“What do you think you’re doing?” Cora continued to shout at the unknown assailant while trying to maintain her balance. “No one just yanks on a lady like that and--and slings her over your horse like some potato sack!”
The man laughed. “A lady wouldn’t be caught dead sporting that particular style, Miss. I can guarantee that.”
She attempted to pull down at her dress, suddenly conscious of her underthings showing, but her current position demanded that she hold on.
“Don’t look, you disgusting man!”
He laughed again.
“I’m not interested in your type,” he shouted.
Cora grew more furious. Was he entertained in all this?
“And what--what exactly--” she hiccuped between words, and braced herself against the jostling of the saddle. “What type am I exactly?”
The man pulled on the reins and gave a steadying “whoa” to his horse as they came to a stop, the train now out of site, barreling toward the station, with the intent to ride on past, no doubt.
Cora welcomed the steadiness, and relaxed for a brief moment, soon interrupted by the man’s low, mocking laugh.
“The type who tries to make a clean break out the side of a train during a heist,” he said. Cora’s face grew hot at the amusement in his voice. “That’s a strange kind of woman I want nothing to do with.”
Cora went limp, slumping as she sighed on the horse.
“Then thankfully, you don’t have to do anything with such a lady--”
“No, not a lady,” he mused. “Just a woman.”
“Well that’s just about all I can handle,” she exclaimed. Cora had enough. She clumsily slid off the horse, her boots hitting the ground a bit off-kilter. But with a bit of maneuvering and luck to save-face, Cora steadied herself and began to rush away from the man.
“Wait!” he called out.
Cora shook her dress free so that it fell once again to her feet, not daring to look back at the man who caught her.
“Who does he think he is?” she said to herself. “Some sort of chivalrous prince who thinks he can just wander along and pick up damsels in distress along the rail? These Western territory men are really something else.”
She kicked at the grass in front of her as she tried to straighten out her braid. “I would know,” she continued to rant under her breath. “I lived in New York City for crying out loud. The men can’t get any worse.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” she heard a shout and the sound of a horse trotting its way towards her.
Even when his shadow began to eclipse her, she refused to look.
“I’m going into town. I can’t be far. I’m going to get help.”
“It’s about three and a half miles into town. Are you sure you want to walk all the way?”
Cora felt her fists ball, and her cheeks grow hot.
“I would rather walk, than to be dragged along like some sort of produce sack.”
He laughed. “Very well.”
She wandered on toward town, or the general direction she seemed to be needing. Darker clouds began to gather, but Cora was of no mind to it. She walked on in silence, with the horse-man following silently beside.
Cora took a moment to glance beside her. The muscular, red-brown horse rode dutifully under the man whose broad hands commanded the reigns. His white button down was a bit disheveled at the collar, and Cora found her cheeks to be growing warm, watching him sit atop his steed, his hat shadowing his dark brown hair, some tousled bangs falling before his eyes, and his rough but clean jaw making his overall appearance to seem more well-to-do than she anticipated a rugged horseman in the West.
He seemed to be looking away, not noticing her glance, but then the edge of his lip widened to reveal a small dimple at his cheek, and his bright blue eyes flashed their way down toward her direction.
“Are you still intent on being so stubborn?” he said.
Cora looked away in an instant, embarrassed, and fuming at letting her mind wander.
“Certainly not all men from this part of the country are so--so--incredibly forward and--and--quite frankly, uncouth.”
“Uncouth?” he feigned sounding hurt, but she could tell that he was slightly amused. “Says the Miss who was shouting at me not too many moments ago--saying things a gentleman should never repeat.”
They continued to walk on, when Cora’s dress snagged on a drying, thorned shrub. She teased frustratedly at her dress, battling against the bush.
“This wilderness is impossible!”
At once, she reached back with a pull, her dress finally being released, though not without a tear, and fell back onto her bottom, hitting an open patch of moist dirt.