Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jessie said that it was her impeccable ability to read people that meant it was a good use of her time to sit on the porch and watch for the newcomers to Daviston. Her uncle said that it was her fine ability to find any sort of trouble and get into it, but oftentimes Jessie just liked to think of those as being the same thing in different forms anyhow. In any case, it at least gave her something to do around town while she had a busted ankle.

Of course, that same busted ankle made it more than a little bit difficult to get around, but the crutches did give her extra reach and it was harder for her uncle to blame her for throwing things to get his attention. She just could barely wait for it to finally come off. All the same, on seeing not only a newcomer in town, but the first Chinese man that had been through since the railroad had been under construction while she was a child, Jessie responded by flicking the core of her apple through the window beside her, neatly clipping Buzz on the back of the hard.

He turned to give her an annoyed look, and she beamed at him. With Woody off helping Bo with a leak in the roof of the schoolhouse – or some other task that could well have been a thinly-fabricated excuse to take off his shirt, spend time with her, or both – and his deputy Andy handling some local dispute, it was only Jessie and Buzz left to mind the station. Even if Buzz wasn’t technically a lawman, most people in the small town knew and listened to him.

With a roll of his eyes, Buzz acquiesced, rose from his chair, and briefly disappeared from her view as he made his way to the door. Jessie got a hold of her crutch, in case she needed to stand quickly, but simply waited for Buzz to join her on the shady porch.

“What is it?” he said, pushing back his pale grey hat.

Jessie nodded in the direction of the newcomer. He had a fine horse, she had to say, an unfading black stallion with front white fetlocks, back white stockings, and a clean white blaze all the way from mane to nose. But the man himself looked nervous, or more precisely like he was trying not to look nervous. Leaning on the doorway, Buzz turned to survey him as well; blue eyes lingering until the man turned towards them and Buzz turned casually back to Jessie once again.

“He doesn’t look like one to cause trouble, but still. Do you want me to talk to him?”

It didn’t Jessie much time to think that one through. She grabbed her crutch and pushed upright instead, tilting her own hat into position. “Naw, you don’t worry yourself. Just wanted to let you know where I was off to.”

The look that Buzz gave her might have been in response to throwing the apple core at his head, or it might just have been that he knew exactly how she was thinking he might look to the newcomer. Still strong-jawed, and stern despite the years since the war, Buzz could be intimidating at the best of times. He never meant to get into fights, but they seemed into get to him all the same.

“Well, you be careful,” he said gruffly.

Jessie grinned, hopped down from the porch in a move she had become quite skilled at over the past weeks, and made her way towards the young man. At least his arrival was a bit of entertainment in what could have been a boring day.

More entertaining, as he dismounted the horse in one skilled move but then hesitated, was the fact that he was clearly not used to even a town so small as this. To which, he took the wrong turning and, instead of heading down Main Street, disappeared off towards the deadline before Jessie had gotten even halfway toward him.

She wasn’t sure why it was quite so entertaining, or why she should find herself quite so worried. Perhaps that he had looked pretty young, or perhaps that he was clearly more naïve than Jessie had been even years ago now. Perhaps it was just that he had a damn fine horse. But even on her crutch, Jessie managed to make it round the corner just in time to see him leading his horse to one of the water troughs about the town.

He stopped, stroking the horse’s neck, and Jessie muttered gratefully as she made her way over towards him finally able to catch up. He was wearing blue jeans, which looked less broken-in than Jessie’s, with a faded green-grey shirt and a grey vest over the top. His grey hat had a green band that matched surprisingly well, and he wore a black leather belt with a holster on his right hip.

Unfortunately, Jessie wasn’t quite up to the speed that she usually was, and on the quiet pre-sundown street the man was sticking out like nobody’s business. She wasn’t more than halfway to him when one of Dolly’s doves, apparently up early in the day, laid eyes on him and sashayed over from the bordello with business in her gaze.

“Hoo boy,” muttered Jessie. “Here we go.”

“Hey there,” the girl purred, sidling up to the side of the Chinese man. He jumped, and turned with wide eyes. “I don’t recall seeing you around town before.”

“I – I’m,” he cleared his throat, and his voice shifted from what Jessie would guess was its usual young tone to a more masculine, deeper one. “I am new, yes. But I’m looking for your Sheriff.”

The girl batted her eyes, then lowered them, which might have looked demure if it did not attract attention to the low cut of her gown. The man blushed pink. “Are you sure there ain’t something else you’d rather look for, sir?”

“He said no, Trixie,” said Jessie, speeding up her steps to get within talking range. The girl turned and glared; Jessie had long since learned that many of the doves were jealous of her red hair, which would have earned them more money. Part of her wished that she had never found that out at all. “Looks like he ain’t looking for a girl to toss her fanny for a quarter.”

“And how would you be knowing what he is or ain’t looking for?” said Trixie, folding her arms over her bust. The man was, if anything, blushing harder. “And in case you ain’t noticed, sugar, you’re over the deadline. Even your uncle knows better than to come over here.”

“Oh, I ain’t here as lawmaker,” Jessie said. “Say, does Madame Dolly know you’re up and fishing for business already? I thought she ran a nice respectable house, no walkin’ the streets.”

Pinching her lips together angrily, Trixie turned and flounced back to the bordello, and Jessie smirked after her. Her uncle hated having to use tactics like that to keep the girls in line, but Jessie had no such qualms, at least not since two of the girls had taking it on themselves to cuss her out and accuse her of any number of things she hadn’t even heard of, let alone done. She’d spent a bit of time lurking outside bars when her uncle had been breaking up the fights of cowboys to expand her vocabulary, and let rip in response the next time they had tried it. It had worked a damn sight better.

“Sorry 'bout her,” continued Jessie, turning back to the young man. “Come on, we’d best be cuttin’ a path outta this side of town. I’ll find your horse a good spot for watering.”

“Thank you, Miss, uh…” the man said. He seemed to have misplaced his overly-masculine affectations somewhere along the way, and Jessie’s smirk did not fade as she turned herself around. Retrieving his horse, the man hurried to follow her.

“Jessie Pride,” she said. “You?”

“Ping. Uh, Fa Ping.”

Chinese name and all. Jessie cocked her head curiously, and led him back round to Main Street then, a little more cheekily, down to the water trough outside the Sheriff’s building, usually used for Bullseye unless someone was new to town and didn’t know better than to attract attention.

“Thank you,” Ping said, as they reached the water and, with a snort, his horse bent to drink. He stroked its nose fondly, a distant smile drifting onto his features and clearly meant just for the horse.

“He’s a fine beast,” said Jessie, with a nod to the horse. “Got a name?”

The shy smile remained on the man’s features. “Khan,” he said.

