by Prairie Heat
Mattie received him gladly, her hands restless as they skimmed his flesh, delighting in his strength, in the powerful muscles that rippled beneath her fingertips.
He was handsome, so handsome. Strong and virile, yet achingly gentle. His gaze was tender and fierce by turns, his kisses now sweet, now filled with passion and fire. And he was hers. That was the wonder of it, the beauty of it.
He was hers, as she was his, for now, for always.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Abilene was a thriving town. The sign near the railroad depot listed the population as over three thousand and growing. As they made their way to the Planter’s Hotel, Mattie counted three other hotels, ten boardinghouses, five dry goods stores, and at least ten saloons. Most of the buildings were one-story frame structures, although she saw a couple of two-and three-story buildings, as well.
Mattie loosed a weary sigh as she followed Jess into their room and sank down on the bed. The train ride had been wonderful. Jess had made love to her the whole time, sometimes with masterful kisses and bold caresses, sometimes with words alone, and sometimes with the look in his eyes and the gentle touch of his hand on her cheek. She had never felt more desirable, or so close to another human being. He was her husband, and she was his wife in every sense of the word, and it was more wonderful than she had ever imagined.
Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife, and they shall be one flesh.
How often had she read those words in the Bible and never knew until now what they meant!
She watched Jess drop their baggage on the floor beside the highboy, his gaze moving around the room before he closed the door. And then his gaze settled on her face and he smiled, a slow, lazy smile that made her toes curl.
“Tired?” he asked.
Mattie shook her head. “Not anymore.”
He chuckled softly as he crossed the room and took a place beside her on the bed. He grinned as he tested the mattress with his hand. “Nice and soft,” he drawled.
“Is it?”
Jess nodded. “Wanna try it?”
“Now?” Mattie glanced out the window. The sun was high in the sky, and she could hear a wagon rumbling past on the street below, the sound of laughter from the next room.
“Now.”
“Now,” she agreed, and moved into his arms, thrilling to the touch of his lips, her heart dancing with joy as he whispered her name.
It had been worth it, Mattie mused as she fell back on the bed, her hands tugging at his clothes. All the hardships, the long journey, the loss of her trousseau, the run-ins with the Indians, everything, just to be here in his arms. She was floating in a world of dizzying sensations when he drew back, his dark eyes clouded with desire.
“You sure it’s all right?” he asked thickly. “I don’t want to hurt you, or the baby.”
“You won’t,” Mattie assured him, and drew him close, her arms twining around his neck, her legs wrapping around his, holding him to her so he couldn’t change his mind, not now, not when she needed him, wanted him, as never before.
There was a roaring in her ears, like breakers crashing against the shore, as his life spilled into her, making her joyfully, happily, complete at last.
*
Jess didn’t have any trouble getting hired on as marshal. Abilene was between lawmen at the moment and the city fathers were only too happy to hire on a man with experience. They gave him a badge, had him sworn in and gave him a brief run-down of his duties. He was expected to supervise the city jail, maintain police records and keep track of all persons arrested. He was expected to keep the peace and to arrest and confine anyone guilty of disorderly conduct or drunkenness. The main causes of violence in Abilene were pretty much the same as any other cowtown—whoring, gambling and liquor. His monthly pay would be a hundred and fifty dollars from June to November, and seventy-five dollars from December to May, when cattle season was over and things were quiet.
The first week in Abilene seemed to fly by. They rented a cozy, two-bedroom cottage on the outskirts of town, and Mattie spent all her waking hours decorating her first home. She made blue curtains for their bedroom, yellow curtains for the small, sunlit kitchen and lacy white ones for the nursery. Jess promised she could buy new furniture as soon as he received his first paycheck, and she spent several hours browsing through mail-order catalogs or wandering through Karatofsky’s Great Western Store.
By the end of the second week, Mattie and Jess had settled into a routine. Mattie did the breakfast dishes and made the bed after Jess left for work, welcomed him home with a kiss and a hot lunch at noon, and did the rest of her housework after he went back to the office. They had dinner at six, spent a few quiet hours together and then Jess left to make his rounds for the night.
They had been in Abilene almost three weeks when Mattie suggested they go to church.
“Church,” Jess muttered. “Why?”
“We’ve been here almost three weeks and we haven’t really met anyone. Don’t you want to get to know the townspeople?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
“They may not accept us.”
Mattie frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I’m a half-breed, remember? A lot of people will hold that against me. And against you too.”
“That’s ridiculous. They hired you to keep the peace, didn’t they?”
“That’s business.” They had accepted him as marshal in Lordsburg too because he was good at it, but they’d never forgiven Kathleen for marrying him. They had welcomed him to church socials and the like, but they had never invited the marshal and his wife into their homes.
“I think you’re making things worse than they really are,” Mattie decided. “Come on, we’ll be late.”
Jess was still muttering under his breath when they walked into the building. He had no use for the white man’s religion and had vowed never to enter another church after Kathleen’s death. He had prayed fervently while she lay bleeding to death in his arms. He had begged God to let her live, had offered to die in her place, had promised to live an exemplary life, but to no avail. At the funeral, he had listened to the preacher read meaningless words of a better life in the Hereafter, but he had received no solace, no comfort. All he’d felt was grief and a growing sense of anger.
