(Western)

March 3rd, 1875

"Grow up? Me? I suppose I have. Killing things, and almost killing myself, must have changed me some after all."

Gently moving about with the rivets in the road, Emma Claire closed her journal and set it aside next to her in the stagecoach. With gloved hands, she sat, brushing the front of her lavender travel dress creating a small cloud of dust around her. Squinting her eyes, she looked out her little window, raising a hand to move the thin excuse of a curtain and shield her eyes against the noonday sun. The long outstretched land with the Black Hills on the horizon made her heart quicken with both anxiety and anticipation. She could even see a few silhouettes of horses and their riders in the distance.

South Dakota wasn't Emma's first choice when it came to leaving her home to start her own life. With her mother now dead and father consumed by his banking business, Emma had no choice but to whisk herself away to a faraway land and be a teacher like she always wished. Or else she would be subject to host luncheon tea parties, attend balls with self-serving men, and pretend that her shoes didn't kill her feet.

Plus, having been the rebellious child she was, Emma looked forward to the chance to practice her shooting and hunting skills again, but this time in an area that wouldn't mind women traipsing around in a muddied dress and leaves in her hair. Her parents hated how she would run off with "that heathen" as they called him. Jamie was her best friend and they did everything that a couple of fourteen year olds could do together. Right up until he died.

Emma shivered, closing her eyes and letting out a long breath. The past was in the past, now it was time to move forward. Her father told her to grow up while she was at it running off to the west and when she was done throwing a fit and see that she can't live this kind of life he will have a suitable husband with a stable banking job waiting for her when she got back.

Joke was on him, though. Emma wasn't planning on coming back. These small town areas needed teachers and since she wasn't allowed to do much else she might as well help these kids learn that it was not only good to have an education but to have fun with it too. Maybe in return, they could teach her how to start a fire without getting it on her dress.

Suddenly, the coach jerked violently, throwing her out of her thoughts and knocking her journal to the ground. With her bonnet askew, Emma righted herself, the cart now standing still. Taking shallow breaths so no one could hear her, Emma peeked out her window and her hand flew to her mouth to keep herself from gasping out loud.

On the ground laid her coach driver, an arrow pierced right through his chest. Blood seeped out the back and into the dirt road, his body unmoving. The four horses whinnied, stopping and shaking their heads at the sudden turn of events. Looking around, Emma's mind filled with ways for her to get out of here without getting her own personal arrow piercing.

Emma didn't mind the idea of there being Indians close to where she would be calling her new home (a town she had entirely forgotten the name of) but only nice Indians who didn't shoot harmless people riding through. But apparently, that was going to be a tall order for them. Slowly moving from window to window, Emma got her bearings and started to make a plan, not at all eager to be left a pathetic damsel in distress.

As long as her bags were still around, she could fend for herself for a little while before the town sheriff who knew of her arrival today came looking for her.Turning back to her window, Emma watched the sun cast afternoon shadows across the plains.

Suddenly the coach rocked again, making her press her hands to the side of the carriage walls, daring not to close her eyes. A face then popped down from the roof and looked at her through the window, blocking her view of the Black Hills. With wide eyes, Emma made out the face of an Indian from the other open windows, his long hair falling like a black waterfall. But before she could get a good look at his face, he smiled then disappeared atop the carriage again moving it about slightly.

"Hey! Did you shoot that man? He didn't do anything wrong!" Emma moved to the window the Indian had appeared in, looking up at the top of the coach. "Are you going to shoot me too?"

The Indian jumped down then opened the door on the other side of the carriage, making Emma spin around. He was taller than she first thought, his hair reaching well past his brought shoulders. Thankfully he wore more than a simple loincloth like her mother thought and nearly fainted over.

Instead, he wore long pants with chaps, some kind of slippers and a tattered vest over his bare chest. Heat reached Emma's cheeks as she focused on his eyes that were now looking around the interior of the carriage. She may be unlike most women when it came to running around the forest but that didn't make her any less a woman.

