Claudia Dain Read online

This wasn't good. Not what she was saying. Not how she was looking. And not how he was reacting to it. He wanted her. He wanted her and he could see the day when he'd track her south of hell just to touch her again. Just to look into her eyes, just to feel her breathe into his mouth.

  "Not smart, Anne," he said softly, looking down at her.

  "I know. Not smart. And I was going to be so smart," she said, her voice a small whisper of sound lost on the wide tumble of the prairie.

  He wanted to... hell, he wanted to hold her against all the trouble in the world and keep all of it from touching her. He wanted to hold her, to touch her, to be the wall that stood between her and pain. And he couldn't do any of those things. He couldn't. He knew he couldn't. Trouble was, he still wanted to. Even knowing that all he could do was fail, he still wanted to.

  A woman did strange things to a man; made him want to be bigger than he was, made him want to rise up and be better. Just for her. Because of her.

  He was a damn fool.

  He took a step toward her and she matched him, closing the gap between them, her eyes soft and wet with emotion.

  "Ain't you afraid?" he asked.

  "Not of you," she answered. "Never of you."

  He took her in his arms and groaned. She laughed, a hiccup of sound that she buried in his shirtfront.

  "You laughing at me?" he asked, pressing her against him, his chin resting on her hair.

  "No, I'm laughing at me. How smart is this? How smart am I?"

  "You can still be smart," he said, knowing he was giving her good advice, holding his breath against the chance that she'd take it. Maybe he wanted her to be as big a fool as he was. Yeah, maybe that was it. He didn't want to be in this alone.

  "It's too late for that," she said, and she pulled his mouth down to hers and kissed him.

  * * *

  It was too late for that. She was past smart. She was walking the same road her mother and her aunt and even her grandmother had walked. She was tossing away everything she had—her freedom, her good name, her plans—for a man. Because she wanted a man who was plainly not the right man. No, it was more than want. It was need. She needed him. She needed Jack Scullard.

  No, it wasn't smart.

  She was repeating the pattern she'd sworn for ten years that she'd break. And for the first time, she understood just what it was that made a woman give it all up for a man. Suddenly, she had a whole lot of sympathy and understanding for the women in her family. It was hard to stand against the depth of this sort of need. No, it was impossible.

  But shouldn't she at least try?

  Jack's kiss deepened and her thoughts sank to the pit of her stomach and rolled there, useless and empty. The wind brushed her skin with a tenderness that was odd for wind; her skirts brushed against her legs enticingly, caressing her, and she swayed to the sensation; the feel of his lips on hers was exquisite torture, so soft, so demanding, so dragging. She could hardly see. She could only feel, her senses sharp, her hunger great. Her resistance gone.

  It was Jack who ended the kiss. It was Jack who always ended the kiss. With a lopsided grin, he brushed her tumbled hair back over her shoulder and then walked her to her horse. Without a word, he helped her mount. Without a second look at her, he headed them back toward town, his hat pulled low against the dropping sun.

  They didn't say a word as they rode across the prairie and into Abilene. Nothing was said as they handed off their mounts to the boy at the stable. They kept their silence as they walked to her house and then they were at the door.

  "You keep that gun with you and you keep it loaded. Wear a belt around your waist and tuck in it that. I don't have a holster that would fit you. No arguments," he said.

  "No arguments," she said, looking up at him. His eyes were so intense, his expression so severe, and he was so beautiful.

  They walked into the house together and Jack went back to his little room, the thud of his boots marking his passage. Anne went into the kitchen where the women were gathered.

  "We heard him come in with you," Nell said. "You'd think he'd have the decency to take off his spurs before walking over these wood floors."

  "I wouldn't expect anything approaching decency from that man," Daphne said, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

  Anne waited for Sarah to say something in Jack's defense. Sarah said nothing. In fact, Sarah looked almost as worried and disapproving as the others.

  "You met him at the train, I suppose," Daphne said.

  "Yes, I did."

