West of Paradise

by Hatch, Marcy

  She watched it take off down the street before turningin the opposite direction to follow suit. Her heels sank into the earth, making running difficult, and her skirts kept getting tangled around her legs. She yanked them up and ran as hard as she could but so intent was she on escaping that she never saw where she was going, blindly running wherever her legs took her.

  By the time she realized she wasn’t even on the road—wherever that was—Jack had closed the distance between them.

  One thing left to do, she thought, hating the idea of it but knowing she had to escape, had to get to Fort Leavenworth. That’s where the key was and if she didn’t get that key she might not ever get out of this place. Her fingers closed around the gun tightly. It was heavier than what she was used to. She would have to compensate—if she could. She’d never shot at anything except a target. Not that she was actually going to shoot Jack . . .

  She stopped fast and whipped around, raised the gun at him.

  He stopped just as quick and the two of them faced one another.

  “Please go,” she said. “I don’t want to shoot you.”

  Jack squinted at her, his eyes glinting blue. “You don’t want to shoot me? Is that why you’ve got the gun aimed at me?”

  Katherine pulled the trigger and the gun jerked in her hands, dirt kicking up a few feet away from Jack. He flinched and stopped. She aimed again. A trickle of sweat ran down her back. A stray piece of hair fell into her eyes. She blinked it away.

  He took another step and she fired again, hitting closer. He stopped again, but only for a second. Then he rushed her and she panicked and threw the gun at him, unable to shoot, even to save herself.

  She pivoted and ran but within seconds he caught hold of her gown, ripping it down her back. She tried to wriggle away but he pushed her hard and she tumbled to the ground, her face hitting dirt. Her shoulder came up sharp on a jagged rock and then he was on her, holding her down with the weight of his body. A repeat performance of the night before. Only this time she could see his face and the cold hate in his eyes.

  Katherine tried to stare back at him with defiance but found it impossible not to be afraid. He was seething with anger and itching to hit her, fingers clenching and unclenching at his side. He gritted his teeth and rose, bringing her to her feet with a vicious jerk.

  He marched her back to the hotel in deadly silence, stopping only to grab the gun she’d thrown at him, back up the stairs and into the same room. He shoved her away from him and took his place at the door, assuming the same position.

  Katherine crawled miserably to the corner. Her face was stinging, her shoulder ached, and she was hot and sweaty. And for what? She was no closer to the key and had only succeeded in freeing his horse who wouldn’t even appreciate it.

  She drew her knees up again and cried quietly once more. He didn’t say anything this time, and by the time she was through she was too tired to even wipe the tears away. Her eyes drooped, and her head slowly fell back against the wall.

  ❧

  Jack waited until he heard the slow, rhythmic sound of her breathing before relaxing his grip on his gun. Damn her, he thought. Damn her to hell!

  He had expected her to try to escape, no, he’d planned on it. But he hadn’t counted on being surprised by it, nor had he figured on losing his horse. That was going to present a problem. It was a long way to Abilene and the thought of walking was not a pleasant one. They could wait here and hope for a passerby, but who knew who might come this way and when? Maybe Harlan would send someone after them when they didn’t show up in Abilene—if Shorty remembered to send the telegram. But that would take a week at best and he sure didn’t feel like sitting out a whole week with her.

  The smart thing to do would be to head back toward Leavenworth. He could get another horse. But damn, didn’t that stick in his craw. His eyes went back to her, narrowing instantly in anger. Well, she wasn’t so pretty now, he thought with some satisfaction. There was an ugly scrape down one cheek, and her face was dirty and stained with tears. The gown was ripped at the shoulder, and she’d cut herself somehow.

  His eyes went back to her tear-stained face and he frowned. Somehow he hadn’t expected her to cry. He’d figured on her hating him and making a run for it, but he never would have thought she would cry. Women like her didn’t have feelings. Damn her. She was trouble that’s what. He should have listened to Shorty and waited around for the stage. She wasn’t anything like he thought she would be. She looked the same, but there was something—he wanted to say wrong—different about her.

  She should have shot him.

  ❧

  Katherine woke suddenly and tried to place herself. It took a moment for the fog of sleep to lift, and when it did she was aware of two things. One was that she hurt. The other, which took precedence over her pain, was her need to use a bathroom. Of course, she knew there was no such thing as a bathroom but she had to find something akin to one and soon.

  She glanced over at Jack McCabe, finding him quite different under the guise of sleep. The anger and hate that made him look so mean had disappeared and his face didn’t seem as hard. His hat had fallen in his lap; she could see how long his hair was, light brown and streaked through with gold, curling a little around his neck and ears. His legs were stretched out before him and she remembered him taking off his shirt. How brown he was, how . . .

  Katherine shook her head with an angry frown. He was a jerk, she reminded herself, and he wanted her dead. But why hadn’t he killed her already? He’d wanted to; she’d seen that in his eyes. Her attempted escape had certainly given him the perfect excuse to exercise that option. Yet he hadn’t, why?

