Eleven
“Name’s Armstrong, Miles Armstrong, ma’am. From Utah.” The cowboy sat across from Victoria on a log next to the low-burning fire. The acrid, white smoke drifted upward to be lost in the sky overhead. Victoria hoped someone could see the smoke before it could dissipate.
“Sorry for the trouble, ma’am, but we got a job ta…”
“Shut up, Miles,” snapped a female voice from behind Victoria. “You don’t have the education or breeding to be speaking to the high and mighty, Victoria Ann McNichol.”
Victoria whirled to see the red-haired woman glaring at her. The woman’s cold green eyes seemed to bore through Victoria.
Victoria had recovered from her fainting spell and was now seated on a log next to the fire that had burned itself down to red embers.
Who is this woman? She certainly seemed
