After Sundown

by Shelly Thacker

  And the gun in his hand. She would never forget that particular Colt. Not after seeing it from a criminal’s eye-view.

  Hero... or heartless? she thought as she studied the picture. Man of peace... or avenging angel?

  She should be thinking about other things—like trying to devise some kind of escape plan. But the man who held her prisoner also seemed to hold her thoughts captive.

  Last night was the first time she’d noticed it, when the day’s light vanished and she had been left in the darkness, alone with him again. She hadn’t been able to look away as he stood on the other side of the barred door, stripping off his shirt.

  For a moment, before he turned down the lamp, she had glimpsed an expanse of corded, rippling muscles, all tanned and hard and powerful, like he was made from the same steel as the .45 holstered on his hip.

  Annie blinked to chase the memory away, trying to reassure herself that Lucas McKenna did possess some shred of gentleness. After all, he was allowing her friends to take care of her.

  And he had slipped into her room that first morning and covered her with blankets when she was cold.

  Those were not the actions of an unfeeling man.

  But most of the time, he was harsh and curt and gruff. Colder than any Rocky Mountain wind that might slip through her windows. He hadn’t hesitated to torment her about what she had done, about James’s children. With cutting words that had struck more deeply than any bullet.

  Because they were true.

  “Annie?”

  “I’m sorry.” Annie looked up from the sketch on the floor, embarrassed that she had lost track of the conversation. She wasn’t even sure how much time had passed, noticed the tea in her hand had gone cold. “What were you saying?”

  Mrs. Gottfried gave her a puzzled look, standing at the foot of her bed. “Is there anything you might like me to bring for you when I return this afternoon?”

  Annie looked around and couldn’t think of one more thing she might need. Yesterday afternoon, when Rebecca had visited for the second time, she had cleaned Annie’s room top to bottom and brought along some thoughtful touches to make the place feel more comfortable and less like a jail cell: clean sheets, warm blankets, extra pillows, a rug for the floor.

  “No,” Annie said quietly, glancing down into her tea. “You’ve already been too kind.”

  Mrs. Gottfried walked over to the hearth. “I thought perhaps some flowers, or a cheerful painting for you to look at.”

  Annie noticed that Mrs. Gottfried seemed fidgety, almost nervous. In fact, she hadn’t sat down for more than two minutes since Lucas had locked the door.

  Of course, the preacher’s wife had probably never been locked in a cell with an outlaw before.

  Annie lowered her gaze. Mrs. Gottfried was only a few years older than herself, but she was a genuine lady, with her gracious manners, her light brown hair always pinned up in an old-fashioned style, and her prim dresses like the one she wore today, of pale yellow that was softer than sunshine. She was the very picture of respectability, refinement... virtue.

  There couldn’t be a woman in Eminence who was more her opposite.

  In fact, Mrs. Gottfried’s arrival this morning had been a surprise. Though she had always been friendly before, Annie had assumed the minister’s wife would want nothing to do with her now.

  “Mrs. Gottfried, you... you don’t have to come back at all this afternoon,” she offered, keeping her gaze lowered. “I mean... I know what some people think of me—”

  “Oh, Annie, I hope you’re not still smarting over what Widow Kearney said yesterday.” Mrs. Gottfried returned to her side.

  Annie couldn’t look up, and couldn’t change how she felt. Though Daniel and Rebecca and her other friends had been steadfast, several people had reacted just as she’d feared.

  Mrs. Kearney, who owned the boardinghouse, had been the most vocal, blustering into the hotel yesterday while Rebecca was here to voice her opinion: that Lucas should remove “that despicable murderer and disgraceful little tramp” from the vicinity as soon as possible, because women like herself were working hard to make this a decent town for decent people.

  Annie took a sip of cold tea. “Some folks might be offended by your helping to take care of me—”

  “Some folks are easily offended.”

