A Cowboy's Secret by Kyleigh McCloud

Beneath the full moon, Rosalie studied the uneasy herd of longhorns amidst her trail boss’s low singing. Coyotes howled in the distance. An animal screamed, likely the coyotes’ meal. A shiver careened through her body at the eerie noises. She had been a fool—a damned fool to take on this cattle drive.

Stop it. Rosalie gritted her teeth. They would reach Dodge City by tomorrow evening, and once the boss man paid them, no one would be the wiser when a teenage boy disappeared. If she survived the challenges of the Great Western Trail with crossing the rivers and rugged terrain, riding the plains toward Dakota Territory would seem easy.

A rustle came from the brush nearby. Rosalie stiffened and gripped the butt of her six-shooter. She cleared her throat. “St-Stretch?”

Her trail boss had stopped singing, but the coyotes continued. Rosalie eased her revolver from the holster, forced a steady hand, and searched for the noise’s source. A twig snapped near her, and she whirled around.

“Whoa,” said Stretch, extending his arms to the side. “Ross, it’s me.”

Rosalie retorted through her clenched jaw. “You didn’t answer.”

“Put the gun down.”

As she lowered the revolver, her heart pounded. She could have killed him like she killed—Rosalie shook away the thought. A mutter escaped her lips. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ve been watchin’ ya throughout the cattle drive. And you ain’t got the experience like you said, but I think we’ll make you a cowboy yet.” Stretch stepped forward.

“Don’t.”

Stretch stared at her, then hooked a thumb in his gunbelt. His dark eyes narrowed.

Rosalie stifled a flinch as he appeared to scrutinize her. One more day, she recited. She had to convince Stretch she was a boy for one more day. Her innards shuddered at what would happen if she failed.

“Son, I’ma ask ya two questions. Did you run away from home? Or are you runnin’?”

Rosalie side-stepped his piercing stare and ground the toe of her boot in the dirt. She had done both. Distant talking carried through the humidity, and they glanced at the two men headed toward them. Rosalie gave a silent sigh. Their shift was finally over unless a storm came.

“Well… I guess you ain’t no cattle thief.” His gaze returned to her. “You could have stolen half the herd by now. But I’d like an answer, kid.”

Rosalie continued digging her toe in the dirt. She dragged the tip of her tongue over her dry lips and rubbed them together. Joe and Buck walked too slow. Rosalie glanced back and forth between the two men and Stretch. “I… I….”

“According to Boss Man, we’re to take the next watch,” Joe said and yawned.

“Watch for coyotes,” Rosalie said. When Stretch questioned her again, she fled from him and his barrage.

ROSALIE’S HEART THUNDERED like a stampede. They had reached Dodge City, a place where she’d fit in as another murderer. The law would leave her alone as long as she didn’t cross north of the railroad tracks with a gun. A shiver rippled through her. She would need to be careful if the stories about the red-light district were true.

As they drove the cattle toward the stockyard, relief trickled into Rosalie. She had concealed her sex since joining the drive outside of Austin, and her secrets remained undiscovered. Rosalie glanced over at Stretch, who rode on the opposite side of the herd. He was staring at her again. She swallowed hard.

An old habit, Rosalie’s fingers ached to twirl her once wavy, black locks. She clenched the reins and urged Maisy onward. Working for a cattle drive had been foolish. Yet, ninety dollars would jingle in her pocket, and she could use it to start a new life.

After they penned the longhorns and received their pay, Rosalie began climbing atop Maisy when someone clasped her shoulder. She swore as she stumbled, nearly falling. When Rosalie steadied herself, she glared into the face of Stretch, who guffawed.

“Youse a jumpy lil fella.”

“What do you want?”

“I was wonderin’ iffen you’d come with us to the saloon later?” Stretch appeared to be studying her. “You ever seen the inside of a saloon?”

Rosalie folded her arms across her bound chest. “What’s it to you where I been?”

Stretch shrugged.

“I got my money, and I aim to keep riding.” Rosalie lifted her foot into the stirrup and paused when Stretch spoke.

