Claudia Dain Read online

  She blushed red and clasped her gloved hands together like she wanted to strangle something. Probably him.

  "I didn't know that's how it looked. I'm sorry."

  "Damn it, Anne, if you're mad, be mad. Don't apologize for every damn thing."

  "Don't you cuss at me! And you don't have to kiss me, either!" she snapped.

  She turned around and stomped off like a stallion who's had his face kicked one time too many. He watched her walk off, her bustle bumping with each and every step, that little white bow bouncing.

  "At least she didn't apologize for that," he said to the air.

  * * *

  They rode into town from the other end, so Jack missed their arrival, not that he'd known they were coming. He'd come north on his own, used to working alone, needing no one. At least that's what he thought. These two thought Jack Skull just might need a bit of help, even if he never did ask for it.

  Emma Walton saw them first, living on the edge of town like she did, and recognized them for what they were straight off. She hustled her kids out of the yard and into the house and shut the door before anyone could ask her anything. Once she had her back against the door, she could admit that she wasn't surprised; bad company followed after its own.

  Powell came out of his livery and watched them ride silently and sedately into town. He wasn't fooled for a minute. They had the same look as Jack Skull, hard and well armed and used to trouble. At least they had their own mounts.

  Sheriff Lane was talking to the doc about nothing in particular when he saw them. He may have been the only person in town who was glad to see them, with the possible exception of Doc Carr, who thought they might just be the men to gun down Jack Skull for that string of murders.

  Not likely, since they were his closest friends.

  "Howdy," Lane said from the boardwalk.

  "Howdy," the dark one answered. The fair-haired man didn't say anything. Lane wasn't alarmed; some folks just weren't talkative.

  "Looking for somebody?" Lane asked.

  "Yeah, trailed him up this way," the black-haired man said, remaining seated, his hands resting easily on his saddle horn. He could afford to rest easy, his partner was keeping watch while he kept his mouth shut. "Looking for Jack Skull."

  "He's here," Doc Carr offered quickly. "Staying just down the road."

  The black-haired man smiled and said, "Thanks. Looks like you're eager to get rid of him."

  "I'm not," Lane said, taking control of the conversation. "Come on in. We'll talk. Doc? I'll see you."

  "Thanks again," the man said, dismounting. Only when he was on the ground did his partner dismount. They watched out for each other carefully; an old habit and one they had no wish to lose.

  "Name's Lane," he said, motioning them into the jail-house.

  "Grey," said the talkative one. "And this is Blakes."

  "You've traveled a bit, looks like," Lane said.

  "Not without reason," Grey said.

  "What's the reason?"

  "I think you know. If you don't, I'll talk to Jack first,"

  Grey said without any attempt to be polite. Lane didn't mind.

  Grey was taller than most and lean as a whip with shoulders like a young bull's. Black hair hung straight down to his collar. His eyes were matching black and his features lean and hard. For all that, he didn't quite have the look of a man with Indian blood, not that it would have mattered. With the way he carried himself, Lane couldn't think of a man who'd challenge him.

  Blakes was slightly shorter and built like a man who'd laid track for most of his life. He was thick with muscle and hard as brick with sandy hair and dark blue eyes. It didn't look like he was much of a talker.

  "I know," Lane said, offering the two men a drink. It was a lucky thing that he had four cups and had just washed two of them. They took the proffered cups silently, showing their appreciation by how fast they drank it down. "We've had three up here, all recent."

  "All since Jack's been here?" Grey asked.

  "Yeah, or thereabouts. None in Abilene."

  "Not yet," Blakes said. His first words. Not pleasant ones.

  "Not ever, if I have my way," Lane said, taking a drink for himself.

  "I hope you get your way, at least on this," Grey said.

  "Jack expecting you?" Lane asked.

  "He would if he had a lick of sense, which he don't," Grey said with what passed for a smile.

  Lane smiled back, a half smile to show he understood. "I take it you're friends?"

  "Yes," Blakes said. It was almost a challenge.

  Lane just chuckled. "He needs 'em 'round here; there's a whole herd of folks who'd throw him on the next train, if they thought they could get away with it."

