Claudia Dain Page 18

  This was the man she'd spend her life with. This was the man she'd face death with. And all the days in between.

  She threw herself into his kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and sighing her delight into his mouth. She was dizzy with the taste of him, breathless with yearning, suffocating.

  Chapter 17

  "Yeah, heard about it when I was in Junction City. She was from there, ya know. The place was hopping when I caught the train this morning; the sheriff over there, Gates, was sending a wire off to the U.S. Marshal and trying to keep folks away from her body, both at once. No deputy over there, too small. Doc was away on a birthing so the body was just laid out in the saloon. Naturally, they closed the place down because of it. Some folks were riled at that; folks got a right to drink even when there's been a murder. Maybe more."

  "But was it the same as the gal here, that Mary that was found?" John Wells, the owner of the hardware and tinware shop, asked.

  "The same kind of murder, you mean?" Bill asked. "Yeah, same as same. Something pulled tight around her throat, her face bloated and discolored. Nice-looking gal, from what you could tell of what was left. Blond and busty with a little snub nose."

  "She have kin?" Neil McShay asked.

  "Her ma was crying full out, but silent." Bill shook his head in grief. "Terrible to see it."

  But he didn't have any trouble talking about it. Had been talking about it since getting off the morning train. And folks had been listening. As well they should.

  "You know, Jack Skull was over there, in Junction City," he said as a carefully planned afterthought.

  "Thought I saw him leave town. With you," Isaiah Hill said, spitting out a stream of brown tobacco juice to pattern the dirt street.

  "Yes," Bill said easily, "I had business there with Widow Blake. Been meeting with her for a few weeks. But what business did Jack Skull have in Junction City?"

  A small crowd had grown around Bill and a crowd did not work to his purpose; he had hoped to spread his tales of suspicion quietly, one man to one man, and then have the story of murder take root in the dirt around Jack Skull's feet. But Abilene was too small a town and the people too willing to believe the worst of a man they already instinctively disliked to let the story spread slowly. Where there was a crowd, Sheriff Lane would appear. He didn't need that.

  "Jack's business is his own," Lane said from the edge of the crowd.

  "But he didn't tell you, did he, Sheriff, why he was leaving?" Isaiah pressed.

  "A man's business is his own, Hill, until he breaks the law. Then it's my business. Jack didn't break no laws by leaving Abilene."

  "You two are getting thick, it seems," Douglas Currie, the banker, noted, puffing on his slim cigar.

  "As thick as it takes to find the one who's murdering these girls."

  "You heard about that gal in Junction City?" McShay asked.

  "Got a wire from Sheriff Gates."

  "What's he know about this?" Currie said.

  "About as little as anybody," Lane said slowly, the weight of his words and the authority of his presence shifting the crowd until he stood at its center and Tucker at its rim. Tucker was just as glad; he didn't want to be noted as the source of this tale, he just wanted people to know that a girl had been killed in a town where Skull had been. He'd accomplished that. "Her name was Elsa, new to this country with her ma. Pa died somewhere east of the Mississippi. She was working as a baker, made the lightest pies for miles, Gates said. Spoke the language fine, though her ma is slower to it. She's having a tough time of it now, doesn't understand half of what's said, can't answer questions, doesn't seem to know anything."

  "Convenient for the killer," Tom Monahan said, his wife at his shoulder.

  "Yeah," Lane said, "he's not stupid, that's for sure, leaving a pretty thin trail."

  "How about Skull? He on the trail?" McShay said.

  "Jack and I are working on this together and I think you should know that he's been working on finding this man for months."

  "All he need do is look in a mirror," Hill said, spitting for emphasis.

  "Now, that's enough, Isaiah," the sheriff said forcefully, fingering his gun belt gently. Of all the things he did, his gunplay was the only thing gentle and easy about him. Treated his guns like polished eggs, drew them out with whispered movement, fondled the hammer like a lover, and fingered the trigger like a silken thread. And hit what he was aiming at with delicate precision; first time, every time. "The man has a hard reputation, but he's earned it being tough on outlaws. He ain't no lawbreaker himself."

