Claudia Dain Read online

  "These women," Jack said, "they bloodied up, beaten, anything like that?"

  "No, clean as Sunday."

  "Pretty gals?"

  "A mother's dream."

  Jack paused and could feel a line of sweat make its way down the side of his neck just as his next question made its way up into his throat.

  "Strangled?"

  The silence between them was heavy. The heat of the day was building, but it was nothing against that silence.

  "Yeah."

  Jack could read the sheriff's thoughts easily enough, especially since he didn't think Lane was making much effort to hide them. He was a stranger, he was a man given to violence, and he knew a lot about something that was being kept secret; it was a lot to add up and it added up pretty quick. Jack gave the man credit for not throwing a noose around his neck right then.

  "There've been a couple of murders down around Red River Station that sound about the same," Jack offered. "Nice girls, marrying age, strangled and left. I've been following the trail left by the killer. It's one of the reasons I came north."

  "Trail led you here? To Abilene?"

  "Yeah, seemed to. I hadn't heard about any more murders, but with the marshal keeping them quiet, I guess I wouldn't have."

  Lane poured himself another shot and poured one for Jack without asking permission. They both needed a drink.

  "You followed him up from Texas," Charles Lane said as he sipped his drink. "He seems to have settled himself in Kansas for a spell."

  Jack took a long swallow, emptied his glass, and set it down softly on the scarred desk. He studied his dusty boots for a long moment before turning his gaze on the sheriff.

  "Looks like I'll be stayin' awhile."

  Chapter 2

  Anne left the train station only after everyone who was getting off had gotten off; that included the bounty hunter. The way he had looked at her sent her stomach rolling into the middle of her knees. Bill sure didn't make her feel that way.

  Not that he should. No one should. It was completely unacceptable and highly improper. Miss Daphne would have a fainting, screaming fit if she found out that a bounty hunter had looked at her as if she were the last meal for a hundred miles.

  Miss Daphne would not hear about it from her.

  But she might hear about it from Esther Morris.

  They thought she had defended Jack Skull's actions because she was softhearted, but they were wrong; that wasn't it. At least not all of it. It was worse than that. She was taken with Jack Skull.

  She'd never looked at a man and had such a jolt of feeling fire through her. She knew without asking how wrong that was. But knowing that what she was feeling was forbidden, that the man himself was forbidden, didn't seem to be helping her any. He was the most blatantly compelling man she'd ever seen and, rough as he looked, she'd wanted to walk right up to him and tuck herself under his arm.

  That was bad.

  The way he'd looked at her, it didn't seem that he'd have minded much. It was a look that had made her forget to breathe.

  That was real bad.

  No man had the right to kick the breath out of her; that he was a bounty hunter didn't make it worse or better. He was a man and that was bad enough.

  Anne allowed herself a soft sigh as she walked up the path to her house, that is, Miss Daphne's house. Sarah met her as she opened the door.

  "Anybody interesting this time?"

  "Let her be, Sarah," Nell, Anne's mother, said as she hurried forward for her share of the news. "Who would get off that would be of any interest to us?"

  Sarah shot her sister a look, but held her tongue on that issue.

  "No one much," Anne said as she untied the strings to her bonnet and hung it on a stand near the door. "I spoke a bit with John Campbell, just pleasantries and such." Telling her mother, aunt, and grandmother about the prisoner falling at her feet and the bounty hunter looking her over was not on her list of open topics.

  "Esther Morris came by, just briefly," Miss Daphne said from the kitchen.

  Anne's heart sank. Esther must have come at a dead run if she had made it to the house before Anne did; she had raised a bit of dust herself hurrying home.

  "Did she?" Anne answered her grandmother sweetly.

  "Yes," Miss Daphne said calmly, wiping flour from her hands.

  Sarah gave Anne a look and moved out of the line of fire; she had tried to give Anne a chance to come out with it herself. It would only be worse now because she had tried to hide something.

  "She said there was an altercation involving an outlaw and a bounty hunter and that you were right in the middle of it," her grandmother said, displeasure shining from her brown eyes.