Jessie offered her free hand, and the horse paused briefly in his drinking to snuffle against it. He blew against her hand, sniffed, almost nibbled at her knuckles with his wet lips, and finally settled for a soft nicker. Grinning, Jessie rubbed his nose, impressed with the silky gloss that she could see to his fur, and the beautiful lines of muscle. This far out, she’d seen a lot of bad horses over the years, and even Bullseye was a bit of a mongrel and had his ill-behaved moments. She nickered back, and Khan huffed, then drew her hand back so that he could return to drinking.

“You’ve got a way with him,” Ping said. “He’s, uh, usually pretty protective of me.”

“Grew up on a ranch,” she replied, with a one-sided shrug. “More horses than you could shake a bridle at. Ain’t seen one like him before, though.”

“Ferghana,” said Ping, his voice moving strangely over the unusual word. “My parents bought a pair with them, but the mare’s old now. We’ve just got her and Khan.” He stroked the horse’s shoulder. Despite the heat of the day, there wasn’t really much sweat on him; either he’d been ridden light, he was in finer than fine health, or both.

“Huh.” Jessie nodded, turning the word Ferghana over in her mind. She beamed at Ping. “Well, we din’t have none like him when I was growing up. Say, what brings you to town?” A shift of her hat, using her free hand. “It ain’t driving season, and we’ve no mines round here. All farms and ranching.”

“No, uh.” Ping’s fingers fidgeted with his belt, not all that far from his gun, and Jessie shifted as her attention tightened on him. She and Buzz might have agreed that he didn’t look the sort to make trouble, but that wasn’t always a guarantee. “I was hoping to talk to the Sheriff round these parts.”

“Woody’s working on the schoolhouse,” said Jessie, “and his Deputy’s dealing with some squabble over a tab at the hotel. But Buzz and I work real close with them,” she added, with a cock of her head towards the office where Buzz might well be able to hear them by now. “So I’m wonderin’ if we might be able to help.”

“No,” Ping said quickly. “I mean,” his voice took on some of that deeper tone he’d affected with Trixie, “I just need to talk to the Sheriff. I won’t be bothering the rest of you.”

Jessie’s smile faded, lips pursing and eyes narrowing. She shifted her weight, pointedly letting her free right hand drift closer to her own gun. The strange to the town might not know that she could put a hole in a dime across the whole shooting range, nor that she was one of the fastest draws around, but he didn’t look like enough of a fool to underestimate her. “You ain’t in trouble with the law, are you?”

The boy’s eyes went wide; he looked not only shocked at the idea, but a little frightened, and she wasn’t sure whether to think that a sign of guilt or of innocence. Jessie kept her gaze taut, and heard the movement of a chair inside before Buzz’s footsteps sounded on the wood behind her.

“No, no, nothing like that,” he added. The bravado had gone again, voice back to normal. “I just…” he winced slightly as he continued; “I’m looking for someone, and the last that I knew they were heading in this direction. I wanted to know if the Sheriff had seen them.”

There was still something not quite right, though, and Jessie had spent enough time around lawmen to know how to hear something like that. She put her hand to her pistol, and saw Ping stiffen.

“I think you’d best come in and explain yourself, kid,” said Buzz, from behind her. Jessie did not look round, but was relieved by his presence, the air of military command that he could still summon. Ping shrunk a little more, like a child before his father. “Jessie, you alright to take his horse round back?”

She nodded, although she still wished that she could hear what was to be said. Buzz stepped down from the porch, clapped Ping on the shoulder, and guided him pointedly into the office itself. With a huff, Jessie removed her hand from her pistol, and clicked her tongue to get the attention of Khan. The horse was still watching Ping, and was managing to look more calculating than Jessie had ever seen a horse before.

Another click of her tongue caught his attention, though, and Khan turned his intelligent brown gaze on Jessie instead. Jessie was careful taking his reins, and careful leading him to the stables for more than just her ankle. Khan was a large, solidly-built horse, and she would not want to get on his bad side.

Bullseye looked up as she entered the stables, and nickered his hello; she answered in kind, and a smile returned to her face. She led Khan to the stall beside Bullseye, let the two huff and whicker at each other, and loosened his tack but did not fully remove it. That was Ping’s call, not hers. She noted that he was travelling light, but carrying enough water for a day or two outside of town. For a moment, she considered rifling through his things more fully, but there was no need for that just yet, and with a friendly pat on Bullseye’s rump she made her way back round to the porch and into the office.

It was cooler inside, though not by much. Buzz had sat Ping down at the small table by the window, in sight of the empty cells, and put a glass of what was probably lemonade in front of him.

“So,” Buzz was saying, as Jessie entered. She leant against the doorway, leaving her weight on her good side. “You come into a strange town looking for someone, but you ain’t calling him a friend. That ain’t exactly usual, you know.”

Ping shifted uncomfortably in the seat, looking a lot younger than he had when he had been riding in, or even when he had been fumbling over trying to deal with Trixie. Jessie cocked her head and looked him over, wondering herself exactly what the story was that had bought him here.

There was a kerfuffle outside, a gunshot in the distance, and both Jessie and Buzz looked round at exactly the same time. Jessie opened her mouth to speak, but before she could do so Buzz grabbed his pale grey hat from beside the door and jammed it on.

“I’ll deal with it,” he said briskly. “Jessie, you stay with him.”

“I hear ya, Buzz,” she replied, but he was already on his way out the door.

On the bright side, she supposed, it showed that he had some trust in her. She swung a second rickety chair over to the table where Ping still sat nervously, and sat opposite him, propping her crutch against the wall. “Sorry ‘bout that,” she said. “Seems like things happen all at once ‘round here.”

Ping smiled uncertainly. “Always the way. I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

“You ain’t the least of the trouble round here,” said Jessie, with a wave of her hand. “It’s been quiet a while. Woody and Andy saw off Bart last time he showed his face around town. We’re just trying to reckon whether they’ve given up entirely, or’re just licking their wounds.”

“Bart?”

Jessie nodded to the ‘wanted’ poster pinned to the wall behind him, and Ping turned to look. “One-Eyed” Bart Hedd scowled down at them, his large round face and thick black hair almost as distinctive as the patch across one eye. “Rumour has it he was a bank robber out east, but they ain’t never proved it. Round here, he’s more a nuisance than anything else.”

She did not expect Ping to look at the picture for as long as he did. Then his jaw tightened, his brows drew together as he frowned, and he turned back to Jessie with new determination in his gaze.

“I’m looking for a man named Shan Yu,” he said. “He’s a bandit, from up north. He robbed a farm and shot a man.”

Jessie frowned. “You don’t look like a bounty hunter.”

