Will peered up at her serious, innocent expression. She had no idea what Bart owed her parents. Actually, he didn’t know, either. But if Bart came to Spanish Creek, she’d learn. Saying they made it back from Victorio’s camp. Then who would be devastated?
“Speaking of Jessie,” he said suddenly, “she was the one who helped me slip out of town ahead of the Haskels the other night. If she helps again, she’ll be putting herself in danger. Besides that, the Haskels aren’t likely to trust her, again.”
“I told you not to worry, Will. They don’t know she helped you before. I asked her about that. She said you told her to act surprised when they came looking for you and found you gone. She did and they believed her. So stop worrying.”
“Even so, I don’t like involving her.”
“She wants to help.”
“Why?”
Priscilla dropped his hands like they’d come straight from the coals. She made a chore of rising and crossing to the French doors. He studied the side of her face. Was that a blush on her sun-kissed skin? Or was her face still flushed with passion? His body was, and he knew the sensation would stay with him for a long time. Lord help him, Will thought, it was true. He’d come to destroy her father and he’d fallen in love with her.
Distance. He had to put distance between himself and this woman. In a physical effort to reinforce his decision, Will rose and positioned himself stoically at the opposite end of the double set of doors. He followed Priscilla’s gaze into the plaza, where the sunset was beginning to turn the silvery cottonwoods a fiery red with reflected light.
An old hunger came back to him, a yearning for life to have been different. For a time after his father’s death, he’d gone to sleep every night with that wish upon his lips. Then his grandfather had put a stop to it, saying, “There’re times we can’t control what happens in life, Will. We have to make the best of things. And we can never go back. That’s the challenge—to take bad things and make something good out of them.”
Since then he’d followed a straight and narrow path, determined to honor his pledge to his mother by finding his father’s murderer, and that path had led to something good, possibly the best thing he’d ever found—or ever would find. But there was no way on earth the evil that had gone before them could be erased. Despair stirred inside him at the knowledge that six feet away stood a woman he could love for life, and enjoy loving…if things had been different.
His despair turned to resentment, leaving him restless, edgy. For years now his father had been but a memory, a cold and lifeless memory. He could no longer recall what it had been like to sit on his knee or hear his voice or feel his arms around him.
But he could hear Priscilla’s voice, her teasing, her bewitching laughter; he could feel her arms around him, her body against his, alive and warm and real. She was filled with so much exuberance and passion he knew she could heal his ancient wounds. If things had been different, she could have. If she weren’t Charlie McCain’s daughter.
But she was Charlie’s daughter.
He felt her turn toward him, and when he looked, his heart lurched at that cocky smirk; it had become so familiar, so quickly.
“Better oil your guns, greenhorn. We might get a chance at that rematch before we get home again.”
Will groaned. But for the life of him, he couldn’t shake his anticipation, not even with the knowledge of how dangerous this scheme would be for Priscilla. Or with the control it would take to curb his feelings for her in the days ahead. He knew things would work out better if he could keep their relationship strictly business, man to man.
Which, if he kept his eyes and hands off her, might not be impossible. Hell, he’d pit the two of them against any ten marksmen in the territory. “All right, cowboy, have it your way. But don’t let me catch you wastin’ bullets.”
Jessie arrived then, and the rest of the day passed in a blur of activity. “I sent the telegram, Priscilla. And arranged for three of Carlos’ best horses. It’s too risky to take your own. You’re to pick them up in half an hour. It’ll be good an’ dark by then. There’ll be a sleeping bag and a sack of food tied behind each saddle.”
“None of which we’ll need unless we get out of town alive,” Will snapped.
“I’ve taken care of that,” Jessie told him. “While I was sending the telegram, I ran into old man Monroe and his two sons. You know them, Priscilla.” She turned to Will. “The Haskels took all but a hundred-acre stretch of Monroe range a couple of years back, and they’re ready to help put a stop to the terror. They agreed to hang around the cantina until it’s dark, disappear for a few minutes, then ride hell-bent-for-leather north toward their spread. Folks’ll report three riders tearing out of town to the north. That should buy you several hours.”