  "Well, I don't suppose that could be helped, but you need to keep your distance from him. In fact, I'm going to talk to Charles Lane this afternoon and see if he'll put up Mr. Skull in his jailhouse. I would think those accommodations would be more than sufficient for a man of his ilk. Bill must be extremely distressed to know that a bounty hunter is staying in the same house with you. I should have put my foot down about it when he first showed up at our doorstep, but Christian charity forbade it. But now that there's been talk as to his guilt in all these murders, and while I wouldn't think of judging a man without benefit of all the evidence, I think it would be prudent to keep our distance. After all, we are judged by the company we keep."

  Anne knew what she was supposed to say. She knew what she was expected to say. She just didn't want to say it. It was wrong. It was all wrong and she didn't want to keep quiet about it, though that was the path that would keep the peace. Maybe, just maybe, some things were worth fighting for.

  "Jesus consorted with sinners, tax collectors, and adulterers," she said softly, trying to keep the trembling out of her voice. "I don't think a person should be judged by anything other than his own behavior, and Mr. Scullard's behavior in Abilene has been fine, just... fine."

  "Anne!" Nell said in disapproval.

  "Sheriff Lane doesn't think Jack is guilty of anything and he's the law," Anne continued, her resolve growing with each syllable.

  "Charles Lane has been very contrary lately," Nell sniffed.

  "Well..." she groped. "The sheriff in Junction City didn't think Jack was guilty either or he wouldn't have let him leave town!"

  "Even if he's not guilty of these horrible murders," Daphne said, her voice as brittle as an icicle, "he's stepped past the bounds of propriety. I didn't want to mention this again because I didn't want to shame you, but we've already discussed the flagrant impropriety of his kissing you. The fact that this immoral act took place in full daylight and in public only makes it worse. But, Anne, what is worse is that you've changed since that man came to town. You're not the sweet-tempered woman you were reared to be. You're becoming ill tempered and disobedient. I don't have to think twice as to the cause. Bad company breeds bad ways."

  Anne looked at Sarah, searching for another voice to defend Jack. Sarah did speak, but she said the wrong thing.

  "He is a bit wild, Anne."

  She'd lost Sarah as an ally. Anne drew herself up, her hands clasped in front of her more in nervousness than resolve, and said shrilly, "I kissed him!"

  "Nonsense, Anne," Daphne dismissed.

  "Excuse me, ladies," Jack said, sticking his head in the door. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering who to thank for washing out my things while I was gone last night."

  Nell blushed red. "I did it." It sounded like the most abject confession. Under the circumstances, it was.

  "Thank you, Miss Nell, that was kind of you. Of course I'll pay you for the service, if you don't mind. I like to pay as I go." He pulled out a stack of silver dollars and set them on the table.

  It must have been twenty dollars, too much money for room, board, and laundry. It was more cash money than they'd seen in six months and all their eyes were focused on it, shining delicately on the table, as if they thought it would disappear if they blinked.

  They needed that money. Jack knew it. They knew it. Galling as it was, they needed the money more than their moral pride.

  "Thank you," Miss Daphne said formally, reaching out to pocket the money safel
y in her own apron. She breathed a sigh when she felt the weight of it and heard the muffled clink of coins bumping together.

  The three older women eased away from facing Jack, embarrassed and maybe a little ashamed. Jack just smiled and jerked his head for Anne to follow him to the front of the house. She followed him on shaky legs; the confrontation in the kitchen had been both worse and better than she had ever believed possible. Worse because she still felt sick to her stomach for disagreeing with her grandmother and mother and aunt. Better because she was still breathing and hadn't been thrown into the street. Yet.

  She was still catching her breath when Jack leaned her against the front door and gave her a quick, hard kiss on the mouth. His arms bracketed her, trapping her against the door, sheltering her from everything that existed outside of his arms. Sheltering her from the whole world.

  She knew it was a lie, that a man couldn't and wouldn't protect you from anything, but she wanted the lie. She threw herself into it, trying to forget she knew the truth about men. She wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled against him, starting the kiss again when he would have ended it. Keeping the lie alive with her very breath.