  "You ever know him? Before he came here?" Monahan asked.

  "No," Lane answered truthfully, "but you get to know about a man, word gets around."

  "No word seems to have gotten around about that killer," Nell said from the edge of the crowd.

  Charles turned to face her and said plainly, "It will."

  The air was so thick between Charles and Nell that the crowd thinned out to give them room to tangle. Most went back to their business, some stayed out of range but within earshot. They weren't disappointed.

  "I never thought to see the day when Charles Lane would defend a known killer, especially knowing that he's living in my house—"

  "Nell"—he cut her off sharply, his black eyes hard as basalt—"you playing with a man's life, a worthy man at that, just because he up and kissed Anne, is a shameful thing."

  "There's nothing shameful about protecting my own child from a well-known killer!"

  "That man has never once killed anyone who didn't need killin' and a man don't deserve to hang because he's courting your girl. I thought better of you, Nell. Personal dislike ain't no excuse for injustice. Ma'am." He tipped his hat and marched off down the boardwalk, boots scuffing against the wood.

  Never, in all the years she'd known him, had Charles Lane shown her such disrespect and disregard. It shocked her into leaving her mouth hanging open for just a moment as she watched him walk away from her; she shut it with a snap of teeth and marched herself on home, her own booted feet raising a muffled clatter from beneath her swinging skirts.

  The train whistle sounded just then and Anne was there to meet the train. She'd met Bill's train earlier that morning, heard his story about the murdered girl, heard also his carefully spoken belief that Jack had done the killing. She didn't believe a word of it. She didn't believe it and she knew she was a fool. There were two dead girls now, and the killer was as free as he had been yesterday, but she trusted a bounty hunter with a reputation as hard as gun metal. She didn't know anything about him except that he made her legs feel like melted butter whenever he looked at her and that he had a name for killing. Both of those facts meant trouble, yet here she was, hoping he'd get off the next train.

  She was in real bad trouble.

  How long since she'd met him?

  Nine days. Nine days exactly. She'd counted. Nine days and three kisses. It sure didn't amount to much, yet she was in deep, thick trouble anyway. He had got ahold of her somehow and she couldn't shake him loose.

  Somehow? Oh, she knew how. She just hadn't understood that a kiss could be such a deadly thing coming from the right man. Or the wrong one.

  She was remembering each and every moment of those three kisses when he stepped off the train. He looked tired. His hair was tangled, his face stubbled, and his eyes reddened. He looked wonderful.

  He looked glad to see her, his head lifting at the sight of her on the platform, a smile coming into his eyes. And then he looked plain mad. He still looked wonderful.

  "You here to meet Bill's train?" he said, pulling his hat down tight and low.

  "I meet all the trains; Bill happened to be on the eight-fifteen."

  "And I happen to be on the eleven O-five," he said, walking past her.

  She fell into step beside him. He must have known that she would. It was probably pathetic, the way she dogged him. She couldn't seem to help it. He didn't look like he was going to kiss her.

  He was mad
that she'd met Bill's train. But it wasn't the same, it wasn't anything the same, what she felt for him and what she felt for Bill. And she had no idea how to tell him that. He probably didn't want to hear it. It was better for her not to say anything anyway. She didn't need the kind of trouble that followed him like a dog. She didn't need Jack Skull, no matter how he made her feel. She just needed to keep things peaceful.

  Having Jack around sure didn't make things peaceful. How come she wanted him around anyway?

  Jack didn't want to hear one word out of her mouth. He'd seen her standing there, looking like the sweetest homecoming a man could reach for, and she'd given the same gift to Tucker. Lord, she gave the same to any danged stranger who fell off the train in Abilene. Any killer who happened to find his way to her door would get the same open-armed welcome and hopeful smile and she'd end up as dead as Mary and Elsa and all the rest of them. Dead with a throat black and purple, choked by misplaced trust and dreams of romance.

