Beau and Penny swayed from side to side on the wagon's wooden bench, singing off-key some of the songs Anora guessed they'd danced to earlier tonight. She stared up at the cloudless backdrop of the night sky, ablaze with hundreds of stars. It was a familiar sight, one she'd witnessed countless times before, on the trip west, but tonight she felt the heavens had taken on an extra shine. Even the half moon seemed more intense than she recalled.
Was she changed for life? A few kisses. The brush of skin against skin. The simple magic of sharing another's heartbeat.
She didn't know which was worse. To want Jesse and know he wanted her yet not give in to temptation. Or to have him think her a woman of loose morals, plenty eager for him to warm her bed when Ben wasn't around.
What a tangle! She glanced enviously at Beau and Penny. Noted the way his arm circled Penny's shoulder and curled her up tight alongside him. How lucky they were. How simple their enjoyment in each other's company.
“I really appreciate the lift,” Anora said as Beau drew his team to a halt near the front porch.
“No, problem, ma'am. You want for me to go in with you? Make sure everything's in order?”
Anora gave Penny's hand a squeeze and mouthed the words, “He's sweet.”
“No, thank you, Beau. I'm just going to splash some water on my face and fall right into bed. Like as not I'll be asleep before my head even touches the pillow.”
Penny gave her a quick hug, long enough to speak directly into her ear. “I want to hear everything. I do mean everything.” She drew back. “Night, Anora,” she said in normal tones. “Sweet dreams.”
“Night, you two.” Anora stood on the front porch and watched the wagon slowly make its way toward town, Penny and Beau a shadowy lump that could have been one person rather than two. With one final glance at the heavens, she turned and went inside.
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* * *
Chapter 11
All was in readiness.
Jesse, crouched low in the saddle, leaned over and patted Sully's sweaty neck. It had taken him several days of intense concentration, thinking with the criminal part of his brain, along with watching and waiting. Eventually his nose had led him to the tunnel a few miles west of town and a cache of dynamite, which he had carefully dismantled.
He glanced at his watch. Anytime now the noon train would scream into Boulder Springs. A few minutes later it would snake its way west toward the tunnel's entrance.
A barren and inhospitable stretch of land with barely a scrap of green fronted the tunnel, and Jesse knew the risks he and his deputies were taking. In all likelihood, Rosco had the surrounding hillside staked out with gang members, witnesses to his latest misdeed.
Charlie wiped a sheen of perspiration from his upper lip and slipped a plug of tobacco into his mouth. “Gotta tell ya. Sure am relieved you knew which wires to pull, boss.”
Jesse cocked him a wry grin. “You hope.”
Charlie's only answer was a snort, which turned into a startled exclamation.
“Hey!” Charlie pointed with a crooked index finger. “Ain't that Ben King? What's he doing?”
Jesse felt his insides recoil as if a lead ball had landed in his belly. “Son of a bitch! Don't tell me Rosco sent a boy to do a man's job.”
King, astride his swaybacked gray, was picking his way gingerly along the tracks toward the tunnel. Every now and again he'd pause, look over his shoulder, then up into the foothills, almost as if he could feel their eyes upon him.
“Ain't he wandering a damn sight near where the dynamite was set?” Charlie asked.
“I wonder,” Jesse murmured, more to himself. “Could it be Rosco's intention to get King out of the way? Permanent-like?”
''You think Rosco's that black-hearted?”
Before Jesse could respond, Sully sidestepped.
The horse's big hooves started to slide on a loose patch of rubble and sent a shower of rocks skittering down toward King. Even from this distance Jesse could see the look that crossed the other man's face.
Abruptly King wheeled his mount about-face and headed for the hills. Jesse turned to his deputies.
“He's mine. Charlie, you and Eddy circle around behind. Whatever you do, don't spook him.”
That said, he took off after King, confident his mount could easily outrun the gray.
Up ahead, King abruptly vanished and Jesse hesitated. Now what? Was he being set up? About to ride straight into an ambush around the next bend?