  "They couldn't," Grey said.

  "And they know it," Lane said. "That's why he's still here."

  "That, and the murders," Blakes said.

  "Yeah," Lane said without any trace of a smile.

  "Any clues?" asked Grey.

  "Nothing to speak of," answered Lane. "According to Jack, they're all about the same; pretty girls, strangled, no one knew who they were seeing on the sly. The marshal is working the outlying areas while all us sheriffs are holding the towns. The last one was in Junction City. Gates is taking it pretty hard."

  "No one takes it easy," Grey said.

  "Especially Jack," Blakes said.

  "Yeah, he takes it right hard, every time. You know why that is?" Lane asked.

  "His story, not mine," Grey said. For the talkative one, he could hold his tongue when he had a mind.

  Lane nodded his acceptance of that answer, understanding the depth of friendship that would provoke it. These men wouldn't betray a confidence, real or perceived, and that spoke well of them and of Jack.

  "How'd you hook up with Jack?" Lane said, pouring more drinks for them all.

  "We were in the Rangers together before the war," Grey said. "Drifted together afterward from time to time."

  "And now's one of those times?"

  "Yeah," Grey said, tipping up his cup.

  "What about you, Blakes? You meet Jack in the Rangers?"

  "I knew him some before that," he said.

  Lane nodded and drank. Blakes wasn't going to offer more, that was clear.

  "So, where's Jack?" Grey asked. "Looks like the last hotel in town is burned out."

  "You know the Cattlemen's?" Lane asked.

  "I've been in Abilene before." Grey shrugged.

  "Punching cows?" Lane asked.

  Grey smiled slightly and shrugged in answer, not really answering at all. Lane let it drop.

  "Jack's staying with a family of ladies at the edge of town; they offered him a bed."

  "A family of ladies?" Grey said, smiling. "How old are these ladies?"

  "One old, two middling, and one young," Lane said.

  "The young one offered him that bed, right?" Grey laughed.

  "Yeah," said Lane. "Why's that funny?"

  "It just is," he answered. "Sounds just like Jack."

  "She's a nice girl," Lane said, all traces of humor rubbed out of him.

  "I'm sure she is," Grey said, "and she'll stay that way. He knows what he's doin'."

  "Yeah, it sure looks like it." Lane scowled.

  His conversation with Nell hadn't worked out like he'd hoped. She'd been silent and sullen, refusing to talk to him. She'd looked about ready to slap his face when he came right out and told her he was nothing like Tim Ross, that he wasn't the sort to run out on a woman, that he was a better man than the first man she'd chosen. Not even a bolted door had held her in then; she'd shot off out the door and down the street before he could figure out what he'd said wrong. Wouldn't a woman be glad to know that the man who wanted to court her wasn't the kind to run off when the pasture looked better on the other side of the river? Whatever it was that Jack said to Anne, he sure didn't get that kind of response; no, Anne hung on Jack like a halter. Whatever Jack was doing, he knew how to do it.

  "Tha
nks for the drinks," Grey said as he and Blakes set down their cups.

  "It's nothing," Lane said. "That house is—"

  "We'll find it," Grey said.

  Lane watched them leave, long legged and heavy with guns. He didn't doubt but that they would.

  Chapter 19

  She'd been an absolute fool and she wasn't going to be one anymore. She was going to be smart and the smart thing to do was stay away from Jack Scullard. He was pure trouble. Unmanageable. Unpredictable. Dangerous.

  Hadn't he almost strangled her? He surely had and she'd smiled it off, making pleasantries with him, being polite when she should have been aiming that gun of his right at his middle. That's what a smart woman would do. That's what she would do if he ever came closer to her than a quarter of a mile. For all she knew, he could be the killer and all his talk of teaching her to protect herself mere playing on his part.

  A killer would do something like that, toy with his victim before strangling her. Sure he would. Killers were capable of anything. Jack was capable of anything. Anything except being manageable. All she'd wanted was a man to force Bill off; that's all he'd had to do, and he'd messed it up by kissing her too often and too well. Well, she'd manage on her own. She'd get rid of Bill and she'd do it without any help from Jack; Jack was causing more trouble than he was saving. Just like a man.