  “But, ma’am—”

  “Other folks realize that things aren’t always as simple as they appear.” Mrs. Gottfried sat on the bed. “Don’t let Widow Kearney bother you. She rarely has a nice word to say to anyone about anything. She’s been bitter since the day she lost her husband, seems to think that because she was robbed of her happiness, nobody else deserves any, either.”

  Annie stared down into her tea, at the black leaves that had settled on the bottom of the cup. She knew what she herself deserved... and it wasn’t happiness.

  “Annie, nobody has the right to judge you,” Mrs. Gottfried insisted. “Mrs. Kearney and those others would be shocked if they knew there were already quite a few less-than-decent people living right under their noses. In some rather unexpected places.”

  Annie looked up, startled. “What?” She hadn’t suspected that the minister’s wife might be aware of what Daniel and Mrs. Owens and Rebecca had revealed to her the other night . “Do you mean... you know...?”

  “I mean me.” Mrs. Gottfried rose from the bed and walked toward the windows. “I’m no different from you. No different and no better.”

  “That’s not true!” Annie replied instantly, thinking of all the times she’d seen Mrs. Gottfried in the general store—chatting with the women in town who all sought her approval. Or cuddling her young son. Or getting a hug from her gentle bear of a husband. “You’re... you’re respected and important and good. You’re the finest, most upstanding lady in this town.”

  “If you judge by appearances.” Mrs. Gottfried stood in front of the window and reached out to touch one of the iron rods, tentatively, her hand trembling. “I take it you’d be surprised, if I told you this isn’t the first time I’ve been behind bars.”

  Annie gasped in shock, barely even aware of the pain that wrenched her injured side. For a moment, the wail of Travis’s harmonica was the only sound in the entire hotel.

  “I don’t tell everyone about my past.” The young woman glanced over her shoulder, her expression as soft and gentle as the pale sunlight that streamed through the window. “But I think you should know the truth. There was a time in my life—a few years ago when I was about your age—that I got into some trouble. I thought stealing was the way out.” Her eyes became sad and she shifted her gaze back toward the window, toward the sky outside. “But someone got hurt. And it was my fault. And I got caught and spent two years in prison, back East.”

  Annie could hardly believe what she was hearing. It wasn’t possible. The minister’s wife had once been a thief ? Had spent time in prison? “Does...” She could hardly gather enough breath to speak. “Does your husband know?”

  “Oh yes, Uli knows. He was...” Mrs. Gottfried smiled ruefully. “He visited the prison to minister to the inmates. That’s how we met.”

  “And he... a man like him, he...”

  “Knew what I had done.” Mrs. Gottfried nodded. “And came to love me anyway.” She paused and turned toward Annie, her eyes suddenly glistening with dampness, and shook her head, as if she still had trouble believing it herself. “My time in prison changed me, Annie. You can’t imagine...” She seemed unable to continue for a moment, wrapping her arms around herself, shuddering visibly. “I don’t know if I could’ve endured it, without Uli.”

  Annie set her tea on the table beside her bed. “Mrs. Gottfried—”

  “Katherine is my Christian name, but I prefer Katja, the German version.” She came back around the bed. “It’s about the only German I can pronounce, much to Uli’s frustration.” She smiled, pulling up a chair and taking a slice of orange from Annie’s plate. “So, does knowing all of this change how you think of me?”<
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  “No,” Annie said without a second’s hesitation. “What you were before doesn’t change who you are now. You’re kind and caring, you’re still... you.”

  Katja held her gaze steadily. “And regardless of the mistakes you’ve made in the past,” she pointed out softly, “you’re gentle and good-hearted and someone I’m proud to call my friend.” She ate the orange slice and put the rind aside.

  Annie looked down. It wasn’t the same at all. Katja hadn’t been a man’s mistress, paid to share his bed—and nobody had lost his life at her hands.

  Her throat tightening, Annie lifted her gaze. “I just wish... I wish...”

  “That you could go back and change everything. Undo what happened.” Katja’s eyes filled with understanding. “That’s the one thing we can never do, Annie.” She shook her head. “All we can do is go on with our lives, and try to put the pieces together somehow. I know how hard prison is, and I don’t want you to suffer like that. Law and order are important... but so are mercy and forgiveness.”

