This is the classic Romitri story, set in the wild west - just like one of Dimitri's paperback novels! All human. Starts with a lot of paragraphs to set the scene, but I promise there will be dialogue too - just imagine it's the scene before the title credits roll in an old western movie!
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1. Bounty Hunter
The man was saddle-sore.
He'd been travelling for over a month on this wild goose chase, his quarry always one step ahead of him. The ride from the last rest-stop had taken him two days – two days of dust and flies and the scorching heat of the summer sun – but now that night was closing in and he'd finally reached his destination, Dimitri Belikov drew his horse to a standstill.
From his vantage point at the top of the gentle rise, Dimitri looked down on the sleepy town sprawled out below him with a sigh. Travelling alone through the barren western plain-lands with only his horse for company was the way he liked it. Out here under the open sky he felt free and alive, like he belonged to something greater than himself, but arriving at this simple frontier settlement only reminded the traveller that he had no place of his own to call home.
One day soon, he thought, a refrain that often found its way into his letters to his mama and sisters, still living back in Russia.
Three years ago he'd sailed to America to make his fortune. Three years ago he'd promised to send for his family so they could settle somewhere safe and prosperous together, but fate had other ideas.
'One day soon,' the weary young man said aloud into the cool twilight, turning his face from the dark cluster of buildings and leading his horse down the hill to a stream that bordered the town to the south.
When the black stallion was watered and fed, the traveller knelt to build a fire then settled back for the evening. He loosened his shoulder-length hair from its leather tie and sank his chin down under the broad collar of his brown leather duster to fend off the night-time chill.
No matter how oppressive the heat became during the day, the temperatures on the plains tended to plummet as soon as night fell. It wasn't ideal for sleeping outdoors, but Dimitri preferred that to the alternative – a cramped room in some boarding house or, worse still, a hotel that more often than not doubled as the local brothel. He didn't have anything against other men using such establishments, but his mama had raised him properly and it would have brought shame on his family if he was discovered consorting with such questionable company.
Unfortunately, all manner of questionable company was rife in these parts, and Dimitri knew it better than most.
The senseless death of his old friend Ivan Zekeman still haunted him, and every time he saw evidence of greed or lawlessness it raised a fire in his belly that could only be quenched by the power of his fist shattering against a bandit's jawbone or the flick of his whip on the hide of a fleeing criminal. The Russian had come to America dreaming of being a cowboy with a ranch of his own, but fate had made him a vigilante – wandering from town to town hunting the scum of the earth and collecting the bounty on their heads. Alas, Dimitri was a bounty hunter; fierce and feared and terribly alone.
The fire was burning low.
Leaning forward to stoke the flames, the lonely wanderer reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a small parcel wrapped in an oilskin cloth, fingering gently through its contents. A letter from his sister Viktoria, still so passionate and optimistic at the tender age of seventeen, a small, knotted prayer rope from his mama that acted as a reminder of where he'd come from and what he still hoped to achieve, and a photograph of his one true friend in America – the benevolent Miss Natasha O'Hara. But tonight, his hands sought out another picture and he stared for the hundredth time at the image before him under the flickering campfire light.
The two girls were standing arm in arm looking directly into the camera. They appeared to be of a similar age to Vika, but they were each different in their own way. The taller girl, Miss Lisa Draymore, was elegant and refined in dress and demeanour. Pale hair framed delicate, almost regal features, and there was a softness about her that made him want to protect the fragile creature like a mother shields her helpless babe.
And then there was the Hathaway girl. Rose.
His heart skipped a beat and he brushed his thumb over the stubborn face that stared out at him; the dark eyes searing and fearless; the long, thick tresses escaping from their hairpins and falling becomingly around her cheeks as if even her hair would not be contained by propriety. This girl – no, young woman – appeared to be headstrong and volatile; wild in the extreme for one who was of an age to be out in society or considering settling down with a husband. She should be presenting herself as demure and sensible, but Dimitri liked her better this way. He saw something of himself reflected in her untameable expression and he felt a sense of excitement that he would soon be meeting her in person.
Because tonight he wasn't hunting some depraved murderer or sly horse-thief. In this current game of cat and mouse his quarry happened to be two teen-aged girls who had run away from home.
Dimitri didn't kid himself. Just because the pair were young and female didn't mean they would be easy to catch, as his sisters had taught him well. No. He'd had a feeling all along that this wouldn't be an easy mission. The last man Sheriff Peterson had hired to return the fugitives had failed, and the one before him as well. But Dimitri wasn't just any man. He was persistent - bordering on ruthless - in attaining his goals, and by this time tomorrow night he knew he would be on his way back to Saint's Town with Rose and Lisa in tow - whether they agreed to come with him or not.
