Stay in control.
Stevens took his movement personally, and immediately shifted to put her between them. “Whoa there, city slicker. I seen you with her and the boss man the other day. Fine man like you, being taken in by a pretty little liar like this?”
The red haze began to creep toward the edge of his vision, but Jack fought it. He remembered what she’d told him, about staying in control, staying with her.
He could do this.
He didn’t need to give himself over to his mania, his demon, in order to protect her.
Did he?
Jack’s fingers tightened around the butt of his revolver, but he had no shot. Tavie was wearing one of her dull dresses, but it was still wide enough to shield most of Stevens. Sure, his shoulders stuck out on either side of Tavie’s, but without knowing what kind of weapon he had back there, Jack couldn’t put her at risk.
But he should’ve known Tavie wouldn’t just stand there and accept her fate. “I’m not a liar,” she growled, trying to twist around.
Stevens must’ve tightened his hold, because she made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a cry, which made Jack’s throat go dry and the demon jump in his blood.
Stay in control
“Not a liar?” Stevens chuckled cruelly. “What the hell else do you call a whore who pretends to be a lady? Or maybe you really are a lady, and just like dressing as saloon girls and—and whatever the hell you’re supposed to be here in Black Aces. Did you think I wasn’t going to recognize you that day in the street?” He scoffed and shook his head. “Your disguises are good, lady, but I’ve spent the last five years in prison remembering exactly what you look like.” He lowered his head, until his lips were near her ear. “And picturing that pretty little face of yours going purple as I choke the life out of you.”
Well, that was enough. He was in control, and he would take this sonuvabitch down for that image alone.
But of course, Tavie was brave enough to stand up for herself. “What do you call someone like that, you rotten piece of filth?” She tossed her head proudly, even though she couldn’t see Stevens. “They call me a Pinkerton. A Pinkerton who gave you that scar; who dragged your ass to jail. I sent you to prison, and I’ll do it again.”
When she met his eyes, Jack couldn’t help how damn proud he felt of her. It was terrifying, but he had to give her the chance to stand up to her enemy. Maybe his pride showed in his expression, because her shoulders straightened, and she gave him a little nod.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Stevens growled again, and pulled his gun.
Time stopped. Or at least slowed so much, there was no difference.
Jack’s gun was already in his hand as he threw himself forward, ready to do whatever it took to save her.
Hell yes he’d let his mania take over, if it meant protecting the woman he loved!
Wait… The what?
Maybe it was her whimper. Maybe it was the truth, which had just slammed into his head and his heart, and completely replaced any need to rely on a demon or haze or mania.
But Jack pulled up short.
He knew he was fast. Maybe even faster than this hombre. But without a target, he was stuck.
The barrel of the revolver was pointed right at Stevens’s heart, which, unfortunately, was behind Tavie, and Jack second-guessed himself. What the hell was he supposed to shoot at?
And in that moment of hesitation, time sped up again.
Stevens jammed the barrel of his gun into her side, hard enough Tavie whimpered, and grinned evilly.
“There’s no need for heroics, city-slicker,” he drawled. “Me and this Pinkerton are going off to have a little chat. Whatever lie she told you, just be glad you know the truth now.”
The truth.
He did know the truth.
Sometime between that kiss in Aegiria, and laughing with her, and learning from her, and seeing her as the incredible woman she was, he’d fallen in love with Tavie Smothers.
And he’d be damned if he’d let this man take that from him.
His shoulders straightened, and he locked eyes with her. “I just spent a few days getting drunk in Denver,” he began conversationally.
He hadn’t been speaking to Stevens, but the man nodded in commiseration. “Been there, mister. Whiskey’s nice, but revenge is nicer.”
“Maybe.” He willed Tavie to see into his soul, but she just looked…sad. “But I did a lot of soul-searching there.”
Were those tears in her eyes? “Did you think about control, Mr. Douglas?”
