by Hatch, Marcy
She quickly focused on putting her key away and headed for the stairs. Jack waited until she’d gone down before following at a slower pace.
The saloon was about half-full. Most of the people there had either taken rooms for the night or worked in town. It would stay that way until well after dark. Then the second shift would come in: the cowhands, the gamblers, and the local town drunks. It might get loud but generally stayed pretty calm. Shorty didn’t allow fighting. If a man wanted to get rowdy, he could go on over to the River City Saloon. They had girls there who served drinks and a piano player who wasn’t half bad.
Jack took a table in the corner where he had a view of the entire room. She was easy to spot in her widows’ weeds, sitting all by herself at a table and eating slowly. There was something about her, Jack thought after watching her a while, something that reminded him of . . . He shook his head, unable to put a name to it. But it bothered him, that and the fact she had come here. Thus far she’d been pretty smart, always keeping one step ahead of the law. The closest he had come was three days after she had robbed a train near St. Louis. That had been almost two years ago and he hadn’t heard a thing since then. It was almost as if she and Will Cushing had disappeared—until now.
The question was, why? It wasn’t a smart move. And he knew she was smart. What had made her come here? Was she waiting for Will? Or had they parted company? He shook his head. Don’t think, he told himself, just watch and wait.
And that was all he did for the next three hours. He sat at the table until she had finished her meal, watched her leave, and then nursed a bottle of whiskey until the place started to quiet down. Then he waited some more upstairs in the dark of his room, listening to the street outside, waiting.
It must’ve been after midnight before the hotel finally grew sleepy. He loaded his gun, and made sure the rope was ready at his belt. He said a silent prayer before leaving his room, climbing out onto the sloping roof that went around the second floor.
Careful, Jack, he told himself. No point in breaking your neck just when you’re about to catch the woman of your dreams.
Chapter Four
Wanted
At first she tried to ignore the sound and somehow incorporate it into her dream. She had only just fallen asleep after tossing and turning for who knows how long. But it came again and drew her away from the dream, sending a tiny warning to a part of her brain that was alert. Sleep fell away and she was suddenly wide-awake.
It was dark in her room. She couldn’t see anything except the shadows of what she guessed to be furniture. But she knew she was not alone. Fear ran down her back like the cold edge of a steel blade. Her heart began to thump in her chest. She tried to catch her breath but panic made her gulp and by then it was too late. Whoever it was clamped a hand down over her mouth, preventing the scream that had been building from becoming anything more than a muffled gasp.
Katherine balled her hands into tiny fists and swung wildly, connecting with flesh and feeling the sting of contact. The hand on her mouth was knocked away and her assailant thrown off balance. She scrambled away, banging her knees on the floor when she fell off the bed. The valise, she thought. There was a small derringer in there, if she could reach it . . . A hand wrapped itself around her ankle, yanking her back across the floor and burning her already bruised knees. She let out a curse, forgetting that ladies of the old West did not curse.
“Bastard!”
Her fists swung again. This time, however, they were caught and brought over her head, held there in a vice-like grip. She felt the coldness of metal and she knew it was a gun, something much better than the little derringer she had.
“Now, you can live a bit longer if you cooperate or you can die right here. Your choice.”
The voice was as cold as the gun that pressed against her face. Katherine ceased her struggles.
“Good,” the voice continued. “Now, we’re going to get up and light that lamp you got on the dresser. And you’re not going to try anything funny, because I’ll have this gun on you every second. Got it?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
He got off her and jerked her to her feet, letting her hands go free while holding on to one of her arms with a steely grip. The gun dug into the small of her back, shoving her forward.
“I can’t see anything,” Katherine whispered angrily.
“Keep walking,” he said. “You’ll bump into it.”
And she nearly did. But some sixth sense told her there was something in front of her and she reached out, feeling the hard wood of the dresser. She fumbled for the wooden matches, wasting two before she got the lamp lit.
Light flooded the room and Katherine turned to face her assailant. The gun dug in harder, stopping her.
“You turn around nice and slow,” he warned.
She did as he asked, and as soon as she saw him her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open. It was him, the same man who had stared at her on the street, the same one who had been there across the hall. The only thing different was he wasn’t wearing his hat.
“You,” she spat. “How dare you come in to my room!”
“You remember me, then?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Of course I do. You were the one so rudely staring at me on the street today,” Katherine said.
“That’s it?”
“Of course that’s it,” Katherine snapped. “Who are you anyway? What do you mean by bursting into my room?”
“Jack McCabe, bounty hunter. Ring any bells?”
“What are you talking about?” She gave him the look she gave to people who had nothing she wanted to hear.
“Never mind,” he said. “I don’t have time to waste words with you. You and I are going on a little trip and then I’m going to collect my reward for bringing you in.”
“Then I suggest you think twice,” Katherine said, her gaze narrowing. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t know who you think I am, but I can tell you right now there is no reward being offered for me. For Heaven’s sake, I just got into town!”