Ping licked his lips. There were no more gunshots from the town; it might have been an accident, or at worst a quarrel that got out of hand. Jessie kept her gaze steady on him, with a calm that she knew belied her age and young features. She’d been around lawmen since she was a child, after all, couldn’t have done that without hardening in turn.

“I ain’t heard of a Shan Yu,” she said finally, and the muscles in Ping’s jaw twitched but he did not say anything. “Nor’ve we had any messages to watch out for him. He ain’t well-known, is what I’m saying.”

Finally, Ping sighed. “I know the family,” he admitted, and Jessie nodded. If there was only a farm or two, folks tended to band together, to support each other. “It’s just the family, no farmhands. A small farm. The father was injured when Shan Yu and his bandits came, and they only have a daughter.”

Who doubtless worked the farm, as she would have to in a small family, but would not exactly be expected to chase down a whole group of bandits. Even Jessie would have considered that a bold move, and she had spent her early years on a rowdy ranch before having to join her uncle in the town instead. Jessie nodded. “I hear you. As I said, I ain’t heard of him – but,” she added, as she saw his face start to fall, “I do know a damn fine tracker. Naʼisha, good rider too. If you’ve followed him here, you’ve seen some tracks, right?”

Ping nodded. “I lost track of them on the bluff, on my way to the town. But I made sure to ride just clear of them, and I can show where they were last.”

She could not even quite say why, but something in her wanted to help the young man. Perhaps it was that he was so clearly out of his depth, but still trying so very hard to help those who were probably not expecting anything from him in return.

Perhaps it was just that she’d had her foot in a cast too long, and was itching for something to bring back more excitement than a drunken squabble or a catfight among Dolly’s doves.

“Look,” said Jessie. “I can get a message there today. Have ‘em meet you outside the hotel tomorrow morning. You get yourself a room for the night, somewhere to let Khan have a rest,” she added, with a nod of her head in the rough direction that the horses would be. Ping’s serious expression cracked to a fond smile again at the mention of his horse. “The woman at the hotel’s good, won’t cheat you. She knows that ain’t gonna pay bills in the long run. I’ll meet you again out back of here,” another nod, ”just after daybreak, and introduce you proper.”

“Your…” Ping gestured vaguely in the direction in which Buzz had left. “Officer won’t mind?”

Jessie couldn’t help a whoop of laughter. Technically, Buzz was no longer any sort of officer, but that the same time he was, an officer so deep to the bone that it couldn’t be scrubbed out of him or taken away. Ping looked startled, and she had to wave aside his frown. “Now, don’t you worry about him none,” she said. “I think Andy’ll’ve found something to keep us plenty busy. As long as you don’t go making no trouble, he ain’t gonna think further on you.”

“Thank you,” said Ping, the words heavy with more than Jessie had expected, and she had to hide how taken aback she was. Drunken shouting lurched into hearing in the distance, and Jessie cocked her head towards it with vague interest, but Ping got quickly to his feet and excused himself with a stiff quarter-bow from the waist.

He hurried out, and Jessie hollered after him where he could find his horse, before stretching out her cast foot in front of her and pursing her lips as she thought. It wouldn’t be as strong as it had been before, but on a horse that wouldn’t be no matter anyway, and it was due to come off any day now. Of course, she was supposed to see Dr. Hamm before she did so, but she suspected that if she just so happened to damage it he would help her finish removing it before the day was through. Even her uncle wouldn’t manage to be annoyed if it looked sufficiently like an accident.

Grinning, a plan forming in her mind, Jessie grabbed for her crutch for what would hopefully be the last time, and pulled herself to her feet.

She did not hear about Ping again for the rest of the evening, which must have meant that he kept himself out of trouble. Buzz and Andy hauled back a couple of drunk and mouthy cowboys, out of work and with their manners suffering for it, and slung them into the cells to cool off while Andy mopped up his bloodied nose and Buzz glowered fit to make the Devil himself look abashed. Neither of them would say which had fired the shots, but Andy explained that both of them were trying, and both had been too drunk to really manage it. It had been all but luck that one gun fired at all.

It was more than enough to keep them busy, even before Woody returned. He said that he had heard about the ruckus, and set to giving both cowboys a tongue-lashing of which their mothers would have been proud without even needing a profanity. Jessie entertained herself by watching the first part of it, then slipping out to check on Andy, before finally heading home to arrange an accident for her cast.

Leaving a message for Woody, which he would doubtless be annoyed by when he found it, she took Bullseye and set out to meet with the tracker friend she intended to introduce to Ping come morning. Tiger Lily was none too impressed to be roused at gone dark, but heard her out, and offered her a stretch of wikiup to sleep in. Come morning, they left side by side, careful in the cool pale pre-dawn to steer their horses well.

As they rode, Tiger Lily spoke about what had happened to her tribe, and Jessie would usually have responded with news from town but this time around could only sympathise. Tiger Lily waved it away; it was the government that her people hated, not the folks from the town. The Naʼisha people could see the benefits of trade as much as anyone else.

They arrived back a little late, and Ping was already at the watering-trough beside the Sheriff’s, occasionally wincing and looking askance at the loud snores or mumbled sleep-curses that came from inside. Jessie grinned as they approached, and swung carefully out of her saddle so that she could land on her good ankle.

“Morning,” she said.

Ping looked between them in surprise for a moment, before settling on Jessie. “Oh, uh, good morning. I didn’t realise you’d be riding already. If you’d rather wait, or need to pick anything up, then…”

“Naw, we’re good,” said Jessie. She patted Bullseye’s saddlebags. “Been taking it good and easy on the way back. Tiger Lily, this is Ping. Ping, this’s Tiger Lily, tracker I was telling you about.”

“Tiger Lily?” he echoed.

The Naʼisha woman smiled. “I haven’t met a settler yet who could say my real name properly. When Jessie and I were children, she said that it sounded like Tiger Lily.” A shrug. “I have not had any better nicknames over the years.”

Ping blinked a couple of times, nodded, then caught himself and tipped his hat awkwardly. “Well, it’s a real pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

Though Tiger Lily’s smile did not betray much, Jessie caught the slight twitch at the corner of her lip. Perhaps Ping had come from a town without many women, or perhaps he was just particularly awkward when confronted with new ones, but either way it was quiet endearing.

“Likewise,” she said. “Now, would you like to show me where you last saw their tracks?”

Hastily, Ping swung himself into the saddle, and Jessie mentally cursed herself for dismounting at all as she pulled herself back up. When her ankle had been good, she could have jumped onto Bullseye’s back like vaulting a low fence, but she could feel its weakness and that she was going to have to be careful on it for at least a few days.

