Chapter 3

The carriage hit a bump, jolting Joe back to the present, but Kathleen’s voice remained lost in the past. “They ... they raped me,” she whispered, her eyes never leaving Joe’s. “And Jack ... he did something worse.”

Her voice grew quieter, the words coming out like a confession torn from her very soul. “He used his rifle,” she said, her voice shaking with the memory. “It was ... it was the worst pain I’ve ever felt. And when he was done, he just tossed it aside, like I was nothing more than a whore to be used and discarded.”

Joe’s eyes went wide with horror, his fists clenching reflexively. He had heard of such things happening, but to imagine it happening to someone as kind and beautiful as Kathleen was almost too much to bear. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Kathleen reached out, her hand gentle on his arm. “It’s all right, Joe,” she said, her voice a siren’s whisper that seemed to soothe his rage. “It’s in the past now. But I need you to understand why I need this gun.”

Joe nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. “What do you mean, ‘buying the guns for revenge’?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Kathleen’s gaze hardened, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “Jack Randolph took everything from me, Joe,” she said, her voice a siren’s call that seemed to carry the weight of her anger. “My husband, my home, my innocence. And now, he’s got his eyes on the Courage Saloon. He wants it for his own, to add to his empire of sin and debauchery.”

Her hand tightened around the Colt, the silver glinting in the light that streamed through the carriage window. “But I won’t let him have it,” she continued, her voice a promise of retribution. “I’ll fight him with every tool at my disposal, whether it’s my body or my brains, I’ll make him pay for what he’s done.”

Joe felt his throat tighten, the gravity of her words weighing heavily upon him. “Ma’am,” he began, his voice earnest. “It must be dangerous for a woman like you to go up against someone like Jack Randolph.”

Kathleen’s smile was sad, her eyes filled with a resilience that seemed to have been forged in the fires of hell itself. “Dangerous, yes,” she admitted. “But what choice do I have? If I don’t fight back, I’ll just be another forgotten name, another broken soul lost to the desert.”

Joe felt a chill run down his spine as he took in the steely resolve in her gaze. He knew that she had been hurt, but he had never understood the depth of her anger. It was a living, breathing thing, a beast that prowled just beneath the surface, waiting for the moment to strike.

He looked down at his own hands, suddenly aware of their calluses and dirt, a stark contrast to the soft, pale skin of hers. They were the hands of a boy who had never truly known hardship, who had never had to fight for anything beyond a scrap of food or a dry place to sleep. Yet here he was, in the presence of a woman who had endured more in a single day than he had in his entire life.

Joe swallowed hard, the gravity of her words settling like a lead weight in his stomach. He knew then that he would do anything to help her, to protect her from the kind of pain she had suffered. “Ma’am,” he said, his voice firm with determination, “I’ll stand by you. Whatever you need, I’m here.”