“Oh, really?” He drew out an old poster from his pocket, unfolding it before he threw it at her.
Katherine caught it and gave a little cry of dismay, seeing a face that looked exactly like hers. No, she thought, this can’t be. Louis Cade had specifically said she wouldn’t encounter anyone from her family tree.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” Jack said with a nasty grin. “But you are a wanted woman. You might have thought you’d gotten away, but you left me alive. I gave a pretty good description of you as you can see.”
“But . . . but this isn’t me,” Katherine whispered.
“Yeah, right.” He snatched the poster out of her hands and stuffed it into his pocket, “Now get dressed.”
“No, please,” Katherine said, her tone turning desperate. “You’ve got to believe me. There’s been a mistake. I swear this is not me. I never killed anyone, and I certainly never robbed a bank or a train or anything else. See? It says Alanna McLeod. My name is Katherine.”
“You think calling yourself by a different name changes who you are?” He shook his head with a snort of laughter. “Get dressed.”
“I will not!”
Jack raised the gun, and Katherine flinched automatically.
“Either get dressed or say your prayers. Unless of course you want to travel in your nightdress. In which case I can’t vouch for your safety. After all, you never know who we might meet along the way.”
“Please,” Katherine said, her voice becoming a low, frightened whisper.
“Get dressed,” Jack repeated, his eyes as cold as winter.
“I . . . I can’t,” she said, hoping he might step out of the room. “Not with you . . .”
“If you think I’m leaving, you’re crazy,” Jack said, ad
ding with a sneer. “Why don’t you pretend I’m Will.”
“Will who?” she asked, bewildered.
“Will Cushing, remember him?” Jack reminded her. “Or have you discarded him?”
“I don’t know any Will.”
“Just get dressed, or I’ll drag you out of here like you are.”
Katherine swallowed and went to the chair where her clothes were draped. She took the lacy drawers first, stepping into them and pulling them up as quickly as she could, her face burning with embarrassment. Then she hitched up the nightdress and turned her back to him before removing it altogether, slipping the chemise on and buttoning it with trembling fingers.
The petticoats came next, two thick layers of them to fill the skirts of the gown, and then the gown itself, heavy black satin that took forever to button up. She sat down in the chair and pulled on the stockings, one by one, conscious of his eyes on her all the while and hating him for watching her. She laced the boots up, tied them tight, and stood up, straightening and staring at him.
“I hope you enjoyed yourself,” she said stiffly.
“I’ve seen better,” Jack said. “Now let’s go.”
They started for the door, but she stopped, spotting her valise by the foot of the bed. She reached for it but his hand was quicker, knocking hers away.
“What’s this?”
“Those are my things,” she answered. “I’d like to bring them if you don’t mind.”
“What’s in here?” Jack asked.
“Clothing,” Katherine answered.
“Yeah? Well, let’s see.” He reached for the valise and swung it up onto the bed with a grunt. “What the hell you got in here?”
“I told you. Clothes.”
“There’s more than clothes in this thing,” Jack said, taking it and dumping it upside down.
“You can’t do that,” Katherine cried, taking a step forward. “Those are my things!”
Jack raised the gun, his eyes narrowing, “Don’t even think about it,” he said. “You stay right where you are.”
Katherine glared at him. “You bastard.”
“Yep. I can be,” Jack admitted easily. “But it’s better than being dead.”
“Listen, I am not—” Katherine began.
“Don’t waste your breath,” Jack interrupted. “I already heard. You didn’t do it, right? Well, funny how it’s your picture on that poster.”
“I told you that isn’t me,” Katherine said again. “I swear to God it isn’t me. I never—”
“Save it,” Jack snapped. “I don’t have time to listen to your bullshit.”
Katherine clamped her mouth closed, gritting her teeth and silently calling him every name she could think of in three languages. She watched in helpless fury while he pawed through her things. It took every bit of restraint she possessed not to tell this Mr. Jack McCabe exactly where he could go.
“What’s this?” he asked, coming across the small strong box that held every cent she’d brought with her.
Katherine didn’t reply, simply staring at him with the coldest, most murderous look she could muster. He shrugged, pulling the knife from his belt and forcing the flimsy lock.
“Well, well, well,” he said. “I guess you’ve been busier than anyone knew. But how’d you manage it? Or did you get Will to do it?”
“I do not know anyone named Will,” Katherine repeated, slowly.
“Sure,” Jack said. “And you never shot anyone either, right?” He held up the small derringer.
“No, I have not,” Katherine said.
“And this is for . . . what?”
“Protection,” Katherine answered, feeling stupid.
“Did you a lot of good.” Jack laughed.
Katherine ground her teeth together, trying to think through the red haze of fury. Who was that woman on the wanted poster? If she was a relative—and Katherine couldn’t see how she wasn’t—why had she never heard of her?
