Chapter 18: A Lady With a Frying Pan

~Though she be but little, she is fierce.~—William Shakespeare

Jake slowly opened his eyes and looked around him. The rays of the sun were beginning to pour in through the opening of the cave, and the light made him squint.

Slowly, he rose to a sitting position and looked around him. The coffee pot was standing by the fire, and his cup was placed next to it. A blanket lay draped over him, though he couldn’t quite remember covering himself with one.

Dannie was sitting at the mouth of the cave with her back to him. Pushing back the blanket, Jake stood up and stretched, his muscles stiff from sleeping with rocks as his pillow. Walking over to where Dannie sat, he looked over and saw a book in her hands.

“Do you always get up this early?” he asked.

She gave a bit of jump before turning to face him. “Good heavens, Jake! I never heard you coming.”

“Apologies.”

“And the answer is yes. It’s another thing Papa and I had in common. He was a big advocate of ‘early to bed, early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.’ Though, come to think of it,” Dannie realized, “I am not at all wealthy, and it seems the rest of the world doesn’t think me very wise. I am healthy, however, so at least a third of that saying is true.”

Jake chuckled, shaking his head. Somehow, she always took him by surprise and tickled his funny bone. “Whatcha readin’?”

“The Book of Ruth. It’s my favorite book in the whole Bible. I don’t think I’ve ever read a more beautiful love story. Better than any novel, that is for sure.”

“Do you read the Bible every day?”

“I do, indeed. I am, after all, the proper daughter of a minister of the Church of England.”

“I’ll say.” Jake had to laugh.

“How about you, Jake? Do you believe in God?”

“I do, but I ain’t big on the details. So, if you want to engage in theological debates, I’m afraid you’re with the wrong person.”

She laughed at these words. “Why would I wish to debate with you? I’m not much of a debater at all.”

“Oh, you’re not?” Jake raised an eyebrow. “I’d dare to say that it’s your favorite thing to do.”

“That is not true,” Dannie protested, her face turning red.

“No offense, Miss Danielle Preston, but I’ve ridden with you for three days, and if there is one thing you are good at, it is debatin’. Come on, you don’t mean to tell me you never had any debates on the subject of theology back home?”

“Certainly not,” Dannie sputtered out, looking flustered. “It is not a woman’s place to engage in theological debates—not in England, at least. Such subjects belong to the world of men.”

“You never, ever once debated theology?” Jake cocked his head a little, his voice challenging and persistent.

“Well,” Dannie said, relenting. “Maybe once or twice, with Paul.”

Jake tensed at the name. It seemed that every conversation somehow led to Paul, and Jake was sorry he had pushed Dannie to confess. Luckily, Dannie didn’t seem to care to pursue the subject either. She shut her Bible and stood up.

“Let’s eat breakfast and set out. We should reach the town today, right?”

“Reckon we ought to, providing we don’t have any other surprises waitin’ for us.”

“I’ve had enough for one journey, thank you very much,” Dannie replied with a roll of her eyes.

She made her way to the wagon to put her Bible away, collecting the blankets from beside the fire while she was at it.

Jake busied himself with getting a fire going. He suddenly rose and glanced around sharply. Something was wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but the silence was dangerous.

Having lived out West his whole life, Jake could easily tell the different kinds of silence apart. His breathing quickened, and his hand went to his holster.

He had to figure out where the danger was lurking, and at the same time keep Dannie from getting harmed. Cautiously, he turned to the entrance of the cave.

This turned out to be a grave mistake.

The cold barrel of a pistol pressed against his head—and Jake gritted his teeth.

Had Calhoon caught up to him at last?

“Let go of the gun!” a voice told him. “Or I’ll blast yer brains out.”

“Will you really let me live if I let it go?” Jake dryly retorted.

The man behind him smirked. “I just might, for the heck of it. I’m guessin’ you’ve got a lot of supplies in that wagon. Be a good boy, and I’ll let you go and just take the stuff.”

Jake opened his mouth, but before he could make any reply, there was a loud bang, a moan, and then a gasp.

Jake threw caution to the wind and, whipping out his gun, whirled around. He found a man on the ground in a crumpled heap, blood pouring out of his head. Dannie was standing over him, but she had turned away. One hand covered her mouth. In the other, she held a frying pan.

Jake’s jaw dropped at this scene, and for a few seconds he couldn’t find any words to say.

“Could you please bandage his head,” Dannie gasped out. “I hadn’t meant to hit him so hard as to draw blood.”

Jake managed to snap back to reality and knelt down to inspect the damage. There was a gash on the back of the man’s head, obviously where the frying pan had hit him.

Dannie disappeared quickly from the scene, leaving Jake to clean up the mess on his own. From the wagon he retrieved a bit of linen. As he roughly washed and bound up the wound, Jake shook his head, his thoughts full of the strange woman who had unexpectedly come his way.

She lectured on how she didn’t need weapons, hit men on the head with frying pans, and then fled because she was afraid of the blood that she herself had drawn.

“I’m done,” he called at last. “His head is wrapped, his arms and legs are bound, and I’ve taken all his weapons off of him. Come out from wherever you are hiding.”

Dannie emerged from her hiding place behind the wagon. She crept over to the fire and sat down beside it. Jake took his place beside her. He kept glancing at her as she put the pot of water to boil.

“Don’t believe in weapons, do ya?” he teased at last. “Told ya you’d eat those words sooner or later.”

“I said I don’t believe in firearms,” Dannie corrected. “But I most certainly believe in frying pans. And besides, I never intended to draw blood. I suppose I just underestimated myself—or the frying pan. He’s…well…he’s not…seriously wounded, is he?”

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Jake replied with a laugh. “Outlaws like him got a thick skull. It takes more than a wild woman with a frying pan to kill them.”

A deep crimson color spread across Dannie’s face. To think she had been called a ‘wild woman’!

“I’ve been nothing but proper my whole life. All it took was a decision to come out West, and now I’m a wild woman,” she muttered.

Jake heard her and laughed but decided not to say anything. Instead, he poured hot water into a cup and handed it to her.

“Here.”

She took it and gazed at the dark water. “What is this?”

“Tea.”

Dannie’s eyes widened. “Tea?” she asked in disbelief, her gaze falling back to the cup. “Where on earth did you get tea from?”

“I don’t know if you could go and call it proper tea. I got some herbs from the Indian tradin’ post we passed by.”

Dannie’s face broke into a shy smile. “Thank you, Jake, that was very thoughtful of you.” She paused before taking a sip. “Why didn’t you give it to me earlier?”

Jake shrugged. “Dunno, guess I felt uncomfortable.” He shuffled off to make himself some coffee, feeling very stupid about this whole tea thing.

Dannie tried hard not to smile but didn’t succeed.