The bounty hunter gave the photo one last lingering look then tucked it away in its wrapping, pocketing the treasured items and lying back on the hard earth for one final night's rest. Tomorrow would be a busy day.
A bird twittered insistently, and even before he opened his eyes Dimitri knew that the pink blush of first light would be cresting over the eastern horizon.
Stretching out his stiff muscles, he rose from the cold ground and made for the stream, collecting his tin cup and razor from the saddle bag on his way. Looking at his reflection in a small, tarnished mirror, he tilted his neck to scrape at the bristles that covered his jawline. He cared little for personal grooming when he was travelling, but whenever he stopped into a town he made a point of cleaning up. It was only proper, and he wouldn't like to draw the eye of the fine ladies and gentlemen in the streets for the wrong reasons.
It was hard enough fitting-in alongside genteel society with his lumbering six foot seven frame. People often shunned him on first sight, intimidated by his sheer size, and the moment he opened his mouth he was generally dismissed as an uneducated foreigner, thanks to the accent of his homeland that still laced his speech. Outsiders weren't treated especially well here in the wild frontiers of the west. Anybody different was viewed with suspicion and it took a long time to gain people's trust when moving into a new area. Dimitri didn't care much for fitting-in but there were certain benefits to being accepted in town. A warm meal, getting proper care for his horse and stocking up on supplies were all essential, so the bounty hunter made every effort to appear trustworthy and approachable.
He peeled off his leather duster and shirt, kneeling by the stream to splash water over his face, chest and arms, then, when he was clean-shaven and presentable, he donned his wide-brimmed hat and mounted his horse; riding the final distance into the centre of town to secure his prize.
An hour or two passed.
Dimitri had first made a visit to the farrier to arrange two additional horses, then stopped at the general store to stock up on a few essential provisions. The shopkeeper looked at him askance as he entered, the newcomer having to duck his head to avoid hitting the doorframe, but when she realised he had the money to pay for his items she accepted his presence with thinly veiled disdain. She didn't like outsiders, but even a stranger's money was money nonetheless.
Finally, when all of the arrangements had been made, Dimitri headed for the saloon to enjoy a drink and a cooked meal (passing up on the offer of female companionship from a gaudily dressed woman and ignoring the scornful looks that she continued to send him from across the room).
News soon spread that there was a stranger in town, and within an hour of his arrival, Dimitri noticed a marked increase in foot-traffic as the townsfolk came out to witness the spectacle. One brave young man of nine or ten years old dared to tip his hat and bid the Russian giant good-day before running off in a fit of laughter to brag to his friends who were hiding around the corner. Several young women tittered past him, looking coyly from under their eyelashes or behind lace handkerchiefs while their mothers bustled them on more quickly, glaring at the undesirable who was stirring up unwanted trouble in town.
Men who had been seated quietly on their front verandas found it necessary to stand and stare at him as he passed by, and one surly, moustached gentleman even let his hand settle in warning on the gun that was holstered at his hip. The bounty hunter looked at the challenger evenly then passed on, allowing himself a smirk. He was yet to meet a man who could outdraw him, though there'd been plenty fool enough to try.
Despite the amount of activity in the main street, one door remained noticeably closed.
The dressmaker's quarters were situated above the general store, and Dimitri noted with interest the strange absence of customers to that stair. He thought it odd that not one person climbed the stairs for a fitting, or to collect a finished garment, or even to purchase a length of coloured hair ribbon. All the clues on his journey had led him here to this town, and now his instinct told him that this building was where he would find what he'd been searching for.
At the height of the sun he made his move. Taking the stairs two at a time, he rapped at the dressmaker's door; four loud, insistent knocks. There was a rustling sound from within and a muted squeal before the door swung open and a middle-aged woman appeared, blocking the doorway.
'What can I do for you, sir?' she asked brusquely.
'I think you may be lost. This is strictly a ladies' establishment.'
He didn't waste time on small-talk.
'Where are the girls? Step aside immediately or I will be forced to enter against your will,' he commanded.
The woman's eyes flitted nervously from side to side as she attempted to stall for time.
'I can't say I know which girls you are referring to, dear sir, but I assure you I am alone in this room.'
'Do not presume to lie to me, madam,' Dimitri snapped back, his accent clipped and threatening.
'I demand to see Miss Draymore and Miss Hathaway. I must ensure they are safe and secure.'
She cowed a little, confused by his request.
'I'm sure I don't know what you mean. I don't know any girls by those names.'
The bounty hunter nearly lost his patience. If he was a lesser man he would have pushed past the meddlesome woman and entered the room by force but that wasn't his way. The dressmaker looked terrified as Dimitri reached into his coat pocket, but calmed down when he drew out a photograph for her to view.