“Join me and the others. After we’re done shoppin’ for new duds and had a bath, lemme buy you a drink as a thank you for puttin’ up with us old cowhands.”

Don’t do it. Rosalie squeezed her eyes shut and gave a sharp exhale as she opened them. Take the money and keep ridin’ before they learn what you are. You know what they do to women.

“Well?”

“One drink. Then I gotta ride.”

Stretch chuckled and slapped Rosalie on the back. “A couple of drinks with us, and you won’t regret it. Meet’cha at the Cattlemen’s Saloon.”

Rosalie parted ways with the others at the Dodge House Hotel and wandered through the busy town. Horses and wagons lined the streets in front of businesses, loading and unloading supplies. Nothing but men seemed to exist in the Cowboy Capital. She and they both knew the women were stashed away in the saloons, brothels, and dance halls south of the tracks. Stretch and the others had regaled her with their wicked stories.

An hour later, Rosalie waited outside of the Cattlemen’s Saloon. Her stomach roiled as she secured her horse. She stroked Maisy’s nose. Stretch and the others soon appeared, and she whispered to Maisy, “I won’t be long.”

Inside the saloon, the men’s din matched the volume of the piano player’s jaunty tune. Rosalie stifled a cough in the lingering acrid smoke and perspiration. Working women hovered around the tables, sitting on men’s laps and flirting through their words and touches. She startled at shouts followed by a crash.

“Cheater!” exclaimed an older gentleman, pointing at a young man. He tipped the faro table upside down. The cards fluttering to the floor, glasses shattering, and chips scattering.

Another player pummeled the cheater. Soon, a fight broke out amongst the crowd, and bedlam ensued. Rosalie stared at the scene, aghast. She shouldn’t have agreed to a drink, for she seemed to have entered a den of hell. Poor decisions plagued her.

A shot pierced the chaos.

The saloon deadened as the deemed “cheater” gasped, covered the growing bloodstain on his shirt, then collapsed.

Stretch tugged at her shirtsleeve and pointed to an empty table. “Come on.”

Rosalie nodded, still gaping at the scene as she trailed Stretch and the others. Powder smoke and the blood’s coppery tang merged with the other overwhelming odors.

“Ain’t you ever seen a dead body a’fore?” Stretch said to her and sat as if no one had died. The rest of the saloon followed his cue.

Bile crept up in Rosalie’s throat. As she stared at the dead man, the memory of what she had done three months ago taunted her. She glanced around and observed all the men’s faces. He was dead. She was sure of it. Rosalie gave a silent sigh, but uncertainty niggled at her.

Tables and chairs scraped against the floor. Several women cleaned up the mess while their boss resumed pouring drinks behind the counter. Rosalie stared at him. His appearance was identical to the man she had shot.

“Ross,” Stretch shouted at her.

Freed from her stupor, Rosalie joined him and the others at the table. Stretch motioned over a woman with brunette hair. When she arrived at their table, Rosalie’s face warmed at the scantily clad woman. Rosalie averted her gaze toward the two men dragging the dead body outside. The others at the table snickered. Boss Man ordered a round of drinks, his voice fading as Rosalie continued studying the saloon. Women had their quilt circles while men had a plethora of sins. She shook her head.

“I reckon you ain’t ever been with a woman, neither,” Stretch said.

Rosalie met Stretch’s gaze, her cheeks growing hotter. He would snatch those words back if he knew the truth. “N-n-no.”

Stretch pursed his lips, which seemed to twitch like he wanted to grin. “You stay with us, and we’ll teach ya the finer things of bein’ a man. Now, where you plan on ridin’ to?”

Rosalie shrugged.

The brunette brought their drinks and brushed up against Rosalie as she slid the glasses to each man. She must be around my age, Rosalie surmised. She mumbled a “thanks” and took a swig of the amber-colored liquid. The others stared at her.

Fire. She had swallowed fire. Rosalie wheezed. Laughter surrounded the table while tears streamed down her face from the burning.

“Anya.” The familiarity of the woman’s name rumbled from Stretch’s chest. When she approached their table, she knelt down beside his chair. He whispered in her ear. Their gazes landed on Rosalie. Stretch kissed Anya on the cheek, then she rose. “Thanks, darlin’.”