Jack tossed the derringer on the bed along with much of the clothing that had been so carefully folded with tissues; leaving only two changes of clothes, the strong box, and as an afterthought, the hairbrush. Katherine clenched her fingers together, resisting the urge to lash out at him. Damn him! All he had left her were the skirts and blouses, things she hadn’t even wanted to bring.
He faced her then, pulling a length of rope from his belt.
“Turn around,” he said.
Katherine stared in horror at the rope.
“What . . . what are you going to do?” she squeaked.
“I’m going to tie your hands together,” Jack said. “Do I look stupid enough to let you waltz out of here as if you were free?”
“Please,” Katherine said, not wanting to beg but finding the words slipping out of her mouth without any conscious thought.
“Turn around,” Jack ground out.
Katherine turned away from him, blinking back tears and clenching her teeth together as hard as she could. I will not cry in front of this man, she told herself. I will not cry!
Jack grabbed her wrists, pulling them behind her and looping the rope around them. He pulled the rope tight, making her wince, and hefted the valise up. The gun went in his holster. He took a last look around the room before grabbing her by the arm.
“Let’s go,” he said. “And don’t even think about trying anything. No one is going to help you.”
They left the room and made their way down the darkened hall to the stairs, a light below casting the shadow of the railings on the wall. Katherine peered into the darkness below, tried to get a glimpse of how steep the stairs were. She put one foot down, wishing for a free hand even as the heel of her boot caught in the ruffles of her petticoat. She pitched forward, her hands tied uselessly behind her.
Then she was jerked back, falling against Jack. He pulled her close, his arm encircling her. The valise fell away, tumbling to the bottom of the stairs with a series of loud bumps, as Katherine struggled to free herself from his hold.
“Quit it or I’ll let go!”
Katherine forced herself to be still, all the while vowing to get even.
Below in the hall a wavering light came creeping around the corner, joining the oil lamp on the small table. Shorty peered up at them with the cross expression of someone who is continually put upon. He was wearing a faded, striped nightdress that came down to hairy mid-calf and holding a small lantern in trembling hands.
“What are you tryin’ to do?” he asked in a loud whisper. “Wake the whole place up?”
“Sorry,” Jack said. “Mind getting that and bringing it along?”
Shorty sighed and picked the valise up, wedging himself into the corner while they passed around him. Katherine peered at him but he shrank away from her.
He was afraid of her! Her hands were tied behind her back, and he was still afraid of her. Who was this Alanna McLeod who could instill such fear?
“Come on,” Jack jerked her forward, giving the door a nudge with the toe of his boot.
They stepped out into the night and Katherine noticed the heat of the day had disappeared with the coming of the night. It was pleasantly cool now, with only the hint of a warm breeze blowing in from the west. Above her the sky was clear and unbelievably full of stars. As they walked toward the livery stables—Shorty keeping a safe distance behind—the fury began to ebb away. Fear washed in behind it and she wondered if she was actually going to die.
There might be a trial, she supposed, but out here it wouldn’t amount to much. No jury would need much to be convinced of her guilt. The poster was enough. And of course she had no identification proving otherwise. Passports and licenses didn’t exist yet. There was only her word, which she knew would mean nothing.
This couldn’t be happening, she
told herself. She couldn’t possibly die. Not here! Not like this! Oh God, she didn’t want to die like a criminal at the end of a rope. Or worse, in front of a firing squad. Was that how they did it?
Shorty opened the wide doors to the stables and held his lamp up. His eyes slid away from her and he stepped away quick, like she was poison.
As if I could do anything, Katherine thought, annoyed with the man’s fear.
“Mind saddling my horse, Shorty?” Jack asked. “And tie that thing on, tight. I don’t want it falling off somewhere down the road.”
“Which . . . which horse?” Shorty asked.
“The chestnut,” Jack said. “The one with the white socks.”
Shorty gave a little sigh and hung the lantern on a hook just inside the doors. Katherine watched him get Jack’s horse out of the stall, saddle it, and tie the valise on, slipping the rope through the straps of the saddlebags.
“All right?” Shorty asked.
“Great. Thanks. I’ll remember this. And if you think of it, wire Marshal Harris in Abilene and tell him we’re coming.”
“You sure you don’t want to wait for a stage or the train?”
“No, thanks,” Jack said.
Shorty shrugged, and Jack pulled Katherine to where the horse stood.
“Put your foot up,” he ordered.
“My skirts,” she said, knowing they were too narrow.
“Guess you should have thought to wear something more practical,” Jack said. He took his knife from his belt and before she could utter a word of protest he had slit the black satin entirely up one side, completely ruining the gown. Katherine closed her eyes tight and bit her tongue.
“Get on,” he said.
She did, nearly toppling over the other side without her arms to use for balance, but he was up behind her in an instant, his arm coming about to steady her. He shook the rope free from the post and took up the reins, turning the horse toward the doors.
