Jayne had tipped her chin and vowed she’d learn with or without Eddie’s help. It wasn’t some foolish notion of undoing the past. She would not allow herself to ever again feel as helpless as she did on that horrible day. The events had been burned permanently into her brain.
The day she had in mind had been sunny and warm after days of damp sky. Her fiancé, Oliver Spencer, had suggested spending the afternoon together instead of abandoning her to her own amusements while he pursued his as so often happened. On several occasions, she’d objected mildly to the amount of time Oliver spent in gambling establishments. The promise of some quality time together, just the two of them, had caused her to laugh at his jokes, though, as usual, she failed to understand them. He must have thought her so innocent.
They’d been walking side by side along a street lined with shops inviting their business. She had glanced in one window and noticed a beautiful display of lace gloves and thought of purchasing a pair, but she hadn’t suggested a stop because she and Oliver were discussing the future. She didn’t want to distract him.
“We’ll live in the house with Mother and Father. There’s more than enough room. No need to own another house.”
Did he mean she would go from being under her parents’ direct supervision to being under his parents’? She wanted to be a woman with her own home. Of course, it made sense to start with. “Will we get our own home when we have children?” A hot blush had flooded her body at the intimate topic.
Before Oliver could answer, a man had jumped from an alley brandishing a gun and demanded Oliver give him everything.
Jayne had shrunk back into the recessed doorway of the building beside them and watched as Oliver emptied his pockets of quite a lot of cash.
“It’s all I have,” he’d said, his voice hard with anger.
The thief had jammed the money into his pocket. “You know that’s not all I want.” He’d waved the pistol. “Where’s the key?”
Jayne had glanced about, hoping for rescue but no one turned down the street toward them. No one noticed the robbery.
“I want it back,” the robber had growled.
Jayne had swallowed hard. People passed at the intersection a few yards away. She tried to call for help but her voice failed her.
Oliver had continued to say he had nothing more. He’d even turned his pockets out.
“Where is it? I can’t prove it but I know you cheated. You took everything I have.” The thief had lurched toward Oliver.
She’d never seen Oliver move so quickly. His arm slashed across the man’s wrist. The pistol dropped to the cobblestones and he’d kicked it toward Jayne.
“Pick it up. Shoot him,” Oliver had ordered as he and the thief tussled.
Jayne had stared at the gun just two feet away but she couldn’t move. She’d never touched a gun, let alone shot one. She didn’t even know how.
Oliver’s head had hit the ground with a thud and he’d lain stunned.
The thief had grabbed the pistol. A metallic click had rung through Jayne’s racing thoughts.
“Get up,” the thief had ordered.
Oliver had staggered to his feet.
“I’m done playing around. You know what I want. Give it to me.”
Oliver had swayed.
Someone from the nearby intersection had called out. “He’s got a gun.”
Then everything had happened so fast Jayne couldn’t say what came first. A shot had rung out. Oliver had pitched to the pavement. The thief had raced down the alley. A crowd had surrounded them.
Jayne had hovered in the doorway, too frightened to move while blood pooled around Oliver. Someone had leaned over him. A man had looked up, seen her and waved her forward. Her legs numb, her heart beating erratically, she’d managed to make the few steps and knelt at Oliver’s side. “You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.” She hadn’t believed the words she’d uttered.
He’d caught her hand. He’d struggled to speak past the gurgling in his throat. Something about gambling and winning from the man who had shot him. Then his words ended in a gasp. Gentle hands had pried her away. Someone had taken her home.
For days she’d sat in a straight-backed chair beside the cold fireplace and replayed the scene in her mind. The skin on her face had grown taut every time she’d come to the spot where Oliver had kicked the gun toward her. Fear as deep as the English Channel had shaken her insides. Oliver was dead because she hadn’t been able to act. Hadn’t known what to do with the gun that lay so close to her. All over some gambling money. The world had gone crazy.
One day Bess, her quiet younger sister, had pulled a chair to Jayne’s knees and taken her hands. “Jayne, I have always admired you for your determination and sensibleness. It amazes me you sit here day after day. I beg you to get up and start living again.”
Jayne had looked into Bess’s sweet face and made a decision. She would not be defeated by this event. With God’s help she’d use it to grow stronger. She’d pushed to her feet and hugged her sister. “Bess, you are right. Never again will I feel so helpless. So useless.”
Bess’s smile had widened with relief then faltered at the conviction in Jayne’s voice. “What are you going to do?”
She had no firm plan at the moment. “I’ll tell you what I’m not going to do. I’m not going to be a helpless woman.”
That conviction had carried her away from home and across the North American continent to a new, inviting country.
Now she lifted her arm and looked at her two friends in the grove of trees. “I will learn to shoot.”
Mercy steadied Jayne’s hand. “Hold it like this. Brace with your other hand. Look down the barrel to the target.” She guided Jayne into position then stepped back.
Jayne’s arms lowered until the gun pointed at the ground. “If I hadn’t been so scared of guns I might have grabbed the one Oliver kicked toward me. He might still be alive.”
“Exactly,” Mercy said.
“Or you might both be dead.” Sybil covered her face with her hands as if she couldn’t bear the thought.
Jayne wished she could as easily block the sight of Oliver’s death from her mind, but it wasn’t possible. Any more than it was possible to forget she was twenty-one, no longer planning a wedding, and not ever wanting to think of such things again. Oliver had taught her that life was too fragile to make dream-filled plans.
“You don’t want it happening again,” Mercy insisted.
Jayne cringed. “I don’t have another fiancé, you know.”
Mercy laughed. “Not yet, you mean.”
“Not ever.” Oh, she’d likely marry. Everyone did. But nothing on earth would convince her to again open her heart to such fear and pain and disappointment. Any more than she would ever again let herself become so weak and dependent on others. Though she’d only begun the journey toward living strong and free. “But you’re right about needing to learn to protect myself.” And people she cared about. Never again would she stand by, shaking in fear, while someone died. “I can do this.”
Mercy repeated her instructions on how to hold the gun, aim it and fire it.
Sybil crossed her arms and looked like she’d sooner be anywhere but there. “How do you know all this?” she asked Mercy.
“I sweet-talked one of the cowboys