His eyes stopped on something on the floor. You followed his gaze to your journal right in front of the door. But before she could reach out and grab it, the Indian swiped it, leafing through it with a steady eye. Emma clenched her fist and gathered her dress as she marched up to him, ready to push him out of the way and stand toe to toe with him, demanding for her book back.

"Hey now! That's private!"

But just as she tried to push him out of the way, his eyes lifted to her as he snapped her journal shut, tucking it under his arm. With gentle but strong hands, the Indian pushed her back into the carriage and onto her seat. Halfway into the carriage himself, the indian placed a foot in, resting his arm on his knee, holding out her journal. With his eyes, he looked to her book and to her, as if asking if it was hers.

Emma cleared her throat, taking a moment to recover from being pushed back. "Yes, that is mine."

The Indian smiled, then placed the book in her lap before leaving, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Scooting to the window, Emma looked out.

"What do you want?"

The Indian ignored her as he walked up to the dead coachman, her only ally and way to get to the town, and knelt down placing his back to her. It looked to her like he was doing some sort of Indian prayer on him, probably thinking his hunting god for such an easy kill.

But what he did next made her blood leave her face and finger go numb; the Indian pulled the arrow out of the driver's body with a sickening sound then wiped it on the ground. Closing the driver's eyes, the Indian then stood, examining the arrow with calculating eyes.

With soft steps, he walked up to the carriage and reached the arrow out to Emma. Confused, Emma looked to the arrow then to the Indian, her eyes narrowing. But then it seemed the Indian changed his mind, his eyes going wide as Emma stared him down, tucking the arrow behind his ear.

Not really sure as to what was going on, Emma reached over to undo the door latch but the Indian rushed over, shaking his head. Instantly Emma recoiled. Crossing her arms she gave a hard look to the Indian.

"I have somewhere to be! Seeing as how you haven't killed me yet, I plan on driving the carriage myself. The town sheriff will come looking for me, find the dead driver and track us down. Who knows what they will do to you when they find you riding off with me inside."

The Indian chuckled, tilting his head to the side. Staring at her for a few more seconds the Indian said something under his breath then shook his head, leaping up to the driver's spot on the carriage.

Emma reached forward, waving her hand. "Oh no you don't, I will not be driven to one of your Indian tribes! We don't understand each other and you don't use plumbing! How am I-" but she was cut off by the carriage leaping forward, her cries of surprise drowned out by the Indian yipping into the air.

Resigned to her fate, Emma leaned back and folded her arms. The Indian wasn't much older than herself, but that wasn't exactly encouraging. That meant he could be just as hard-headed and driven as she could be. Once again moving along with the carriage, Emma looked out the window and watched the land pass quickly by, the sky turning into a soft evening glow. Only a few more hours and it would be dark. Emma shivered, leaning her head back and closed her eyes. She will just have to wait until he stopped again before she could do anything effective.

~

Emma shot up to something shaking her awake, her eyes unfocused as she blinked back her impromptu nap. Looking around, she found it was much darker than before, but still light enough to see where everything was. Including the Indian and his hand on her shoulders, his body halfway in the carriage, his dark eyes looking over her face.

Emma pulled away from him, her face scrunched in frustration. "Get away from me. Are we at your village?"

The Indian didn't say anything as he took hold of her arm. He looked out to what looked to be the edge of a wooded area. He pointed to her than to the woods, saying something in his native language.

Confused, Emma shook him off. "I am not leaving this carriage."

The Indian rolled his eyes, then leaned forward, effortlessly scooping her up and walking her out of the carriage and to the edge of the woods like he had indicated.

Emma struggled to leave his arms but he was both strong and unnervingly handsome up close. That threw her off. And his clean smell. He smelled way to clean for an Indian. Not that she went around smelling Indian men, but she didn't expect them to smell like hotel soap and cream. She stopped fighting him as he placed her on a rock next to a small smoldering fire. He must have started it. The night was still fairly warm but it was nice to have something familiar.

Emma looked up at the Indian as he pulled out the arrow from his hair and gave it to her. Holding her breath, she took the arrow, her hands threatening to shake but she forced them to stay still. She has held an arrow before, just not one that was once in a human body. She waved it to him.