  Softly, fully, his mouth met hers. He closed the distance between them until his leg was pressing against the wedge of her thighs. Some instinct told her to keep her legs tight together. Just as softly, the kiss ended.

  "That was real hard for you, I know," he whispered.

  Dazed and groggy, she shook her head. "No, I like it."

  "I mean back there, in the kitchen." He grinned, brushing his index finger down the planes of her face, from temple to cheekbone to jawline. "I thought you did good, nobody was getting the better of you."

  "You did?" She grinned back.

  "I did," he smiled. "But don't do it for me, Anne. Do it for yourself."

  Do what for herself? Get in scrapes that only made the people around her mad? What good did that do? It seemed likely advice from a bounty hunter; he made his wages getting into scrapes. She wasn't going to listen to him. He was a means to an end, that's all, and she wasn't going to forget the end. And if she liked his kisses in the meantime?

  Thinking that, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him quickly on the mouth. He not so quickly kissed her back, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tight against him. She'd never felt so safe in her life, but that wasn't a thought she could let sit. Men only promised safety, but the promise was a lie. A lie, but this kiss was so real. Something this real couldn't be a lie. And if it was?

  If it was, she'd take from him what he could give. She wouldn't let it go any further than kisses. She'd hold the line there. She would. She still needed him to hold Bill off and now she needed him to teach her to shoot. So she needed him for a few things. That didn't mean she couldn't live without him.

  Nibbling on her lower lip, he gradually ended the kiss. Almost. He came back once more for a firm kiss of finality, which she met with blatant eagerness. In the end, it was Dammit scratching at the door that ended all kisses.

  Jack readjusted his hat as Anne opened the door. Late afternoon sunlight poured through the opening with the dog, who only snarled briefly in passing through the house on his way to the kitchen and his snack.

  "I'll be back," Jack said, walking out. "And, Anne? You shouldn't keep letting me kiss you."

  He was right. She shouldn't.

  Chapter 18

  "He's never talked to me like that before. I wish you could have been there to hear it."

  Sarah smiled as she swept the floor, "I wish I had."

  "In all the years I've known him, he's always been polite, attentive, considerate," Nell said, wiping down the bread board.

  "Ignored," Sarah summed up.

  "I am a married woman," Nell snapped.

  "You sure about that? Tim Ross could be dead five years now, hell, how long's he been gone? Ten? Fifteen? He could have died the day he rode out for the last time. I'd say you're single."

  "Sarah! Watch your mouth!" Nell looked guiltily out the kitchen window to where Miss Daphne was watering her morning glories by the back fence. Too far for her to hear what went on in the kitchen. "How long you been cussing?"

  "Since I figured out that I'm a single woman, too. My man's been gone about seven years and I'm just starting to think that makes me about as unmarried as a woman can get."

  "I think it's because you've been talking to Jack Skull."

  "That, too." Sarah grinned.

  "Everything's different around here since he came to town," Nell said, hanging up the dish towel next to the stove.

  "I'd have to agree," Sarah said. "Bill's paid more court to Anne in the last week than he has in the previous month. And then there's the way Charles has been acting, if what you say is true...."

  "Oh, it's the truth, believe me. I haven't been talked down to like that by a man since, well, since..."

  "Since Tim was around?"

  "I'd rather not discuss it," Nell said a little stiffly.

  "I don't blame you," Sarah said, slipping an arm around her sister's waist and giving her a quick hug. "Let those memories stay dead, as dead as I hope he is."

  "That's not a very nice thing to say."

  "Maybe not, but it's the truth and I felt like saying it. For once."

  "What's the matter with everyone lately?" Nell sighed, frowning. "First Anne and then Charles and now you."

  "We could blame Jack." Sarah grinned, putting away her broom and taking off her apron. "Or we could thank him."

  "Thank him? What for? I know it's because of him that Anne's got her back up and Charles near bit my head off."

  "And for the first time in years, you're looking at him twice. Now, I do think Jack's too wild for Anne. I meant that, but if he's the one who put a touch of bite in Charles, then maybe it's a good thing he came to town."