True to his word, and with the sun just rising to cast long shadows that would make tracks stand out all the better, Ping led them back up to the bluff that looked out over the town. They remained largely silent as they did so, the only sounds those of the horses whickering and huffing to each other, and occasionally one of the riders clicking their tongue or patting a shoulder encouragingly on the steeper parts.

“You know,” said Ping abruptly, as they reached the top again. He turned to face both of them, and was forced to squint and cover his eyes against the bright sunlight lancing into them. “You don’t have to… come all the way with me. If you can just point me in the right way, that will be enough.”

“Let me see first where these tracks are headed,” Tiger Lily replied, before Jessie could. “Some areas around here are better for tracking than others.”

Ping bowed his head, which Jessie took for a nod. She jerked her head to Tiger Lily, who gently urged her horse ahead of the others and started scanning the ground around them.

It was clear why Ping had run into trouble around here, Jessie reflected. The dusty ground gave way to bare rock along the top of the bluff, and its high position made it only more likely that anything that had been here had been blown away. But she had not thought of Tiger Lily for nothing, and it was not long before Tiger Lily dismounted and crouched down to examine the dust, in the slightest of hollows in the ground.

“Do you know how many men there are?” she said, looking up at Ping. He nodded, and went to speak, only for her to interrupt him. “I make it only one on a horse, and three or four walking.”

“There were six of them,” Ping said, voice sounding tighter than usual. “But the, uh, the father from the farm, he shot one of them. That man must have left them between there and here.”

“Did you go through any towns?” said Jessie. He shook his head, frowning, and she had a suspicion what ‘left’ was really going to mean. “Cross any bridges, or ravines?”

“There was one bridge, a couple of days back,” said Ping. “Over a deep river.”

“He probably died, then,” Tiger Lily said, which was much what Jessie had been thinking but phrased more bluntly than she had been planning. “And they took anything of value and dumped his body.” Brushing off her hands, she straightened up again, stroking her horse’s nose and murmuring something not in English before she mounted again. “How long have you been following them?”

His hands fidgeted on his saddle. “Four days, now. But they had a two-day head start on me.”

Something in his voice tugged at Jessie’s attention, but she wasn’t yet sure what to make of it.

“The riding on rock might be to cover their tracks,” said Tiger Lily, “or it might be that they were taking this route anyway. Did they try to hide their path before here?”

“No, ma’am.”

Tiger Lily huffed. “No need for the ma’am, though it’s nice to be talked to kindly.” Her eyes ran over him, from hats to boot and back again, in the same shrewd way that Jessie had seen her look over a joint of meat. It was hard to say whether it was that in particular that made Ping shift uncomfortably, though. “I can track these men for you.”

“I can pay,” Ping replied immediately. “Not much, but some. And the bandits – they were at my family’s farm, as well. There’s more of our money with them.”

“Well,” said Tiger Lily, “that just gives me more incentive to find them. Come on, then, let’s find where their trail picks up again.”

Quite how Tiger Lily picked out the subtle signs of men and horses passing, Jessie could not say, but sure enough before they were halfway through the afternoon Tiger Lily called for them to wait while she dismounted and started to scan the scrub and open land away from the rocky bluff.

“You looked surprised when you saw her,” Jessie teased. She and Tiger Lily had been the ones doing most of the talking, about what had been happening in the town and the village, how Bullseye was doing and how Jessie had managed to break her ankle in the first place. Tiger Lily had laughed fit to bust, while Jessie had protested that it had been worth it to save the steers she’d been chasing down. Ping had kept quiet; Jessie had noticed and, to judge by her occasional sideways glances, so had Tiger Lily. “Not expecting an Indian?”

Ping hesitated for a moment, and when he replied it sounded like admitting something. “Not expecting a woman,” he said. “The town I come from… wouldn’t have accepted that.”

Jessie eyed him again, this time warily. He didn’t sound disapproving of it; if anything, he sounded shamefaced for not having thought it up himself. But she’d known men who seemed nice right up until they didn’t, and rather hoped he didn’t turn out to be one of them. “They have a problem with it, huh?”

This time, he just nodded, watching Tiger Lily as she scouted out the ground in steady, patient movements.

“Some towns get like that,” she said, finally relenting some. “Some man gets it into his head that’s how things should be, before you know it the whole town’s baying the same. But back home?” she nodded in the direction of the town; it was more a home than her grandfather’s ranch had ever been. “We ain’t got enough folks to be treating half of them like they’re half as good as others. I might not be a lawman, but I’ve helped put a stop to a brawl or two, believe me.”

“Oh, I do,” said Ping, too quickly to be anything other than earnest. Jessie laughed.

“Don’t get me wrong, we still get cowboys mouthing off the same old way, we still get girls who end up at Dolly’s ‘cause they ain’t got no skills but what’s between their legs. But my uncle won’t stand for no bullshit, which helps some, and I suppose it just ain’t shaken out like that.”

“Sounds like a good place,” he said. There was just a touch of wistfulness in his voice, though he did not look round, and Jessie cocked her head and narrowed her eyes despite her hat still sitting low. But he didn’t continue.

“Well, I’ve known worse,” Jessie said, truthfully.

Tiger Lily straightened up, decisively, and both Ping and Jessie pricked up as she did so. She waved for them to join her, and Jessie gave a gentle nudge with her heel and clicked her tongue for Tiger Lily’s horse to follow on as well. Best damn tracker she knew, and with good reason. Jessie checked the pistol on her hip on more time, and hoped for Ping’s sake that he was half as good a shot.

As night fell, they didn’t bother with much more than a light shelter, and a fire half-hidden in a natural scoop in the ground. Tiger Lily had said, with a grin, that it was up to Jessie to provide the food, but it turned out she had bought along some darn fine acorn cakes to go with the chillied beans that were all Jessie could really cook. She’d had enough practice that it was good, though, and considering Tiger Lily would have teased her mercilessly if that weren’t the case she was confident of its truth.

She tried once or twice to coax Ping out of his shell, hoping that rest and food might loosen his tongue, but not much seemed to be forthcoming. When the man wasn’t looking, she saw Tiger Lily roll her eyes, never one for games, and Jessie gave her a warning look. Ping had promised them payment, and the most verbose she had seen him was talking about what the bandits had done.

Tiger Lily had a point, though. Something weren’t sitting right, and as Jessie fell back to talking about the comings and goings and nothings of the town, just to fill the time, her mind was ticking over. He didn’t have the feel of a wanted man, not like some Jessie had seen, and hardly seemed the type to get a girl in trouble and skip town or get run out over it. His naivety over Dolly’s doves had seen to that. It might have been with how much passion he had spoken about the attack, almost too much just for another person of the town no matter how close such a town might be. But there was still something, and Jessie figured she’d probably just have to take another of her uncle’s tactics to get to it.

