at the ridge."
Mose frowned. It was his usual expression, dour and suspicious. He looked at the woman and slowly shook his head. "I'm tellin' ya, boss. You'd best kill this one. It'd save time in the long run."
Purty slapped him on the back, sending a puff of dust into the air between them. "Mose, you gotta quit bein' so damned generous with women."
Skeeter let out a hoot of laughter and leapt up onto his horse. The three riders barreled backward and spun around, leading their tired horses behind them. When the dust cleared, they were gone; all that remained was the thundering echo of hooves on hard-packed earth.
There was a moment of blessed silence, then the woman spoke.
"I need to ... you know . . . have some privacy."
Killian turned to her. She stood there, one hip thrown sideways, her arms slammed across her chest. Frustration was stamped on her delicate features. She wanted to run; he could see it in her eyes, but he also saw that she understood her situation. There was nowhere to go.