Bile threatened to choke Rosalie at his action. For a distraction, she fumbled through her pocket. “What do I owe for the drink?”

“Nothin’. I’m proud to have bought ya your first drink.” Stretch took a long swig and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I reckon yer pa never done the likes of this with ya.”

Rosalie tensed. “My pa died when I was ten.”

“Drink up. The boys and I got a surprise for ya when you finish.”

As Rosalie brought the glass to her lips, Stretch grinned and gave a wink. She forced down another mouthful. When she went to finish the foul-tasting beverage, Anya clasped a hand over hers on the glass and stopped her from guzzling the remaining liquid.

“You fellas oughta know better—gittin’ the boy drunk before his first time.”

“Aw, darlin’. We was enjoyin’ watching him,” Stretch said.

Anya caressed the back of Rosalie’s neck and down her arm. “Well, you ain’t gonna be watchin’ him and me.”

Stretch and the men groaned.

“Y’all wait yer turn.” Anya tugged at Rosalie’s hand. “Come with me, sweetie.”

Rosalie remained rooted in her chair, heart mashing into her stomach. Anya would discover her secret. Stretch narrowed his eyes at her. She had no choice. Rosalie yanked the glass free and gulped the remaining contents, then placed it on the table harder than she’d intended.

“Be careful, or that’ll come out of yer pocket,” Stretch snapped.

“Don’t be nervous, honey. I’ll teach ya what you need to know.” Anya patted Rosalie’s arm and coaxed her into rising. As she led Rosalie away, the others jeered.

Rosalie stumbled on a step, and Anya caught her. They continued down a dim hallway and entered the last room. Rosalie staggered and fell onto the bed, a bout of giggles consuming her. Her disguise had worked better than she planned.

After three long months on the trail, the bed’s softness seemed foreign to her but a luxury. Rosalie sprawled out. Her bed at home was never this soft. Through bleary eyes, she noted the small room contained little other than a dresser with a pitcher and basin on top. She removed her hat and rubbed a sleeve across her face to mop the dripping sweat. The room was stifling hot despite the open window.

“Stretch shouldn’t have had a virgin like you drink,” said Anya, shutting the door. She sashayed toward Rosalie and stopped at the edge of the bed.

Anya grabbed ahold of Rosalie’s boot and wiggled it off. “Stretch paid me to perform a service for ya. And I aim to fulfill it.”

Rosalie shoved the soiled dove backward with her foot. “I said no. Tell ’im I wasn’t up to the task.”

Anya glared as she straightened.

“How’s a gal like ya get here?”

“I….” Anya glanced at the door and lowered her voice. “I guess I could tell ya. Stretch ain’t as nice as he seems to be.”

Rosalie blinked hard, but the weight on her eyelids grew heavier. She shouldn’t have drunk that whiskey. Blackness beckoned her more than the urgency to keep riding north.

ROSALIE SQUINTED, THE sun shimmering above in waves. She sat up with a groan and rubbed her forehead. Where was she? All she remembered from last night was being in Anya’s comfortable bed. Wagons rattled past, and passersby talked, their loudness making her wince. As Rosalie stood, she snatched up her hat and slapped it against her leg, dust flying off of it. Thirst burned, and she searched for the nearest well.

After finding the well and quenching her thirst, Rosalie splashed water on her face. The Cattlemen’s Saloon sign loomed down the street. She hunched over and vomited. As long as she lived, she’d never touch another whiskey. Men lived to drink this fire?

Rosalie plunged the bucket below the water again. She took a drink and swished the water around in her mouth, then spat it out. The vile taste still stayed. She winced at another onslaught of her head throbbing. “I should have kept riding yesterday.”

As Rosalie neared her horse, Maisy nickered. She untied the reins from the hitching post and caressed Maisy’s neck. No guns were allowed across the tracks where the stores were. She sighed and unbuckled her holster, shoving it and the gun within a saddlebag. Perhaps she should stay another day.

“No….” she murmured. “Don’t make another bad decision.”