She waited for Ping to excuse himself, the embarrassed tone of voice indicating pretty clearly what for, and Jessie nodded casually and turned back to talk to Tiger Lily again. Once he was gone from view, she picked up her hat, put it firmly on, and caught Tiger Lily’s eye.

“Keep talkin’ like I’m still here,” she said. “Tell some story.”

Without missing a beat, Tiger Lily nodded, and launched into a tale that may or may not even have been true about one of her cousins who had met some girl from the next tribe and made a fool of himself trying to impress her. As she did so, Jessie got quietly to her feet and headed after Ping, keeping to his footprints and going slow until her night vision caught up with her and she could make out his trail properly.

She caught up with him just as he was doing up his belt, and when she cleared her throat he yelped and whirled, clutching his clothes to himself. His eyes were wide, brightly visible beneath the gibbous moon.

“So,” said Jessie, leaning oh-so-casual against the boulder he had excused himself behind. “You wanna tell me why you’ve been lying?”

“I – I didn’t–” Ping said, rapidly.

The timbre of his voice had changed, making him sound younger and more panicked, and Jessie couldn’t help wondering whether that was what he had been lying about. She held her tongue, though, and tilted her head to regard him in just the same way that Woody had used on many a drunk.

It took only a moment. Ping deflated, almost cringing under her gaze, and tightened his belt sharply on his hips. “They never would have followed a woman,” he said, bitterly. “I didn’t realise your town would. My name is Fa Mulan.”

Jessie blinked, startled. Her eye traced again the smooth chin, round jaw, slender hands and frame. She didn’t know much about Chinese names, but she could put enough together to understand what Ping – what Mulan – was saying.

A snort of laughter escaped her. It was Mulan’s turn to look surprised, and then Jessie laughed harder, leaning against the boulder and then slapping her thigh as the full truth dawned.

“It’s not–” Mulan began, anger starting to creep into her voice.

But Jessie waved a hand at her. “No, no! I knew you were lying, but weren’t sure about what! Thought it might be that it was your family attacked not some other, wasn’t sure why you wouldn’t say. Never thought you’d be disguising yourself.”

Mulan looked away, anger and humiliation vying in her expression, and Jessie reined in her laughter. Besides, sound travelled well on nights like this. Shaking her head, Jessie straightened up, and gave Mulan a level, calm gaze.

“The attack happened,” said Mulan, and that had not been a part of which Jessie had ever been in doubt. “They shot my father in the leg. One of the men threatened…” she swallowed, and what humour might have been lingering drained from Jessie’s thoughts. “But Shan Yu stopped him. Said they weren’t like that,” she added, bitterly. “They were still animals enough to rob us.”

“And there weren’t no posse from the town, huh?”

Mulan’s jaw twitched angrily, her gaze hardening. “Maybe they’d have done for a man. Maybe they’d have done for a white woman. Only one of those I could pass for. Weren’t expecting your town to be so…” she glanced back in the direction they had come, the fire, the faint susurration where Tiger Lily was keeping up her story not knowing that she no longer needed to. “Different.”

“Folks ain’t all the same,” said Jessie, softening her voice. “Be real boring if we were.”

Without replying, Mulan adjusted her hat, still keeping her eyes averted.

A little more uncomfortably, Jessie wrapped her arms around herself. “I ain’t from the town either. Not originally. I grew up on my grandfather’s ranch, east of here, but it weren’t much of a childhood. My mother, she got seduced by a day labourer; he was gone ‘fore she even knew, never mind getting married. My grandfather, well, he didn’t like that.”

Perhaps it was something in her voice that caught Mulan’s interest. Most everyone who had been in the town for long enough knew Jessie’s story, and it weren’t exactly news, but it still felt strange to be telling it to someone else. She suspected that Mulan needed to hear about someone else who hadn’t quite been wanted in their part of the world.

“Bastard grandchild, red hair and all,” she drawled. “He didn’t kick my mother out, but he made her ‘earn her keep’ working. I saw more of the ranchhands than I did of her, or him. Grew up on horseback, ain’t yet met a stallion I couldn’t tame. But…” a shrug. “She died of milk fever when I was ten. Grandfather decided he didn’t want to see me no more, sent me to live with my uncle. Woody probably would’ve been the shame of the family if it weren’t for my mother,” she added, with a dry smile. Mulan looked uncertain, and Jessie huffed. “Course, you ain’t been around long enough to hear of that. Him and the schoolmarm…” she shrugged, pointedly, and saw the moment that Mulan’s eyes went wide. “Open secret round the town.”

Woody and Buzz, that was more of a closed secret. But Jessie thought that a few people might have their suspicions, and kept their tongues from wagging largely because Woody was a fine sheriff who kept the town in good order. What relationship Buzz and Bo might have, she had no idea, and did not wish to pry. So long as her uncle was happy, that was the end of her interest.

“You didn’t need to tell me all that,” said Mulan, finally.

“Naw, but I figured it might help some,” Jessie replied. “Seeing as you’d told me your tale.”

Mulan smiled. “Thanks.”

“Come on.” Jessie nodded back towards the fire. “You want to introduce yourself to Tiger Lily properly? She ain’t got such colourful stories as that, but she’s got a few fit to pass the time. And she knows a thing or two about getting the short end of the stick,” she added, with a more pointed look.

Band of misfits, all three of them, she supposed. Mulan nodded, and Jessie accompanied her back to the fire, and it might not have been her imagination that a weight seemed to have been taken off Mulan’s shoulders.

It took them two days to catch up with the bandits. Tiger Lily stopped them at the head of a valley, pulled them aside, and pointed out the distant smudge of a cave that would make a perfect hiding place. They hung back, and eventually a figure, barely visible with distance, exited the cave and followed a narrow path down to the valley floor below.

“Five men, most likely,” Jessie mused aloud. “How good was their shooting?” she added, to Mulan.

Mulan, pursed her lips. She had opened up more once going by her actual name, and Jessie suspected it was all to do with the honesty of it. She had spoken about her parents, her grandmother, the old Ferghana mare who was Khan’s mother and lived a far lazier life now that he had taken over the ranch work. But the seriousness settled over her again as she looked down the valley towards – if Tiger Lily was right, and she was always right – the men who had attacked her farm, injured her father. There was a hardness in Mulan’s eyes, a set in her shoulders, and Jessie recognised that as well. Not everyone could harden like that, and it was both a blessing and a curse to be able to.

“Only one of them did any shooting,” she replied, voice grim. “But I don’t think he was aiming for my father’s leg. Shan Yu, the leader, he seemed smarter. I’d not discount him.”

“One good shooter, four average, most likely, then.” Jessie chewed gently on the inside of her cheek, mulling it over. “And you?”