  But she wasn't looking for any dream of love in his arms, no, it was his kisses she liked, pure and simple. And he wouldn't have any cause to complain as to that, except that someone was out there, trading kisses for death. A girl who was prey to kisses was walking a rope over a windy canyon; sure to fall. Sure to die.

  And here she was, trailing after him, waiting for the kiss she knew he'd brought her. Knowing he wanted to kiss her and hold her safe from all the darkness in the world, knowing he'd give in to her eventually. Knowing that he couldn't turn away from the kiss of welcome and warmth that was already written in her eyes.

  "Welcome back," she said, reading his wants too clear for his comfort.

  "Thanks. Abilene pay you to meet the trains and welcome folks? Good business on their part but I got business of my own with the sheriff. You go along, now."

  "You know I don't get paid to meet the trains. You know I... I was hoping you'd come back."

  "Like you was hoping Bill'd come back?" He didn't look at her. She was rushing to keep step. He didn't let himself slow down.

  "I knew he'd come back," she said, flustered. "I don't want to talk about Bill. I'm just so glad you're back."

  "Yeah."

  "Yeah," she repeated, meaning it. He could hear that she meant it and it kicked at something inside him, something tied up and tied down. Nobody'd ever cared if he came or went. He didn't have time for this; he had to find a killer. He had to make sure Anne didn't find him first.

  Good way to make sure she stayed alive was to keep her with him, keep her safe.

  Yeah. That was a lie he could live with.

  "But if I'm bothering you, which it seems I am, I'll just take myself off."

  For her, it was a mouthful. They were as close to fighting words as he'd heard yet out of her. And then she said words that hit him like a fist to the belly.

  "I'll find Bill and invite him to supper."

  Like hell she would.

  Jack reached out and took her by the arm. "It's too early for supper. You come on with me to the sheriff's."

  "Bill likes to eat early," she said stiffly. Oh yeah, she was digging the spurs in. But he knew what she wanted, what she wanted more than she wanted Bill sitting at her table.

  Jack pulled her around to face him and then backed her slowly against the wall of the stable. Her face paled and her eyes went wide, but she went. She didn't fight him. That's what would get her killed, she didn't fight, didn't see danger when it had its hands around her waist and was pressing against the long fall of her skirts.

  He was danger. He shouldn't be anywhere near her, couldn't she see that? Hell, the whole town saw it, but not her. She just kept looking up at him, her eyes blue and soft and trusting. She'd get herself killed without any trouble at all, just the way she'd get herself kissed, just by looking at him. Just by relaxing into his hands when she should have been tensing in outrage. Just by raising her face, her lips parted, her breath sweet when she should have been cussing him out. She probably didn't know how to cuss. Trouble was, she knew how to kiss.

  Trouble was, he couldn't stop himself from kissing her, out on a public street, again.

  He wrapped his left arm around her and kissed her, gently. It was a welcome-home kiss, full of happiness and satisfaction and joy. When she wrapped her arms around his waist, it turned into a bedroom kiss, and the open street was no place for that; he was having trouble keeping his right arm free and near his gun and his eyes open and scanning the street. Her kisses made him forget to stay watchful and wary, made him forget that there was a world full of people who wouldn't mind seeing him dead. And with him dead, who would protect her?

  Jack cased himself out of the kiss as slowly as a man leaving home for the last time.

  "Come on, Anne," he said softly, his thumb brushing against her jaw. "I need to talk to Lane and I want you with me."

  Her eyes glowed bright at his words and she linked her arm in his and walked peaceably by his side down the street to the sheriff's. Hell, she'd follow a bear into his cave on his promise to share the honey.

  Lane was glad to see him.

  "Gates sent me a wire."

  "Then you know what happened," Jack said.

  "Jack, the whole town knows. Bill Tucker got in before you, remember?"

  "Yeah, I remember," he muttered, offering Anne the seat he usually took. There wasn't another. Lane remained standing as well.

  "Anne, you might not want to hear the rest of this," Lane said.