He followed Mattie down the aisle and into an empty pew and sat there, squirming and ill at ease, for the next hour, resigned to the fact that he’d probably have to show up at church every now and then just for appearance’s sake, whether he liked it or not. People liked to think their lawman was a Christian at heart, even if he was a half-breed, and that he believed in more than just a fast gun.
Afterward, Jess stood beside Mattie while she complimented the preacher on his sermon, then invited the man to stop by the house for tea the following Thursday evening.
“Be nice, Jess,” Mattie admonished as they left the church and mingled with the other parishioners.
“Did you have to invite him to the house?”
“Jess, these people are our neighbors. We have to be friendly, get to know them, let them get to know us. After all, we’re going to be living here for a long time.”
“I know, I know, but I’ve got no use for preachers, Mattie.”
She looked surprised. “Why not? You believe in God, don’t you?”
“I’d rather not talk about it now,” Jess replied, then turned to shake hands with T.C. Henry and his wife. Henry had built the first frame house in Abilene back in 1868, and had just finished building another one.
Five or six other couples came up to introduce themselves to the new marshal and his wife, and a dozen or so nodded formally in their direction. A few cut them dead.
Mattie was stung by their rejection. What right did they have to judge her or her husband? What difference did it make that Jess was half Indian? He was a good man, an honest and capable marshal. How could they judge him when they didn’t even know him?
<
br /> Mrs. Henry smiled sympathetically when she saw the hurt look on Mattie’s face. “Don’t let it bother you, my dear,” she said. “They’ll come around in time.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Mattie replied, a proud tilt to her chin.
“Of course it does,” Mrs. Henry chided softly. “We all want to be liked and accepted. I don’t know your husband very well, of course, but I can see he’s a fine man. And he certainly dotes on you. The others will come to appreciate him as soon as they can see past the color of his skin.”
“You’re very kind,” Mattie said.
“Not at all. I just don’t want you to think badly of us, my dear.”
Mr. Henry decided to change the subject. “Wild Bill Hickock was marshal here in seventy-one. He killed two men.”
“That’s right,” Mrs. Henry said. “And if we could put up with a man like Hickock, we can put up with anyone.” She smiled at Jess, her eyes dancing with merriment.
Jess grinned, thoroughly amused, and Mattie felt that everything would indeed be all right.
“Well, good day to you, Marshal, Mrs. McCord,” T.C. said jovially. “See you in church.”
Jess nodded; then, taking Mattie’s arm, he walked her to their carriage, lifted her onto the seat and climbed up beside her.
“They seem like nice people,” Mattie remarked as Jess turned the carriage toward home. She placed her hand on her husband’s thigh and gave it a squeeze. “I think we’ll be happy here, Jess, don’t you?”
“I hope so.”
“Why don’t you believe in God?”
“Mattie…”
“Please tell me.”
“I believe in Him.”
“But?”
“But He wasn’t there when I needed Him most.”
“When Kathleen died,” Mattie guessed.
“Yeah. I prayed for Him to save her, but He didn’t. I haven’t been much for praying since.”
Mattie searched her mind for something to say, but all the standard replies seemed trite, while others seemed flippant, so she squeezed his thigh again instead. Jess McCord was a good man, a decent man.
Someday he would realize that God hadn’t failed him.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Elias Kane swore under his breath as the bounty hunter dragged him from the back of his horse and hustled him into the marshal’s office. Of all the lousy luck, Kane raged angrily. Dammit, he should have headed East. He should have forgotten about McCord and the woman and headed East!
But how could he forget the way Matilda had clobbered him and left him for dead? He’d had a headache for days. Only his instinct for self-preservation had saved him, forcing him to leave the box canyon on the off chance that Matilda might come back with the law to make sure he was dead.
He’d holed up for three days, nursing his aching head, vowing to get even, plotting McCord’s death in infinite detail, imagining how he’d use the woman, how he’d hurt and humiliate her before he killed her too.
Kane cursed loudly when the bounty hunter gave him a push and he stumbled into marshal’s office.
A young man wearing the badge of a deputy rose from behind the desk, his gaze moving from Kane to the bounty hunter.
Kane stood sullen and silent while the lawman and the bounty hunter discussed how and when the reward would be paid, and then the deputy ushered Kane into the cellblock, opened a cell door and motioned Kane inside.
Kane glared at the man who had turned him in, imprinting the bounty hunter’s face on his mind. He’d get out of this place, one way or another, and when he did, he’d have one more score to settle before he headed East, and by damn, when he got there, he intended to stay. He’d had enough of the West to last a lifetime.
The deputy locked the door, then cut Kane’s hands free. Scooping up the rope, he left the cellblock, whistling cheerfully.
Muttering an oath, Kane dropped down on the narrow cot that was the cell’s only concession to comfort and stared up at the ceiling. He’d been careless, he thought disgustedly, and now he had nobody but himself to blame for what had happened.
