The first thing that hit him was the smell. Wool socks gone wet, a horse blanket that hadn't been shaken in a month, a hat changed color from sweat; those were the flashes he had of what could make that smell. And it was dark. The only light came from the open door and that was a yellow bolt across a black dirt floor, lighting only itself and not casting the room in anything but heavy shadow. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust and when they did, he saw her. Sprawled in the dirt next to what passed for a bed. She lay on her face, her skirts hiked up to her knees. She was snoring.
"There she is," the doc informed him with a pointed finger.
"She seems real broken up that her niece's gone missing," Jack mumbled.
"She cares more for the bottle than she ever did for that poor girl," Malcolm said, turning the woman over.
Jack studied her for a moment. She had the look of a drunkard, the bloating and the gauntness and the ashen color. And the filth.
"There's blood," he said, bending down, touching his fingers to it to make sure.
Carr hoisted the woman onto the bed and examined her. "She's broken off a tooth, probably when she fell on her face. There's some blood on her lip."
Jack looked around and found the tooth embedded in the side slat of the bed. "Here it is. Don't guess she'll miss it since she drinks her meals." He threw the broken tooth in the cold ash of the fireplace.
"Mary," the doc called. "Wake up."
"Her name's Mary, too?" Jack asked. "Not much of a family legacy."
The doc slapped drunken Mary on the cheeks lightly as he said, "She had a daughter once, named her Mary." Mary was not responding. Doc Carr dripped some cool water from the bucket onto her throat; that started her stirring. "Died in childbed."
Jack made up his mind right there that if he ever had a daughter, he wouldn't be naming her Mary.
Mary groaned a bit and then coughed. A new smell was added to the mix: sour whiskey. Jack waited while Carr got her full awake and then he moved out of the shadows to stand in the yellow bolt of sun, longer now than it had been. Mary was still too drunk to care that there were two men in her home when before there'd been none, and one of those men a hard-looking stranger.
"We've come about your girl, Mary," the doc said.
A few blinks and another wet cough was her chief response.
"Mary's gone."
"Gone where?" she rasped out, her voice hoarse with disuse.
"Gone dead," Jack said, pulling her gaze to him.
"Dead how?"
"Dead murdered," Jack answered, more than a little disgusted at her reaction. He'd seen people show more emotion at the news of a missing cat than this woman showed for blood kin.
"Hmmm." She scratched herself. "Drink?"
Doc Carr handed her a ladleful of water. She rinsed her mouth and spat. The water lay in a puddle on her floor before sinking in to leave a dark brown spot just shy of the block of sunlight. This woman liked her chosen place in the dark.
"How long has your niece been gone?" Jack asked, stepping through the light until he stood next to her bed.
"I dunno," she said, scratching her head, the sound of it rough under her nails. "Where'd you find her? Not here?"
Doc Carr got up from the edge of the bed and walked slowly to the open doorway. It looked like he had just about had his fill of Aunt Mary and her devoted care of her niece. Jack had seen and heard worse, though rarely from family.
"She was out on the prairie, north and west of here. She wasn't alone," Jack said. "She been keeping company with anyone?"
Mary slouched against the wall behind her bed, chewing on a dirty fingernail. Finally she shrugged. "She bragged on havin' a beau and couldn't stop telling me how sweet lookin' he was. She was far gone on him."
"Who was he?"
Another shrug. "I didn't ask. She's of an age to find her own man."
Jack studied her with a ripple of revulsion. Blood kin and she didn't even have a care as to the girl's welfare.
"Did you ever see him? Could you describe him?"
Mary smiled, the hole where her tooth had been a newly opened cave in a crooked smile. "Sure I saw him. Little Mary couldn't stand not having me see the man who was courtin' her. Course, it was a fair distance and it wasn't a clean look, but I saw him."
Doc Carr turned back into the room, listening.
"What did he look like?"
"Why, he was sweet lookin' right enough." She licked her thin, cracked lips and gave him a slow wink. "Like you, honey."
