“What’ll it be tonight, Jax? The usual?”
“That sounds good, Margie.” He glanced across at Callie. “Miss Smith, how does a steak dinner sound?”
“Oh, I—” she began, but he reached across the table and patted her hand in an almost brotherly way. As if to tell her he would take care of her.
“I’m buying.”
“Oh, but—”
“Sounds good, Margie. Make it two.”
“You got it.” The waitress winked at Jax as she turned to go.
“Really, Marshal, you didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to, Miss Smith. I have to eat alone so often that it’s a real treat for me to be able to sit down with a beautiful woman and share a meal.”
Callie could feel the blush stain her face and neck, the shot of excitement rush through her at his casual statement. She couldn’t allow that. He was just being polite. Still, he did have a way with words. She jerked back to reality, angry that she’d wandered. This was a dangerous game she was playing. Her heart fluttered wildly as she reminded herself just what was at stake should he discover her true identity.
“Marshal—”
“Please. Let’s make a deal. You call me Jax, and I’ll call you Sarah.”
Curiosity overcame her fear. “How did you know—”
“The station agent.”
Callie gave him a smile, in spite of herself. Then, “‘Jax’? Not, ‘Jack’?”
Jax reached for the glass of water and took a drink before answering. “My mother was Cherokee; my father, Scotch-Irish. His name was Jack. But, when I came along, I was the son of Jack, or Jackson.” He spelled it out for her.
“So, how did it get changed?” She leaned forward, interested, and caught a hint of the clean soap-and-water scent of him.
A wry smile played about Jax’s lips. “My father was…fond of the bottle. One night, right after I was born, so the story goes, he noticed my name had seven letters in it. He decided that was unlucky. But, it was also unlucky to change a baby’s name once it was given. So, he changed the spelling.”
“Jax.” Callie let his name roll off her tongue. “I like that. It’s different.” A lot of things about this man were different. And she couldn’t help being attracted to every one of them. The obsidian, too-knowing eyes; even, white teeth that flashed against his bronze skin in that damnable slow, sexy grin; everything, down to the way he walked—aloof, and unafraid of anything—and dangerous. He could be her downfall, if she but dropped the wrong word. And she was beginning to like him—too much.
She felt her face warming, and looked away from him. She pulled herself back firmly, searching for a safe topic of conversation while they waited for their food. “What about your mother?”
“Huh-uh,” Jax murmured. “It’s my turn to hear something about you, now. Tell me about these relatives of yours that you’ll be staying with.” He leaned back in his chair.
“Well—they, uh–they’re just—” she shrugged and smiled brightly, “just relatives. Everyone has them, I suppose.” She moistened her lips. “The station agent must have told you a lot about me,” she offered tentatively.
Jax didn’t answer her directly. “I…like to know who I’m traveling with. Is this—just a pleasure trip?”
“Pleasure?” Her breath quickened, and she seized on the topic like a drowning woman clinging to a piece of driftwood. “I hope so. My folks back East are all–all gone now. So, I’m going to live with my aunt and uncle because I—I have no place else. I’m from—” she hesitated a moment, then said, “—New York.”
He smiled at her. “New York, huh? I’ve always wanted to go there.”
“How-How long have you lived here?” Callie asked, casting about for a change of subject. “Here in Fort Smith?”
“I don’t really ‘live’ here.” His expression became guarded. “I just pass through pretty regularly to get my orders. It’s sort of a base to operate from.” He smiled faintly. “But I don’t have a home here.”
“Oh. Well, it seems as if everyone knows you. The ticket agent, the waitress…” She flinched at the raw note of curiosity in her voice.
Jax looked down quickly, and she thought she saw a smile cross his face. Heat sprang to her cheeks. “Margie and I go back a few, Sarah,” he said. “She’s…a good friend.”
“Is she your—” She could have bitten out her tongue.
“No.”