  Anne knew better than to point out that Esther must also have been in the middle of it, as well as Isaiah and John. Miss Daphne didn't concern herself with what they did; they weren't family.

  "Now, Mother, Anne can't be responsible for the behavior of that bounty hunter," Nell said valiantly.

  "Anne can certainly be responsible for her whereabouts, her company, and her deportment," Daphne said coldly.

  "Speaking of deportment," Sarah cut in, "what did he look like? Handsome man or rough as a post?"

  Anne held her breath, uncertain of her next step in this rocky conversation. She knew Sarah's purpose was to shake Miss Daphne loose on the issue of the fight, but she didn't see how an honest answer would help her. Still, they'd find out eventually. Esther Morris likely hadn't died on her way home.

  "Well, I wouldn't exactly say he was handsome."

  "Then what exactly is he?" Sarah prodded.

  Anne chewed the inside of her lower lip as she chose her words. "He's dusty, unshaven, clean-featured, lean, and taller than John Campbell."

  "What color are his eyes?"

  "Blue." It was out before she could stop it. She looked at her mama and her aunt and then closed her eyes before she could see what look her grandmother was giving her. She shouldn't have been looking closely enough to have noticed the color of his eyes. Even she knew that. She didn't need a lecture on it.

  "Blue? Why, he sounds like a good-looking man, Anne." Sarah chuckled. "You best keep your guard up while he's in Abilene or you'll have two beaus to manage."

  "Don't be ridiculous, Sarah," Nell snapped. "Anne has more sense than to spend time with a bounty hunter and risk offending Bill besides."

  "Offending Bill?" Sarah snapped back. "A woman is allowed to have more than one man courting her and Bill should remember that."

  "She can only marry one," Miss Daphne said.

  That closed the subject since no one would willingly marry a bounty hunter. And she did have Bill, after a fashion. It was an ideal courtship to her mind. He wasn't around much, he was presentable and well thought of in town, and he satisfied her family's need for her to have a "prospect."

  Yes, Bill was the ideal beau. When he was in town, he courted her prettily enough. He was handsome, too. Eleanor Parker almost regretted marrying Clyde Barton after she had seen Bill.

  But then, Eleanor hadn't seen the bounty hunter yet.

  "Anne," her grandmother said, the chill in her voice cooling the room, "I trust that, in future, you will keep the proper distance between yourself and that bounty hunter. God willing, he will be out of town by nightfall. In the meantime, remember who you are and what is expected of you."

  Sarah and Nell, as daughters of Daphne Perkins Todd, said nothing to alleviate the burden of respectable responsibility deposited upon Anne's shoulders. They had been taught the futility of revolt decades ago.

  "Yes, ma'am," Anne answered, her head lowered, her eyes lowered. Her spirits lowered to a back-burner simmer.

  Miss Daphne looked all three of them over once, sharply, and then said, "Come, Nell, I need your hands with the baking."

  Nell followed her mother into the kitchen after giving Anne a quick smile. As soon as Daphne was behind the closed kitchen door, Sarah grabbed Anne by the hand and led her out onto the front porch. They sank do
wn onto two straight-backed wooden chairs and Anne let out a breath of relief.

  "You may only marry once, but you should at least have the fun of a hectic courtship," Sarah said without preamble. "Tell me what you really think about this bounty hunter."

  "I don't think anything," Anne said, refusing the invitation to think about the bounty hunter. "I didn't even speak to him."

  "But you saw him?"

  "As did Esther and John and Isaiah."

  "I don't care if they saw him," Sarah said, "and I don't care what they thought of him. What did you think?"

  "I didn't think anything then and I don't think anything now." It would be true because she would make it true. There was no room for a man, that man, in her thoughts.

  Sarah sat back in her chair with a grunt. "That's too bad, Anne." Folding her slender arms across her chest, she looked up at the porch ceiling and said casually, "Because I was thinking that it wouldn't be such a bad thing for you to have two beaus, and if you thought this bounty hunter was nice to look at, you could use him to set a fire under Bill."