"What do you want me to do with this?"

He pointed to the woods and imitated a growling animal. Emma deadpanned.

"You want me to defend myself with an arrow that you killed a man with." She looked around him and to the carriage not far off. "Where is your bow and other arrows. Just shoot me and be done with it." Emma handed the arrow back to him but he shook his head.

He then pointed back at the carriage, making a motion of a wheel. Emma looked around him and sure enough spotted one of the wheels was broken. The horses were not so far away, untethered and grazing happily. Letting out a sigh, Emma slumped on her rock, looking down at her arrow.

"I am stranded in the desert with an Indian while holding the very weapon he could kill me with. Perfect."

Standing up swiftly, Emma planned to give the Indian a piece of her mind but she found the Indian was gone, back at the carriage looking over the wheel. Tapping the arrow against her leg, Emma looked around. The woods weren't too thick, but just enough to make her a bit uneasy without her own weapons with her. But that just made her thankful for the third time that day that she brought them at all. If she wasn't so shocked and uncertain about this Indian's intentions she would have taken care of him from the moment she saw him. But she was still a lady, there was nothing wrong with talking things out if they were willing to listen

Warming up to the slowly burning embers, Emma kept her eye on the Indian, his back to her as he crouched down, looking over the wheel. His dark hair shone in the setting sun, making her wonder again, how he looked so well put together. With the wheel now off the coach, the Indian picked up a good-sized rock and started hitting it, his well-defined arms making it look effortless. Perhaps if she stared at him a bit longer she just might figure it out. She was a teacher after all.

Having no real sense of time and with the sun as her only indicator, Emma guessed it was about two or so hours by the time the Indian had placed the wheel back on the carriage. Her stomach grumbled as she stood, ready to get back in and sit down, not really caring where he was going to take her. He would have done something by now, not fixed the carriage if he wanted to hurt her.

Stretching, Emma didn't hear the sound of footsteps behind her nor noticed her new visitor until he spoke.

"Ma'am? Are you alright?"

Emma spun around, her travel coat sitting on her rock, leaving her in a pale blue dress that made it easier for her to move about. Taking her arrow, she pointed it at her unexpected visitor.

It was a cowboy, no doubt about it. His hat threw his face into a shadow but she could tell he was slightly bearded. His eyes were dark but looked more worried than menacing, as opposed to the Indian's laughing gaze. Emma took a step back, noticing the cowboy was also armed with two guns and a hunting rifle. She held onto the arrow a bit tighter.

"Stay back. I already took care of an Indian, I don't need you getting the idea of carting me away too."

The man stepped forward, his eyes hard. "You killed Laughing Brook?"

Emma blinked. "I don't know who that is."

The man took another step. "The Indian that I sent ahead to help lead the driver to our town. You killed him?" His voice raised at the end.

Emma raised the arrow higher as he drew closer, making her step back. "My driver is dead having been shot down by this arrow," she waved it about, "now step back or I'll run you through."

The man paused as he looked over her shoulder. His head dropped and his shoulders shook with a low chuckle. "That cackling crow." Looking up, the man reached out and lowered her arrow as he nodded to the very much alive Indian behind her. "You killed that Indian?"

Emma looked behind her, the Indian now done with the wheel and attaching the horses again. Shrugging, she turned to the cowboy, taking care to look him right in the eyes. "I didn't say I killed him."

"You didn't deny it either."

"Would you have messed with a woman who killed an Indian?"

"I don't mess with women who point sharp things at me in the first place." He smirked, waving his hand to call over his friend. "Brook, get over here!"

The Indian, Laughing Brook as he was fittingly named, came bounding over, a smile wide on his lips. Emma shook her head, gathering her travel coat.

"I don't know how you guys are at all friends. He doesn't speak a lick of English."

The man turned to Emma, his face trying hard not to laugh. "Not a lick of English, huh?"

Just then, Brook arrived, smiling at the cowboy. But before anyone said anything the gruff man hit the Indian upside his head, making Brook cover and let out a wounded squeak. The cowboy thumbed back to Emma.

