by Hatch, Marcy
Shorty nodded, breathing a sigh of relief as they passed him by. Katherine stared resolutely at the darkness before her, trying to think through her anger and her fear. There has to be a way out of this predicament, she thought. Either by escaping, which didn’t seem terribly likely, or by convincing her captor that she was not Alanna McLeod.
“Who are you?” Katherine asked him.
“I already told you.”
“Oh, yes. Jack. Jack McCabe. And are you a lawman, Jack McCabe?” Katherine asked sarcastically.
“No, a bounty hunter,” Jack reminded her. “And that means I can bring you in dead or alive. Either way makes no difference to me.”
“Then why didn’t you let me fall down those stairs?” she asked. “I might have broken my neck and saved you a lot of trouble.”
“Because, unlike you, I am not a killer,” Jack said.
“Oh? But I thought you said it made no difference.”
“It don’t. I don’t give a shit about you, and if I have to I will kill you. But I’ll bring you in alive if I can.”
“I’m not a killer, Jack McCabe,” Katherine said, “and I’m not Alanna McLeod.”
“Right.”
“Why won’t you believe me? Why won’t you even consider the possibility?”
“Why should I? You got evidence to prove you’re someone else?”
“No, but—”
“Well, I got evidence proving you’re her. Pictures don’t lie.”
“Sometimes they do,” Katherine said quietly.
Jack didn’t answer and for a long time they rode in silence. Death, she thought. She was riding to her death. And her arms were killing her.
“Say, Jack,” she said. “How about untying my hands for a bit.”
“Oh, sure, right away.” He laughed.
“Come on, Jack, you can tie them in front of me if you want,” she said. “Hold a gun to my head, but please untie them. They’re going numb.”
“Am I supposed to care?”
Katherine counted to ten and took a deep breath. He was a massive jerk, and it took every bit of restraint not to tell him exactly how massive.
“You know, Jack,” she said. “I could make this difficult for you.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. I could start talking and not shut up. Do you know how annoying it is to listen to a woman chatter on and on, endlessly? Like the whine of a mosquito you can’t kill. Can you imagine? I could go on for quite some time. I could tell you all about myself. The one you don’t think I am. Don’t you want to know my name, Jack? My real name?”
“Yeah? And I could gag you.”
“And in the time it takes you to do that you could retie my hands in front of me,” Katherine answered in her most reasonable tone.
“All right,” Jack growled, becoming annoyed already. “But if you start yakking or try anything—”
“I know,” she sighed. “You’ll kill me.”
Katherine leaned forward and felt his fingers tugging at the ropes. Then she was suddenly free and she breathed a sigh, rubbing at the chafed flesh of her wrists.
“All right, put them in front of you,” Jack said.
She did and he was quick to retie the ropes. Using different knots, she guessed, but tying them just as tight.
“What if I am innocent, Jack?” she said. “Did you ever think of that?”
“No.”
“Maybe you should.”
“Maybe you should shut up.”
Katherine huffed, but he only laughed and kicked the horse into a gallop. His arm came around her again, the other end of the rope wrapped around his wrist. She would have protested if not for the fact that she suspected she’d fall without him holding on to her. It had been a long time since she’d ridden a horse.
She peered ahead into the darkness ahead of them and wondered how much longer she had. Abilene. Wasn’t that where they were going? The question was, how long would it take to get there? She wanted to ask him but she knew she’d tested his patience enough for the time being. So she simply stared ahead into the darkness, wondering how complicated the knots were and whether there was a chance she could get them loose. If only she could escape now, while it was still dark, maybe steal his horse . . . but of course, then she would be a criminal. And they hung horse thieves, didn’t they? But would they really hang her? Did they actually hang women?
But why wouldn’t they? She was a criminal. She had killed people. That’s what the poster said. There was a $5,000 dollar reward out for her and another $5,000 for her companion. Jack hadn’t shown her his picture, and she wondered what he looked like. Were the two of them actually lovers? Were they together now?
How perfect it would be for the two of them if she, Katherine, were brought in as Alanna. Then Alanna and Will could relax and enjoy what they’d stolen. Damn them! How dare they slip away while she paid the price for their crimes?
“You know, Jack,” she said, unable to keep silent. “If I am innocent, then the real Alanna will have gotten away. She would go free. Imagine that? And think how you’ll feel when you find out, knowing you killed an innocent woman.”
“I’m not killing anyone,” Jack said. “You’ll get a trial.”
“Oh, sure, and it will be a fair trial, right? I’ll have a lawyer who is actually capable of defending me, someone who will be able to find and present evidence on my behalf, right?”
“Wrong,” Jack said. “I was there. I remember you.”
“No, Jack,” Katherine said. “You remember someone who looked like me.”
“I find it hard to believe there are two women walking around who look like you.”
“Ever heard of twins?”
“Are you saying you have one?”
“No, but they say everyone has one, maybe—”
“I don’t think so,” Jack said. “You keep forgetting, I was there.”