Chapter 8
"If she was saying that the man looks like me, it's not a lot to go on," Jack said the next morning to Sheriff Lane.
Doc Carr, who'd been talking to Lane when Jack showed up, didn't say a word. No, his expression said it clear enough. Unless the man is you.
Charles Lane smiled at the doctor and lit a slim cigar. He took a quick pull and studied Jack Skull through the curling gray smoke. He was a good-looking man, hard but well favored. Tall and lean, like all who spent their days in the saddle, he was burned golden brown by months in the relentless sun. Longish brown hair hung down to his collar. Jack's features were refined, precise, and were only kept from being pretty by the deeply etched lines bracketing his mouth and the hard stare of his clear blue eyes. Jack was wrong; it was something to go on. Not many men had his look.
"If you'll excuse me," Doc Carr said. "Could we get together for breakfast later, say around eight?"
"Sure." Lane nodded. "Eight at the Demorest."
The doctor left without taking his leave of Jack. Jack didn't bother to get upset about it.
"When he asks, tell him I didn't do it."
"When he asks, I'll tell him," Lane said, sitting down behind his desk and motioning for Jack to help himself to a chair.
"What makes you so sure I didn't?"
Lane drew some smoke into his lungs and watched it curl out of his mouth before answering. He'd been thinking about it since first meeting Jack and then thought about it some more when Jack had told him about the string of murders along the Abilene Trail. He was as sure of his answer as a man could be.
"You're not the type." He flicked ash to land on the floor. "Too surly."
Jack lowered his hat to shadow his eyes and tipped his chair back on two legs.
"Thanks."
"Every killer I've ever known, and I've known a few, had twenty friends who'd swear he'd give his life for a stray dog." Lane tipped his own chair back. "You like dogs?"
"Not much."
"See?" Lane smiled, taking another drag. "Not the type."
They balanced in comfortable silence while Lane worked on his cigar. A buckboard passed by the open door pulled by an old gray and driven by a weathered farmer. There were the sharp clicks of a woman in high-heeled boots walking past; Jack didn't turn. The steps didn't have the right sound for Anne Ross. And there wasn't a train due in.
"You know any men who like dogs and look something like me?" he finally asked.
"Maybe." Lane scowled, thinking.
"I'd like to meet a man who'd give his life to save a dog," Jack said, fingering his six-gun.
* * *
The dog had wiggled itself into the shape of a doughnut by the time Nell answered the door and then hurled itself forward with the excitement of a posse to wedge open the crack she created. Bill was greeted by a wet black nose before Nell could even get the door all the way open to give a proper greeting herself. She knew who it had to be. Only one person got such a greeting.
"Hello, Bill. Did you have a nice trip?"
"Hello, Nell." He grinned widely, his smile wide and even. "You're looking well, as lovely as ever, and yes, it was a good trip. I just left my gear at Powell's, didn't even unpack, though I don't think Powell will notice, not the way he keeps the place."
Bill Tucker edged past the dog, still squirming in delight, ears back and tongue out, to stand in the foyer. A big house by Abilene standards, it was sparsely furnished and scrupulously clean. The woodwork showed its
sophistication by being painted ivory white and the floors were polished with wax and dark with use. A moss-green damask love seat in the front parlor was positioned between the two front windows hung with fine lace and faced a single rose velvet upholstered chair. Two wooden chairs with carved roses on their backs were placed on either side of the fireplace. The piano had been sold and the place it occupied had been partially filled with plants that couldn't survive Kansas winters outdoors. The Easter lily sported two cream-white blooms.
"Hello, Bill," Sarah said, coming down the stairs, smiling a crooked half smile. "You want to stand around talking about your trip?"
"Good morning, Sarah." He beamed up at her, flashing his perfect smile like a well-used weapon. "No," he said almost bashfully, "I came to see Anne. She's home, isn't she?"
"Why, Bill, you ought to know Anne's schedule by now," Sarah said, coming down the rest of the way. "The eight-fifteen's coming in from Dodge, and just when did you get back in town, by the way?"