Rosalie rode Maisy along Front Street. When she spied Jacob Collar’s store, they stopped. She tied up her horse before walking through the door. The shopkeeper greeted her from behind the counter. While she surveyed the contents available to purchase, she acknowledged him with a nod. His gaze seemed to follow her around the store.

The store seemed to burst with its array of furniture, coffins, and dry goods. Rosalie contemplated buying beans, flour, and sugar. She spotted coffee but paused. With no cooking tools, she would be hardpressed to make anything like the chuckwagon.

“Can I help you find something?” the shopkeeper inquired several minutes later.

“I was thinkin’ what might all fit in my saddlebags that’ll tide me over to the next city.”

The man snorted. “You think you can ride without havin’ to hunt and forage for food?”

Rosalie flinched.

“My advice to you is go back to yer mama.”

“Mister, I rode in on a cattle drive that took three months. Either you help me, or I’ll buy my supplies elsewhere.”

“Then yer a fool. Did yer trail boss and the others take you out for a drink?” When Rosalie stiffened, the shopkeeper continued. “Better check yer pockets.”

Rosalie patted herself and searched through her pockets. The money she had earned working the cattle drive was gone. She took a step forward and stumbled. “This can’t be. No! No! Stretch wouldn’t do….”

Anya had told her not to trust him. Tears formed, and Rosalie blinked hard to staunch them. No more crying. She swore she was done crying. Rosalie gave a hard sigh and spoke in an even tone. “I’ma goin’ to get my money back.”

As she stormed out, the shopkeeper called after her. “Forget ’bout the money. They’ll kill ya.”

Rosalie halted. She squeezed her eyes shut, and within a minute, she opened them and turned around. “I’m tired of bullies, and I aim to stand up to ’em.”

Stretch had requested Anya. They had to be partners, unless he pickpocketed her in the saloon.

Rosalie ground her teeth as the Cattleman’s Saloon appeared ahead. When they stopped in front of the building, Maisy stamped her hoof and protested. Rosalie reassured her while she got down from her saddle and secured the reins to the post. Maisy continued to protest.

“I don’t understand yer problem. We can’t leave till I get our money back.”

Maisy bobbed her head.

Rosalie burst through the saloon doors. Her jaw and fists clenched, she searched for Anya but did not find her. She marched to the prostitute’s room then threw the door open, banging it against the wall. Anya bolted upright in bed.

“My money. Give it back,” said Rosalie, stomping over to the bed.

Anya’s eyes widened, and she lowered her gaze. She wrapped her arms around her knees and hunched forward, speaking in a soft tone. “Stretch has it.”

The tension dissipated, and Rosalie unclenched her jaw and fists. Like her, Anya had fallen victim to a man. She slumped on the bed beside Anya, and when she grasped the girl’s hand, Anya flinched. “Stretch forced you into this life, didn’t he?”

Anya nodded.

“Who is he to you?”

“When she was on her deathbed, Mama made my stepfather promise I was taken care of, and he told her a half-truth.”

Rosalie sucked in air, held it in her cheeks for a second, then released them. “How long has he been forcin’ you into this scam of his? I need that pay to help me in Dakota Territory.”

“Take me with you.” As Anya met Rosalie’s gaze, tears shimmered. “Please. Yer my only way to git out of this life. If I help you steal the money back, Stretch will kill me.”

“Why?” Rosalie snorted.

“Please… if you don’t….”

“If I don’t what? What could you do to me you already haven’t?”

Anya whispered, “I know your secret.”

Rosalie stiffened, a chill rippling through her at what secret Anya dared blackmail her with.

“I wondered why you insisted.”

“You can leave with me.” Rosalie interrupted. “But I ain’t takin’ you to Dakota Territory.”

Anya stretched out on the bed. “That’ll suffice. I wish I would have been as clever as you, dressing as a man.”

Rosalie shook Anya’s hand with a harrumph.

“Now, here’s how I intend on getting yer money back.”

Anya delved into the details of what Rosalie should expect to happen tonight, what preparations needed to be made, and the roles they would play.

When Anya finished, Rosalie spoke. “You never asked for my name.”

“Do I need to?”