'These are the girls I have come to collect. The one on the left is Miss Lisa Draymore, and on the right is Miss Rose Hathaway. They are runaways and I have been sent to return them to their home. Their legal guardians are most insistent that the young ladies be returned into their care without delay. Unless you wish me to believe you are guilty of harbouring these girls against their will, I insist that you move aside and let me see my charges.'
The woman's forehead crinkled in worry and she held up a hand in frightened protest.
'Please, sir. You must believe me. I would never take a child against their will. The young ladies told me they were in great danger and needed refuge – it seems they used false names, but I had no reason to disbelieve them. I only offered to take the girls under my care because I feared for their safety travelling on the roads in these parts. Do you realise they hitched a ride into town on a wagon carrying the madam of the local brothel?'
Dimitri's eyes flamed angrily at the unexpected news but the dressmaker continued on boldly, growing more self-righteous with each second.
'If it wasn't for me, your runaways might be working in the whorehouse by now. If anybody's to blame, I say it's their parents. They should have been taking better care of their children,' she finished, with an indignant toss of the head.
'They don't have any parents,' Dimitri hissed, seething at the woman's refusal to heed him.
'Now... Let. Me. In,' he commanded in a chilling voice, and he entered the moment she stepped aside.
The dressmaker's room was divided into two halves – the fitting area on one side, and a bedsit on the other. Cowering by the bed beside the room's only window was a young woman, tall and fair. Lisa. She looked older than she had in the photograph, but that made sense as it would have been taken some time before she and her friend went missing a year ago.
'Where is Miss Hath…?' the Russian began, then followed Lisa's furtive glance.
A sheet had been hurriedly tied to the bedpost, disappearing out the open window and pulled tight under the weight of something or someone dangling from the other end.
'You silly girl!' Dimitri muttered in frustration.
Crossing the floor in two paces, he threw his upper body forward to clutch at the escapee's wrist. By a stroke of good fortune, he reached Rose only a moment before her clawing fingers slipped from the sheet – the end of which dangled some fifteen feet from the hard ground below. Had she fallen, she would have broken bones at the very least.
'What were you thinking, Miss Hathaway?' the man demanded in a soft, angry voice.
He was too worked up to notice, but it was the same tone of voice one might use if they were afraid of losing something precious.
'You might have been killed.'
He drew her up to the window, his captive resisting all the way.
'How do I know you aren't here to kill us anyway?' the young woman challenged him, bucking against his grip as he pulled her inside the room and slammed the window shut to prevent her from trying another escape.
'Sheriff Peterson sent me,' the bounty hunter puffed, struggling to contain her thrashing protests.
He settled on spinning her about and pinning her back to his chest to stop her from clawing at his face.
'Look,' he waved the photograph in front of her eyes.
Rose writhed once more then stilled in his arms.
'We can't go back,' she persisted stubbornly.
'It's not safe.'
Dimitri shook his head and loosened his grip on her, allowing her to turn to face him but not trusting her enough to let go of her entirely.
'Well, that's not for me to decide,' the big man replied impassively.
'I've been paid to collect you and return you to your legal guardians, and I will take you home – whether you agree to come or not.'
The main street was strangely quiet as Dimitri led his two captives to where their horses were awaiting them; quiet but watchful as dozens of eyes followed their progress from behind drawn curtains.
Lisa followed along forlornly, looking at her feet as she tried to avoid the curious stares, but Rose wasn't going anywhere without a fight. When they reached the horses she waited for Dimitri to untether one of the mares from its post then, without warning, she leapt upon its back.
'Run Lis!' she shouted, kicking the animal's flanks with her heels to urge it forwards.
'I'll draw him off! Go! Hide!'
Lisa looked dumbly from the receding form of her friend to a new and frightening Dimitri Belikov. The bounty hunter's face was a thundercloud as he looped a rope around the blonde girl's wrists and lashed her to the now-vacant horse post.
'Stay!' he growled, untying his own horse and setting off after the fugitive at a gallop.
Rose laughed wildly as the wind whipped through her hair, her skirts hitched to her knees in a most improper manner. It had been weeks since she'd been on horseback and the feeling of motion and freedom was exhilarating.
'Hah!' she yelled, spurring the horse on even faster.
A crazy impulse took her and she stood up in the stirrups, relishing the power and grace of the beast beneath her. Her triumph was short lived, however, and the dull thud of hooves behind her soon grew to a rumbling roar.
'Stop, Rose!' a voice commanded from her left flank.
'Never!' she shouted back over her shoulder, smiling tauntingly and tossing her head to flick the hair back from her face.