He went over it again in his mind, remembering how foolish he’d been, signing his own name on the hotel register, winning big at a poker game, buying drinks for the house. He had been stupid, just plain stupid, calling attention to himself like that, but it had been such an insignificant little town, who’d have thought anyone there would have heard of Elias Kane, or known there was a reward posted for his capture. And the bounty hunter! Hell, he looked more like a schoolboy than a man hunter. It had been downright embarrassing, getting taken by a snot-nosed kid.
Kane grinned ruefully. At least he’d have been able to hold his head up if it had been a bastard like McCord who’d snuck up on him, but to be taken by a boy still wet behind the ears, damn, it was humiliating!
But he’d get out of here. One way or another, he’d see the better side of this before it was over. Confident of his ability, and his luck, Kane closed his eyes and let himself relax.
He’d been in tighter spots than this, he mused as he drifted to sleep, and he’d always managed to come out on top.
*
Jess was whistling softly as he entered his office and closed the door. It was Sunday afternoon, and the town was quiet. He had taken Mattie to church and endured another of the preacher’s harangues, and now he intended to get caught up on his paperwork before going home for supper.
He smiled as he sank down in his chair. Mattie was a great cook, a conscientious homemaker, a wonderful wife, and he considered himself a lucky man. It felt good, having a job again, living in one place, having a woman waiting for him at the end of the day. They had made a few friends in town, and he liked that too.
He was still thinking of Mattie as he pulled out the monthly report and began filling in facts and figures. Paperwork. It was the only part of the job he didn’t care for.
He was about done with the report when his deputy, Robert Guilford, entered the office. Guilford was a likeable kid, quiet, with blond hair and brown eyes.
The boy jerked his head at the papers spread across the desk. “Sure glad I don’t have to do all that.”
“I might decide to add it to your list of duties if you don’t wipe that smug look off your face,” Jess warned, only half kidding. He reached into the bottom drawer of the desk and pulled out five silver dollars. “Here you go, two arrests at two-fifty each, right?”
“Right.” Guilford dropped the coins in his vest pocket. “Hope we get busy again Saturday night. I can use the extra money, what with my ma being sick and all.”
Jess nodded. Guilford’s mother had a bad case of pneumonia. She was a widow, and Guilford was her sole means of support.
“Oh I almost forgot,” Guilford remarked. “We’ve got us a prisoner.”
“You bring him in?”
Guilford shook his head. “No, a bounty hunter brought him in this morning while you were at church. The man’s wanted for murder in Lordsburg and Silver City.”
Interest flickered in McCord’s eyes. “What’s his name?”
“The bounty hunter? Rawlins, I think. Jake Rawlins.”
“The prisoner’s name.”
“Kane. Elias Kane.”
There was a God, Jess thought, and He did answer prayers after all.
“Go on home, Bob. I’ll look after things here.”
“But it’s your day off.”
“Go on home and look after your ma.”
Robert Guilford stared at McCord, puzzled by his abrupt change of mood, and then he shrugged. If the marshal wanted to sit in the jailhouse on his day off, that was his business.
“See you tomorrow,” Guilford said, and left the office.
Jess sat erect, his hands flat on the top of the desk. A muscle twitched in his jaw. Kane was here. A slow smile played over his lips as he contemplated what that meant. Kane was here.
Jess swore under his breath happily, jubilantly. Kane was here. The thought brought a smile to his face.
He had known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that they would meet again. Even when he’d promised Mattie to give up the hunt, he had known that Kane would cross his path again. It was inevitable. Kane owed him a life, and they would never be free of each other until that debt was paid, until one of them was dead.
He sat back in his chair. In a minute he would stand up and walk into the cellblock and Kane would be there, behind bars, where he rightfully belonged. Once the bounty had been paid, he would take Kane back to Lordsburg to be hanged for killing Kathleen. And he would be there, in the front row, to watch the bastard swing.
Slowly, wanting to savor every moment, Jess rose to his feet and crossed the room to the door of the cellblock. His hand folded over the knob. The brass was hard and cold in his palm, as hard and cold as the hate that filled his heart.
Smiling faintly, he turned the knob and opened the door, then stepped into the cellblock. The interior was dim, as quiet as a tomb.
There was only one prisoner.
Elias Kane.
Jess walked slowly toward the last cell, his footsteps echoing loudly in the stillness of the room. He was acutely aware of his surroundings, his senses taking in every detail, from the elaborate spider web that hung from a corner of the ceiling to the faint smell of urine that no amount of scrubbing could completely erase. A shaft of sunlight revealed dancing dust motes. But he had eyes only for the man lying on the cot in the last cell.
Kane sat up at the sound of footsteps. Pushing his hat back on his head, he glanced at the man walking toward him, felt his gut tighten as he recognized the hard implacable face.
“McCord,” Kane muttered, his voice thick with disdain.
Jess grinned broadly. “You’re looking good, Elias,” he remarked cheerfully, “but then, you always did look your best behind a jailhouse door.”
“And you were always a wise ass,” Kane sneered.
Jess nodded. “Gettin’ wiser and luckier every day.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, Jess feeling so good he wanted to laugh out loud.
