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"Actually," he confessed, "she's kind of difficult to keep track of. Will of her own, if you get my drift."
"Sara's the same way," Mr. Lewis whispered, "though I find it to my liking. Can't abide those pampered women with no mind of their own."
"I’m in total agreement, Mr. Lewis."
"Your wife's probably in the back with Sara. She's always taking the new arrivals under her wing. I’ll go see."
Zac waited with a minimum of patience. He was anxious to be on his way. He suddenly felt tired of the confines of the cities and towns he had been through. He longed for the peace and solitude of his ranch.
"Zac."
He turned, ready to tell her it was about time, but his words caught in his throat. She looked beautiful. The gray skirt she wore fit more than perfectly. It accented her ample hips to the point of being sensual. The short matching cape wasn't, completely closed, and from beneath it he could peek at the simple white blouse that curved invitingly over her full breasts. But it was her hair and bonnet that brought the mumbled "Damn" to his lips.
If Prudence had heard it she ignored it, so intent were his eyes upon her. He didn't even smile, just stared, but oh, what a stare!
He loved the way the wide-brimmed straw hat rested back on her head, leaving her coppery-colored hair to frame her face. And frame it—it did— with small springy curls teasing her forehead and temples, while the pink silk ribbon that dangled in a knot beneath her chin added a soft rose color to her complexion. Nature had bestowed upon her a natural beauty, and the West was just beginning to bring out her full potential.
Zac walked over to her. "You look beautiful."
His words were neither forced nor expressed with any hesitation, a surprise to Prudence. Could he actually mean it? "Thank you," she said, hearing the uncertainty in her own voice.
"Have you gotten everything you need?" he asked, feeling a bit awkward. He seldom told a woman she was beautiful, especially since he hadn't met many he felt deserved that high a compliment. Whenever he did, it was always in private and usually when they were naked. Suddenly, he felt rather exposed, vulnerable, and uncomfortable.
Prudence sensed his uneasiness and wrongly attributed it to his statement. He hadn't meant a word he had said to her. She had never been beautiful, so how could she suddenly become so? She was being a fool again. Too often she had allowed herself the fantasy of hearing such compliments, so that now when she actually did, she believed them. Her defenses rose once again. "I have purchased everything I need. I don't need any help from you."
Zac took a step back, stunned by her caustic response.
She marched right past him with that superior tilt of her head.
"Damn, what did I do now?" he mumbled, sending a quick nod and a pleasant smile to Mr. and Mrs. Lewis before he stormed after Prudence.
"That girl's a real beauty and a spitfire," Mr. Lewis said and, with a sly grin, added, "Just like you, Sara."
Sara winked at him and sashayed behind the gray curtain, with Mr. Lewis quick on her heels.
Zac looked up and down the busy street outside the mercantile. Prudence was only a short distance away. He headed for her with the thought of a good tongue lashing in mind.
"Zac Stewart!"
The voice boomed like a cannon, halting most people where they stood, especially Zac and Prudence.
Zac was all too aware of that voice. It didn't actually belong to anyone in particular. It was the tone. The tone a man used when he thought himself ready to test his skills on the best. And Zac Stewart was the best. No man was faster with a gun.
Zac was cautious when he turned, taking in everything around him. His eyes darted with precision to the buildings, the rooftops in particular, seeing if any "friends" lurked about. Just as quickly, he canvassed the area around the young man who stood no taller than a few inches over five feet.
Zac surveyed the man so swiftly that his opponent didn't even notice. His instincts told him there was no real threat. The man's fingers were too close and itchy on his gun, which meant he was unsure of himself. And an unsure gunslinger was an inexperienced one. And a dead one, though he had no desire to see the young man with a bullet through him.
"You are Zac Stewart?" the man asked, his voice shaky and his finger inching closer to the butt of his gun.
Zac walked toward the man with a slow and steady gait. There was no hesitation to his steps, his confidence all too apparent. "I'm Zac Stewart." His voice was strong, his tone threatening.
The man attempted to speak, but his voice croaked some and he had to clear his throat. "I'm Jeb. Jeb Smith."
