Abby's Last Stand

By Michelle Marquis

Abby Wimple is an independent, young seamstress out to avenge her sister's brutal attack. Driven by anger, her plan is simple, go after the man who did it. Unfortunately, Abby doesn't know much about the lawless West, guns, or even how to handle one. But when she joins up with the two hardened gunfighters Bear and Snake, they prove more than willing to teach her their evil talents—every last one of them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Torrid Books
• Release date: Jul 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781611607635

Book preview

Chapter 1

The landscape was barren but beautiful. Abby Wimple stared out the coach window as it shifted and pitched wondering what she was going to do when she reached the end of the line. Well, the end of the line for her anyway.

Her trip hadn’t been planned. It was an impromptu journey to reclaim something that had been taken from her: a feeling of safety and justice. Perhaps her aching desire to escape the mundane life of a small-town seamstress added to it. But a new life, no matter what the motivation, wanted for money and Abby was very close to all out. She just hoped she could find work when she reached her destination.

The coach rolled and jerked over the rugged dirt road. A dozing banker with a thick, gray mustache stirred then rolled his head onto the shoulder of a middle-aged schoolteacher. The woman clutched the worn leather bag on her lap as if it contained the secrets of the known world. When the banker’s head came to rest on her shoulder, she shrugged it off angrily. The banker woke for a moment, glanced around, and then folded his arms and resumed sleeping.

Abby wished sleep would come that easily to her.

Even with the open windows, the inside of the coach was hot and stuffy. Add to that the stink of sweating bodies that hadn’t been able to bathe in a few days and you had one steamy ticket to misery. A young man with deep acne scars sat next to her. He hadn’t said anything the whole three-hour ride, but finally the boredom must have gotten to him because he leaned over and asked her if she was headed to Foster’s Gulch.

Abby didn’t want to be rude, but she didn’t want to be too friendly either. She gave him a brief smile. If that’s the next stop, then yes, that’s where I’m headed.

You got family there? he asked.

No, just looking to start a new life.

Running from someone, are ya?

No, nothing like that.

The man looked thoughtful, and Abby wished for all the world that he would mind his own business and stop talking to her. She didn’t want him sticking his nose in her personal affairs. The man squinted at her, and it made him look even uglier, if that were possible. You ever been there? he asked.

Um, no.

Well, if you don’t mind me saying, Miss, that’s a rough town. They got outlaws and gunslingers emptying lead into each other almost every night when the saloon closes. Not really a place for a lady alone.

Who said I was alone?

The man glanced around the coach. I didn’t see you with nobody.

Abby hated to lie, but this person was fishing for information and she didn’t like it one bit. I have some friends in town waiting for me.

The man’s brow creased like he was trying to decipher a riddle. What kind of work do your friends do?

She forced a smile but made her tone a little harsher. I appreciate your concern, sir, but I’d rather not discuss my personal business with you anymore. No offense.

The man blinked at her like she’d just spit in his eye. Then his mouth dipped into a severe frown, and he turned his attention to the passing scenery.

You a whore? the schoolteacher blurted out.

Abby iced her with a cold stare before she answered. I most certainly am not, madam. What would possess you to say something so insulting?

The schoolteacher was unfazed by Abby’s disdain. Only kind of women who can get work out at Foster’s Gulch are women of ill repute.

Abby couldn’t believe how obnoxious this woman was. If you must know, I’m a widow and I can assure you, I earn my living by legitimate means.

"What are those means?" the teacher pressed.

Abby made her mouth into a straight line to show her displeasure. I’m a seamstress.

The woman scoffed. They ain’t got no use for dressmakers in a town like that. You’ll be starving outside a week and end up selling your body to survive.

First of all, I’m not a dressmaker. As I told you, I’m a seamstress and a damn good one, too, if I might add. Second, if I can’t find work sewing, I’m sure I can find other employment. I’m willing to do anything except sell myself, so you needn’t worry about me, madam.

The teacher stared down at her bag. Nobody there’s gonna need your damn fool sewing.

And just what makes you such an expert on it?