  Annie lowered her lashes. Forgiveness. How could she ask anyone’s forgiveness?

  She couldn’t forgive herself for what she had done.

  ~ ~ ~

  Lucas entered the general store through the back, as silent as the dust particles that drifted down from the rafters in the chilly morning air. He closed the door behind him and stood still, wary, letting his eyes adjust to the abrupt change from bright sunlight to the darkness of the storeroom. He slipped off his leather gloves and stuffed them in the pockets of his drover’s coat, listening. He didn’t hear a sound. No voices, no whispers.

  No gaggle of females plotting Antoinette’s escape.

  Damn. He supposed it had been too much to hope that he might overhear a few choice details of their scheme. Either Rebecca Greer really was indisposed this morning and Mrs. Owens really was busy—or the women were just smart enough to do their plotting somewhere else.

  In any case, he was free to proceed with plan B.

  Quietly, he slipped off his boots and left them next to a barrel of sugar. If Mrs. Greer had been telling the truth, she might still be around. He had seen a hand-lettered CLOSED sign in the window, and the front door was locked.

  The back had been locked as well.

  He wove his way through barrels and baskets and crates in the darkness, hunted for the stairs, and made his way stealthily to the living quarters above.

  In the first room at the top of the steps, he discovered Mrs. Greer resting in bed, with the curtains drawn and what looked like a damp cloth over her eyes. She appeared to be asleep.

  Maybe she was suffering a headache, or a fit of the vapors or some such. Women were said to be prone to all kinds of mysterious ailments. Or so he’d been told.

  Without disturbing her, or announcing his presence in any way, he left her door and moved silently down the hallway, somewhat surprised that she had been telling the truth. It didn’t change his plans, however. This wouldn’t take long.

  In minutes, he had checked the other rooms—kitchen, small parlor, office—and found the one that interested him.

  The spare bedroom. The one Antoinette had occupied for two months before he arrived in town.

  Lucas stepped inside and pushed the door partly closed behind him, leaving it open just enough so he would hear if his unwitting hostess stirred. He assessed the room with a quick glance.

  It was the kind of place a woman would no doubt call “cozy” and “charming,” with sunlight pouring through gingham curtains at the window, a brass bed piled with lacy pillows, a patched velvet chair. The dresser and washstand overflowed with doilies and a clutter of knickknacks and whatnots.

  He started with the dresser, rifling quickly through the drawers, then moved on to search the bed, the pillows, the chair, even under the braided rug on the floor.

  All he found were a few garments in the dresser and a worn cloth satchel under the bed, the kind with a flat leather bottom, one of its handles mended with string. He sat on the bed and opened the bag, sifting through the few belongings inside—some coins, a bottle of stomach bitters, a handkerchief, writing paper, a torn stagecoach ticket.

  In other words, nothing.

  He snapped the bag shut, muttering a curse under his breath. It was possible, even likely, that Antoinette had ditched the gun she used to murder James. Unless she had wanted to keep it for protection, she had probably tossed it out the window of one of the stagecoaches that carried her west.

  But she would not have parted with the fifteen thousand in cash she had stolen. That particular piece of evidence had to be here. Somewhere. Hazelgreen had told him Antoinette hadn’t made any deposits in the bank.

  So where could she have hidden it?

  Lucas set the bag aside, taking off his hat and raking a hand through his hair. It might be easier to think if he had been able to sleep last night, instead of lying awake for hours. Again.

  Listening to her breathing, her restlessness.

  He had thought having a cell door between them would help, but instead last night had been even worse than the first: He had actually started to imagine what it might be like to take off the demure flannel nightgown she wore... starting at the high collar and slowly working lower... unfastening one tiny pearl button at a time.

  Lucas stood and stalked over to the window, lifting the sash, hoping the cool breeze would chill the sudden heat from his blood. What the hell was wrong with him?

