Chapter 1

Caroline Bagshaw rested her head on the leather-covered steering wheel and wept. Her dream life, apparently so perfect two years previously, with a loving husband and two successful children. Now she was alone, and dealing with the funeral of Pop, her beloved father.

The wrong side of fifty, she had been betrayed by her faithless husband and disappointed in her two boys, who saw nothing wrong in what their father had done. In fact they followed his example; with both their marriages wrecked on the rocks of serial infidelity.

She was suspicious when Patience Cranshaw and Missy Peach, two of the most boring of her main five friends who she tended to see in twos and threes at various clubs, and other activities, who were trying to keep her at the country club on a particularly cold and wet day when all she wanted to do was go home and long soak in a hot bath. So she ordered all three lunch in the restaurant, before running off to the loo and kept on going, out to the car park and the 15 minute drive home. Patty and Missy must’ve just realised and tipped the other girls off, as she pulled into her drive, full of three cars and her husband’s new Merc, her friends were running to their cars in various states of undress.

Caroline discovered that her wealthy husband had affairs with many of her so-called friends, who covered for him as he regularly shared his remarkable sexual prowess between them. They were very much HIS friends not hers.

Now, a year after the divorce, her father, Sam Pinner, had passed away the week before and the funeral was held that day. All the guests had departed, leaving her alone in his cold, dark terraced house, with his old car parked in the front garden, surrounded by a dark laurel hedge that hadn’t been trimmed in years.

Her eldest son, Adam, was curt. “You’re clearing Pop’s house after the funeral, Mum, at least you could’ve dumped this old wreck before everyone came back to the house.”

“That ‘old wreck’ you are talking about, was your grandfather’s dream car. Just before your grandma passed away in 1980, she spent all the money she’d scrimped and saved all her life to buy this secondhand Jaguar XJ12. A lot of love was poured into that car from them both.”

“Yeah, but he never even drove it, Mum!” Adam scoffed, “This car’s a joke!” Adam’s younger brother Robert Junior joined in the laughter, adding, “I know a guy with a low-loader who could’ve cleared this eyesore away in a trice.”

Their grandfather had a stroke immediately after his loving wife, their grandmother, died and was left paralysed down one side, so tragically he never drove the car, a gift she had arranged for him virtually on her death bed. He was so proud of that car that he could never part with it. Caroline was ashamed at the callous attitude of her offspring.

That’s why, after all her grandfather’s friends from the Wakefield and District Cowboy Re-enactment Society left, that Caroline sat quietly in her father’s dream car once more before finally shutting the house up.

The car’s original colour had once been a deep maroon, the paint now dull and faded; rust showed through the wings and door panels and all four tyres were flat to the ground. That car was going nowhere, and hadn’t been anywhere for more than thirty-odd years.

Caroline unlocked the driver’s side door, which opened on surprisingly well-greased hinges. The internal courtesy light failed to come on, of course, the battery must’ve gone flat years before. She slid into the front seat, smelling of freshly polished leather. Despite the wreck it looked, inside the polished walnut and tan hide leather inlay shone fresh and dust free. Beside her, on the passenger seat, was her father’s old Stetson. She smiled, fingering the soft leather hat, recalling her parents’ love of line dancing and dressing up in Western-style clothing; how her father engaged in quick-draw contests with his Wild West enthusiast friends that she knew as ridiculous but sweet “uncles” and “aunts” as a small girl.

She cried, rested her forehead on the steering wheel and closed her eyes.

Next thing she knew, the car seat was bucking, throwing Caroline around wildly. She opened her eyes.

“Don’t you cry, now Ma’am, them pesky injuns’ll scatter once our lead flies among ‘em!” yelled a large, sweating, bald man sitting in a seat opposite to her. She was in a stagecoach! He pulled out a six-gun that had been tucked in his straining leather belt, and pointed his weapon out of the open stagecoach window. “We’re only a spit away from Sweetwater Valley. We’ll be safe there, Ma’am, don’t ya worry yer pretty head about that!”

The noise from the gun was deafening, and the stagecoach filled with acrid smoke. The motion of the coach was wild, like driving over a dried-up river in a four-poster bed. Other gunshots could be heard above her, outside the carriage, and a feathered arrow thwacked into the back of the empty seat opposite her. Caroline’s corpulent companion fired off round after deafening round, his unshaven purple face set in a determined grimace.

Suddenly there was a distant fusillade of shots, then another volley, followed by a ragged number of random shots.

“Them varmints is a-running!” yelled the large man in triumph, slapping his thigh with his free hand, “Looks like a posse from town have rid out tah greet us.”

He beamed at Caroline and stuck out a large horny hand, “Forgive me mah manners, Ma’am, but yo’ll wus fast asleep when I got aboard at Carson. The driver said ya’d come all the ways from Back East and wus plum tuckered out, so I never disturbed yah till that war party welcomed us into the territ’ry. Mah name’s Judge Justice Makepeace — yeah, I know, mah Pappy was also a hangin’ judge afore me an’ I guess he had a weird sense o’humor!”

“Pleased to meet you, Judge, I’m—” Caroline was almost tumbled out of her seat as the stagecoach shuddered to a halt, the man caught her hand and held on, wrapping her in his other arm and whipping her safely into the seat next to him.