“My father taught me to shoot. And he’s good.”

There was almost a defensive note in Mulan’s voice, but Jessie let it slide. Most likely, that was Mulan’s roundabout way of saying that she was good as well, just not quite daring or being used to being able to say it aloud.

“Two guns and one bow,” said Tiger Lily. “And they have good defence. You will need some sort of plan.”

Jessie paused, weighing, then settled on an idea. She slid down from Bullseye’s back, giving her ankle one more test; it was strong enough for running, she figured. A short burst, at least. “Lucky for you,” she said to Mulan, “I’m a better shot than my uncle, and folks say he’s the best-shooting sheriff in the state.”

She shrugged off her vest, draped it over Bullseye’s back, and followed it with her hat. She set about loosening and messing up her hair, then undid one cuff on her shirt and rolled it up, so that from a distance it might just look torn, as well as untucking one side.

“But we ain’t gonna make those shots unless we can draw them out,” Jessie finished.

Mulan was still looking at her warily, but when Jessie motioned for her to dismount, she did so.

“All-righty,” said Jessie. She tilted her chin up. “Punch me.”

Mulan’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“Punch me,” Jessie repeated, gesturing to her nose. “It ain’t gonna look realistic without some blood.”

“I can’t do that.”

“If you don’t do it, Tiger Lily will. And I ain’t known her a decade to without knowing how hard she hits. Now punch me, if you want to get your god-be-damned money back and get some revenge on these here bandits.”

Mulan’s eyes hardened again, and Jessie forced herself not to flinch, though she did close her eyes to help that along. The impact of Mulan’s fist was like a damn freight train, throwing her back against Bullseye’s side, and she couldn’t help a bark of laughter as, sure enough, she felt the trickle of blood start down her lip.

“Hell,” said Mulan, “was that too much? My father taught me to fight, as well, I–”

Jessie smudged the blood over her chin with one hand, then smeared it on each of her sets of knuckles in turn. “Just right,” she said. “Tiger Lily?” she stepped around Bullseye. “How do I look?”

Tiger Lily looked her over from head to toe, then dismounted and scooped up a handful of gritty dust. Guessing what was coming, Jessie closed her eyes again as Tiger Lily threw some of it against her face, to stick to the blood and in her hair and give her that real escaped-captive look. “And your boots,” Tiger Lily added, as Jessie dared to crack open her eyes again.

Dust was still clinging in her lashes, but Jessie rolled her eyes all the same. “Yeah,” she said. “Wouldn’t wanna be getting them dirty after all this.”

At least riding for three days would help the appearance as well. With one last streak of blood along her jaw, she took a deep breath, and shifted her gun to hide it beneath the loose fold of her shirt.

“Got some rope?” she held out her wrists, close together. “Loop it loose, and let’s give those bandits one helluva show.”

It was the last one they were ever going to get to see, after all.

She ran. The rocky ground hurt like hell on her feet, and she thought she might have cut her sole but didn’t dare look back to see. Her hair was getting in her face, sticking to her bloody skin, but she kept her gaze clear and stern through it even as she feigned looking around desperately.

The one of the bandits that they had seen leaving came back into view; that was why Jessie had wanted to move so fast, not knowing when they might get another chance.

“Help!” she screamed.

The man dropped the bucket he was carrying, reaching for his gun, but stopped when he saw her. Barefoot and with tied hands, her red hair bright against the dreary desert, Jessie knew that she of all of them would be the one to make the bandits think twice.

“Please, help me!”

She ran towards him, biting back a curse as pain lanced through her foot again and she stumbled. She kept her hands a little lower than might be normal, just to stop her gun from showing, but from the bewilderment on his face he did not seem to be noticing.

From the rock face above them, a man shouted something, some language that Jessie didn’t speak. She stopped and looked up, putting fear on her face, to see a tall heavyset Asian man in dark grey, balding, scowling down at them. He shouted again, and the bandit with Jessie shouted back, in the same tongue.

“Please,” she panted. “I think they’re coming–” she pointed with her bound hands to a narrow ravine that cut into the valley, well away from the actual path that Mulan and Tiger Lily would by now have used to climb down. “–coming again – I barely managed–”

The heavyset man jogged down the narrow pathway to the cave, his eyes fixed on her. They were a strange yellow-brown, and made her uncomfortable, but that didn’t exactly hurt right now. Two more men appeared behind him, following more cautiously, and Jessie wished that the fifth one would damn well join them already so they could get this show on the road.

“What happened?” demanded the man with the golden eyes. Obviously their leader, and the man that Mulan had been talking about. Shan Yu. Jessie had already decided that she wanted to keep him alive if she could, so that Mulan could speak to him at least once. He had an accent, but it was far from obscuring his words, and Jessie had met drunks that spoke less clearly.

She let herself gasp for breath. The sweat seeping through her shirt was far from faked, and the breathlessness was only a little exaggerated. “–I escaped – please – you have to help–”

“Escaped from what?” he demanded.

Finally, behind him, Jessie caught sight of the fifth figure emerging from the cave and looking down over them. His gun was in his hand, but down at his side, none too ready.

With a few more panted breaths, she rolled back her eyes, and fainted.

It was hard to be sure that they would buy it, of course, but under the sun was an excuse for anyone to faint and some men seemed to think that women fainted at the drop of a hat. Of course, more importantly it was a signal visible even from where Tiger Lily and Mulan were hiding, and though most of what Jessie heard was cursing in the foreign tongue she did hear another thud of a body hitting the ground.

That was Tiger Lily, and that was one member of the gang down.

Jessie’s eyes snapped open, and she drew her pistol, rolling away from the men and up onto one knee all in the same movement. Her first shot struck home straight between the eyes of the man she had first approached, and she slipped her left hand free of the rope to hit the hammer.

Shan Yu shouted, and all the men were reaching for their guns now, but there was another crack of gunfire way off to Jessie’s right and Mulan took down another of the bandits. A fourth dropped, an arrow clean through his neck, and then it was just Shan Yu left and at close range, that shot was easy as falling off a log. Jessie put two bullets through his right hand just to be sure, and as he howled in pain put one more through his knee to force him to the ground. She grabbed his gun and tossed it away, then scooped to snatch up those of his fallen companions before he could get to any of them.

He’d only been wearing one holster, but she didn’t take no chances, and got her stance steady with her gun trained on him. “I got three more bullets in this gun,” she said, the lawman echoed in her voice. “So I advise you don’t move one inch.”

“Who are you?” Shan Yu growled.

Jessie smiled, cold. “To you? I ain’t anyone.”

“The one from the farm,” said Shan Yu, when he caught sight of Mulan. He said it as if everything had settled into place for him, as if somehow just seeing her made sense of the ambush and everything that had followed from it. He half-smiled, teeth too white. “I did not expect to see you again.”