  Maybe the air in this place was so thin it was affecting his brain. Maybe he was suffering from some strange Rocky Mountain madness. That had to be it. What other explanation could there be?

  He had expected Antoinette to try and seduce him, tease him with her wiles until he couldn’t think straight. Like she’d done to Holt. And his brother. And God knew how many other men who had fallen for her charms in the past.

  He kept waiting for her to use her tricks. Any number of tricks. All she had to do was... maybe leave her blouse open a bit, allowing him a glimpse of her breasts... or run her tongue over her lips now and then, slowly... or look at him in a certain way, with coy invitation.

  Or when she changed her clothes at night, she could do a slow, teasing strip in the moonlight, on the other side of the barred door, just out of his reach.

  Lucas felt his heart thudding against his ribs. Yes, that would work. That would be very effective. Turn him into a dazed, crazed animal in about thirty seconds flat.

  Shaken, he closed the window and turned away, rubbing his eyes to try and banish the image. So far, Antoinette hadn’t made a single effort in that direction. Not a one. He almost wished she would, damn it.

  Purely to confirm his low opinion of her.

  But the fact was, every time he looked at her for more than a few seconds, she turned her back, covered up, glanced away. And blushed like an innocent.

  Innocent? Lucas shook his head. Bullfeathers. Innocent was the one thing Miss Antoinette Sutton definitely was not. Her shy reactions were just part of her disguise, meant to keep him and everyone else in this town from suspecting her true nature.

  With a frustrated grimace, he grabbed the satchel from the bed and tossed it back underneath. It landed on the rug with a heavy, rattling sound.

  He froze, glancing toward the door, but there was no sign that he had awakened Mrs. Greer down the hall.

  After a tense moment, he reached for the bag, frowning. The coins and the bottle of stomach bitters couldn’t have made that noise. It sounded like there was something large and loose inside. How could he have missed something that big?

  When he opened the satchel again, he found nothing but what he’d seen before.

  Then he shook it carefully—and heard the odd, heavy rattle again.

  Eyes narrowed, he pulled his hunting knife from his belt and sliced the lining open. Of course. He should’ve thought of this in the first place. A woman as smart and devious as Antoinette Sutton wouldn’t walk around carrying her stolen riches in an ordinary traveling case.<
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  The bag had a false bottom. He pried it up.

  Underneath, he found a wooden box. A simple box of carved walnut, about six by ten inches, with a tiny brass lock. The sort of box ladies used to carry vanity items like a fancy brush and a mirror and powder puffs and perfumes.

  But if this one contained such innocent possessions, why take care to hide it?

  Lucas felt a rush of vindication surge through him. The box was the perfect size to hold about fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of banknotes. And maybe even the pistol she had used to murder his brother.

  How like Antoinette to cloak her treachery in innocence.

  A sound came from Mrs. Greer’s room—a creak of bedsprings, a yawn. Lucas slid the box into his coat pocket, deciding he’d better go before he had any explaining to do. He put the satchel away and headed swiftly for the door, his mouth curved in a grim smile.

  Finally he had what he’d been looking for. Proof of Antoinette’s crime. Proof that she had been lying.

  Proof that would put her behind bars for the rest of her life.

  ~ ~ ~

  Annie knew he was back even before she heard his voice.

  She looked up as she heard the hotel’s front door open, heard his footsteps—unmistakably his. Already she was familiar with the sound of his boots, the purposeful way he walked. Her stomach tensed. She and Katja fell silent. He said something to Travis.

  Then he entered the sitting room and stopped in front of the barred cell door, still wearing his black coat and his low-slung western hat.

  And an expression she had never seen on his rugged face before. He almost looked... pleased.

  Except that his eyes glittered like green ice.

  Annie’s fingers dug into the soft ball of red yarn in her lap. She didn’t know where he had been, but the way he was looking at her almost made her drop the crochet hook in her other hand—the hand that was cuffed to the bed.

  He unlocked the cell, his gaze never leaving her. “Mrs. Gottfried, it’s time for you to go.” His voice was cool, curt.