Even amid the fear, she was keeping up the charade. And reminding him of what she’d always said.
But she didn’t need to; he was in control, because the knowledge of loving her wouldn’t let him be anything else.
His arm was steady, but he still had no target.
“I did. And I came to a few other interesting realizations.”
He took a deep breath, then swallowed, a feeling of calm resting on his shoulders as he held her gaze. “In order to get a head, Tavie, you’ll have to trust me.”
Stevens growled, “What the hell are you talking about?” just as her eyes widened slightly in understanding.
They were dark today, those eyes. Maybe it was fear, or maybe her pupils were just larger from the sunlight. But they no longer sparkled. Instead, he watched them soften just slightly.
Understanding? Acceptance?
Sorrow?
Jack’s aim never wavered, as he waited for her to make the choice he needed her to make.
I love you.
She didn’t hear the words—couldn’t hear the words—but he saw the moment her decision was made. She took in a breath, slumped her shoulders, closed her eyes tight…and turned her head as far to her left as she could.
Stevens might’ve thought the movement was one of a woman giving up, but Jack knew better. She’d understood what he’d been trying to communicate to her, and he took the split-second advantage.
With her head to one side, she wasn’t completely shielding Stevens. In the heartbeat it took the gunslinger to realize that, Jack had shifted his aim and pulled the trigger.
It was a gamble.
He was betting on Stevens not having time to shift his own weapon toward Jack. He was betting even heavier on the gunslinger not pulling the trigger and hurting Tavie.
But Jack knew he was fast, and his weapon was already where he needed it to be.
The bullet sliced into Stevens’s forehead, making a neat little hole, at the same moment Tavie threw herself to one side.
Thank God she had the sense to do that, because the impact caused Stevens to fire one last round, which caught in Tavie’s skirts, before slamming into Doc Vickers’ siding.
Oh God.
Jack lunged toward her, reaching down to lift her, before she’d even rolled. He yanked her upright, patting her down to ensure himself she was safe, before his revolver was even fully holstered.
He could’ve killed her.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he murmured, as he ran his hands down her arms. He could feel her trembling, and that damn near broke him. “Please, honey. I’m so sorry.”
But when she met his eyes, he didn’t see fear in them.
He found...anger?
Her eyes weren’t dark anymore, but spitting green fire. He jerked when their gazes met.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again.
“You should be!” She shoved her palms against his chest. “You should be!” she screamed.
“I could take him, honey. You trusted me, and I know it was a lot to ask, but it worked—”
“You have to stop this, Jack!”
What the hell was she talking about?
She shoved him again, but he was steady, though confused as hell.
“You have to stop taking these chances, Jack!” Another useless shove, as if she was just glad to be railing against someone. “You have to learn control!”
Control? But he’d been in control! He’
d remembered everything she’d said, and he’d…
Slowly, Jack frowned as he realized what had happened. He’d killed Stevens all on his own. He’d protected Tavie all on his own.
He hadn’t been the Black Ace. He hadn’t needed the mania. He’d done it without the feeling of flying they’d discussed. He’d done it.
Her hands curled into fists, which she slammed against his chest again. There were tears in her eyes now, but she didn’t look sad. No, she was livid, frustrated, and still crying.
Was this a reaction to her near-death experience? He tightened his hold on her arms, determined to let her beat him, if that’s what it took to make her feel better.
“You have to worry about yourself!” she screamed at his face in frustration.
“Why?” He hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud, until she sucked in a breath.
“Because I do!” She reared back then, as if realizing what she’d said. “I mean,” she continued quieter, “your mother loves you very much.”
“My mother?”
Loves you very much.
When she dropped her awkward gaze to his chin, her breaths coming slower now as she calmed herself, he felt a grin tug at his lips.
Loves you.
A feeling not unlike hope began to grow in his chest. Was it possible she cared for him?
“Is this why you won’t kiss me?”
