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My Hero's Journey-Personal Narrative

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Kat moved closer to the Wells Fargo stagecoach to let Abby watch the hostlers hitch the horses. The way station marked the last stop on their journey and they’d arrive in town by noon. A worker grunted as he heaved a large bag over the top railing of the stage. The hostler spoke to the driver as he worked. “Whip, do you think the bandits who robbed the other wagons will try another holdup?” “Don’t know, but a messenger is goin’ along.” A flicker of uneasiness coursed through Kat and she strained to hear more, but they became aware of her presence and their voices trailed off. Holdups? The man finished with the luggage and brushed the dust from his hands before assisting a woman passenger into the coach. Kat observed the shotgun messenger …show more content…

“Kat Masters, I’m proud of you.” She wrinkled her nose at Melvin Armstrong, who lay motionless on the dirty floor. Relieved voices called to each other. “Sheriff, Lord I’m glad to meet you,” exclaimed Whip. “You saved our lives, for sure. Thought I was goin’ to see my Maker Sheriff.” “Me too, Sheriff,” sputtered the shotgun messenger. “I’ve tracked these outlaws for a couple of days. They’ve robbed two wagons coming into town this week. I figured they’d try to holdup the stage. Are your passengers safe? One of them is a hell of a marksman.” Kat’s throat tightened and her skin flushed. It couldn’t be. She’d come so far. Footsteps kicked at the gravel close to the coach. She tugged her bonnet to the tip of her brow and dipped her chin. The stage door swung opened, and she bowed her head, pretending to pray as the sheriff leaned inside. “Anyone hurt in here?” His voice was deep and familiar, yet one she thought she’d never hear again. Abby giggled and bumped up and down on Melvin’s posterior. The uncharacteristic silence from Kat didn’t stop Pat from finding her own voice. “We’re fine,” she clucked and made a dismissive wave of her hand toward Melvin. “Don’t worry. He fainted. I’m from Farlow. Where is Sheriff …show more content…

Jakes deliberate and long strides hustled Kat away. Her foot snagged the hem of her heavy skirt, and she would have fallen, but his firm grip held her fast. “Jake, stop.” “Come with me.” He forced her along until they reached the rocks. Shielded from the curious group, he dragged her against him. No space separated his shirt from the bodice of her jacket. She pressed her palms into his chest, but he didn’t budge. Jake snatched the bonnet from her head, releasing her hair. The wind blew several strands across her face. Jake’s fingertips slid them to one side. Kat’s heart fluttered. Private memories surfaced, reviving the heartache she’d fought so hard to forget. “So we meet again, Mrs. Masters. You’ve improved your aim.” “You’re better dressed than the last time we met,” she said. “Why the hell are you in Texas?” “I don’t owe you any explanation.” Well, maybe she owed him one, but to declare she didn’t, gave her a good deal of satisfaction. “Let go of me.” When he didn’t, Kat tried a well-aimed kick. Jake dodged the kick and brought her up against the rock, pinning her legs with his. The quaking in her knees shifted to all parts of her body. Gray eyes stared at her with an intensity that made her

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