He shook his head. Could it be he'd underestimated Rosco? The prospect didn't feel good. As he watched the surrounding hills for movement, he finally caught a glimpse of King, making better time than Jesse would have thought possible. Just then he heard the train's whistle and prayed he'd effectively dismantled the dynamite charge. He turned and watched. The train passed through the tunnel without incident, and he breathed a silent prayer of relief. Passengers and crew would never know how close they'd come to being Rosco's next victims.
King left a trail behind him a mile wide, and Jesse slowed right down, letting caution be his guide, as he listened to his inner voice that insisted there was no need to rush. The hair on the back of his neck prickled a warning as King's trail led him to a parched plateau. It felt quiet. Too quiet!
He scanned the surrounding countryside and finally spotted a weathered gray shack that blended so perfectly with its surroundings it would have been easy to miss if it had not been for the sight of King, who dismounted out front and hobbled inside.
Jesse paused. Something smelled bad all ways around. Why would King deliberately lead him to the gang's hideout? Unless—
An explosion ripped the air, and the shack disintegrated in front of his eyes. Whatever pieces didn't blow sky-high were devoured by flames. King's horse bolted. By the time Jesse reached the demolished structure, he couldn't help but think that if he'd followed more closely on King's heels, could be he'd have been caught inside, as well. Was that Rosco's plan? To take both of them out at once? Didn't make a whole lick of sense to Jesse. The town would just up and hire a new marshal. Eliminating him didn't do much more than buy Rosco time. Time for what?
The flames burned out as fast as they flared up, and he ventured close enough to see the booted feet of a man's charred remains just inside what used to be the door. Jesse removed his hat and bowed his head.
He'd seen death in all its many guises; young ones, oldsters, and every age in between. Over the years, he'd schooled himself to save his pity for those the victim left behind. In this case, Anora King was the real victim. And she wouldn't take kindly to his pity. Jesse knew that. Just as he knew he had to work clear of it before he broke the news to her.
Ben King's death left Anora King a widow. Jesse chased away the thought the second it took shape.
What kind of man was he? To even think of moving in on a widow whose husband's body lay still warm?
Anora's money pouch was satisfyingly full and her lunch barrow empty as she made her way to Lettie's store. Lord, but it felt good to once more find herself a woman of means. Tonight she'd sit right down and have a heart-to-heart talk with Ben. Make him listen. Convince him that whatever he'd got himself involved in, his “job” wasn't worth the risk.
She had just about reached the store when she heard it. A rumble in the distance that sounded almost like thunder. She felt it, too, a tremor so slight that if she hadn't stopped walking to listen, she would have missed it. A tremor that began in the soles of her feet and rippled faintly up her legs.
She shaded her eyes and gazed skyward. No storm in the offing, at least not evidenced by today's cloudless blue sky. She listened, but the sound wasn't repeated. Not on the way to the store, or later as she made her way homeward.
The shack was sweltering hot, what with the stove blasting away, even though she'd left the door wide open in an attempt to have a little fresh air pass through the room. Anora opened the oven and dipped her basting spoon into the nice fat drippings from the plump roa
sting hen she'd prepared for dinner. The bird was browning nicely. She turned the pan and thought about mashed potatoes. Gravy. Fresh ears of corn. The kind of meal she hadn't cooked for Ben. Not ever.
Mostly ‘cause he was never around at the meal hour, not from any reluctance on her part to prepare the food. It just seemed a waste, given that Ben didn't seem to care or to appreciate her efforts. She'd gotten used to making do. A leftover sandwich. An egg fetched from the chickens. When Ben did eat, it was like as not cold beans straight from the tin.
But not tonight. Tonight they'd share a real meal, complete with napkins, candles, and fresh flowers on the table. They'd have a long talk, the kind they ought to have been having all along, ever since their pa was killed. She'd tell him about those doctors in Boston. Her plans for their future. Together they'd start to feel like a real family. The thought sent warm flutters through her, and at the sound of horse and rider out front she pasted a welcoming smile on her lips, turned to the door, and froze.