“I guess not.” Rosalie shrugged as she rose from the bed. “Time to get goin’ on those preparations. I’ll see ya tonight, then.”

ROSALIE FIDGETED. STRETCH and his men entered the Cattlemen’s Saloon like Anya had said they would. She squeezed her eyes shut, but that only made her heart pound louder and reopened them. What if Anya betrayed her? What if Stretch figured out the plan? “Ain’t no use frettin’,” she said softly.

The waiting seemed endless. After Stretch arrived, she was to wait for several minutes before going into the saloon. Rosalie cupped the revolver in her holster. She should have tossed it back in Austin. Rosalie sighed and dropped a hand to her side. She had waited long enough.

“Patience is a virtue,” her mother’s voice whispered in the wind.

“Not in a lawless place like this,” Rosalie said to herself. She headed toward the saloon. Mama’s quips hadn’t done nothing for her.

At the saloon’s doors, Rosalie paused and pressed her shaky fingers against her pants. She exhaled. This was another mistake. Stretch and his men would chase them. Rosalie turned around then continued to walk past the saloon. Her stomach knotted. She’d have to find another job and delay going to Dakota Territory.

No. Rosalie halted. She didn’t go through hell on the cattle drive only to lose her pay to Stretch.

Rosalie whirled around and returned to the Cattlemen’s Saloon, marching inside. She spotted Stretch at the table they sat at previously. Her jaw clenched at the sight of him. The coward. As she headed to his table, her gaze met Anya’s.

“O-oh, it’s Ross. I thought youse were ridin’ outta here today,” Stretch said in a jeer. “Or did you decide to stay on with us?”

Rosalie resisted the urge to form fists and lowered her head. “A thief stole my whole pay. Now I got no money for supplies.”

Stretch stared as if studying her.

Anya glided over and brushed up against Rosalie, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She kissed Rosalie’s cheek. “You boys will be disappointed to hear your boy went through with last night.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t a thief, but Anya here that took yer money?”

Anya scoffed.

Rosalie shook her head. “No, sir. I-I-I swear it was in my pocket, and I never gave her more.”

“I told ya we’d make you into a cowboy yet.” Stretch grinned.

“You’d let me stay on?”

Anya pursed her lips. As Stretch replied, she removed her arm from around Rosalie and dallied toward him.

Rosalie swallowed hard, her heart thrumming against her eardrums. This was it. The plan. Anya started sooner than she had expected.

“Ross,” shouted Stretch, startling her. When Rosalie glanced at his narrowed eyes, Anya stood beside him. He took her hand as she slid onto his lap and caressed his jaw. “Did you hear me?”

“What?”

Stretch stared at her, then at Anya. A grin curled on his face. “Now that youse got a taste of Anya here, you want more. Don’t ya?”

Rosalie gaped. The saloon grew warm, and she averted her gaze by staring at a glass filled with whiskey. Despite last night’s unpleasant experience, a drink to get through tonight tempted her.

“Here.” Stretch slid his glass over to her. Anya whispered in his ear, and as she stood, Stretch winked at Rosalie. He rose from his chair and clasped her hand with his. “I’ll let ya have my drink, but you ain’t havin’ my girl. We’re leavin’ for home in the mornin’. And if you ain’t there, we’re leavin’ without ya.”

“Where?”

Stretch cackled. “That’s for you to figure out.”

“Are you comin’? Or are ya gonna keep torturin’ the boy?” Anya glared at Stretch with a frown.

Rosalie collapsed into an empty chair, studying Anya and Stretch’s backs as they disappeared into the throng. She slammed her palm against the table and swore. The amber-colored liquid sloshed over the lip of the glass and onto the table, wetting her hand.

Rosalie lifted the glass and hesitated. Eyes were on her, like they were waiting to see what a naïve teenage boy would do. If they only knew. She needed a clear head for what was to come in a second. Her fingers trembled against the glass. Yet, perhaps a sip might help her with this nagging fear.

“You gonna drink that or what?” Buck leered.

Rosalie brought the glass to her lips. The whiskey wet her lips, but she still did not drink it.

A chorus of voices chanted, “Drink it.”