“No, I’m not forgetting. You are. I wasn’t there. I don’t know what happened except for what it said on that poster.”
“I saw you,” Jack said.
“No, you didn’t. And if you had that means I would have seen you, right? Now wouldn’t it stand to reason that if I saw you then I’d remember you?”
“Who’s to say you don’t?”
“Jesus, you are stubborn,” Katherine shook her head.
“And you sure swear a lot.”
“Really? Look who’s talking!”
“I’m not a lady,” Jack said.
“Hmph! I hardly thought I qualified, being a murderer and a thief.”
“Glad you’re admitting it.”
“I’m not!”
“Sounded like you were.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“Whatever.”
She gave herself a moment to calm down before asking, “How far is Abilene?”
“In miles?”
“No, days.”
“Two, if we hurry.”
“That’s all?”
“‘Fraid so.”
Katherine lapsed back into silence. Two days. That was all the time she had left. She had to find a way to escape. She wasn’t ready to die yet.
And her grandfather . . . if he never heard from her then he would never know what had happened. He would die not knowing. She just had to get home.
A terrible thought came into her head then, an image of Jack dumping her belongings out on the bed. She hadn’t paid attention at the time, being a little too preoccupied with being taken for a murderer and a thief, but the picture was clear as day now.
She could see everything scattered over that pretty white bedspread, all the fun clothing she’d picked out, the petticoats and jewelry, and most importantly, the antique book of po
ems by Arnold. Not something she would actually read, but it made a perfect spot to hide the key.
Except now the book and the key were back at the hotel in Leavenworth.
Chapter Five
Ghost Town
Dawn came quickly on the plains. One minute pink lights were on the horizon and the next the whole place was awash with the sun’s first light. Prairie grass stretched endlessly on either side of the track, and far off in the distance Katherine could see the land slowly begin to rise. The cool of the night had vanished as if on cue, replaced by the warmth of the morning sun.
It would be hot soon, she realized, very hot.
Her throat was dry and her limbs and rump ached from sitting in the same position. She was tired, too; tired of riding, tired of sitting, and just plain tired. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep. She would have given a great deal for a cup of coffee. Oh, wouldn’t it be nice if this were all a dream, and any moment she would wake up to the sound of the surf crashing against the jetty and the smell of hot coffee brewing?
The heat was beginning to become uncomfortable when they rode into a sleepy little town that seemed as though it would wake up any moment. It wasn’t until they drew close Katherine saw the broken glass in the storefronts, tufts of witch grass at the corners of everything, and layers of dust that made seeing through the windows impossible.
A wide street ran straight through town, bordered on either side by a saloon and hotel, general store, smithy’s shed, two houses, and the remains of a church. In the center of the street was a stone well, buckwheat grown up, and it was here Jack stopped. He jumped down and began lowering the bucket.
Katherine carefully swung one leg over the saddle and slid to the ground, wincing as her feet hit dirt. She had liked riding in the past. Her grandfather had horses and the two of them often rode together. But it had been years since she’d been in a saddle. After an entire night of riding straight through, her legs were stiff and cramped, and all she wanted to do was stretch and then sleep for as long as possible.
Jack brought the bucket up, and Katherine licked her lips in anticipation. But instead of offering it to her he brought it to his horse. She bit back a curse and looked away. She could make a run for it, she thought, scanning the wide street to the hazy horizon. But she put the thought away, knowing how easy it would be for him to catch her here.
Katherine shifted her weight to the other foot and watched Jack pull the bucket up a second time. This time he brought it over to her.
When she was through he took his own turn then dipped the kerchief he wore around his neck in the water and used it like a washcloth. Katherine thought of the handkerchiefs she had brought, pretty little things with lace and embroidery. They were all sitting on the bed back at the hotel—along with the book and the key. Thank you very much, Jack McCabe, she thought bitterly.
“Try the petticoat,” he said.
“What?”
“You’re wanting to wash your face, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Rip off some material from that petticoat. You don’t need two of them out here.”
Katherine bent down and grabbed hold of the cloth, pulling. She swallowed a curse and tried again but with her hands tied together it was impossible to get any leverage. She only succeeded in tearing off a useless bit of lace.
Jack pulled out his knife. “Mind?” he asked.
“No,” Katherine said, seeing no other alternative.
Jack bent down at her feet and took hold of the cloth, using his knife to cut a length from the hemline. He handed it to her and she muttered her thanks.
“You ought to take the damn things off,” Jack said. “Those two layers of petticoats are going to get heavier and hotter by the hour.”
“Thank you for the suggestion, but I’ll keep my petticoats,” Katherine said. She dipped the cloth in the water and began wiping the dust from her face and neck.
What she wouldn’t give for a bath. She hadn’t thought of that either. People didn’t take baths everyday here. One couldn’t simply run water for a bath or turn a knob for the shower. One had to pump the water or bring it in from a well like this one. Then you’d have to heat it up over a fire and lug it to the tub, bucket by bucket. She supposed she hadn’t really given the whole venture as much thought as she should have. Nor had she actually read everything Miss Adjani had given her. She’d skimmed the pages, not really believing.
