Desa Kincaid – Bounty Hunter

A petite woman in tan pants and a brown duster, Desa pulled the wide brim of her hat down to shade a face of olive skin. Her mother always told her that hers was a face that would inspire young men toward all sorts of trouble. Not that she cared very much about getting a man’s attention. She had always fancied women who remained faithful even through her brief marriage. She urged Midnight up a side street where two women from neighbouring houses gossiped on either side of a waist-high fence. One had her hair up in a thick, golden braid, and the other let dark red tresses fall to her shoulders, but you might have thought them twins, by the way they turned their heads in unison to stare at Desa.

A skinny man in a fine black coat and a bowler hat came walking past on the other side of the road. City fashion? Out here? Maybe he was the local banker. He paused just long enough to direct a sneer at Desa. Puckering her lips, Desa blew out a breath. “It’s going to be an interesting stay,” she murmured to Midnight—the stallion whinnied in agreement. A young boy wearing thick overalls over a white shirt ran out of one yard, dashing across the road. He was maybe eight or nine with a mop of yellow hair and a dimple in his chin.