She resolutely stared at his chin.
“Tavie?” he prompted, willing her to look at him. “Is this why you won’t kiss me?”
Of course, she knew exactly what he was asking.
When she did lift her gaze to his once more, there were tears in her eyes, but these weren’t tears from terror or anger now. Her expression of sorrow told him everything he needed to know.
“I’m sorry, Jack.” She whispered. “I’m not going to fall in love with you, if you’re going to get yourself killed. If you keep losing control, there won’t be enough of you left to love.”
I’m not going to fall in love. Fall in love.
Was it possible she already had? Is that why she was so sad?
She pushed away from him, her face turned from the corpse in the alley, and rushed toward Bluff Street.
“Wait! Where are you going?”
Tavie paused, but didn’t turn. “Home, Jack,” she said flatly. “I’m going home to curl up in bed and have a good cry, and maybe a drink, and try to forget today. You stay here and decide what your future is worth. Because I think you have to choose between that and your demons.”
Then she was gone, and Jack was left alone with a dead gunslinger.
Well, almost alone.
“Jack, huh?”
His hand dropped to his weapon once more as he whirled, but he wasn’t sure what his intentions were. He wasn’t sure about a lot of things going on in his brain right now.
But when he saw the man standing on the stoop, Jack straightened and lifted his hands away from his revolver. Marshal Diamon looked damn imposing, glaring down at Jack like that, his thumbs hooked on the front of his gun belt.
The other man jerked his chin toward the corpse. “You wanna explain this?”
Right. He was a lawman.
Jack cleared his throat. “That is Dick Stevens, a convicted murderer who escaped from a Kansas prison. King probably knew that when he hired him, by the way.”
Diamon hummed, his expression giving nothing away. “And why is he lying dead in my town? Did the Black Ace show up again?”
Did he know? Was he guessing? Jack studied the marshal-turned-sheriff, but the darker man’s gaze was merely curious.
Finally, Jack shook his head. “No, sir. He took Miss Smothers…prisoner.” There, that was simple enough, and he was proud he managed to make the report without his voice shaking with remembered anger and fear. “I was able to take the shot to free her.”
“And what would a criminal like Stevens here have against a lady’s companion?”
Jack hesitated. That wasn’t his secret to tell. Best to be vague. “He was talking about dragging her off, and that was reason enough for me to protect her.”
Diamon cocked his head to one side, watching Jack. His expression remained neutral, but his eyes seemed to take everything in.
Finally, he nodded and stepped down into the alley, only a few paces from Jack.
“I’ve got some wanted posters back in the jail that my predecessor didn’t quite manage to burn or use in the outhouse. I’ll see if I can corroborate your story.” He nudged Stevens with his boot. “Shouldn’t be too hard, even with that hole in his head.”
“That’s Stevens, Marshal. Regardless of what he did to Tav—to Miss Smothers, he deserves what he got.”
Diamon hummed again and pierced Jack with a stare, which said he’d heard the slip-up. Then he settled on his heels as if he had all the time in the world. “So, Jack?”
“What?” Damn. “I mean, who?”
“Right.” Diamon nodded in the direction Tavie had disappeared, then jerked his chin toward the house. “Millard Caplan just died. Reverend Trapper was saying his prayers when I heard the shots and came running.”
Jack winced, but didn’t respond, because he wasn’t sure what he should say.
Diamon shrugged. “With Caplan dead, we might never know all the details behind what King’s been up to, but it means McNelis is officially guilty of murder.”
McNelis had been the last sheriff of the town, and completely in King’s pocket. The power-hungry man had shot Caplan last December, when Jack and the other townspeople had stood up to King and declared the mine empty. He remembered Diamon had killed McNelis to protect the rest of those gathered, and figured, while the man might’ve mourned Caplan’s death, it was another sign he’d made the right call.
But, again, it seemed wise to keep his mouth shut.