Rosalie set the glass down, pushed back her chair, and shoved the whiskey in the center of the table. She adjusted her hat. “I got me something to do before we leave tomorrow.”

With everyone gaping at her, Rosalie resisted a smirk as she marched out of the saloon. She glanced about to see if anyone outside was watching. People passed by her, seemingly without noticing her. As she waited, she paced.

Minutes had passed, or had it only been seconds?

Rosalie clenched her jaw. Mama always said waiting was worse than the doing. She’d rather be doing.

Rosalie slipped inside the saloon behind a group of men and slinked to the hallway leading to Anya’s room. As she edged toward the last door, footsteps scuffled within the room, followed by a crash. She withdrew her revolver and flung open the door.

“Let go of me,” screeched Anya, tugging at her arm. When Stretch gawked at Rosalie, she yanked her arm free from his hold and dashed toward her dresser.

“What the hell you doin’ here, boy?”

Rosalie jabbed her six-shooter forward. “Didn’t yer mama teach ya to be respectful?”

Stretch sneered.

“You stole my money. Give it back.”

“Or you’ll shoot me?” Stretch guffawed. “Boy, you ain’t shot nobody.”

Rosalie glanced at Anya, who crept behind him and raised a pitcher. “Yer wrong.”

Anya walloped the pitcher against Stretch’s head. He collapsed onto the floor. Shards landed beside him. She knelt and rumpled through his pockets, emptying them. “Here’s yer money.”

Rosalie stared at Stretch lying on the floor, his lifeless body reminding her of what she had done. Her mouth dried. A clap startled her, and she gazed at Anya holding out the money. She replaced her gun in the holster, then retrieved the money. While Anya rose, Rosalie counted her stolen pay.

Drawers opened and shut. When Rosalie finished, she discovered Anya changing into pants. Her cheeks warmed, and she averted her gaze. “What are you doin’?”

“What’s it look like? I’m dressin’ like a man.”

Rosalie studied Stretch. “You sure he’s still alive?”

“He’s fine,” Anya hissed. She braided her hair and secured it atop her head, then covered it with a hat. “Let’s go before he wakes up.”

Rosalie nudged Stretch’s hand with the toe of her boot, but it flopped. “Are you sure he’s still alive? He don’t look like he’s breathing.”

Anya grabbed a pillowcase. “I didn’t kill him. Let’s go.”

The pair ambled down the dim hallway, keeping their heads low as they passed others. They reached the saloon and headed for the exit. One of Stretch’s men stood at the bar talking with a stranger. Rosalie gasped and ducked behind a taller patron. Had he seen her?

“What’s wrong?” whispered Anya, looking where Rosalie had glanced.

“That man at the counter.”

“Just keep walkin’. He’s too busy talkin’ with my boss.”

Rosalie complied, her heart thundering. The men were watching them. As the two women neared the exit, they sped up their pace and burst through the door. They sprinted down the street.

When they arrived at their saddled horses, Maisy nickered. Rosalie caressed her velvety nose. “I’m back, girl. Time to ride north.”

Rosalie dragged her fingers along Maisy’s neck, then climbed into her saddle. She and Anya rode out of Dodge City.

“So, who’d you shoot?”

“What?” Rosalie glanced at Anya.

“You told Stretch he was wrong ’bout you shootin’. That must mean ya shot somebody.”

“I shot my husband.”

Kyleigh McCloud lives in Minnesota with her husband and fourteen-year-old cat. She attended Minnesota State University Moorhead and graduated with a BS in Mass Communications, emphasis in Print Journalism. Although Kyleigh enjoys reading a variety of genres, her favorite is historical romance. She has always felt drawn to the 1800s time period. The Little House on the Prairie series introduced her to this era when she was in fifth grade. Ever since, Kyleigh has admired the people’s tenacity to survive back then. Kyleigh has other short stories published or pending publication in various anthologies. Aside from writing westerns, Kyleigh writes modern women’s fiction and historical fiction. Her holiday novella, Her Mother’s Last Christmas Gift, debuted in November 2020. A second was released November 2021. Follow her on Facebook to learn more about her upcoming works.