  She'd get Bill to back off and she'd do it her way, nice and gentle and permanent. She wasn't getting anywhere she wanted to be by having two men buzzing around her like horseflies. That had been ill conceived.

  Jack would be easy to avoid. Wasn't he always telling her that she ought to keep her distance? Wasn't he always taunting her about wanting his kisses? Well, she'd take his advice. He ought to be real happy. She sure would be.

  Getting rid of Bill was going to be a bit more of a handful, but she'd do it. She had to. She wasn't going to let him slither his way into her life and into her bed. She'd leave town first and, knowing Bill, he wouldn't follow. He wouldn't be able to find her if he did. Now Jack, if Jack made up his mind to track her to Chicago, he'd find her. She knew that.

  It was a good thing he wasn't going to want to find her.

  It was a good thing she was going to keep her distance from him. He was pure, undiluted danger. Any fool could see that. And she wasn't a fool.

  Except with him.

  She'd wanted him from the moment she first laid eyes on him. Just like that. She'd wanted to walk right up to him and curl up in his arms, sure she'd be safe forever. He'd had the look of a dangerous man, there was no lying about that, but she hadn't felt the smallest prick of fear, even though she could see that he was a man who should be feared and was. For her, he'd been safety, rest, home.

  That's why she had to keep her distance. He was danger. He made her want things she'd decided long ago never to want. She was going to keep to herself, living life on her own terms and with her own company.

  All she had to do was find Bill and make that clear to him.

  * * *

  She found Sheriff Lane instead, or he found her. He had the look of a man who'd been searching her out.

  "Anne, there you are," he said, taking her arm and walking with her into his office.

  The light was murky inside, dust floating in the air and sparkling like fairy powder. What Abilene needed was a good rain to settle the dust. Sometimes mud was better than breathing in dust.

  "Hello, Sheriff Lane," she said. "Were you looking for me?"

  "Well, not hard, but I did want to talk to you," he said, holding the chair for her.

  She sat down, aware of the solid weight of him at her back. How long had she known Sheriff Lane? For as far back as she could remember, seemed like. But for all that, they weren't real close.

  Why was that?

  "Yes?" she said, turning her head slightly, wanting him to move into her line of vision.

  He moved slowly to his chair and sat down.

  "I wanted to talk to you about Jack."

  "Oh?"

  He shifted his weight, reached over to open his desk drawer, and then slammed it shut without taking anything out.

  "Yeah," he said. "Now, Anne, Jack is... well, he's mighty rough."

  "Not any rougher than any other bounty hunter, I guess," she said.

  "Well, no, maybe not, but his reputation—"

  "He's good at what he does and folks know it. Is that what you mean?" she said. She was fighting him, softly, politely, but she was doing it.

  It felt pretty good.

  "Now, Anne, you just let me say what I got to say," he said.

  "I thought I was helping," she said with a smile.

  "I don't need no help to say this," he said, rocking forward in his chair and leaning across the desk. "You ought to keep your distance from him. He's not the sort for a girl like you."

  "A girl like me?" she said, leaning forward, closing the distance between them. "What kind of girl is that? You think I'm not smart enough to handle myself with a man—"

  "Now, I didn't say any such thing," he said, rubbing the wood with his hands. "He's just not your sort. You got to know that yourself."

  "I don't know that I think I have a 'sort,' Sheriff."

  "Why, of course you do. A girl like you, with your face and, and your pretty ways, could get any man," he said. "There ain't no doubt to that."

  The room seemed darker all of a sudden, as if a cloud had passed through the endless dust to hide the shimmering sun.

  "Thank you, Sheriff," she said. "You don't need to worry about me, though. I'm not interested in Jack Scullard, not the way you mean it."

  He leaned back in his chair, his expression easy and relaxed. "I knew you had good sense, Anne. I just felt it was my duty to talk it out with you. I'd hate to see you hurt."

  "I don't want to be hurt, that's a fact," she said, rising to her feet. Sheriff Lane rose with her. "The thing is, I think I do all right at keeping myself out of trouble. Don't you?"