Callie looked down, appalled at her own terrible lack of judgment. They were quiet for a moment, then she met his eyes. “I’m sorry. That was very ill-mannered of me. I’m tired from my journey, I suppose.”
“I appreciate your honesty, ‘ill-mannered’ or not.” His eyes crinkled with suppressed laughter. Callie took a deep breath, knowing ‘honest’ was the last word that could be used to describe her right now. Her whole life was a lie, and she hated having to drag Jaxson McCall into it. But, to be honest with him would mean death for her. She couldn’t do it. She could never be honest again.
****
What a poor liar she was. And how young she seemed…just as Don Albright had noted earlier. They could both be liars, he decided, but only one of them was skilled at that craft. It was almost painful to him to watch her try to sidestep his questions.
Their food arrived, and Jax watched the way Callie ate, forcing herself to be carefully controlled. When Margie had put their plates on the table, Callie had immediately unfolded her napkin and spread it across her lap with an expression of eager anticipation. She had stopped her hand from reaching for her silverware too quickly. But Jax could see she was hungry, even though she ate at a measured, steady pace. She must be starving herself, trying to save money. A rush of gladness washed over him that tonight, at least, she’d have a good meal; and that he had provided it for her.
They were both hungry, he realized. He hadn’t had a decent meal for two days, maybe three. He’d lost count now. Living on jerky and hard tack didn’t make one day stand out too much from the next.
If Callie Buchanan hadn’t stayed so long in St. Louis, then again here in Fort Smith, he probably would have been eating trail rations again tonight, somewhere out there on the road, tracking her still. But, he had caught up with her, he thought, meeting her liquid-dark glance from across the table as she daintily dabbed at her mouth and folded her napkin.
“Good?” Jax asked her.
She nodded shyly. “Very. Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Marshal.”
“Jax,” he corrected.
“Jax,” she repeated, with a self-conscious smile.
Callie Buchanan was so naive—not very adept at the age-old dance between men and women—certainly not the schemer her stepfather painted her.
He grinned at her, and Callie took a slow, steady breath.
“More wine?” he asked.
“No. But thank you.”
“Could you eat some dessert?”
Callie laughed and shook her head. “Hardly. I feel bad enough to have eaten like I did.”
****
Jax finished off his wine, and Callie noted the way his dark hair fell across his forehead. It was a trifle long in the back, just over his shirt collar. She wanted to reach out and touch it—
She glanced down quickly, afraid he’d be able to read her expression. Where had those thoughts come from? Such fanciful musings. That certainly was unlike her. Just a month ago, she hadn’t cared if she ever saw another man. Now…
Slowly, Callie raised her eyes to meet Jax’s expectant look. She felt a sense of confusion–and loss–settle over her. She should never have allowed this handsome marshal to sit down with her in the first place; to become friendly with her. And she must never allow herself to become close to another human being, especially one as sinfully good-looking and dangerous as Jaxson McCall.
She had killed a man. A murderess was what she was, and if they caught her, she would be hanged. Best not forget that, Callista. Not for a moment.
She rose from her chair sudden
ly. “Marshal, I—I think I’d like to go on upstairs, if you don’t mind.”
Jax stood up.
“Thank you for the meal,” Callie said politely. She gripped the back of the chair until her knuckles were white.
He glanced away. “It was my pleasure. I was glad for the company.”
For some odd reason, Callie felt a prick of annoyance. She realized she had been hoping that Jax would make some protest, invite her to stay a little longer, do something to keep her from going. She was lonely. And so alone. She swallowed hard and forced herself to release the chair, turning away from him.
Jax laid some money on the table. “Hold on a minute. I’ll walk up with you.”
What did he think? That the purchase of a steak dinner entitled him to take her upstairs, like a common trollop? She opened her mouth to deliver a scathing remark, but he looked away.
“A woman shouldn’t have to go up to her room alone, Sarah,” he told her mildly. “It isn’t safe these days.” He took her arm as she tried to form a protest. “Besides,” he went on, “my room is right next to yours, I think. Aren’t you in 201?”
