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Fred pulled at his ear lobe, shaking it. He must have been hearing things. A woman's voice was coming from up ahead. She was singing.
He laughed to himself. Why would a woman be singing in the forest?
He could not help but listen, even if she was a hallucination. Her voice was not soft, yet there was a softness to it. The smooth timbre could have carried for miles had she chosen to express it. Instead, she hummed and kept her tone low, so that only she and the trees could hear. He felt privileged to be let in on it, as though she were revealing some secret to him with her song.
He crept closer, no longer certain that it was a hallucination. He had heard of desert mirages, but forest mirages? Never in his life had he experienced such a thing, yet he had spent many days living in the forest and off its land. He rewrapped his meat from this morning's breakfast and placed it in his pouch.
"Come along, Bessie," he whispered to his horse, patting her muzzle. She nickered at him, and he stroked her backside before gently walking her toward the woman, whose voice seemed to be floating through the air.
The words became clearer the closer he got.
"... But home awaits
But home awaits..."
Her words and the melancholy melody crafted around them made his heart ache for her. Whoever she was, it sounded as though her soul were lost. Her song stopped and he waited to see if it might begin again. He hoped it would. He peeked between some bushes and saw only the woman's back. Her hair was down to her waist. It shined back at him in the late afternoon light, gleaming like gold.
Fred smiled. If she were to sing for him as she did for the trees, he might feel as though he were rich with gold. She rushed toward a stream and bent over, drinking the water as though she had not drunk a thing in days. If she continued like that, she would make herself sick.
Fred's head tilted to the side as he watched her. Something about her figure seemed familiar to him. He stepped closer. A broad smile rose on his lips when he realized who it was. He'd only seen her for a short time before, so it had taken him a minute to figure it out. He moved toward her.
She lifted her head from the stream and froze when she saw him.
"Hello," he said, grinning at her.
She screamed.
"I won't hurt you," he quickly said, realizing how foolish he'd been not to anticipate this reaction.
She grabbed a fallen tree branch from off the ground and stepped backward into the water, brandishing the stick at him like a sword.
"Stay back," she yelled, stumbling as she kept her eyes trained on him. And they were beautiful eyes. Lighter than his own and more animated than any he'd ever seen before. They dared him to take another step. He took it.
"I'm warning you," she yelled, then fell on her backside as her feet tripped over each other. She landed in the water, the branch floating away. He stepped closer, and she began splashing water at him.
"What are you doing?" Fred asked, wiping water from his eyes. She rolled a large splash toward him and several droplets fell into his open mouth. He spit it out. "I'm not going to hurt you," he yelled. "I've already told you that."
She paused, looking at him with suspicion.
"You're one of them."
"Who?" he asked innocently, playing with her.
"The outlaws. The thieves who stole away with my things and spoiled my journey to Helena."
"Helena?" he asked with raised eyebrows. "Is that where you're going?
"It is," she replied, still sitting in the water. She was using it as a sort of shield. "My sister and her... husband... live there." She seemed to think he would not enter the stream. The trickster in his mind dared him to prove her wrong.
He took three swift steps forward so that his boots were covered by the water. She started and tumbled back, trying to stand and run. Fred grabbed hold of her arm, catching her by surprise. She turned toward him, panic lighted in her eyes. He hated seeing it there and knowing he had caused it.
"Listen to me," he growled, no longer laughing. "I. Will. Not. Hurt. You." He drew the words out, focusing his eyes on hers. She stared back at him. Slowly, her fear began to fade. Her muscles relaxed. His eyes moved to her coral-colored lips. His gaze lingered there a moment, watching as she wetted them with her tongue. He had the sudden urge to pull her into his arms and taste her.
Fred shook his head, trying to clear it of the image.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing." He let her go and she did not run.
"You swear you will not harm me?" she asked, carefully scrutinizing him.
"I swear to God you will be safe with me," he told her. The color was returning to her cheeks.
"What is your name?"
"Fred Connor, at your service, miss," he said, doing a little bow.
Her lips began to curve upward, though she fought it back.
"Mr. Connor, do you have a mother?"
Fred cocked his head to the side. "A mother? Of course. Do we not all?"
"I mean, is she living?"
He searched her for the meaning of her words. Her eyes glowed with a determination he had never seen before in a woman.
"Yes," he finally said.
"Then swear on her life."
Her words startled him. "My oath to God is not good enough for you?"
"You are a thief. You disobey God's laws every day that you live. But your mother is a separate matter. Men may break their oaths to God, but I have yet to find a man who would break one to his mother."
Fred's lips curved up at the ends. "I swear on the life of my mother, Pearl Connor, you shall come to no harm when you are with me."