“All right, come on,” Jack said, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her along.
“Where to?”
“We’re going to rest for a while,” Jack said. “Until later when it gets cooler.”
“But where?”
“The hotel.”
“What about your horse?”
“I’ll bring him in.”
“What? Inside the hotel?”
“Sure, why not? There’s room and no one lives here anymore. I don’t think anyone is going to object, do you?”
“No, I guess not.”
Inside the hotel it was cool and dark, sunlight filtering in through the dust-filmed windows and providing a dim outline of a huge empty room. A long bar ran down one wall, thick with dust and dead insects, and a crooked door led out back, but otherwise the place was empty. Whatever furniture had been there was gone now, either carted off or part of the litter in the streets.
Katherine sniffed as she stepped further inside; the air was stale, and smelled like . . .
“See?” Jack said, pointing to the floor with a grin. “I’m not the only one who’s brought his horse in here.”
Katherine wrinkled her nose. Jack unbuckled the saddle and removed the bridle, laying them both over the bar. He tossed his saddlebags and her valise to the floor then motioned toward the stairs. She took them one by one, careful to gather her skirts up away from the heels of her boots.
At the top of the stairs was a long landing with a number of doors opening off it. Jack pointed to the first one they came to. The room was bare and completely covered in dust. The mere act of opening the door had disturbed enough of it to float about the room and make her cough. And as soon as she stepped inside she walked straight into a cobweb hanging from the ceiling.
“Ugh!” Katherine shoved the sticky webbing away, hoping to God there wasn’t a spider crawling on her now.
“Sorry if this isn’t what you’re used to,” Jack said.
“No, you’re not sorry,” Katherine said. “In fact, I think you’re enjoying this. But why? Do you enjoy making people uncomfortable?”
“No, just you,” Jack said evenly, the coolness of his own eyes matching hers.
“Why? What have I ever done to you?”
Jack stared at her for a minute then began to unbutton his shirt. Katherine took a step back, her eyes widening.
“Don’t look away,” he said in a steely voice. “I want you to see what you did.”
He took off his shirt and pointed to his shoulder where a ragged scar stretched across the taut skin. It was starkly white in comparison to the rest of his skin, which was dark from the sun. Faintly she could see a second line of white that began at the top of his jeans. She jerked her eyes back to the scar, a livid reminder he would carry for the rest of his life. She was surprised he’d survived the ordeal.
“This is what you did,” Jack said, his pale eyes hard. “But I guess I should be grateful. At least I’m still alive. Some of the others you ran into weren’t so lucky.”
“I didn’t do it,” Katherine whispered. “It wasn’t me.”
“You know, I’m getting real tired of hearing you say that. Do you think I would ever forget your face?”
“No,” she said in a small voice. “But it wasn’t me. I wasn’t here.”
“Yeah, right,” Jack said, buttoning his shirt and tucking it into his jeans.
He sat down with his back against the door, stretching his legs out and resting one hand on his gun. He closed his eyes.
She searched the room for a spot that wasn’t directly beneath a cobweb and sat, leaning back against the wall and drawing her knees up. She felt her eyes fill up with tears of frustration and sorrow and put her head down, not wanting him to see her cry. She tried not to; she didn’t want to cry, but the tears came anyway, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
“Don’t you dare cry,” his harsh voice rang out, jerking her head up. “You don’t deserve the luxury.”
“Shut up!” she screamed. “I can cry if I want, you bastard! I didn’t shoot you and maybe you ought to be thinking about the woman that did. The one that’s still out there and free to do it to someone else.”
“I ought to kill you now and save everyone the trouble of a trial,” Jack ground out.
“Go ahead! I’ll be dead in a few days anyway. What does it matter? It’s what you want to do, so go ahead.”
Jack rose to his feet, drawing his gun and walking over to her. He grabbed hold of her, jerked her to her feet, put the gun to her temple. His gaze held hers, glaring at her like she was some monster, some hateful thing. Katherine closed her eyes, trembling.
“Bitch,” he muttered. His grip fell away and the gun dropped to his side.
Katherine opened her eyes again and instantly a mindless fury washed over her. Without thinking, she brought her knee up hard and gave him a good shove. He fell back, landing on the floor.
The gun skittered across the floor and Katherine launched herself at it, grabbing it and bolting for the door. She yanked it open and flew out and down the stairs. She could hear him behind her, his footsteps echoing throughout the building along with some extremely harsh language.
She looked wildly around, fixing on the horse who was eyeing her nervously. She grabbed hold of its mane, pulling the animal toward the door. Her eyes darted about for the saddle but there wasn’t time. Jack was coming.
As soon as she was outside she tried to pull herself up, but her skirts kept getting in the way, twisting wrong. She’d never ridden bareback and the horse seemed to know it, shying away every time she attempted to clamber up. She tried once more but the horse side-stepped again and Katherine gave up with a frustrated cry and gave the horse a hard smack on the rump. If she couldn’t ride it then neither could he!