Mulan stood over him, weighing the gun in her hand. The hardness was in her eyes again. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, then raised the gun and put a bullet through his forehead instead.

He slumped to the ground, eyes staring at the sky and blood creeping from his brain. If anything, he looked more surprised than he had alive. Mulan put the safety back on her pistol, holstered it again, and turned straight towards the path up to the cave.

Jessie exchanged a glance with Tiger Lily, but Tiger Lily nodded for her to follow and she did, hastily pushing back her hair into something approaching a bun as she did so. She hated when it got in her eyes. Mulan was fast and sure on the path, and Jessie had forgotten to grab her boots and winced with every stone that stung the soles of her feet as she hurried up in turn.

It looked as if the cave had been used as a hideout for some time. There were crates at the back, beds set up, stains of soot on the ceiling. Mulan crossed straight to the first crate, ripped off the lid, then swayed in place and had to catch herself on the edges of it.

Jessie hurried over. “Hey,” she said, “take it easy.”

“It’s here,” said Mulan. Her voice cracked. “It’s all here.”

At the very top of the crate was a bag of gold coins, but in her hand Mulan was clutching an enamelled comb in the shape of some sort of flower. Jessie was glad all over again that Mulan had found her and Tiger Lily, and not tried to round up a posse or find someone else to help her; that much gold was worth killing and worse.

“Guessing it’ll be good to get that home to your folks, huh?”

“Starting with a doctor for my father’s leg,” said Mulan. She put the lid back onto the crate again. “Look, I said I’d pay you, but we didn’t agree–”

“Worry about that back in town,” Jessie replied. “For now, let’s find where they stashed that horse of theirs. I’m sure it won’t mind carrying your gold back, if one of us’ll find it a better owner at the end of it all.”

The camp looked practical, and functional, but somehow she doubted that the horse of these bandits had been treated with the respect and love that any horse deserved. She held her tongue on those words, not despite the she had seen the way Mulan look at Khan but because of it; Mulan already knew how to treat a horse right.

“Yes,” said Mulan. “I’m sure it will.”

Woody was angry, of course. Jessie had been expecting that, knowing that he meant it protectively rather than any other way, and that she would have cost her uncle a good number of nights’ sleep. Though she did have to fight not to laugh when he added that they’d taken the best damn tracker he knew, so it wasn’t even like he could go after them, she listened as earnestly as she could until his annoyance had run its course and he gave her a hug that felt almost suffocating.

“You’re a damn fool sometimes, Jessie,” he said.

She patted his shoulder. “You expect anything else, with a name like Pride?”

“You’re mucking out the stalls for a year,” he said as he drew away. Jessie rolled her eyes fondly; they both knew that she was usually the one to do that anyway, so she could spend more time with Bullseye, but she supposed that he had to give her something that resembled a punishment. “Specially if you were thinking of keeping that mare yourself.”

The mare had not responded until Mulan had spoken to her in what she explained was Mandarin; they had ended up calling her Furen on the way back. “I don’t think she’d be having any of that.” Sweet but frightened, she had barely responded to even Jessie’s most gentle coaxing. Short of learning a whole new tongue, Jessie was not sure that even she would be able to do much, at least not as quickly as Mulan could.

“Come on.” He patted her on the shoulder. “You’d best both give me descriptions of what happened. I don’t want to be leaving no bodies out there for the vultures, even of bandits.”

At least with his anger gone, he listened to them calmly enough, and sent Andy and Buzz to deal with a disturbance at the train station rather than go himself – although not before telling them to fire into the air if they wanted him to come running. Tiger Lily had already taken her leave, though Mulan had insisted she take a small amount of the gold with her, and so it was just Jessie and Mulan left to explain themselves like a pair of schoolboys caught scrumping apples from the sheriff’s yard.

Woody grimaced, and said that he’d ‘correct a few details’ when he had to relay the information to the city, but waved them off so that Mulan could get herself home. It had been long enough, he said, voice softening.

“I’ll be going with her,” said Jessie, a statement and not a question. “That much gold, and that route, I’d rather another gun with her.”

“And on the way back?” Woody said, raising an eyebrow.

She shrugged. “I ain’t carrying gold, and there’s none faster than Bullseye that I’ve yet met.”

Perhaps it was the sureness in her tone, or just that a week past she had taken off in the night without so much as this much warning. Either way, Woody sighed. “Sure. But you take care of yourself, and you,” he added to Mulan, who looked a little startled, “take care of her.”

“I can take care of myself,” Jessie pointed out, as he picked up his hat and dusted it off.

“And you’re still my niece,” said Woody, without looking around.

He put on his hat, checked his badge, and was out the door before she could come up with any other retort. She glared at his back, then turned to Mulan with a sigh. “You’d think he’d be impressed that the only harm we took,” she pointed to her own bruised nose, which had luckily not turned to a black eye or she’d probably have had more to answer for, “was from ourselves.”

“I can’t think why,” said Mulan. Jessie laughed. “You’re really coming with me?”

“’Course,” Jessie said. “I ain’t got other adventures to go galloping off for.” She treated Mulan to her most winning smile, and was glad when the other woman laughed. Although Ping had been nice enough, with his restrained manners and his protective streak, she fancied that she preferred Mulan’s impulsive decisions and stories about the scrapes she had gotten into during her childhood.

“All right,” said Mulan. Her smile softened around her eyes. “I’d like if you could meet my family, as well.”

It took two days to make their way back to the farm where Mulan’s family lived. It was on the edges of a town, where Jessie got eyed warily and Mulan explained that it could be for being an outsider, for wearing blue jeans or even – and on this she sounded more embarrassed – for her red hair. One of those sort of towns, Jessie figured, and rolled her eyes to herself.

“Perhaps I ought to tell ‘em I’m a bastard too,” she said. “Give ‘em something to really whisper about.”

Mulan coughed to hide her laughter, cheeks turning red, but nodded through. “Come on, we’re on the far side.”

Their only stop was to call on the doctor, who said that he would be with them as soon as he had finished setting a broken arm on the man currently swearing to turn the air blue inside his house. He added that he’d been up to check a couple of times, and there was no infection or reason to panic, and relief washed over Mulan’s face at his words.

It was Mulan’s grandmother who first caught sight of them, and came hurrying over to treat Mulan to a tirade of what Jessie now recognised as Mandarin, all the while hugging her fiercely. Language or not, Jessie recognised that well enough. Mulan had explained that her parents had good English, but a little less than hers, while her grandmother spoke relatively little and what she did was – Mulan paused to give her grandmother an almost warning look – colourful.