  When Anne sat up stiffly at that, Sarah continued, "Bill's been slow to ask you to marry. He's a fine prospect, if he is a bit shy in his courting. He'll get you out of this town as well as any man and that's what you want, isn't it?"

  No, it wasn't what she wanted, but she wasn't going to fight about it with her aunt, or anyone else in her family for that matter. She did want to leave Abilene, see a bit of the world beyond a dying town in the middle of the prairie, but she didn't need a man to get it done. Of course, Sarah didn't see it that way and her grandmother would want to skin her raw if she even suspected that she was thinking of "running off." That's how they saw it, each one of them. A woman who left home without a husband at her side was running off to God knew where. Perdition, most like.

  But she wasn't going to get married. Ever. Of course, they didn't have to know that. Why fight that fight? Let them think that she was in a marrying frame of mind; her trouble was in keeping Bill off balance. If he was slow in his courting, that was all to the good, but he was building up steam for something; she could feel that coming like wind sliding off the prairie. What she needed was some way to slow him down. Could be a bounty hunter would do that better than she.

  Two men on a lead rope would make Aunt Sarah happy. Bill being one of them would keep her mama and grandmama happy. Keeping both men tussling with each other and not with her would keep her happy.

  Maybe having that bounty hunter around wasn't such a bad thing. All she had to do was get him to come loping around her. Judging by how he'd stared at her, that didn't look to be a problem.

  But it wouldn't do to give in too quick. They all thought she had her heart tossed into Bill's hands. It would only help her if they kept thinking it.

  "I thought you all liked Bill," Anne said.

  Sarah shook her head and patted Anne on the hand with sympathetic condescension. "I don't dislike Bill. I don't care about Bill, or the bounty hunter either. I care about you and I don't want to see you end up like me and your mama twenty years from now. I'm doing for you what I wish someone had done for me when I was your age. I married the first man who asked, hoping he'd take me away from my mama when all he did was bed me and leave me. What I want for you is the chance to get out of Abilene; die somewhere other than this dying place. Now, don't you want the same?"

  "Of course I do. You know that," Anne said. But without the burden of a man. She wasn't going to hitch herself to any man.

  "Then cinch yourself up and pick the man who can get it done for you," Sarah said, her blue eyes bright and hot. "Miss Daphne would flay me red if she knew I was talking to you this way, but when Esther came by and spit out all she knew about that bounty hunter and the way he looked at you, something just popped. You take your chance, Anne, and don't you wait on any man."

  Bounty hunters never stayed any place long. If she was going to use him to nudge Bill off, she'd have to move quick. He could leave on the next train.

  The bounty hunter had seemed to like the look of her and by his manner, didn't seem the sort to dawdle in a courtship. No, he seemed most... direct. That was a polite sort of word for what he was. Anne fought the shiver that wrapped itself around her spine when she remembered how he had looked. And how he had looked at her. She didn't want him for that. She just needed someone to shake Bill off a bit. Nothing more to it than that.

  "What's it going to be?" Sarah asked. "You going to wait on Bill, hoping he'll do the right thing, or are you going to use that bounty hunter the way the good Lord meant for a man to be used? Use him to light a fire under Bill."

  Anne didn't say a word, that shiver had her good and hard, but she got up off the porch and headed toward town.

  Chapter 3

  "I need a horse."

  The hostler lowered his pipe and looked him over. Suspicion was written on his features like a sign. Jack stepped in out of the bright morning sun and walked down the row of horses, leaving the hostler and his suspicions behind him.

  "This black looks good. How much?"

  "My name's Powell," the man answered, not answering. "I own this place and most every horse in it."

  "Congratulations," Jack said, watching Powell rise to his feet and come toward him. "How much for the black?"

  "The black's not available," he said around his pipe stem.

  "Fine," said Jack, tipping the brim of his hat. "What about the sorrel? Available?"

  "Nope," he said. "Belongs to Mrs. Halloway."

  "Mrs. Halloway owns a fine animal."

  "You're Skull, ain'tcha?" Powell asked, digging his thumb in the bowl of his pipe. "When you leaving town?"