“Wonderful,” Priscilla exclaimed.
“Not wonderful,” Will groused. “We’re not headed for a Sunday afternoon picnic.”
“I know that, Will.” Priscilla rolled her eyes. “If you can’t come up with a little enthusiasm, I may decide not to take you along.”
It took an extra second for her words to sink in. “You may decide not to take me along?”
“Well, I…”
“You spent the better part of a day convincing me to become an outlaw, now you’re letting me off the hook? What the hell am I supposed to do, sit around town and read about you in the newspaper? Identify your body at the morgue? Carry the news to your parents? Attend your funeral?”
Priscilla laughed. “I knew you were just itchin’ to get in on the fun.”
Will sighed. Jessie tied up a few loose ends.
“I’ll ride out to Spanish Creek and tell Kate and Charlie what’s going on.”
“Thanks.” Priscilla grimaced. “They’re going to be mad as the dickens.”
“I’ll reassure them, chica.”
“Tell them it was the only way to save Joaquín.”
“I will.”
“Tell them not to worry, that Will’s—” She stopped short. They would worry; there was no stopping that. More so, since she would be with Will. But what choice did she have? Pa wasn’t well enough to handle the situation. This was the only way—her best judgment.
Suddenly it was time to go. Jessie sent Priscilla to fetch the horses.
“Will and I’ll wait until the alleys are dark,” she said. “You know exactly where to meet Priscilla, Will?”
“I know.” His gaze found Priscilla’s. She grinned.
“Be careful, greenhorn.”
For a moment he felt lost in her. For a moment he wanted to call the whole thing off—the whole thing—everything, except Priscilla. “You, too,” he said before turning away.
He stared out the window until she had time to get well away from the cantina. Then he turned serious eyes to Jessie. “What’s your stake in this?”
She held his troubled gaze. “It’s an awfully long story, and not very interesting. Self-pity never is after so many years have passed. I want Priscilla to be happy. Leave it at that.”
“Then you’d better get ready to pick up the pieces, because you’ve misjudged this situation—mightily misjudged it.”
Jessie patted his arm. “I don’t think so. I’m pretty good at assessing matters of the heart.”
“Maybe when you have all the facts,” he retorted. “That aside, this is a dangerous, harebrained scheme, and you should have talked her out of it.”
“Did you try to talk her out of it?”
“Of course.”
Jessie smiled, her point made. “Wait till you know her a little better. There’s no talking Priscilla out of anything. She’s like Charlie. Two peas in a pod.”
Will didn’t tell her that was the wrong thing to say. Or the right thing, maybe, for it brought him back to the task at hand—his task. Distancing himself from Charlie’s daughter. And keeping them both alive.
Jessie was the next to leave, with a satchel slung over her shoulder and a jug of port wine under her arm. Will waited the s
pecified thirty minutes, giving her time to lull Newt with the spiked wine and whatever seductive tricks she’d packed in that bag. He wondered a bit uneasily what sort of degenerate behavior he was fixing to walk in on; whatever it was, Jessie would be good at it.
Priscilla would be, too, at seduction, that is. No, he rebuked, Jake McCain was a cocky, self-assured female cowboy. That was all she would be to him. All she could be to him.
Crossing the plaza, he went over his lines, as instructed by Jessie, knowing full well that once he stepped inside that jailhouse, he would be doomed to carry out Priscilla’s harebrained scheme.
Jake’s harebrained scheme, he corrected. Priscilla McCain existed only behind a barricade in a distant corner of his brain. Someday, perhaps, he would be able to exorcise even her memory. For at no time would it ever become a welcome memory. It was never pleasant to think back on what might have been. He’d known that before he arrived in this god-forsaken territory.
At his knock, deliberately aggressive, Jessie answered the door. Will entered, removed his hat and looked Newt Haskel squarely in the face. It was the first time he’d seen the man since their encounter at Spanish Creek.
“What’re you doin’ locking up the jailhouse, Haskel?”