Jack glanced toward Bluff Street, wondering if Tavie really was going home, and if he should go after her.
Home.
He’d been gone for so long, and last year, would’ve declared Black Aces could never feel like home. But the town—and his mother—had welcomed him with open arms, even though no one, outside his mother and Tavie, recognized or remembered him.
Tavie obviously thought of the Hoyle house as her home…but could he?
“So what I want to know, Jack…”
The way Diamon said the name dragged Jack’s attention back to him, his senses sharp for the threat.
“What I want to know is, why are you here? Caplan wanted to tell Mrs. Hoyle about her husband’s mine, and I think it’s interesting that you thought the whole Jim’s-blood-on-the-deed thing was as interesting as I thought it was. I saw the way you and Miss Tavie looked at that little revelation.”
The other man took a step toward Jack, who lifted his chin. They were of similar heights, but the marshal was wider across the shoulders. That meant nothing; Jack knew he could take the man down with only one hand. But he didn’t want to.
Perhaps it was time for some secrets to be known.
Diamon cocked his head again. “Now, I know why Mrs. Hoyle is here, and I guess she’s why Miss Tavie’s here. But what about you, Mr. Douglas?”
Jack’s heart beat a steady tempo through his temples, and he balanced on the balls of his feet. It wasn’t until he realized it was his response to a threat—the calm, before he leapt into action—that he forced himself to settle.
The marshal didn’t seem to notice. “Your name’s not really Douglas, is it?”
Well, confession time. “Douglas is my middle name.”
“And Jack is a common nickname for Jonathan.”
“My mother insisted on the longer name, but she was still the one who called me Jack as a boy.”
Diamon nodded. “Your mother…Ruth Hoyle.”
Jack’s chin dropped just slightly in acknowledgment.
“So Caplan’s story about your father’s blood on King’s deed would be mighty interesting to you, eh, Mr. Hoyle? You’re here to steal your inheritanc
e back?”
“Is it stealing if it was stolen in the first place?” Jack asked, managing to keep his tone bland.
The marshal grunted, then shrugged. “You’ll never get King to admit it. And as long as he holds that deed, he’s legally in the right.”
“Legally?”
“Yes, legally, Mr. Hoyle,” Diamon snapped as he stepped closer, getting in Jack’s face. “Legally is what I care about. I don’t like the sonuvabitch anymore than you. But unless you can prove, legally, that King killed your father, you can’t take any illegal action against him, you hear?”
Jack’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t respond. Diamon didn’t seem to want a response, and instead, glanced down at Stevens.
“Seems to me that Mr. King is about to find himself all alone in this town, and I know for a fact he’s been gambling at the Three Queens to earn enough to pay Stevens here. He’s got a fine house, sure, but he’s all alone in it.”
He swung his dark glare back to Jack. “If anything happens to King out there in that big unprotected house of his, the Black Ace will be blamed again. And if the Black Ace is blamed, Mr. Hoyle, I’m coming after you. I’ll throw your ass in jail—for your own protection—because you’ve got the best motive.”
He wasn’t wrong. One of Jack’s brows lifted. “Protection?”
Diamon leaned in. “From me,” he growled.
It was a pretty good threat, as threats go.
Jack exhaled softly, then hitched one shoulder. “I understand you, Marshal.” Before Diamon could do more than nod, Jack leaned closer as well, until they were nose-to-nose. “But let me make sure you understand me. I didn’t come back home to regain my rightful inheritance. The mine’s worthless, and I never wanted it. I’m here to help my mother, and the rest of the people in Black Aces. And the way to help them is to make sure King is removed from power.”
Jack was surprised when Diamon straightened, a grin tugging at his lips. “Glad to hear it, Mr. Hoy— Well, I should probably keep calling you Douglas, eh? Anyhow, I’m glad to hear it.” He stepped back, then winked. “Just make sure you do it legally, right?”
Wild Card: Black Aces, Book Three Page 11
