"You can't possibly go out in this." Megan's back was to Wesley as she knelt on the bed, peering through the curtains. Another jagged arrow of lightning shot down, striking a copse of trees behind the saloon and sending a shower of sparks up into the night. "Ohhh! It struck those trees right out back!" She fell backwards onto Wesley's bare chest, startled.

"I certainly don't mind stayin' here." He said, wrapping his arms around her warm smooth skin. Megan purred softly, snuggling against him, pushing the glimmer of guilt over their love making from her mind.

"And I don't mind you staying either Wes." She tilted her head back, accepting the tender press of his lips on hers.

*****

"Appears like you're gonna have a lot of house guests Verna." Bragg barged in through the doors, soaking wet from his dash from the livery stable.

Verna grimaced, shaking her head. "And I'm probably going to have to be the main hostess too. Look at you! Go on out to the kitchen and get those duds off and dried. Paul, fetch something for the sheriff to wear will you." She marched back into the centre of the room, barking commands and organizing the milling customers. Old Coot pumped furiously at the piano, wheezing out the words to a sprightly melody he hoped would restore the earlier revelry.

"Where are all the girls?" Bragg asked as he headed to the kitchen, pulling off his wet vest and unbuttoning his shirt.

"Miriam is entertaining upstairs and Della-Rose is fetching stuff for Paul at the bar." Verna walked with him to the back. "June of course, is over at the hotel with you know who, and Aylisha is on a rest break." They pushed through the door into the kitchen and she went to the stove, pushing some new chunks of wood into the oven. "I may as well leave her up there for now, she'll need all the rest she can get if this keeps up."

Paul loomed in the entrance, holding a pile of folded clothes for the sheriff. "You want me to fetch Miss June ma'am?" His voice sounded like another roll of thunder.

"Don't bother Paul, you'd probably need a boat to get across the street. Thank you."

The giant bartender nodded solemnly and departed as silently as he had arrived.

Bragg peeled off his trousers, plodding to the stove in his damp long johns, and handing them to Verna. "How come you have these available?" He asked, indicating the pile Paul had delivered.

She draped the sopping pants on a line in front of the oven and turned, smiling at Bragg's craggy figure in the clinging underwear. "We have quite a collection of items that have been left behind from discretely hasty departures. I've even got a few pairs of those." She snickered, pointing at his wet underwear. "All washed and ready to go."

Bragg blushed and slipped the top down, pulling on the clean shirt before stepping out of the bottoms. "Guess I'll just go bareback for now, thanks." He turned and bent over to get the pants from the table.

"My, my! Speaking of which . . ."

"Verna!" Bragg straightened up, holding the trousers in front of him. "You're a wicked woman Verna Fairweather." He stood covering himself as she trailed from the room beaming a lascivious smile.

*****

Cable Royce leaned exhausted on the washstand. The blood soaked towel that he used to wipe his hands and torso, slid from the top to the floor with a wet plop. He glanced over at the twitching form of the woman on the bed; her one arm lay across her groin, the other jutted broken and twisted off to her side. She was one feisty mustang, he thought, fingering the gash in his side and running his tongue over a split, swelling lip. Alysha had managed to buck him off, swinging around and raking his chest with her nails, before he grabbed her arm and snapped it like a twig. Her anguished scream failed to penetrate the scarf knotted about her mouth, and a desperate head-butt was all she could manage when he jumped back on top of her. Cursing and swearing, he punched her breasts several times, hard, before staggering back across the room to the washstand.

Throughout the entire struggle, neither of them had noticed the storm raging outside, and it was only while standing there, staring at her blood and sweat soaked body, that the pounding of the rain caught his attention. Royce moved to the window and tried to see past the water sheeting on the glass. A blaze of lightening suddenly revealed the fury of the storm and he grew concerned about escaping back to the hotel. It had not been a satisfying as he had hoped. Yes, he'd raped his first Negro woman, but she had been a regular tiger, not at all what he'd expected. Now he had to finish up and find a way to sneak back to his room. Alysha's eyes fluttered open as she felt his weight on the bed again, widening in terror at the sight of the ugly knife he hefted in his hand.

Another ear-splitting crack of thunder invaded the room, overwhelming the tortured gasp of Alysha, as the brutal, searing pain dragged slowly up through her stomach.

*****

Charles Winsiker and his eldest son stumbled awkwardly around the rubble of merchandise scattered about the floor of the store. Getting the tarpaulin nailed in place took great effort and repeated attempts as the wind whipped it about dangerously. It had taken nearly three quarters of an hour to finally cover the gaping hole where the front window used to be, and another half hour to gather the broken glass and soak up the pools of water from the floor. Charles sagged wearily against the counter, considering the financial damage to his stock. Expensive bolts of silks and cottons, imported from Europe, dangled in sodden lumps from the display racks. Several pieces of china now lay uselessly in the bottom of a waste barrel, along with a quantity of drenched, paper wrapped produce. He wiped his face with a hanky and nodded, as his son Edward announced he was going to do a quick check outside, for any further damage.

The driving rain stung his eyes as he made his way along the front porch and around the side of the store. He stumbled through the gummy mud between his father's store and the Barber Shop, shielding his face while trying to locate any other possible damage. A short burst of lightening lit the space around him, and in that instant, Edward glimpsed a shape scooting past the back of the alley. He hurried on, hoping he wouldn't find part of the roof blowing away across the field, and instead, caught sight of a figure sliding, and nearly falling, as it rounded the back of the bank.

"Everything all right son?" Charles asked, as Edward slammed and bolted the door behind him.

"Can't see much of anythin' out there pa, did see some feller slidin' around behind the bank. Prob'ly doin' the same as me, checkin' things out."

"I imagine a lot of folks is out lookin' there places over. C'mon and get out of those wet clothes, nothin' much more we can do tonight."

Cable hugged the side wall of the bank, cursing the lightening that had picked out someone in the alleyway beside the feed store. He couldn'ta seen much, Royce reasoned, not in this weather. His biggest problem now, was getting across that sea of mud and up to his room in the hotel. Even if he made it, there would be a trail of muck left behind in the hallway or in the lobby. Peeking cautiously around the corner of the building, he scanned the street, as best he could, through the sheeting rain and blowing debris. Deciding it was clear, Cable made a dash for the hotel, his feet splashing and sinking into the sucking mud, causing him to move like a man on a high wire.

The sound hit him like a bullet and he lost his balance, flopping down in a spray of thick, black muck. Someone had called to him.

*****