“Afternoon, Anora.” Jesse Quantrill stood in the doorway. He swept his hat from his head and ducked slightly as he came right on in, as if he had every right in the world to be there.
She was incensed by his intrusion, but not so riled that she missed the uneasy way he fingered the rim of his hat. She'd never seen Jesse act this way. Kind of tentative-like. Unsure of himself.
“Marshal.”
He sniffed appreciatively. “Something sure smells good.”
She knotted her hands in her apron, wondering if Ben was in trouble. “Is this a social call? ‘Cause as you can see, I'm just about to serve the meal. Mine and Ben's,” she added.
Jesse cleared his throat. “Actually, that's the reason why I'm here.”
The sober tone of his voice warned her to prepare for the worst. “I'm afraid I don't understand.”
“Why don't you have a seat?” He pulled out one of the crude wooden chairs alongside the table. She saw the way his eyes briefly flickered over the candles. The jelly jar of wildflowers. The colorful napkins she'd just finished hemming.
“I prefer to stand, if it's all the same to you.”
Anora clung to the ridiculous notion that if she remained standing before Jesse, he wouldn't be able to see the bed. The narrow cot that was barely wide enough for her and all too obviously did not accommodate a husband and wife.
“Mind if I sit?”
She opened her mouth to say yes, she did, in fact, mind, but she was too late. Jesse had already lowered himself into a chair, which responded with a protesting groan. Setting his hat on the table, he turned to look at her, and the expression in his eyes struck terror into Anora's heart. It was a look that apologized in advance for what he was about to say, and she resisted the childish urge to press her hands to her ears and block out his message.
She forced her gaze to remain fixed on his.
“Ben's dead.”
Not until she heard the words did she realize she'd been holding her breath. It left her lungs in a whoosh at the exact same time her knees buckled, and she would have fallen flat if Jesse hadn't jumped up and grabbed her.
Being caught and held in Jesse's arms was the last place she wanted to be. It was also the only place she wanted to be. The one fortress designed to offer safe haven, to buffer the pain of hurt and loss that clawed at her insides.
Ben is dead!
Jesse clasped Anora tight against him and tried to absorb some of the shudders racking her small frame, knowing even then there was nothing he could do to lessen the impact of his news.
She didn't attempt to deny his words or rail at him for details. She asked neither how nor why, just quietly burrowed against him and accepted the small measure of his comfort as he rubbed his hands lightly, soothingly, across her back. He didn't murmur platitudes of how it was all right. How things would eventually be better. He knew firsthand how empty words held little solace at a moment such as this.
As he held her and rocked her, Jesse wished for the power to make it better. To chase away the pain. When he felt a wet warmth dampening his shirtfront he was glad to be there, blotting her tears. Even in grief Anora didn't wail or cry, just leaned against him and let the healing river flow.
His mind wandered back in time to the blackest day of his life, when he'd broken similar news to his sister Rose. Rose had accepted his words in the same dignified way as Anora. She'd accepted his quiet strength, his comfort; all the while Jesse'd felt consumed by guilt, aware of the part he'd played in Cameron's demise. Much like today, with Ben King. Why hadn't he overtaken the other man in time to stop him from going into the shack?
Gritting his teeth, Jesse wished he were anyplace other than here; at the same time he knew he'd never leave Anora alone to face her empty future.
As he stroked and rocked and petted her, his eyes lighted on the table. Bitterly he wondered what manner of celebration she'd been planning. Surely Ben King, for all his faults, must have had some redeeming features. Been worthy of the love of a woman like Anora King.
Love! Hah! Look what love did. It took a sensible woman like Anora and turned her into a victim. It was sadder still to see her shed tears over a man who, in Jesse's opinion, wasn't worth it.
He tried to find a gentle way to extricate himself. To leave Anora alone with her memories. Alone with her grief.
As if sensing his need to pull away, Anora took a step back, flashed him a tremulous smile, and wiped her tearstained face with a corner of her apron.
“Thank you,” she said, “for coming here personally.”