Newt jumped up at sight of Will, knocking over his chair. His face glowed like the setting sun. “When’d you crawl out from under that rock, Yank?”
Will took in the situation. It wasn’t anything like what he’d expected, except for the whiskey glasses. Instead of entering a love nest, Will found himself in a schoolroom. Slate, chalk, and books were scattered over the sheriff’s desk.
Neither did Jessie resemble an ordinary schoolmarm, not the ones they had back East. Her hair hung loose over bared shoulders; her breasts bulged above the low cut of her blouse. Jessie Laredo, he thought, every schoolboy’s fantasy schoolmarm.
From the looks of things, Jessie was teaching Newt Haskel to read and write—or having a go at it, and Newt looked about as embarrassed over the whole thing as a man caught with his britches down, which was closer to what Will had expected. He suppressed a grin.
“Sorry to barge in. I need to see my client.”
“You ain’t got no client here.” Newt tossed a handful of wanted posters over the slate. “Nor no business—”
“I don’t want trouble, Newt. The court appointed me to represent Joaquín. Not ten minutes ago, Judge Sanders advised me to see about getting a confession out of him. Said he’d go easier—”
“Won’t do no good now,” Newt snapped. If Will had doubted the Haskels’ plans for Joaquín, Newt’s expression would have convinced him. “Get on out of here, Yank. Go on back to Spanish Creek and wallow with your kind.”
“I didn’t come here to—”
“Newt,” Jessie purred just loud enough for Will to hear, “let him see the boy.” She had righted Newt’s chair and gently eased the sheriff back into it. With her lips so close to Newt’s ear Will felt the skin at the back of his own neck twitch, she whispered, “When he’s gone, we’ll lock the door and not answer it again.”
Newt squinted at Will, unwilling to back down from the confrontation, yet obviously eager to be rid of Will’s presence.
When Jessie began to fumble with Newt’s britches, Will shifted his gaze to the desk. He studied a tattered edition of McGuffy’s First Eclectic Reader.
“Here, Radnor.” Jessie jangled a ring of keys impatiently. “Take ’em and be quick about it. Can’t you see you’ve interrupted something important?”
Will lunged for the keys, admonishing himself to slow down, to act normal, to take it easy. He’d barely turned his back to the pair, when Jessie called. “Take a lantern.”
He picked up one of two lighted lanterns in the room and headed for the separating hallway. Behind him he heard Jessie whisper something; Newt groaned.
All in the line of duty, Will thought. But somehow even faith in Jessie’s expertise wasn’t enough to still the trembling in his gut. After unlocking the door that separated the front room from the jail cells in the back, he strode down the short hallway, calling, “Joaquín?” He wanted Newt to hear his aggressiveness. The next few minutes would be tricky, what with his own inexperience in things shady, and Joaquín’s penchant for being disagreeable.
“It’s Will Radnor, I need to talk to you. Get over here.”
“So talk. I’m not deaf.”
“A lawyer’s conversation with his client should be confidential. I don’t intend to shout my…” Turning his back to the outer room, Will lowered his voice. “…good news. Remember what Priscilla told you the other day? What she said I could do for you—and you doubted it?” He lowered his voice even further. “Get the hell over here, so we won’t get ourselves shot and leave her out there holding the damned horses.” While he spoke, he glanced toward the back, looking for the door Jessie had instructed him to unbar while he had the lantern. It was behind the last cell. Somewhere…
Like a panther in the night, Joaquín appeared suddenly, soundlessly on the other side of the bars. Will’s first indication of his presence was the man’s foul breath in his face. He drew back a few inches. His neck hairs prickled.
“Sit tight,” he whispered.
“What the hell’s goin’ on?” Joaquín’s high-pitched whisper revealed something in addition to his combative words.