Nell coughed her embarrassment but Bill ignored the oblique rudeness of the query.
"I didn't take the train this time. I rode in not an hour ago. Just stopped to wash up and change."
"Good morning, Bill. I didn't know you had a horse."
"Good morning, Miss Daphne." He aimed a subtle bow in her direction. "I bought this one a few days ago, south of here. A real bargain. I'm sorry to disturb you by coming to call so early, but I was hoping to catch Anne—"
"She's down to the train, as you've no doubt been told. Would you care to have a bite of breakfast? We've finished an hour since, but I'd be happy to fix you something solid."
"No, thank you, ma'am." He bowed again. "Though I appreciate the kindness. I'll just go on to the station now, if you'll excuse me."
"Of course, Bill. And welcome back," Miss Daphne said with all the grace of a sovereign granting a boon.
The three women stood in the foyer for an instant, watching him go. The dog he had to wrestle to keep from following him.
"Dammit! Sit still!" Sarah barked.
Dammit curled down a bit, chagrined for the moment, long enough for Bill to get the door closed, and then leaped to the parlor window to watch until Bill was out of sight. His tail swung wildly long after Bill had disappeared, his look hopeful and trusting. Expectant and patient.
For an instant, Sarah was put in mind of Anne.
It was not a happy association.
It was in that moment that Sarah decided to scout out Jack Skull for herself. She'd take his measure, eye to eye, and trust her own appraisal of the man the whole town was talking about . She was certain that he would do just fine. She wasn't going to wait one minute longer for Anne to stumble over the man on her walks to the depot. She wasn't going to wait and hope that Jack Skull would give Anne some attention and thereby give Bill Tucker some competition. No, she was going to introduce herself to Jack Skull and see where that led her. Bill Tucker was entirely too cocksure of Anne. Anne needed another beau, even if he was a bounty hunter.
* * *
She wasn't fool enough to think that she owned the train platform, but it was hardly fitting for him to keep looking at her that way. There wasn't much around, but she couldn't be the only woman he'd ever seen in Kansas.
He was looking at her as if she were. The worst of it was, she didn't mind one bit.
Anne moved a small half step away from Jack Skull. His feet didn't follow her. His eyes did.
"Good day, Anne. How's Miss Daphne today?"
"She's just fine, Mrs. Rivers. What were you doing on the train?"
Jane Rivers smiled and adjusted her hat. She ignored the bounty hunter standing not three feet from her. He didn't seem to mind. Anne couldn't understand how Jane did it; she couldn't seem to ignore Jack Skull for the space of a breath.
"Sally Monahan took one look at the fabric Chris Dodd picked out and sent me straight off to buy some of the right color. Tom was getting an earful when I left. I don't think he'll be sending Chris out again, at least not while Sally's breathing."
Which was just what her grandmother had predicted. Anne heaved a sigh. Miss Daphne seemed to be right about everything and wasn't shy about saying so. Was she right about Jack Skull?
Anne risked a sideways glance, using Jane's body as a shield. It didn't work. The sight of him, staring at her, sent shivers right down to her feet. She didn't need that kind of response; she simply needed him to pursue her just a bit to cool Bill down. She didn't need to get all heated up by a pair of cold blue eyes.
"Anne? You all right?" Jane asked, casting a look of grim censure over her shoulder at the obvious cause of the problem.
"Yes," she started, dragging her eyes back to where they ought to be, fixed on a calm and respectable matron, not a wild, lean, hard-looking man. She was getting as bad as he was at keeping her eyes where they belonged. She had more control than that.
"You sure?"
"Of course." Anne smiled, acutely aware that Jack would see her smile and wondering how he would respond to it.
He lowered his hat over his eyes and turned to look at the train. She was more than a little disappointed.
Jane left slowly, a mumbled farewell the best she was going to get from Anne. Anne looked away from Jack, studying the train, which was sitting perfectly still and doing nothing even remotely interesting. Still, she stayed put. And looked.
