Bustles and Doeskin

By BA Tortuga

Minnie and Eleanor meet at an Old West show in Victorian England, and the two women couldn't be more different. Elegant Eleanor is a British lady, Minnie a slip of a girl from the American West. Both of them are good with a gun, though, and happy to protect, and maybe fall in love with, each other. Can they find some common ground, or will they be forced to go back to living separate lives?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Turtlehat Creatives
• Release date: Jul 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9780991558926

Book preview

Chapter 1

O h, must we go see this spectacle? Eleanor complained to her younger brother. Benji was intent upon dragging her to some primitive theater, some Wild West show, and really, the closer they got the more the air smelled of horse manure. You know how I feel about most of your entertainments.

But you love to hunt, El. This ought to make you happy! There’s a woman that they say can hit any target they set before her, even upside down.

She sighed, straightening her little hat as some stranger jostled her. Maybe she should get her parasol back from Benji, who had graciously offered to carry it, no doubt to keep her from poking people with the sharp end.

I would much rather be out shooting things myself. In the countryside. Away from the city. The air in London these days...

Someone whacked at her bustle, probably all unmeaning, but Eleanor whirled on them, her brows snapping together over her formidable nose. Do you mind!

I reckon I do. Lord, y’all like do like to pretend a full bottom for a land of skinny ladies. The grin she got was utterly without shame, dark brown eyes dancing from under a man’s rumpled hat brim.

It was quite unclear whether that unbearable voice or the unkempt hair and filthy breeches were most offensive.

That was a woman. Or something that resembled one. Heavens above. You are impertinent as well as indecorous, aren’t you?

I don’t think all your baubles would set well on my Bessie Pearl, ma’am. I ain’t the decoratin’ type. Her bustle got another bump. You’d best watch that, ‘fore it knocks somebody over.

I will knock you on your baubles, you American barbarian. Give me that parasol, Benji. There was quite a tussle as she fought her brother for the thing, wanting to beat the girl over the head.

"Lord, she’s a spitfire, ain’t she? Sorry, y’all. I gotta ride.

Bossman frowns on us bein’ late."

We shall meet again! Benji called, his voice pleased as could be. We will be at the weekend and Lord Andreven’s country estate.

Oh, good gad. We certainly will not!

The little colonial’s laughter rang out. Enjoy the show, mister!

Benji, I have no intention of traipsing to a weekend with these... show people.

You said you wanted the country, he said, taking her arm and leading her in to find their seats. John invited me, and he made specially sure to invite you as well.

She sighed, sitting carefully, making sure she didn’t bounce. Her fan dangled from her wrist, and she opened it up and put it in front of her face, blocking out the smell.

Young boys on unsaddled horses rode about the small ring, whooping and carousing, waving their wide-brimmed hats like the worst kinds of barbarians. Honestly. Still, even she would admit the horseflesh was most impressive, the sleek horses sure-footed and spirited as they leapt and galloped.

And the boys did cling like limpets. Too bad they had to whoop like that. Earsplitting.

Of course, the caterwauling and squalling was almost musical compared to the gunshots as a new set of riders filled the ring. Indians barely dressed in feathers and bits of cloth were chased by cowboys with the most terrifying faces.

Benji bounced like the child he still essentially was, but

Eleanor simply sat stiffly until the girl she’d seen earlier was announced. Then she moved forward in her seat, straining to see.

Mad Minerva, they called her, a cowgirl from the Pecos. She rode like the devil himself aided her, stretched out along a black mustang’s back, rifle held against one side.

Minerva rode through the men, sliding alongside the horse’s flank to shoot before pulling herself back up onto the