In a way, Penelope was relieved – at least this time, the imaginary face in her dream reminded her of happier times rather than hinting at troubled waters ahead.

Her body, on the other hand, was not as grateful for the recent trauma, rewarding her efforts to sit up by sending sharp needlelike pangs from the base of her skull down her her spine to her toes. It was worse when she tried to remember what had happened. That brought dizziness and confusion but she was sure of one thing amidst it all: she was in deep trouble.

She was supposed to meet with Darryl right before dawn just short of the stage stop, pistol and mind ready, but the soft sun rays slowly creeping into the parlour quickly let her know that she had missed that rendezvous, by a long shot.

She groaned.

Who hit her and why? Was she seriously hurt or was this pain only fleeting? When would she reap the consequences of her missed absence and more importantly, how could Darryl have managed without her?