Dimitri had never seen such a thing of beauty in all his life and in that exact moment he was lost to her, though he didn't yet know it himself.
'You will stop, Miss Roza!' he called out warningly, but a quiet smile was playing at the corners of his lips as he witnessed the unbridled joy of a spirit so wholly and completely free.
It almost hurt him to cut her joy short, but moments later he had retrieved his lasso and swung his arm in a practiced sweep, bringing the mare to a halt and drawing the animal and its precious cargo to a canter at his side.
'I am not going to hurt you, Miss Roza,' Dimitri spoke with a slight catch to his voice, which he put down to the thrill of their chase.
'Alas, I cannot promise you the same in return, Mr…,' Rose paused momentarily, '…wait... who are you, anyway?' she demanded, the flush of excitement still colouring her cheeks.
The bounty hunter looked across at her lazily, reaching out a hand to calm the fettered mare, which was jerking fitfully against the rope around its neck.
'My name is Dimitri Belikov. I've been searching for you for nearly two months and after that little stunt you pulled just now, you can rest assured I won't be letting you out of my sight until we reach Saint's Town.'
Rose didn't like being dictated to.
'You may ride like a demon from hell, Mr Belikov, but I believe even you will have to sleep at some point,' she retorted.
He raised an eyebrow.
'I'll lash you to the belt at my waist if you can't behave,' he threatened, with just enough of an edge to his voice that Rose suspected he might be serious.
She decided not to push him any further - for the time being at least.
Having reached an understanding, the pair fell into a comfortable silence as they jogged along slowly side by side, and Rose took the opportunity to eye her captor curiously. He was young – less than twenty-five, she guessed. She'd always laughed when her friend Lisa talked about meeting a tall, dark and handsome stranger, but now the feeling of butterflies in her stomach made her realise it may not have been such a silly daydream to have after all.
Several of the boys she'd gone to school with were fair enough to look at (her long-time pal Mason Ashford for one), but this wasn't a boy. This was a man. He exuded power and virility. Those hands were strong enough to save her when she was dangling from the dressmaker's window, yet gentle enough to calm an anxious horse. His deep, brown eyes were determined but lacked the brutish stupidity that Rose associated with the vigilante type. And that accent. Its broken lilt had her heart in her mouth.
But none of that mattered in the end. Dimitri Belikov was here to take her and Lisa back to Saint's Town – directly into harm's way – and Rose was going to do her darndest to stop him.
'Dismount, please,' the Russian requested firmly when they arrived back in town, getting down off his own horse to release Lisa from her bonds and setting the frightened girl side-saddle upon the other mare.
The tussle-haired troublemaker frowned.
'But I'm already in the saddle,' Rose pouted.
'If you're forcing us to go home then let's be quick about it.'
Escape at this point seemed unlikely, judging by the last attempt, and she was keen to get their journey started. Another opportunity to lose their chaperone was sure to present itself along the way.
'Agreed,' Dimitri replied in all seriousness, ignoring the young woman's look of horror as he placed his hands on her waist and dragged her down from her seat.
'But there is no way you get your own horse, Miss Hathaway,' he continued unapologetically.
'You lost that privilege the moment you tried to run away - and with one of my horses, too, I might add. I let you get the better of me once. Don't think me fool enough to underestimate you a second time. You will be riding with me,' and he lifted her onto his own horse, seating her on a thick blanket in front of the saddle.
'Oh no I won't,' Rose refused bluntly, preparing to leap from the stallion's back, but the Russian held her in place, swinging himself up behind her and reaching around her body to take the reins – capturing her in his arms like a cage.
'Oh yes you will,' he said with finality, taking a moment to tether the riderless horse to his own and indicating for Miss Draymore to follow after him.
'And if you complain even once, Miss Roza, I'll tie you by the wrists and ankles and string you face-down over my horse's hindquarters like I would with any other horse-thief.'
She made no further protest and the party set off for Saint's Town, two girls with grim faces, and one bounty hunter smiling in smug satisfaction at his victory.
Author's Note:
Well - what did you think?! I'd love to hear your predictions on where this story will go!
While all of the characters are original to Mead's VA series (thanks Richelle for creating the world we love to exist in and play around with!), I've 'Americanised' many of the character names to make them fit better into the context of the Wild West in the mid-19th Century.
Alterations in this chapter:
- Lisa Draymore (Lissa Dragomir)
- Ivan Zekeman (Ivan Zeklos)
- Natasha O'Hara (Natasha Ozera)
* Thanks for the reminder Kitkat - yes I imagine a southern drawl when I read the dialogue back. Toyed with the idea of spelling the accent phonetically but gave up. So read aloud in your best cowboy voice! (They should have an international talk like a cowboy day don't you think?)