Read part one.
Prompt: A character lies to another on an important matter, One of the characters is revealed to be not who she is
Jane glared at the man, pulling her hand away from his grip. She turned on her heel and stalked up and down the porch, shooting furious thoughts at him. As his words filtered through her brain, she stopped mid-step.
“I’m sorry, but uh, actually,” she stammered.
“What is it?” His eyes flickered irritably in her direction.
“Are… are you Cousin Randall?”
She could feel the blush starting from the base of her neck, the warmth blossoming up to her high cheekbones, as he nodded.
“You be Cousin Jean?” he asked wryly.
“I… yes. Sorry.”
“So this here unknown man,” he nodded at the door, “stole this here fancy coach from you from somewhere in Assart?”
She nodded back at him, wondering if she would have enough time to pull this off, even if her face hadn’t already given her away. He was rubbing at his chin now, deep in thought. She watched as his hand started caressing the butt of his gun.
“Where did you get it?”
“Sorry? Get what?”
“The coach. Not something you would regularly be driving round about here, would it? I’d imagine that’s why this here man was trying to get his fingers on it.”
“It’s just painted - not even gilded,” she said in a rush, trying to calm her wobbly voice. She was sure he suspected something the way he was staring hard-eyed. “The old pa did it up with a crest and everything - reminder of the past generations. Said he wanted to ride in style. I told him it wasn’t worth the expense and the effort.”
“Well then, let’s go find this thief to dispense some justice.”
Jane watched as he strode toward the door, arms slightly akimbo, his right hand brushing the holster on his hip. She took a step backward, waiting for him to enter the post office, when he turned again.
“Yes. Yes, of course.” She shrugged and followed him into the sunlit room.
The man behind the counter looked up at them then gave Jane a nod.
“Morning, ma’am. Howdy, Randall. That your cousin?”
Randall nodded. “Yep. And by her account your customer here seems to have stolen her coach.”
The sound of scratching stopped as the coachman looked up from the letter he was writing.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” the postmaster asked.
“The coach belongs to my boss,” he said calmly, resuming his writing.
Randall rubbed at his stubble again before speaking slowly. “You say the lady lies?”
“Didn’t say that. She could be mistaken.”
With Randall’s concentration fixed on the coachman, Jane slowly backed towards the door. As the tips of her fingers brushed against the door, it suddenly swung open sending her sprawling on the ground.
“Bill, I see you got the coach here in one piece. Oh dear, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to knock you over,” a familiar voice said. “Why, Jane! What are you doing in Renaissance?” The young man reached down, hand outstretched to help her up.
“Oh, hello, Jean. Just passing through. I think I have to go now,” she blurted in a spurt, scrambling to her feet.
“Hold on a moment!” Randall strode across the room, grabbing her arm. “Didn’t you say you were Cousin Jean?”
She broke out in cold sweat.
Read part three.