  "Soon as I get a horse," Jack said, turning away. "What about the dun? Looks a bit old, but fit. Mrs. Halloway own this one, too?"

  "Nah," Powell said, looking down at his pipe and then blowing through it to check his draw. "But it's—"

  "—not available."

  "That's right. Seems to me—" He stopped to draw on his pipe again. "Seems to me that a man in your line would be real hard on horseflesh. I'd be losing money on any horse I let you take."

  Jack smiled slightly and fingered the brim of his hat. "I haven't killed a horse yet."

  "Could be you're lucky."

  "Could be," he said softly. "How about you sell me a horse? That way, whatever happens, it's between me and the horse."

  "Well, I don't know," Powell drawled, putting his pipe back in his mouth. "I'm not too sure about that either." Putting his hands in his pockets, he said pointedly, "I saw the way you pushed that man off the train. Don't figure any horse of mine would fare better."

  Jack pulled off his hat and struck it a few times against his leg as he walked to the end of the stable and back to face the owner of his only way out of Abilene.

  "Anybody else want to sell me a horse?"

  "Well..." Powell hesitated, clearly debating with his conscience. "There's Emma Walton. Her man died and she's got a wagon load of kids to tend. Seems she'd need the money more than the horse."

  "That's fine. Now, where can I find Mrs. Walton?"

  That question apparently caused another internal debate within Powell's straining conscience; he turned a bit red, clamped down on his pipe stem as if it were the lifeline to heaven, and said with obvious reluctance, "Down the street, toward the Demorest Restaurant, past the church, and on the right. Kids all over the place. You'll find it."

  "I'll find it," Jack said, adjusting his hat. "Thanks."

  "Nothing," Powell said cheerfully in parting.

  "You got that right," mumbled Jack as he left the stable.

  He was still mumbling under his breath when he passed the Demorest Restaurant. The two men sitting on the bench outside the place stopped talking and eyed him as he passed while a woman and a man sitting at a table near the window stopped eating to glare at him as he walked by. He was as welcome in this town as a porcupine in a bedroll. He ignored them when he understood that they'd do nothing mor
e than glare and stare.

  Powell was right, the Walton place was an easy hit. The front porch was yawning with kids. A baby was sitting in the dirt of the front yard eating... dirt. Jack shrugged. Dirt never killed anybody. One or two of the kids ran in, slamming the door behind them; he could hear their muffled yells. Mrs. Walton came out directly, calling her kids to her as she did, picking up the baby and resting him on her hip. That baby grabbed a fistful of his mama and held tight.

  They faced him and it was a crowd. No one spoke, so he guessed it was up to him.

  "Morning, ma'am." He tipped the brim of his hat. "Fine day."

  She didn't answer right off, just pulled one of the kids back from the edge of the porch to shove him behind her. There wasn't room enough behind her to hide them all.

  "Mr. Powell sent me this way...." She looked alarmed and like maybe she'd skin Powell when she saw him again. "Thought you might have a horse to sell."

  "Don't have nothing here you'd want."

  "But, Ma, what about—"

  The girl didn't get any further; her ma shoved her into the house and slammed the door.

  "Ma'am?" Jack proceeded. "I need a horse. I'll pay good money."

  She considered, he could feel it, and continued to keep her eye on him. He stood stock-still and let her take his measure. He needed that horse. And she needed the money.

  "Ain't he the one?" one of the kids whispered.

  "Pushed him right off," another whispered in the shrill tones of a child who has no idea how to whisper. "Made him fall down."

  "He's mean."

  "You little kids stay back or he'll push you off, too!" one of the older girls hissed. They shuffled back like penned cattle.

  "Lillian, bring Joe around," Emma Walton said, her eyes not leaving his.

  He hoped Joe wasn't one of her kids.

  Lillian sprang to the job and came around the side of the house tugging on a frayed rope. Joe followed. Joe was a brown gelding. At fifteen hands, he was a good-looking animal and didn't look to be more than ten years old.

  Lillian ran up on the porch and held on to Joe from there.