Jesse felt as if she'd just twisted a knife in his gut. She knew, they both knew, he could have sent someone else—Charlie, Lettie, or the schoolmarm—to break the news.
Lord, he hoped she didn't ask for the details. At the same time, he schooled himself to recite the facts exactly as they'd happened, sparing neither himself nor her. But she didn't ask.
“I know Ben had his faults,” Anora said quietly, her voice not quite steady. “But he was all the family I had.”
Jesse knew how it felt to be alone. He schooled himself against the wash of sympathy that threatened to shatter his professional detachment. Now was not the time to be anything other than the local lawmaker, the bearer of unfortunate news.
“Well,” he said, his voice unnecessarily loud in the emotion-racked interior of the shabby one-room cabin. What kind of future did she have? A woman on her own out here? “I'd best be getting back to town. His, um, his remains will be at the undertaker's. Whenever you feel up to making some decisions. “
“Decisions.” She looked blank, and Jesse cursed the fact that, while he longed to get away, his conscience wouldn't allow him to just up and leave.
“You know. A service. A burial.”
“Oh,” Anora said quietly. “When Ma and Pa. died, we just buried ‘em. You know. Right there where it happened.”
“It's different here in town. Folks will be looking to pay their respects and the like.”
She sounded surprised. “They will?”
“I expect.” The open doorway beckoned, precious freedom, mocking him from across the room. Finally he could stand it no longer. “You haven't asked what happened.”
“No.” Anora sank bonelessly into the chair. “I know it was cowardly of me. Somehow, by not knowing, I can imagine it was gentle and peaceful- like.” She leaned forward and blew out the candles, the soft hiss of her breath sounding overloud in the silence. Then she turned to Jesse. “It wasn't, was it? Gentle and peaceful-like?”
“No,” Jesse said. He decided in that instant to spare her as much as he could. “He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
She nodded as if to herself. “That was Ben. All his life, it seemed. Wrong place and time.”
Jesse fought the urge to approach her, to lay a comforting hand upon her shoulder. Instead, he hovered near the doorway, hat in hand, unable to shake the feeling that he was letting both of them down. “If you need anything, anything at all, you just give a holler.�
��
He wasn't sure if she heard or not, but he took her silence as dismissal. Outside Sully cropped a clump of sweet grass and angled his head up as Jesse approached. Was that reproach in the animal's liquid brown eyes? In that instant, it seemed to Jesse that Sully, with his infinite animal wisdom, cottoned more than he, a mere man, ever would. For slowly and very deliberately the animal turned his back on Jesse. Go back, he seemed to be saying. You're not through here yet.
Jesse balled his hands into fists and glanced beseechingly at a sky doing its best to release the daylight to night. Then he turned and retraced his steps, each one more difficult than the last.
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* * *
Chapter 12
The labored rise and fall of Jesse's breath was the only sound that penetrated the velvet evening air till he reached the teetery wooden steps, where his boot heels rang an appropriately hollow sound like a death march. The cabin door stood open, just the way he'd left it, the room beyond in semidarkness.
Why was he going back?
Because he'd walked out on Rose when she needed him most. And she'd almost lost her baby, his nephew, because of it.
Anora was strong. She'd recover. But if he didn't know for certain he'd done everything he could, he might not.
She wasn't where he'd left her at the table, and it took his eyes a minute to adjust, to discern her among the room's lengthening shadows.
He heard a soft, pitiful sound coming from the bed and followed it with his eyes. She was so slight he could barely make out her form, curled up tight in a ball.
She sounded scared! Scared and alone. Attuned to her as he was, Jesse could feel her fear, her aloneness, as audibly as if she'd shouted it to the heavens. But of course she didn't say a word. He didn't know if she was aware of him even after he'd moved to her side.
“Anora.” His voice was low, aquiver with some emotion he neither recognized nor acknowledged. His hand, as he reached to smooth the tear-damp tangle of hair from her face, trembled slightly, only gaining confidence as he culled warmth from her skin to his.
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