"You made her believe you didn't speak English?" He whispered not so quietly.

Brook laughed and shrugged, answering in perfect English that had a slight hint of an accent. "She wouldn't have shut up if she knew I could understand her perfectly."

Emma's jaw dropped and she threw down her coat and arrow. Marching up to him she started to hit his chest, the cowboy looking on while Laughing Brock lived up to his name. Emma was furious.

"You made me believe you shot my driver and then planned to take me away!" She stopped hitting him for a moment, pointing at his face. "You are extremely lucky I didn't have my guns on me."

The cowboy let out a low whistle. "A lady that can shoot. Now I've seen everything." He nodded to the carriage. "Let's get going. It's almost dark and you have children to teach tomorrow."

Emma then turned on the cowboy, punching his arm. "I will be teaching no one's children until I have a whole day to myself to get settled in. I'll have your Sheriff know of my terms that he agreed to are to be met, especially after what I just went through."

The man chuckled and took her arm before she could hit him again. Leaning forward, he tilted his head to the side. "I am the sheriff, sweetheart."

Emma tore herself from him and collected her things, stomping off to the carriage. "Of course you are," she huffed, throwing the carriage door open and slamming it behind her, "Next thing he's going to say is that he's married to an Indian and I'll have to teach their bratty kids."

Not that she hated Indians, she just so happened to get a terrible first impression of them. Looking out her window she watched the two men walking slowly, talking in whispering tones. The sheriff slapped Brook on the arm and they parted ways, the Indian driving the carriage as the sheriff joined her.

Refusing to look him in the face, Emma looked out the window, the coach rocking gently as they started off. The man in front of her cleared his throat but she continued to ignore him. He chuckled.

"Ah yes, the silent treatment. Something I'm all too used to."

Emma glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Served to you by your wife no doubt."

The man smirked. "Sister."

The carriage was quiet again. Emma shifted and her arm felt the tip of the arrow having forgotten about it in her bundle of clothing. Pulling it out, she looked it over, dried blood making her heart sad. Glancing up she saw the Sheriff looking at it. Leaning back, she handed it to him, his ungloved hands brushing her now dirtied ones.

"Who's is it if it wasn't your friend's?"

"Laughing Brook is a Lakota and not all Lakotas are happy he and his tribe decided to befriend a small town of English speakers. So they guard the only path to the town. That's why I sent him up to fetch you before anything happened. Looks like the driver wasn't so lucky."

"Ah yes, that's because that what I am. Getting scared to death and wondering if I was ever going to live is lucky."

The man took off his hat and laughed, shaking his slightly blond hair. "Don't worry about that, Brook won't get away with doing that to you." He looked up at her, his eyes sincere. "We need ya to stay and not get scared off."

Emma scoffed, looking out the window again, the sky growing darker by the minute. "I'm not going anywhere." She turned to him, smirking. "I need your town as much as you need me."

The Sheriff nodded, picking at something on the seat. The air grew thick with a bit of unseen tension. Emma glanced at him, biting her lip. With a breath she stuck out her hand, startling the man a bit.

"Emma Clair. Since it was my friend that spoke to you, you don't know my name."

The man nodded, taking her hand. "Joseph Bower. A pleasure to meet you, Emma Clair."

Emma smiled slightly, taking her hand back, ignoring it's tingling. "Brook and Bower. Quite the pair."

Sheriff Bower chuckled, hitting the roof of the carriage. "Not many pairs like us around."

Emma raised a brow. "You do understand that the three of us driving into town will look quite suspicious. The sheriff, the teacher, and the town Indian."

Sheriff Bower chuckled. "Oh no, you will fit right in."

There was a little light off in the distance and Emma poked her head out. Music flooded over, making her smile. Bower looked out too, taking out his gun and shooting it into the air. Emma jumped.

"Is that it?"

Sheriff Bower smiled. "Sure is, sweetheart. Welcome to Howling Rock."

Laughing Brook howled and made the horses go faster making Emma smile and Bower let off another shot.