Her grandmother grinned. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

That, at least, sounded like an innocent enough suggestion, and Jessie could look forward to something not cooked over an open fire. Despite the hint of wariness around Mulan’s eyes, she agreed.

She did not expect, of course, to spend most of the meal being told about seemingly every mishap Mulan had managed to get into as a child. Mulan had her head in her hands, laughing helplessly, after a while only interrupting to correct that she had sprained a wrist, not broken it, and that it she had not been climbing that tree on a dare but to prove that she was as good as any of the boys. Her father, once the doctor had seen to his leg, proved to be a quiet and respectful man, if a little stern of countenance, while her mother was easily the peacekeeper around the table and a good cook even if Jessie was not sure what to make of some of the food. She hadn’t grown up on ranch food and then Woody’s cooking for nothing, though, and didn’t hesitate once as she made her way through it.

By the time that Mulan’s father turned the conversation to the bandits, it became more serious, and Mulan’s shoulders set and her tone turned defiant as she explained what had happened. Jessie could see that it was her story to tell, and kept quiet and tried to ignore how full her bladder was getting from the amount of tea that Mulan’s grandmother was pouring her. In the end, though, Mulan’s father’s face softened; he cupped her cheek and said something tenderly in Mandarin, and she glanced away for a split second as if hiding tears. Jessie realised too late that she was seeing something intimate to the family, and looked quickly to her seemingly unending cup of tea, but if she had sipped it she would have burned her tongue and all that she could do was look away. Finally, though, Mulan’s father cleared his throat, and dropped back into English.

“What you have done is not what I expected. But I could not have asked more of you. And you, as well,” he added, and Jessie realised that he meant her and looked round again quickly. “You have been a great help to my daughter, and we thank you greatly.” He bowed in his chair.

It was formal, and sort of sweet, and Jessie was not wholly sure what to say. She settled for a smile. “Well, I ain’t a lawman’s niece for nothing. I have to say, I’ve seen some all-fired bold men in my time, but none of them holds a candle to your daughter.”

Mulan’s grandmother snorted with laughter. “My granddaughter’s got better balls than most men I’ve ever known.”

“Grandmother!” protested Mulan, reddening, but her grandmother was already laughing infectiously and Jessie did not manage to catch herself before she joined in. Mulan put her hand to her face. “Of all the phrases…” she muttered.

“Brass balls and bully skills,” said Jessie. When Mulan caught her eye, expression torn between warning and amused, she winked. “And I’d say that ain’t wanting changing.”

“They like you,” said Mulan, much later. They leant on the rail around the porch, watching the distant town as it slowly quieted down and the sky turned dark above them. It was quiet, still, and Jessie couldn’t help noting how small this town felt even compared to the one she knew. Probably having no mine nearby, she supposed.

Jessie cocked her head. “You say that like you wasn’t expecting it.”

She didn’t take it as an insult; it didn’t sound like one, and in any case she’d learnt long ago she wouldn’t be liked by all.

But Mulan looked up quickly all the same. “No! I don’t mean – I mean – we’re usually sort of isolated. Out here.” Her nod to the town, and the grimness that flickered in her eyes for a moment, said more than enough.

It was saddening, really, to see the way that her face fell when she looked to the town, to think of how the men had refused to help her and doubtless still thought themselves the righteous ones. “You got strong ties to this place? Sentimental?” said Jessie.

Mulan half-shrugged. “My parents have lived here since before I was born, but… I don’t think it means all that much to any of us. It’s not old enough for that.”

For a moment, Jessie almost caught herself, wondering whether what she was about to offer was just too bold. But then again, she’d never been one to half-ass things, and when she thought of Mulan laughing and chatting with her and Tiger Lily, compared to the way that she was looking at that damn town now, there was only one thing she could say.

“Well, how ‘bout changing that?”

Mulan frowned at her.

“Come move to Daviston,” Jessie continued, before she could lose her nerve. “We ain’t got other Chinese folks, sure, but we ain’t all white. Get on well with the local Na’isha folks, for one. I get that you’d need to ask your folks,” she added quickly, “but I think it might be worth thinking about, at least.”

“There’s a lot of forms of hate,” said Mulan.

Jessie reached over, and took her hand. She did not expect Mulan to snatch her hand away again, but she recognised the movement. It was one she’d done herself plenty of times, before she realised that it just made the truth more obvious than not reacting might have done. The touch of a pretty woman’s hand, and yearning to keep it but pulling your hand away because you were terrified that someone might well see it.

For a moment, Jessie hesitated. But if she were wrong, the worst that could happen would be for Mulan to tell her to leave, she supposed, and she and Bullseye would probably just travel slowly on home. “It weren’t just ‘cause of my mother that my grandfather sent me away,” she said. Mulan glanced up, then looked away again. It only made Jessie more sure of what she recognised there. She fiddled with the cuffs of her sleeves, running her fingers over the buttons. “There was this ranchhand, Emily. She was older than me. Blonde hair, blue-green eyes, finest rider I’d ever seen. One of my cousins heard me tell her I was in love with her. My grandfather fired her, gave me a hiding for being unnatural. Not long after that, my mother died.”

“I’m sorry,” said Mulan. It didn’t sound automatic, coming from her; it sounded like she actually meant it.

“Was plenty of years ago now,” Jessie replied. It rankled, though; instead of being given a chance with Emily, or considering how young they had been a chance to grow out of her feelings for Emily, they had been torn apart. Sometimes it felt like it had never properly healed. “Gives me another reason to be glad to be in Daviston and not under his thumb. But my point is, sure, there’s hate out there. But my uncle knows, and he don’t stand for it.”

At that, Mulan looked surprised. “Really?”

“Truly.” It still weren’t her place to talk of him and Buzz, but perhaps if Mulan did talk her parents into moving out to Daviston then he might let Jessie tell her. “He worries about illegal guns and brawling drunks, not who folks fall in love with. Well;” she smiled; “long as they ain’t already married to someone likely to be drawing a gun on the matter.”

It did not make Mulan laugh, which is what she might have hoped for, but it did earn her a smile, and seemed to soften the tension between them. Mulan tucked her hair back behind her ear, paused for a breath, then leant in and pressed a feather-light kiss to Jessie’s cheek. It was only a split-second, chaste, so light that women in the town would probably have not thought a thing of kissing their friends in such a manner. But after the words they had said, Jessie knew that it meant a helluva lot more.

“I’ll let you get some air,” said Mulan quietly. “I’m sure my parents have plenty more to say to me.”

“I’ll see you shortly,” Jessie replied. She watched as Mulan returned to the house, and smiled to herself. Maybe things could change, after all. Or maybe – and she couldn’t help grinning to herself at the thought – she really was better at reading people than her uncle gave her credit for.