Protecting Annie

Burrton Springs, Kansas

August 1, 1876

Death paced close enough for Annie McPherson to smell its rotted breath. A menacing growl rumbled in the beast's throat. The animal bared his teeth when she attempted a tiny step. Perspiration trickled between her shoulder blades. She cocked her head a fraction of an inch, hoping to spot a bystander, but only a small glimpse of a barren street stretched between the tight alleyway. Her heart hammered beneath her polonaise.

Not a single soul in sight. “Where’s help when you need it?”

Her movement and words caused the monstrosity to circle closer. If Annie’d been on speaking terms with God, it would’ve been a good time to send a plea for someone to come to her rescue. But she’d fallen out of practice of praying over the past years, ever since—

She released a silent breath, shifting her foot in the dirt. The deranged creature snarled and snapped, just short of capturing her wrist in his jaws. Annie tried to swallow but her throat muscles refused to contract.

The wolf settled on his haunches, two feet in front of her. A glistening tongue protruded from his face. His beady eyes stared at her, unmoving. Was the beast contemplating how she would taste, like the one in the tale of Little Red Cap she’d read as a child? A shiver ran down Annie’s spine. She had no desire to be wolf chow.

“Easy, fellow. Don’t eat me. I’m sure I’m not very appetizing.”

It was time to take charge of her fate since no assistance was coming. Annie took a step sideways. Her back scraped against the rough boards of the building.

Why had she chosen to saunter through the narrow passageway and follow the jumbled directions the blacksmith had given her after she’d exited the conveyance? The other townsperson she’d asked had stared at her as if she’d spoken a different language, as if the man didn’t understand English when he heard it. Annie hoped he wasn’t an indication of what type of people lived in town. She’d have to make the best of it since returning to New York wasn’t feasible, not after that louse—

An ominous snarl snapped her back to her current situation. How many times had Mama warned her about focusing on the situation at hand? While she’d been woolgathering, the wild animal inched his way closer. He leapt.

Annie screamed and slammed the parasol onto the beast’s head with a satisfying whack. The wooden frame splintered, splaying like twigs littering the ground after a windstorm.

It dazed the wolf for a brief instant, long enough for her to edge away from the building. She pivoted and tried to make a run for it, but her heel caught in the flounce of her dress. Her body slammed to the ground. Thick, dirty paws shoved the air from her lungs as the beast stood on her stomach. The furry head loomed in front of her face. A deep-throated growl pierced the air, and an odiferous stench hung like a cloud. Darkness threatened at the corner of Annie’s eyes. She gritted her teeth. There was no way she’d allow him to be the victor.

Her fingers stretched toward what was left of her parasol. If she could just reach it. One inch closer and she’d have it.

The wolf bared his teeth and a guttural growl rumbled.

She tried to suck in a breath. Her fingers finally slipped around the wooden handle and remaining rod, but the heavy animal made it impossible to get oxygen. Gathering every ounce of strength left in her body, she smashed the side of the brute’s head. The remains of her parasol broke into several pieces. The creature yelped, falling partially to his side. She rolled from under him. Air rushed into her lungs, making the world spin as she sucked in deep breaths.

“Don’t come any closer, ye demented beast.” She scooped up the nearest shaft of wood, brandishing it like a sword. A shriek escaped her lips when he rose to his feet again.