The first thing Sarah noticed when she returned to consciousness was the smell of damp earth. It was thick, pungent, and close, as if the ground itself was trying to swallow her. Then came the sharp, metallic taste of blood coating her tongue. She grimaced and turned her head, spitting out a fragment of her back tooth. The gritty crunch of dirt mixed with the blood made her stomach twist.

    Her throat burned, so dry it felt like sandpaper. She swallowed, but it only made the pain worse. For a moment, she lay still, blinking up at the vague gray of the sky through a canopy of tangled branches. Her ears rang. Something skittered across her hand. Sarah jerked, slapping instinctively, and brushed away a long-legged bug that had been crawling up her wrist.

    Sarah tried to sit up but winced as a bolt of pain shot through her ribs. Her left side throbbed with a deep, dull ache. Her pretty yellow dress, which had been bright yesterday morning, now caked with mud and streaked with what looked like blood. Hopefully, not all of it hers.

    Where the hell am I? Did I fall off my horse? Have I been shot?

    Every muscle in her body ached like a horse had run over her. Tender and sore beneath her torn dress. Sarah had never felt this awful. Sarah was so diminished and shaky that even the smallest movement sent waves of nausea crashing through her. Her vision blurred, and the world spun, as if caught in a storm at sea with no solid ground under her.

    A cold sweat clung to her skin, and the fierce dizziness made her clutch at the side of the ditch, desperate for something to hold on to. Sarah wondered if she was dying. How could she feel this awful and not be?

    Then, with a violent heave, she vomited once and then again. Sarah’s dry throat burning with each wrenching spasm. The bitter taste of bile mingled with the coppery sting of blood in her mouth. Weakness washed over her in heavy, crushing waves, dragging her down. She wanted to cry out for help, but her voice was gone, swallowed by the ache in her chest. Instead, she curled inward, trying to steady her trembling hands and will herself to breathe.

    Sarah was a beautiful woman, and it sometimes brought danger. Some brutes had the inclination to take everything by force if they believed they could get away with it, including one’s life. And the life of a black woman was not worth much in these parts.

    I think I might pass out again.

    Sarah had always carried a concealed gun, but someone had taken it from her. Someone had knocked her out cold with the butt of a pistol. It had been a surprise attack while she walked on the path near her home. She was usually so careful about her surroundings. She prided herself on being cautious, always alert. They’d expected her to walk there. Must have been watching her comings and goings, likely waiting for an opportunity.