“Take it easy.” Will kept his tone low, even, as if soothing a spooked horse. “I’ll be right back.” Taking the lantern, he tiptoed toward the back door, wishing he were as nimble-footed as Joaquín. The light wasn’t nearly good enough, but he found the door, and the wooden bar. Slowly, in contrast to his thrashing heart, he lifted the bar, then as quietly as possible set it aside. Steeled against the squawking of rusty hinges or the creaking of old wood, he tested the door, opening it but a couple of inches. Joaquín could force the rest, if need be. He returned to the cell.
“This for real, white eyes?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Why?”
“It’s a long story,” he echoed Jessie. “Priscilla and I will tell you later. There’s not much time, so listen good.”
In the flickering light, Will watched Joaquín’s usually emotionless face harden into a mask of suspicion. “It’s a trick. You’re gonna shoot me when I open that door.”
“No.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“You can’t afford not to. The Haskels are planning a necktie party, just for you.”
Joaquín fell silent, and Will instructed him. “I’ll leave by the front way.” Speaking, he fumbled now with the keys, trying to keep them from banging against each other. “Wait until you hear me leave the building. Jessie’s in there with Newt. She’ll make sure you won’t be heard leaving by the back way, if you’re quiet about it.”
The first key didn’t work, but the second one did. “Sit tight,” he warned. “Wait until you hear Jessie bar the front door. She’ll count to a hundred after that, then make some kind of racket to cover any noise you make…if it isn’t much.”
“I don’t make noise, white eyes.” But Joaquín’s braggadocio was expressed in a subdued tone. Will detected a tremor, and in this the two men found a common thread of need and mistrust.
“You’re doing this for her,” Joaquín accused.
“You’re my client, damnit. I’m doing it to preserve the law.” Will turned toward the front room. Unlocking the separating door, he called in a loud voice, “I’ll be back bright and early tomorrow, Joaquín. With pen and paper. If I don’t get some cooperation, I’m through. Judge Sanders can find himself another jackass lawyer.”
Reentering the front room, Will gaped at Jessie, who reclined across Newt’s lap with her back to the jail cells, obscuring not only Newt’s vision but a good deal of the sound that would come from that room. The schoolbooks had been packed away.
Newt’s shirt was unbuttoned. Jessie’s blouse was drawn off her shoulder on the far side. The position of Newt’s hand and mouth, did
n’t leave much to the imagination.
Will tossed the key ring to the desk, where it landed with a loud clang. Jessie sprang up at the sound, adjusting her clothing. Newt’s eyes were half-closed, from the spiked whiskey as much as from passion, Will imagined…he hoped.
“Get th’ ’ell outta…”
“I’m going. I’m going.”
Pulling the outside door closed behind him, Will waited on the step until he heard the heavy beam slam into place, barring the door from the inside. Then he made his way around the side of the jail and into a fantasy world of lacy piñon shadows, his heart in his throat.
Priscilla waited back in the shadows behind the jail, disguised, at Jessie’s instructions, in serape and sombrero. She held the reins to three saddled horses. Although she was aware of the necessity to keep from drawing attention, she couldn’t stand still.
Darkness had fallen over the town. Dogs barked in the distance. Yellow lamplight played from distant windows. When she saw the back door of the jail open a crack, she jumped, then settled down to worry about what might have taken place.
She knew the plans, yet she couldn’t recall opening and closing the door being part of them. What was that greenhorn doing? Had he changed the plan and gotten himself caught? Was he at this minute being locked in the cell with Joaquín? The thought brought a smile. That’d be like two cougars caught in the same trap.
More than likely, Will was having a hard time convincing Joaquín to come out. She’d told them he would. But neither Jessie nor Will would listen.
“Will’s going in,” Jessie declared.
Will agreed with her. “I go in or I don’t go at all.” She liked the way he’d held his ground. Even after her earlier outburst about not allowing him to come along, he hadn’t backed down.
He could see right through her. She knew that. And she liked it. She liked to tease him and get him riled.
But more than that, she liked to kiss him. She liked being in his arms. She liked his hands on her. Her body flushed when she thought about the way he’d touched her breasts. She felt her nipples thrust against her camisole, as though begging for more.
Reluctant Enemies Page 15