  "I am not the least bit interested in Charles Lane," Nell said, her posture stiff and forbidding.

  "Well, then, in the spirit of all this free-talking that's been happening around here, you might just want to tell him that."

  Nell faced her sister, her arms crossed and her chin up.

  "I just might."

  Anne walked into the middle of it, when her mother was as fit to fuss as she'd ever seen her. Anne had about had the fight kissed out of her and was not eager to renew the battle concerning her interest in Jack Scullard. Anne's lack of eagerness didn't matter a thumbnail to Nell.

  "I suppose he kissed you again," she began, more angry at the moment at Charles and his presumptions than with her daughter and a stolen kiss or two.

  Anne fought the blush that heated her breasts and throat "I kissed him," she said as forcefully as she could manage. She was using Jack; she wasn't going to let him take the blame for it. At least not without a bit of kick.

  "Don't be ridiculous, Anne. You know I'll never believe that about you, though I am willing to believe that he didn't force you. You are attracted to him, that's obvious enough, though I can't see why."

  "Have you really looked at him, Nell? Beyond the stubble and the guns he carries?" Sarah asked.

  "Of course I've looked at him and what I see is a hard man with a dangerous reputation."

  "Nell," Sarah said with a crooked smile, "you've been without a man for too long."

  "Nonsense. In fact, in some ways, he reminds me of Tim."

  "Jack is like my father? How?" Anne hardly remembered her father; he had left for good before she was five.

  "You know I don't like to discuss your father, but, yes, some things they share."

  "Like?" Anne pressed.

  "Like"—Nell stalled—"they both hunt men and seem to get a good deal of pleasure out of it."

  "And?"

  "They both have that quality, that toughness caught up with shy charm, that women find so attractive."

  "It sounds like a bad thing."

  It did. She didn't want to tangle with a man who was like her father. That meant she really was following the same trail her ma ha
d. How many nights had she lain in bed, crying for the home and the pa she'd lost, vowing that she'd never let it happen to her again? Enough nights to make her attraction to Jack impossible. But she didn't need him, not that badly. It was only attraction. She wasn't going to let it go any further than it already had. But she wasn't going to be put off just because her mama didn't like him.

  "It is," Nell said softly, turning away from her daughter. "I want you to stay away from Jack; he's not right for you."

  "I think he is," Anne said quietly, but there was a firmness to her reply that made both older women sigh in frustration. "And I did kiss him."

  When Nell turned around to argue further, Sarah spoke.

  "You go on, Nell, and have your talk with Charles. I'll talk with Anne. I feel responsible for this, with my meddling."

  "Fine." Nell sighed, smoothing down her hair, preparing for her next battle. Lord, life had been so much more peaceful before Jack Skull had come to Abilene. "Thank you," she said as she left.

  Anne faced Nell with all the openness of a penned mule.

  "I did kiss him," she repeated.

  "I believe you," Sarah said. "And I'll bet my shoes he kissed you back."

  Anne failed completely to contain her blush. "He did."

  "Man would be a fool not to and Jack Skull is no fool, but, Anne, he's a man grown, hard and dangerous, just like your ma said." Sarah held out her hand and kept talking before Anne could interrupt her with arguments, "Don't fool yourself, Anne. Just 'cause a man knows how to talk sweet, it doesn't mean he'll be sweet. How do you think he got the reputation he has? Being nice? No, he's killed time upon time and learned to trust no one. If a pretty girl shows him that she likes him, well, he'll take her up on it and who can blame him? I don't and I'm the one who put him on your trail. But, Anne, I wanted you to have a proper courting, with more than one fella knocking on your door. You've had that. But your real beau is Bill and Jack might be scaring him off. You don't want that 'cause Bill's the one who'll marry you. Jack's not the type."

  "How do you know?" she asked.

  She didn't want to marry anyone, but how did a woman know when one man was the marrying kind and another wasn't? If her aunt could see that in a man, why couldn't she see it in her? She wasn't the marrying kind and all they talked about was when she was getting married.