“Yes, but how did you know that?” She reached for her valise and he took it from her.
“No mystery,” he told her with a flash of a grin. “I saw the number on your key tab when you laid it on your bag.”
She hadn’t wanted to have to search for it. She hadn’t locked her door when she’d gone out earlier, but sometimes the owner of the Gold Leaf made the rounds, securing any doors that had been left unlocked, to keep drunks or thieves out. She had laid the key on the top of her bag, just in case, ready to use when she got up from the table. Jaxson McCall was observant. But then, she supposed, that was how he survived, being a marshal.
They climbed the stairs in silence. When they reached Callie’s room, she fumbled nervously with the slender piece of metal, dropping it.
“Here. Let me.” Jax bent to retrieve it, slipping it into the keyhole. He opened the door, and then laid the key in her palm.
Suddenly, she looked up at him. Was he toying with her? Did he already know who she was? But, how could he? He’d have arrested her by now. But why was he being so nice…
“Wh-What do you want from me?” Callie’s voice was choked, her expression haunted. Her heart tripped at the way the question sprang from her lips, but the words escaped before she could stop them.
****
Jax made his expression unreadable, remote. What did he want, she had wondered. Something he definitely could not have. She looked so young; so afraid. She was virtually alone in the world, and something inside him wanted to comfort her, to take the torment away. She was already cagey as a wild animal. He didn’t want to frighten her any more than she already was.
Twice, she had come perilously close to confessing to him. He had seen it hovering on her lips, her eyes beseeching, just for an instant. It had surprised him. But she’d recovered herself quickly enough, and kept her secret.
He knew what she was really asking, but he turned her meaning. “What do I want?” He gave her an easy smile. The only way to force her to keep her secret was to make her angry. He knew that. If he didn’t, she’d be telling him who she was…trusting him… Not yet. “No.” He shook his head slowly as his eyes held hers. “What do you want, Sarah?” He let just a hint of suggestion into his tone, and watched, satisfied, as she drew herself up stiffly.
He should go. It was what needed to happen, and he knew it. Robbing the cradle, just as Albright had intimated he would do. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be the cause of her turning her ticket in, taking another stage—and not because she was afraid he might know her true identity. He’d almost let things get out of control.
****
“Are we back to the question game again?” she shot back quickly, letting her anger take over. She could not allow this man to get close to her! She shouldn’t have ever acquiesced to taking a meal with him in the first place. He had become too familiar with her already. She felt giddy. It had to be the wine. She would never have let him take the privileges he’d already seized if she hadn’t drunk the wine. She must be careful. To think of telling him everything, as she’d been on the verge of doing, would be the end of her. Still, it would be so good to just be done with it. Dredge up some anger, she thought, panicking. Or make him angry, instead. She couldn’t afford to let her defenses down.
Jax looked at her reprovingly. “Well, it is my turn. You asked more than your share at the dinner table,” he drawled, unruffled.
Her hand trembled on the doorknob. She dropped her valise inside the room with a thud. “I’m—sorry, Marshal. I must ask—I want you to leave.”
Jax shrugged, then gave her a slow, almost mocking grin. “Okay. I’m going,” he murmured, taking a deep breath. He leaned forward, and chastely kissed the top of her head.
She did not protest, could not, in fact, speak at all. She knew she should be angry. It was yet another liberty she should not have allowed. Instead, she felt like weeping as she closed the door behind her. It reminded her of the way he’d reached across the table and patted her arm earlier. The gentlemanly way he’d treated her as they’d eaten together. As if he were genuinely concerned for her.
But, she knew that wasn’t true, and she couldn’t allow it to become a remote possibility in her own mind. Her thoughts were too jumbled already. They’d only just met, after all. She’d eaten dinner with him, and that was the extent of it. There was nothing wrong with what she’d done…so far. But it would be a long ride to Amarillo. She couldn’t afford to make another mistake with Jaxson McCall—even sitting down to eat across from him again could be deadly.