The woman nodded and took a tentative step from the streambed. Fred tried to help her out but she shook him off.
"I am Miss..." she hesitated a moment, "Wilma Honeybee."
Fred lifted an eyebrow. Surely, that name was made up. He tipped his hat to her anyway. "Well, Miss Honeybee, it seems fate has bound us together."
"Fate has nothing to do with it," she said, the fire in her eyes up. She began to walk at a brisk pace, toward where, he had no idea. She was clearly lost. "It is you and your friends who have done this. Stolen me from my stagecoach and taken my things."
"We did not steal you," Fred said, following her. "You ran off of your own accord."
"Only after one of your friends threatened me."
Fred's mouth tightened. "They are no friends of mine."
She paused, eying him speculatively as he sidled up next to her. Her dress was soaked. Her face was smeared with dirt. She looked as though she'd spent a thousand nights in the forest instead of just one.
"If they are not your friends, then why do you run with them?" She asked it without condescension, a simple question of curiosity.
"It is work, that is all."
She bristled at his response and resumed her walk. "Work," she said, scoffing at the word. "That is what you call it, do you? Thievery and kidnapping are not work. They are crimes, punishable by man and by God."
Fred could not abide Wilma's bizarre statements. They contradicted reality. "No one has kidnapped you. You ran off on your own. You are free to go whenever you choose."
"Good, then I choose to go now." Her stomach let out a loud rumble. Her face flushed pink.
"You would be better off with me. I can show you the way to Helena. It is not so very far, and I must return there myself. Ride with me, and you shall get there faster."
Wilma laughed. "Ride with you? I would rather eat a thousand bed bugs." Her face scrunched up as the image rolled across her mind.
"All right then," Fred said breezily. "Do you know which way you wish to go?" His mouth lifted at the corners. How could this woman infuriate him and beguile him all at once? He did not like the way his head was spinning. His mind was trying to think of reasons to keep her here so that he might look upon those lips a little longer.
"I wish to go to the main road," she said.
"It is east of us," he told her.
She nodded and turned west.
"That's the wrong way," he called after her.
She hesitated before turning back to him.
"I know that," she said, her eyes burning brightly. The sun was creeping downward. They only had a few good hours of light left. "I was merely... going to collect my things."
"I see. Which things are those? The ones you left behind in the stagecoach?"
Her temper flared. Oh, this one was quite a handful. He could rile her so easily. Why did he insist on doing so? Was it to see the pink rush to her cheeks or the coral of her lips as they pressed firmly together in a seductive pout?
"I demand my things at once," she said.
"You speak as though you're royalty," he chided. "Why should you 'demand' anything?"
"They are my things, and I want them." She paused a moment, drawing in a breath. "I also want to know what you've done with Judge Foster and Mr. Bedielson. And the driver."
Fred's face tightened. "Do you know Judge Foster?" he asked through gritted teeth.
"No," she said. "We met only today when he boarded the carriage. Why?"
"It's no matter," he said, shaking it off. "Your riding companions are safe."
"How is that possible? I heard gunshots."
"That's right. My... associate's gun jammed. The gentlemen were able to catch us at a disadvantage."
Wilma sighed with relief. "So, my things are safe."
"Well, your money is gone. But we had no use for your dresses."
Her spine stiffened. Her voice rose an octave, but instead of screeching as any other woman's might have, hers sounded like music.
"I thought you said the others got away."
"They did. Their money, however, did not."
She folded her arms across her chest. For the first time, tears filled her eyes. "I have nothing now."
Fred's heart felt weighted with guilt. He walked to her and tilted her chin back so that her eyes met his. She stiffened but did not move away. Her skin was soft as a cloud. Even with the dirt on her face and the leaves in her hair, she was beautiful. Tempting. His body itched for more than a mere touch.
"I am sorry," he said, surprised to find that he meant it. "Ride with me and I will get you safely to your destination."
She held his gaze. Her fingers wrapped delicately over his forearm. She licked her lips and it took every ounce of Fred's strength to stop himself from planting his mouth over hers.
She took a breath and swallowed. "I—"
Her words were cut off by the sound of approaching horses and men's voices.
"She was feisty, all right," Randall laughed.
"I'll take her over Alice Tucker any time of the week," Paul laughed back.
"If that judge managed to get to a town, the sheriff and his men will be out here looking for us," Abel said.
"Then we'll kill them all." Paul’s voice was flat and cold. They all laughed.
Wilma's eyes widened. She let go of Fred's hand and stepped back.
"Wilma, wait," he said, cursing his luck that those three ratbags should pick this moment to return to their camp.
"Stay away from me," she said and took off in the opposite direction.
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