Read an Excerpt from NO JUSTICE

No Justice
No Justice (No Justice #1) by J.K. Ellem

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📖 Chapter - 5 📖

Unlocking the steel gate was simple. It was a chain and latch affair. He made sure he closed it securely behind him. He made it about half a mile before he saw a boil of brown dust in the distance rolling toward him.

Daisy McAlister reined in her horse in a cloud of dirt in front of Shaw.

He stood still and studied her.

She was young, maybe the same age as Callie back at the diner. Sunflower blonde hair that spilled around her shoulders, loose strands across her face. She wore a red checked riding shirt, sleeves rolled up but a few buttons undone at the front, riding breaches that hugged her supple legs like a second skin, and riding boots through the stirrups. Shaw couldn’t really see her face too well as she kept her distance, but what really got his attention was when she casually slid out a rifle from a leather saddle scabbard and rested it low on the pommel. She didn’t aim it directly at Shaw, but her intention was obvious.

Shaw didn’t move, hands by his sides, in clear sight. He didn’t want to give the young woman any reason to aim the rifle at him. He definitely wasn’t in Kansas City anymore.

“This is McAlister land, mister. State your business,” she said, her voice had a certain twang to it, but it also had a depth of maturity and confidence that belied her young age.

Shaw said nothing, trying to make up his mind what to say. So he did the next best thing, he slowly raised his hands. “Sorry. I mean no trouble. I’ll just turn around and go back through the gate,” he said, his voice calm and slow.

The horse moved slightly and Shaw could see her correct it using just the slightest movement of her hips and knees pressed into the animal's flanks. She was good. Shaw knew little about horse riding, but he knew that the woman in front of him had a skilled bond with her horse. Something that came only from spending years in the saddle.

“Did the Morgans send you?” she said, her voice turned harsh. She angled the rifle slightly higher, aiming below Shaw’s waist. “Because if you’re from them I’ll put a round into your leg and you can limp back and tell them to go to hell!”

The situation was escalating. Shaw could see the weapon better now and his threat assessment went up a notch. It was a Winchester lever action. Black walnut stock, polished, looked after, cared for. Iron sights, no red dot. A true shooter's carbine owned and held by someone who appreciated the weapon, and was skilled and proficient in its use. Not a tool, but an extension of themselves.

“No, the Morgans didn’t send me,” Shaw replied, holding his hands a little higher. “I don’t know who they are, but I think they just tried to run me off the road a few moments ago.”

The woman said nothing. She was still assessing him like a threat.

“Red pickup truck, looks new, big wheels, raised, loud exhaust?” Shaw offered, he could quote the license number, but he didn’t want to go too far. The woman might think he was a cop. “Don’t tread on me sticker on the bumper?” he continued.

The woman raised an eyebrow, but the gun was still trained on him.

He was sure she had recognized the vehicle, but she still wasn’t convinced. He could see the skepticism in her face.

“If you just let me go, I’ll turn around and walk back out the gate. I’m sorry for the intrusion.”
She thought about this for the moment. “Are you from the bank?”

Shaw frowned and was thrown slightly by the question. The bank? What bank?

“Because if you are, I’ll shoot you all the same. Bunch of thieving jackals,” she spat.

Shaw was intrigued by the woman now. She certainly had spirit and balls. “Do I look like I’m from the bank?” he asked, a bemused smile on his face.

The woman’s face softened slightly. No, he certainly didn’t look like he was from the bank.
Shaw was making some headway at least in trying to diffuse the situation. “I saw the sign on the gate saying ranch hand wanted. That’s all. I’m sorry if I made a mistake. I was just looking for work and a place to stay.”

The woman lowered the rifle, but still had it pointed in Shaw’s general direction. “What’s in the bag?” she nodded.

Very slowly Shaw unslung his backpack and threw it midway between them. “See for yourself. No weapons. Just a book, some toiletries and a spare change of clothes. I travel light.”

The woman looped the reins over the pommel, swung one leg over the neck of the horse and slid smoothly off while still holding the rifle in one hand. Her dismount looked like something she had done a million times before.

The horse stood perfectly still and waited.
She walked to the backpack and, without taking her eyes off Shaw, crouched down and unclipped the top flap of it and tipped the contents out. She patted down the side pockets until she was absolutely sure there was no gun or other weapon.

“See. I’m unarmed.”

“Lose the jacket around your hips and turn around slowly for me,” she said, standing up fully. She stepped closer to Shaw and now held the rifle in both hands, aiming it squarely at his head.

She is good, Shaw thought to himself. Overly cautious, but for a reason.

Shaw undid the arms of the jacket and tossed it to the side. With his hands back up he did a slow turn until he faced her again. “I’m not carrying a gun or anything,” he repeated. “The waitress at the diner, Callie, said you’re looking for ranch hands and that I’d get room and board for a day's work.”

“I know,” the woman said. She lowered the gun completely and her entire demeanor changed. “Callie sent me a text and said to keep an eye out for some guy who was looking for work.”
Callie had gone into more detail in her text about how good-looking the man was, but Daisy didn't explain that.

Shaw lowered his hands, a little annoyed. He felt like he’d been pulled from the line at an airport and had been given a full body search for no reason at all. “So, you knew?” he said incredulously.

“I didn’t know exactly who you were. You can never be too careful. We get all types around here.”

She stepped closer. “I’m Daisy, Daisy McAlister. I’m sorry, but Callie has a tendency to exaggerate everything.” She looked Shaw slowly up and down. But she got it right this time, she thought.

Up close she had dazzling blue eyes, golden skin and a proud jaw. She was a real mid-western beauty. Slightly shorter than Shaw and with her shirt unbuttoned a little too low, without dropping his eyes and looking like a fool he could make out the white-laced curve of her bra. She certainly filled it out amply.

“So you’ve gone from pointing a gun at me to being hospitable?” Shaw bent down and started to refill his backpack.

“I’m sorry,” Daisy said again.

Shaw stood up and could see in her eyes that she was genuinely apologetic. He wondered what had been happening in her past that warranted such distrust and fear. People, even in rural areas, didn’t greet everyone who turned up on their property with a pointed gun unless something really bad had happened in their past. It got Shaw’s interest up and he wanted to know more.

He picked up his jacket, dusted it off and tied it around his waist again. “That’s okay. I’m Ben, Ben Shaw.”

“Ben as in Benjamin Franklin?”

“No, Ben as in Benedict Arnold.”

“Wasn’t he a traitor? Swapped sides and joined the British?”

Shaw just smiled. This was going to be an interesting day.
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Published on April 04, 2023 18:33
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