  "She's staying with me," Jack said softly, resolutely. There was no arguing it. Charles studied Jack and then shrugged.

  "Tucker's pretty fired up about this murder and getting anyone he can to listen to what he has to say. He doesn't have any trouble getting people to listen, not the way things run around here."

  "No law against talk," Jack said.

  "No, but when it builds folks up to a lynching, then it gets troublesome."

  "I can take care of myself," Jack said quietly.

  "What is it that Bill is saying?" Anne asked.

  "Now, Anne, I told you, you might not want or need to hear this," Lane said, looking at Jack as he spoke.

  "She's already heard the worst of it," Jack said. "Somebody's already told her about Elsa."

  They all knew who had told her and told her not one bit reluctantly.

  "I can't believe that Bill would do something like that," she said, believing it anyway. "And why would anyone believe Jack killed that girl?" She'd set Jack against Bill and Bill was taking his revenge. The load of guilt she toted for playing one man off against another just got heavier.

  "Elsa," Jack said. "Her name was Elsa."

  "Elsa," Anne repeated absently. Why was Jack always adamant that these girls be referred to by name? Maybe because he had known them? The thought stirred and twisted, like a flea in the straw, scratching and hopping in her mind. Unwelcome.

  "You're going to have to start believing a lot of things you'd be more comfortable not knowing," Jack said.

  Anne had nothing to say to that.

  "What'd you find in Junction City?" Lane asked.

  Jack leaned against the wall and hooked his thumbs in his waistband. "The same as before. Nothing different."

  "Gates told me as much."

  "Seems like a good man."

  "He is. How was he taking it?"

  Jack shrugged. "The best he could. Keeping a good, tight lid on things there, from what I could see. Elsa's ma, she's taking it hard. That girl was all she had left in this world. It's going to be hard for her to get along now."

  "Gates let slip in his wire that you'd given the ma a roll of bills and were trying to get her on the next train east."

  Jack shrugged again. "Just trying to help. There's nothing for her here now and she'd be more comfortable with people who can at least speak her language."

  "Bill didn't tell me that," Anne said.

  "Bill didn't stick around long enough," Jack said tersely.

  "Any sign of who did it?" Lane asked.

  "
Just the same as before. No one knew she was seeing anyone; can't get much out of the mother, so we don't know what she might have been told."

  "Well, I guess we'll hear more from Gates as soon as he knows anything. He's sending wires all over, trying to hitch up with the marshal."

  "Good," Jack said, leaning away from the wall and coming to stand behind Anne. "I'll take Anne home now. I'll be back."

  He wasn't going to tell Lane all the reasons he thought that Tucker had done it, not with Anne sitting there. And there might be some questions Lane would have for him, like how come he happened to be in Junction City just when there was another murder? Lane wouldn't want to have that talk in front of Anne, not the way he protected her. Hell, they all protected her. She inspired that sort of thing. Not that it would do her any good. She needed to learn how to protect herself.

  He and Anne hadn't gone far down the boardwalk when Isaiah Hill clumped up to him.

  "You ain't finished your business in Abilene yet?"

  "No, I ain't," Jack said and kept walking, keeping Anne at his side.

  "Anne Ross," Hill rasped, "you were brought up better than to keep company with a man like this. Is this how Miss Daphne taught you?"

  "No, sir," she said, keeping her eyes on the ground and her feet moving.

  "I'm a guest in this lady's home," Jack said coldly, "and I'm escorting her home."

  Isaiah Hill spat and walked on.

  "You get your hands off that girl," Powell said, coming out of the dark interior of his stable to face them. "And you do your manhandling somewhere besides the back of my building!"

  "Kissin's not a crime," Jack said.

  "It is when you do it on my property and with a girl who should have better sense than to be seen with the likes of you!" Powell was so angry that his pipe fell from his mouth; he caught it with one hand and stuffed it in his pocket.

  "Anne's a woman grown, Powell, and she can walk out with anyone she fancies. I ain't forcin' her," Jack said.