  "Well, sure you do, Anne, sure you do. It's just that Jack—"

  "Thanks for the advice, Sheriff. I'll keep it in mind," she said. She walked to the open doorway, glad for the wind and the sunlight of the open street. "I guess you're going to talk to Jack, too, warning him off me? I guess you should. I could do that man a serious hurt, don't you think? A woman with my pretty ways can cause a man some problems, if she puts her mind to it. Good afternoon, Sheriff."

  Yeah, it felt real good.

  * * *

  "Anne? How are you?" Doc Carr said.

  He had come out of his office, buttoning his vest as he did. He looked fine, standing in the cold spring light, his hair dark and shining with oil. He was a man who took pride in his grooming, that was sure; his boots were always polished and his shirts pressed. He never let his beard build on up him, like some men she could name. He was a good doc, too. Abilene had sure needed him.

  "I'm fine, Doc. Just fine," she said, nodding her greeting.

  "That's good to hear. I've been worried about you, what with that bounty hunter in town and all those murders piling up. You have a care, won't you?"

  "Sure I will. I'm not going to get in any trouble," she said. And she sure wasn't. She was throwing that bounty hunter out of her life and Bill along with him. She'd be just fine once she got clear of men and their troublesome ways.

  "No woman means to get in trouble, Anne," he said, taking her arm as he stood with her on the walk. "But it happens. I'd hate to see anything happen to you. You light up this town, you know that?"

  "No, I didn't know that," she said, easing his hand off her arm. "But it's nice of you to say."

  "Nothing nice about it. I'm a doctor; I can see what's under my eyes."

  He smiled as he said it, and he had a real nice smile warm and welcoming; she just didn't feel too warm in return. Every time she had someplace to go, someone just had to slow her down.

  "You sure can talk sweet, Doc. No wonder your patients don't complain," she said, moving away from him.

  "
You keep clear of Jack Skull and you won't have cause to complain. You keep him away from you and you'll be all right," he said, his eyes serious.

  "I think I'm all right now, Doc. I surely do. But thanks for the advice."

  * * *

  "Howdy, Anne," Shaughn said as he swept off the walk in front of the saloon.

  She just never was going to find Bill at this rate.

  "How're you, Shaughn? You seen Bill anywhere?"

  "Nope, not today. Though it's early. Listen," he said, leaning on his handle, smashing the bristles of the broom into the wood. "You doing all right?"

  "Just fine," she said. She must look like something hung on a cow's tail, with all this talk coming at her. "Why?"

  He shrugged, his shoulders heaving the fabric. He was a well-muscled man; it would be easy to go to seed standing behind a bar most of the day, but he hadn't let it happen. Still, he was fairly young. He might thicken up like two-day stew in a year or so.

  "Jack Skull's been trailing along after you pretty good. That's got to put a girl on the sharp end of a quill. Then with all them murders..."

  "It's a sin and a crime, that's for certain. But you don't need to worry about me. I can take care of myself."

  She really was going to need to start wearing that gun. It was the hard truth that a murderer was hunting unmarried girls. And she was going to stay an unmarried girl. That about put her at the top of whatever list he might be working on. Of course, he might not be anywhere near Abilene.

  Then again, he might be in Abilene.

  Anne shivered and crossed her arms over herself.

  "A spring wind sure can blow cold, can't it?" Shaughn said, stepping closer to her. Anne took a step back and when the flush of guilt swept over her at such an overt act of rudeness, she ignored it.

  "It sure can. I'd better get on, Shaughn. Miss Daphne is going to be put out with me for dawdling when she expected me home half an hour ago. Give my best to your ma."

  "I surely will, Anne," he said to her back as she walked away. "You give that Jack Skull a wide range, now. He ain't no man to be messing with you. You take care of yourself."

  Oh, she would. She was going to start by standing up for herself more. It hadn't been so bad and there was even a certain amount of fun in it. She was going to finish by getting that gun and strapping it to her side. She just might pistol-whip the next person who tried to tell her who she could talk to and who she had to keep clear of. She got plenty of that at home from Miss Daphne; she didn't need it from every man in town, too.