A wind kicked up and shifted the weight of fabric that made up her bustle. She eased a hand back and smoothed things into place.
Jack Skull took off his hat and slapped it against his leg. The same wind ruffled his long brown hair, curling the ends as they brushed against his shoulders.
Their eyes met in that instant. She looked quickly away, studying the immobile train. By the way her skin was tingling, she guessed that he wasn't looking at the train. Mercy, but she needed to get better at this.
"You like trains."
He said it as a statement, not a question. She didn't know how to reply. If she heeded her grandmother, she shouldn't reply at all, but just hustle herself on home.
She didn't move.
"You prefer the Kansas Pacific or the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe line?"
She liked the Kansas Pacific; engine number 119 had strawberry-red wheels and a canary-yellow cowcatcher, but what did any of that matter when he was standing so close and looking at her as if she were candy? She should say something to encourage him; he'd been standoffish up till now and she wanted to pull him in closer.
"Ever been on the Kansas City, Lawrence, and Southern Railroad? Smoothest ride in Kansas."
She'd never been on a train that she could remember. She only watched them. He took a step nearer, putting his hat firmly on his head, brushing the hair away from his face. All thought fled, pushed off by the nearness of him.
"Course, a bumpy ride has its own charm."
The hair stood up on her arms and she crossed her arms over her chest. Her next breath was a shaky one. But she didn't move. She wasn't going to take a step away from that kind of flirting, even if it did brand her the most wanton fool west of Kansas City. She really did need to get better at this.
"I've never been on a train," she said finally, keeping her eyes on the train. Mama had told her she had a becoming profile.
"There's one waiting." He gestured, taking another step nearer. His boot touched the hem of her flounced skirt. "All it takes is a ticket."
His voice was low, gentle, and she could feel his restraint. Was he attracted to her and fighting to keep it polite or was his restraint against the violence they all said was part and parcel of the man? She didn't know. All she knew was that he was compelling. And she wasn't afraid of him. She was that big a fool.
"Where would you go?" he said softly.
Where would she go? She would just go. She would just run, run out of Abilene before she died here, run to another place, to set her eyes on something new before life collapsed on her. No one, ever, had asked her where she would go. The going had been the
goal, no other destination beyond that.
She looked into his eyes then, stunned by the question. His eyes were so blue, so clearly and flawlessly blue. His features were perfect, chiseled and fine, with a starburst of lines radiating from the corners of his eyes that only served to make his eyes seem bigger and warmer. Smile lines. Even bounty hunters must have cause to smile sometimes. He wasn't smiling now. His look was focused, penetrating; the kind of look that should have made her squirm. She stood stock-still, strangely aware of every breath, almost willing herself to breathe under the intensity of his stare.
Where would she go? The answer whispered inside her, shocking her: Wherever you would take me.
No, that was the wrong answer. Had to be. She was smarter than that.
"Anne!"
She jerked at the sound and then tried to cover the insult of her reaction by turning at his voice and smiling widely in greeting.
"Bill. You're back."
His smile faded a bit at her response. Wrong. She had done it wrong. Bill needed more warmth than that, but she couldn't forget Jack standing within the circle of her skirts and she couldn't ignore the feel of his eyes on her. It was very difficult to manage two men.
"Just this morning," Bill said, his eyes on the bounty hunter who stood too close to the girl he was courting. Anne took a step away. Jack let her maintain that distance.
But he was still too close.
Bill took her hand and drew her to him for a very acceptable public kiss on the cheek and then tucked her arm in his and took another step away from Jack. She was now a full five feet from the bounty hunter and in the firm possession of Bill Tucker. They faced him, their two to his one, while Jack continued to look into her eyes When several seconds had passed, he slowly moved his gaze to Bill's face, making it very clear by his leisurely deliberation that Bill's maneuvering in no way controlled him. She felt Bill stiffen and mindlessly patted his arm to calm him down. Jack took note of her touch and then looked into her eyes. For some peculiar reason, she was embarrassed. Which was ridiculous.
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