  She rose and walked to the window, rubbing away at the layer of dust and grimacing. What a horrid place this is, she thought. Dry and hot, no green to be seen, just the faded yellow of the plains and the washed out colors of the earth. The sky, which had been so blue the day before, had turned leaden. Rain, she thought. It feels like rain. She could even see a dark line forming along the horizon.

  Her gaze drifted over to Jack, and she realized she would have to wake him, unpleasant as it might be. He would be cranky, no doubt, and probably bite her head off but she couldn’t wait much longer. She called out his name, softly at first, then louder. When that didn’t work she stomped her foot down on the floor, sure that her sharp heels would produce the desired effect.

  In an instant the gun was leveled at her before Jack had even focused his eyes. Katherine froze where she stood, too frightened to breath.

  “What are you doing?” he snapped, lowering the gun a hair.

  “I need to use . . .” The word died on her lips and she racked her brain for the one she needed, still standing as still as a statue.

  “Outhouse?” Jack supplied, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “All right.” Jack donned his hat and put the gun away, allowing Katherine to release her breath. He rose and opened the door. As soon as she took a step toward it he whirled and grabbed her arm, ignoring her small gasp.

  “You’re hurting me,” she said.

  He made no reply, but his grip loosened as they went downstairs, step by step. Jack took her out through the pantry door, which led to a small, enclosed area that had once been neatly fenced off. The fences were all down now, overgrown and half visible through the witch grass and bluestem. Katherine’s gaze went to a narrow building that slanted at an angle. Jack opened the door, and she started forward.

  She stopped before entering and turned to him, taking a deep breath before speaking, “Would you mind untying me, I can’t . . .” She felt her face go red and cursed herself for being ashamed of a perfectly natural bodily function.

  Jack searched her face, then her outstretched hands, debating whether he should allow her the luxury.

  “Fine,” he sai
d. “But you don’t want to spend a lot of time in there.”

  “Believe me, I will do my best not to.”

  The town might be deserted but the smell emanating from the outhouse indicated the place was still used on a somewhat regular basis. She rubbed at her wrists as soon as he’d removed the ropes and turned away, closing the loosely hinged door behind her. She told herself that he couldn’t hear her.

  Katherine emerged from the outhouse gulping fresh air and quickly slamming the door closed behind her. What had ever made her think she would enjoy the old west? What was wrong with the roaring twenties? Or even the early part of the last century when they had hot and cold running water. Proper facilities.

  She held out her hands to Jack and he retied the ropes in a hasty knot before grabbing her and pulling her along behind him.

  “Where to now?” Katherine asked crossly.

  “To get water before it rains,” Jack answered, his eyes flicking at the darkening skies. “We may be here a bit longer than I expected.”

  “How wonderful,” Katherine said dryly.

  “Don’t get smart,” Jack said. “We could be on our way if some fool hadn’t decided to chase my horse off.”

  “Ah, a choice between this charming town or riding to my death. I’m not sure I can choose.”

  Jack turned to stare at her, shaking his head. “This must be why Will is no longer with you,” he said, jerking her through an alley way that led between the hotel and the general store. “Your charming sense of humor must have driven him away.”

  “You’re hurting me again,” Katherine ground out, trying to tug her arm away.

  “Oh? So sorry, your highness,” Jack let go of her arm for a brief moment, bowed, then grabbed her again and yanked her through to the other side, dragging her to the well.

  “And now who’s being smart?”

  “Touché,” Jack tipped his hat. “Now lower that bucket and bring up some water.”

  “What! Are you helpless?” Katherine gaped at him as if he had lost his mind.

  “No, but I’m busy guarding you,” Jack answered with a sardonic smile. “And if you want water to wash up with then I suggest you get moving.”

  “As if I could get very far,” Katherine muttered, lowering the bucket. “We’ve already proved you’re faster than me and stronger than me. I don’t even know where we are or which way I’d head if I did escape.”

  “Then you have a poor sense of direction in addition to your nasty sense of humor,” Jack retorted. “Now pull!”

  Katherine glared at him and pulled the rope up, feeling her shoulder burn with the effort. A sudden gust sprang up and whipped through the town, blowing a great cloud of dust into their faces before the rain began.

  “Great,” she said.

  “Here, give me that,” Jack said impatiently, snatching the bucket from her hands and untying the rope that held it.

  “Well, go on! What are you waiting for? A good soaking?” Katherine gave him another evil look before gathering up her skirts and making a dash for the hotel.

  Jack stepped in right after her, motioning to the second door behind the bar. This led into the kitchen where he found a second pail and a rusty pot sitting on top of an old stove. He poured the water into the pot and handed Katherine the bucket while he checked the stove.

  “Shoot,” he said.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “A hole big enough to put my hand through,” Jack said. “That means no fire in this baby.”

  “I don’t think we’ll need one,” Katherine said. “It isn’t that cold.”

