Nate Gore (Classic Western Justice) by Jesse Storm

Natasha Goering removed the knife from its sheath. In one fell swoop she cut her braid at the nape of her neck and let it fall to the ground like it meant nothing to her. She slashed at the straggling hair that remained until she could feel with her fingers that it was fairly close to the scalp.

Satisfied, she put the knife away, and faced Pete Brewster. “We should get you proper clothes,” Brewster said. “And a hat.”

Natasha nodded and climbed into her saddle.

“You got a name to go with that haircut?” Brewster asked.

Natasha considered it a moment. Tasha was her family’s pet name for her, and only formally was she known as Natasha They were both dead now, burnt to ash. And buried with her loved ones, thanks to the ruthless Samuel Becket, one of the biggest ranchers in Texas.

“Call me Nate. Nate Gore.”