She forced herself to prepare for bed as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, but it was a long, long time before she was able to fall asleep.
Chapter 4
They were coming for her; ringing the bells to summon everyone to watch her hang. From her window, she could see the gallows. She turned to the faceless jailer, ready to beg him for mercy. She would try and purchase her freedom. Reaching into her valise, she groped for the set of rubies. Her fingers closed around nothing but the soft lining of the bag. The case wasn’t there!
Still the bells clanged, and she could see nothing in the man’s blank features. He stretched his black-gloved hand toward her. With a sharp gasp, she came awake with a jerk.
Frantically clutching at her pillow, she sat up with a muffled cry as the Sunday morning church bells continued to toll, calling the citizens of Fort Smith to worship. The same good people who would turn out to watch her swing should she be captured. Soberly, Callie lay back down, knowing that once she arose, there would be nothing to do to pass the long hours of the day. But sleep eluded her, and with a sigh, she pushed the covers back and got up, attending to her morning toilette as quietly as possible, knowing who slept in the room next to hers.
She must avoid him. She had come dangerously close last night to doing the thing she would have regretted later: telling him who she really was. The dream had been a vivid reminder to her as to what would happen if she did tell him.
She scowled at her own thoughts. It had come very close to happening. This compelling urge to be honest with the marshal had to be brought under control. It would be her undoing.
Maybe he could help, somehow.
She shook her head after a momentary hesitation. No. No one could help her now. Murder was murder, and it was only her word against—against a dead man’s. A murdered man’s.
She’d let the marshal become too familiar…
Her thoughts raced and tumbled, confused. It could only have been the wine she’d drunk with dinner, she thought. What else could have made her behave so rashly with a man who was almost a complete stranger?
But she hadn’t really drunk that much wine, to make her want to… No. She hadn’t wanted anything more from him than what little comfort he had offered—unknowingly at that! Perhaps that was why it had been so hard to go to sleep—the feelings he’d
awakened in her had been impossible to ignore. She paced, and tried to do it quietly. Finally, she forced herself to sit on the edge of her bed. It was most perplexing, yet, pleasant, somehow; to think of the safety she’d felt in his arms. And when his lips had brushed the top of her head…
There was no doubt that, for her, Jaxson McCall’s presence was dangerous. She shivered. One slip of the tongue and he’d know who—and what—she really was. But, was he not also her protection?
She barely knew him, yet somehow, she trusted him.
She looked down at her own hands, twisting nervously in her lap. She stopped immediately, placing them on each side of her, grasping the edge of the bed.
There was only one thing to do, she told herself sternly. Stay as far from Marshal Jaxson McCall as possible.
And no more wine.
****
When the knock sounded on her door, she felt all her good intentions desert her. It was twelve noon, and she was so hungry her stomach had set up a continual growling.
“Who is it?” she called as she started for the door, stopping herself before she turned the key.
“It’s Jax…Sarah.” The hesitation in Jax’s voice just before he said her name made Callie’s pulse race.
She took a deep breath before she responded, proud of the aloof coolness in her tone. “Go away, Marshal. I—I have a headache.”
She could almost see the laughing expression he wore, heard it plainly in his voice, and could have bitten her tongue out at his reply.
“Come on, Sarah,” he said in a low voice. “You’re not supposed to use that one til way later. Like after you’ve been married a year or two. All I want to do is talk…nothing else.”
In her anger, she turned the key and tried to open the door at the same time. The lock scraped harshly against the fitting. She swung the door open, her eyes shooting sparks as she met his expectant look. His grin slowly widened at her obvious wrath. He leaned against the doorjamb with long-legged, lean-hipped negligence.
“Let’s go down and get some lunch,” he said.
The Half-Breed's Woman Page 3