  “Not now, but if the wind picks up like I think it will and the rain keeps on, it won’t be as warm as it is now. You might wish this thing worked later on.”

  Katherine didn’t answer, setting the bucket down on the floor and inspecting the room. It was nearly as large as the saloon but not quite as empty. In addition to the stove there was a long, rough table in the center of the room. Built in shelves lined the walls, some of which still held a few jars of preserves, mismatched plates, and a set of cups and saucers. The walls were unfinished with exposed beams and hooks that Katherine guessed might have held pots.

  “If you want to wash up you better grab that bucket again,” Jack said.

  “What’s wrong with the water we brought in?” Katherine asked.

  “That’s for drinking.”

  She sighed, picking up the bucket while her eyes traveled over to the window. The rain was coming down harder now and she knew she’d be soaked before she reached the well.

  Jack took up the pail. “Come on, better to get it over with.”

  By the time they got back inside they were both dripping wet. Katherine was soaked through, her clothes clinging to her, heavy and clammy against her skin. Her petticoats drooped, making a puddle at her feet, and her feet sat in wet stockings in damp boots that made a squishy sound with every step.

  “Better get your valise,” Jack said, pointing and grabbing one of the saddlebags from the floor.

  In the kitchen Katherine set the bucket on the table along with the valise and pulled out dry clothing. She glanced at Jack.

  “I don’t suppose you’d leave the room,” she said.

  “I don’t suppose I would,” he agreed.

  “Well, at least untie me,” she said. “I can’t very well change with my hands tied.”

  Jack eyed her with distrust.

  “I promise I won’t try anything. You can tie me back up as soon as I’m through.”

  He hesitated, but she gave him her very best good-girl look and he did as she asked.

  “Thank you,” she said, turning away from him.

  For a moment she closed her eyes, gathering her courage and telling herself to forget modesty, false or otherwise. He had already seen her half-naked once and there was no help for it if she wanted to be dry.

  With as much dignity as she could muster she stripped off the black gown and tossed it on the floor. It was torn in three places now, completely ruined—thanks to Jack—but she was actually glad to be rid of it. Black had never been her color. She removed the petticoats, laying one across the table and ripping the second into strips to wash with. It was already torn and she was sure one petticoat would amply fill the skirt. The boots came next and then the stockings, which she wrung out and laid over the stove to dry.

  She tried not to think of him standing behind her, no doubt watching her every move, but it was impossible not to be aware of his presence. At least he isn’t saying anything, she thought, wiping away the dust from her neck and shoulders, wincing as she did. She couldn’t see the cut, but it stung and she knew it was bleeding again.

  “I have some whiskey,” Jack offered.

  Katherine half turned toward him. “Excuse me?”

  “Whiskey,” Jack repeated. “You might want to put some on that so it doesn’t get infected.”

  “I will probably be dead before it does,” Katherine reminded him, returning to her toilette. She unbuttoned the chemise and washed herself as best she could without stripping completely, pulling up the gathered leggings of the drawers and remembering how nice it used to be to have a shower.

  Once she was through she stepped into a dry petticoat, pulling the lace tight. A blue cotton skirt came next, followed by a white muslin blouse with short sleeves and a dainty collar. It was pretty but she couldn’t help but think of the gowns sitting on her bed at the hotel. She straightened and smoothed the wrinkles from the skirt before taking up the brush and pulling it through her tangled hair. She supposed she should be grateful he’d thought to bring that.

  When she turned to face Jack she found he’d done his own washing up and had donned a clean shirt and bandana. Had he shaved he might have been almost handsome, but as it was he still looked
more outlaw than lawman. Bounty hunter indeed, she thought.

  “Are you hungry?” Jack asked.

  “Yes, I suppose I am,” Katherine admitted, realizing she had not eaten since the night before. Her stomach had been rumbling since morning but she’d ignored it, not daring to ask him for food and not even sure he had any. She swallowed an angry sigh.

  He would be watchful now, much more careful. There would be no more opportunities to escape. Her only chance would be to convince a jury of her innocence. She almost laughed. Why would anyone believe her when there would be eyewitnesses and a poster to prove her guilt? She might not be Alanna McLeod but she was close, closer than she liked to think.

  Jack handed her a piece of beef jerky and Katherine ate it without a word. It was salty and bordered on unpleasant. Jack offered her a second piece, but she shook her head.

  “Whiskey?” Jack asked, holding up the flask once more. “To drink.”

  “Sure, why not.” Maybe she could get drunk—if he’d let her. At least she wouldn’t think about food, or anything else.

  Jack took down one of the cups from the shelf and handed it to her. Katherine carefully wiped it out with a corner of her skirt before holding it out to him. He poured her a generous serving and she took a large gulp, closing her eyes as it burned all the way down to the pit of her stomach. She tipped the cup back again and felt the familiar warmth creep over her. She opened her eyes to find Jack watching her with raised eyebrows.

  “Drink much?” he asked.

  “I have been known to,” Katherine answered. “When the occasion calls for it.”

  “And this does?”