Can't Always Wait: A Western Flash Fiction Story

A dozen dazzling orange-and-black butterflies flitted from behind a boulder a hundred feet in front of Vance. They were a welcome splash of color on the late-summer landscape covered in the dust of a months-long drought.

Wonder turned to horror when a small boy dashed from the brush in chase of the Monarchs. It was too late for Kayla to stop, so Vance tugged her reins to the right -- it was his only hope.

Kayla whinnied like a banshee but skittered to the rear of the unsuspecting child, then trotted to a stop. Vance hopped off the mare, boots clopping against the hard ground, heart pounding hard.

Before he could follow the boy, a woman called out behind him.

“Vance! Vance … where are you?”

The boy, nearly out of Vance’s sight, stopped and turned toward the voice, even as Vance did likewise. Both of them answered at the same time.

“Yeah?” Vance said, confused.

“Over here, Ma,” the boy yelled.

Something rustled behind Vance.

A radiant blond woman stepped around the boulder and gasped when she spotted Vance.

Hilda.

The last time he saw her, she was sitting in a rickety chair at her mama’s kitchen table, and he was setting off to hunt for the outlaw Juan Jimenez. Vance knew when he chased Jimenez into Mexico five years ago he might never see Hilda again.

And he sure never expected to find her this far from Texas.

“Who’s this man, Ma?”

The boy stepped between Hilda and Vance, gazing at the stranger. His mouth was Hilda’s, but his eyes were even more familiar.

Hilda flushed. “Vance,” she said, touching the boy’s shoulder. “You go on back to the house. Daddy’s waiting for you.

“I just want to talk to this nice man for a minute.”

Becky and the Bobcat: A Western Flash Fiction Story

It wasn’t everyday you found a leather diary on the side of a dusty prairie trail.

Ace Carter stooped to pick up the book but nearly dropped it again when he opened the cover.

The writing was neat and girly, so it could have belonged to Becky Bronson. But there was blood on the paper.

If even one hair on Becky’s precious blond head was harmed, well, her daddy would kill Ace.

Still, the diary was his first lead since Billy hired him to track down his wayward daughter.

“She been kidnapped by Tommy Anson.”

Ace doubted that, on count of Becky’s reputation, but then Billy hadn’t left Ace a choice. Thirty dollars was $30, and Billy Bronson was a mean son-of-a-....

A blood-curdling roar erupted from behind the rock wall at the next turn in the path. Ace whipped his rifle into position, ready to unload if the big cat came his way.

Instead, a tuft of yellow hair flicked around the side of the stone face.

“Why, you ain’t gonna shoot me, are you, big fella?” Becky Bronson teased.

Ace lowered his weapon. “No, I ain’t gonna shoot you. But I ain’t gonna let you get ate by that bobcat, neither.”

“There ain’t no bobcat here mister. Just me.”

“You alone? Your daddy sent me out here to rescue you from Tommy Anson.”

The evening air had grown cool, and Becky pulled her scarf tighter around her neck. She used the end to dab something red next to her mouth.

“My daddy knows I can take care of myself. Say, you sure are handsome!”

It was then that Ace saw a man’s bloody boot jutting out from behind the rock where Becky stood.

As Ace turned tail and ran toward town, a bobcat roared behind him.