“The whole territ’ry knows who you is Ma’am. An’ I kin tell from the softness of yar hand that ya’re a lady of some quality, worthy of respect, like ya Pa wus before ya,” the Judge winked as he held her in his arms, the coach still rocking on its springs, “I’m on mah way now to hang the three gunmen what shot down yah Pa in cold blood.”

When Caroline’s eyebrow’s shot up in surprise at this development, the Judge added, scratching his grey whiskers, “There’ll be a proper trial, mind, Ma’am, I’ll hold court till I’ve smoked a four-inch cee-gar all the way down ta the butt, afore I hangs the lot of ‘em. Folk cain’t say fairer than that!”

He threw open the carriage door and squeezed his bulk through, turning to hand Caroline down to the dusty Main Street. All the wooden buildings were bleached white in the blinding noon sunshine, and the heat hit her like a solid wall.

Looking down at her feet, she saw her sensible-heeled shoes, that she wore for the funeral, had somehow become calf-hugging leather boots and her sombre knee-length skirt had transformed into a black ankle-length silk dress, with a figure-hugging bodice, pearl-buttoned up to the neck. Somehow, the thirty pounds of comfort eating that she’d put on since the divorce, had magically disappeared.

The coach was surrounded by tall, grinning men, all sporting a variety of still-smoking guns, some still holding the reins of their steaming horses. The tallest of them stepped forward, removing his tall hat. He was a handsome young man with long, shoulder-length black hair. Under the bushiest moustache Caroline had ever seen, his blinding white teeth stood out from his deeply-tanned face. He wore a white silk shirt with a neatly-knotted string necktie. His long black coat was speckled with the red dust which hung in the air. A silver star gleamed from his coat lapel, as did the pair of pearl-handled revolvers stuffed into leather belted holsters pinched about his narrow waist. He held out his enormous hand.

“Ah’m Marshal Tom Denton, Ma’am. Yah late father said yah’ll’d be the prettiest widder in the territ’ry and, upon mah word, Ah never heard him swear the more honest truth.”

As his warm, hard, dry hand engulfed her tiny damp one, Caroline was speechless, conscious that she might’ve fluttered her eyelids, feeling feint. Before she knew what was happening, the gorgeous Marshal swept her up in his arms as if she was nothing but a duckdown pillow. She rested her head on his broad shoulder.

“Forgive mah manners, Miss Bagshaw, yah father always kept a set of rooms here at the Hotel, where yah trunks that arrived by the noon stage yesterday ha’ been stowed.”

“Sorry, Marshal, I was overcome there for a moment—”

“Perfectly understandable, Ma’am, yah maid Alice came up from yah late Pa’s Lazy-C Ranch this mornin’ and is presently in yah rooms drawin’ a hot bath fer yah.”

“Alice?”

“She’s mah niece, mah Sister’s young’st. She’s onny 14, but she’s smart as paint for a’ that. Mah Sis thought it’d be good to have a maid that wus closer to yah own age.”

“Why, how old do you think I am, Marshal?” Caroline asked coyly, recovering her senses in this bewildering dreamworld.

The Marshal dropped his voice, “Why, Ah have it on high authority that yah’re least five years younger than Ah am, an’ Ah’m 30 next month. Yah father did say yorn husband was a beast an’ yah well shot o’ him. Ah fer one don’t think yah should be holden to wear them widder’s weeds on his account any longer, an’ yah father said yah’d brighten up our town no end. Ah ain’t about to argue with anyone on that point, if yah beg mah pardon fer bein’ fo’ard, Ma’am.”

“No offence taken, Marshal,” Caroline smiled, “I think I should be able to walk now.”

“We’re here,” he laughed, “The noon stage al’ays stops by the Grand Hotel. At least allow me the pleasure to convey yah up to yah rooms.”

“All right, Marshal.” It was all Caroline could do to refrain from giggling like the little girl she suddenly felt. Not only that, but for the first time in more than a year, she felt an itch between her legs that she felt an urge to scratch.

Now Alice was a pretty bright and attentive girl, who helped Caroline out of the complicated layers of clothing that she had magically acquired between rotting motorcar and wooden stagecoach, and into her hot bath, fed by buckets of water brought up the stairs by a couple of sturdy girls that looked like they handle anything the Wild West threw at them.

Meanwhile Alice chattering away about the town, its dreamboat Marshal and the newly arrived Dentist who, according to the maid, was another “dish served in heaven”. After her bath, Caroline was tucked comfortably onto the chaise longue and, fatigued by all the excitement, was soon fast asleep.

Caroline woke with a start, sitting in that old Jaguar. She shook the sleep from her head as she stepped from the car and slammed the door, with a near silent click. What a strange and vivid dream! She was about to walk back to the house when a smile spread across her face, the first smile that she could remember wearing in a long while.

She spun on her heels, pulled the car door open and slid back inside...

“Why, Miss Caroline, Ah declare yo’ ain’t slept more’n a couple hours, are yo’ sure yo’re rested enough after yo’ journey? Especially after the shock of that Injun attack.”

“I’m fine, Alice, it’s just that I’d like to get a look at my Daddy’s ranch, as soon as possible, how far away is it?”

“About an hour’s ride, ma’am, but Ah’d need to rustle up the ranch gig, a driver and a coupla outriders, and we on’y have a coupla hours afore nightfall, there’d be no time fer us to get back into town.”