by Hatch, Marcy
“Definitely,” she said, holding her cup out again.
Jack shrugged and filled it.
“Do you drink much?” she asked.
“Occasionally, but this will not be one of those times.”
“No, of course not,” she said. “You need to stay sober so you can watch me.”
“Exactly.”
“Then I might as well get drunk,” Katherine said.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Jack said.
“It’s an excellent idea,” Katherine said. “There’s nothing else to do unless you’ve devised some sort of entertainment. And if I’m drunk you won’t have to worry about me escaping.”
“I’m not worried,” Jack said.
“Of course you are,” Katherine said. “But if I’m drunk you can worry less. Oh, come on, Jack, what’s it going to hurt?”
“Fine, get drunk if that’s how you want to spend your time,” Jack said, handing her the flask. “But if you start blubbering or anything I’ll hog tie you and gag you and throw you in a corner. And you better not complain if you wake up hung over.”
“I never blubber when I’m drunk,” Katherine said, taking the flask. “And I seldom get hangovers.”
“Yeah, we’ll see,” Jack said.
Chapter Six
Will Cushing
Will Cushing was playing cards and losing badly when he got word. He knew at that moment his luck had changed. To prove the point he bluffed his way through the hand and won the pile. It wasn’t much but to Will it was an omen of good fortune, and God knew he needed it.
Until two years ago, he’d considered himself pretty lucky. He’d managed to keep ahead of the long arm of the law and was in possession of what he considered a small fortune. With careful planning, and Alanna’s help, he figured the two of them could live a decent life somewhere south of the border. But then he’d woken up one morning to find her gone along with every cent they’d stolen.
That’s when Will’s luck had turned. He rode out a few times after with men he knew, but it was as if he’d been jinxed. Every job they pulled went wrong one way or the other, and the last time out he’d nearly gotten himself killed. He had a distinctive limp now and a ball of lead in his leg that hurt most of the time, reminding him at every step of Alanna. But he could still walk and he could still ride and he could damn well still shoot.
He looked at the scruffy kid in the doorway who had interrupted the game and felt the old hate rise up within him. The mere mention of her name was enough to make him see red.
“All right, boy,” he said. “Tell me again.”
The boy took a deep breath.
“My pa heard it,” he said in a shaky voice that wasn’t much past puberty. “He was in Abilene an’ someone said they’d caught her. Alanna McLeod that is. An’ someone else asked Marshall Harris if it was true, cos he was sittin’ right there an’ he said it was.”
“An’ who’s yer pa?”
“Calvin Turner.”
Will nodded. He remembered riding with Cal. Not a bad guy. Gave it up in favor of a farm and a family. “Where’d they get her?” he asked.
“Leavenworth. Some bounty hunter’s bringin’ her to Abilene.”
“Was he comin’ by stage or train?”
“Don’t know, but Marshall Harris said they’d have a trial jus’ as soon as she got there an’ that she’d be sittin’ in a box by next week.”
Will grinned at his companions. “I guess I’ll be goin’ for a ride,” he said. “An’ you, boy, are gonna do me another favor.”
“Sure, anything,” the boy said.
❧
Will shrugged into his coat and grabbed his hat. He took a last gander around the shack he’d spent the last few months in and walked out the door without a single regret. He’d been holed up in this place long enough, grubbing for gold in that backwash they called a river, and freezing his fingers off in the cold mountain water. He was skinny and dirty, and he knew he looked like hell but he was going to get that woman no matter what it took and pay her back for what she’d done.
He smiled, thinking of his revenge, and the boy that rode with him shivered. It was a dark smile, one that held no joy.
“What do you think, Tommy,” Will said after they’d ridden a while. “Think she’s still got any of that loot?”
“I don’t know. The wire didn’t say nothin’ ’bout that.”
“I bet she does. An’ if it ain’t with her then she’s probly got it hid somewhere. I’ll get it out of her, one way or the other.”
“How are you gonna get her?” Tommy asked. “She’s gonna have the law all around her when she gets to Abilene. They’ll have her locked up tight in the jail.”
“I don’t know how—yet,” Will said. “You sure you didn’t hear nothin’ else about how she was comin’ in?”
“No, sir, jus’ what I told you.”
“Well, I guess you’re gonna have to do some sniffin’ for me. Can you do that, boy, without lookin’ nervous?”
“I guess so.”
“There’ll be somethin’ in it for you if you can. Either a bit of that loot or a bit of her.”
Tommy smiled a little smile of his own at that.
“You’d like that, huh? An’ let me tell you right now she’s as sweet as molasses. You could drown in that woman an’ die a happy man. Why, after I’m through with her I’ll even hold her down for you. Now, are you ready to ride? I mean really ride? I ain’t got time to waste, boy, an’ every minute we trot along like school marms the closer she gets to Abilene.”
“I’m ready,” Tommy said.
“Good, then let’s go.” Will kicked his horse into a full gallop and Tommy followed suit.
All the while they rode Will thought about Alanna McLeod and everything they’d done together right up until the time she left. He thought about her face and her skin and the way she smelled like perfume. He thought about the silky feel of her hair in his hands and the way she smiled with those red, red lips. He thought about the way she walked ahead of him, swishing back and forth, knowing he was watching.
And he thought about the first time he’d seen her. The way he’d surprised her and how she’d sized him up in two seconds and smiled coolly. He’d shrugged and backed off, but for some unbeknownst reason she’d come after him. It was in Kansas that things went bad. Some nosy gunfighter had surprised them all on that train, killing three of their gang before Alanna shot him.
After that their pictures turned up on the wanted posters and things got dicey for a while. There were times he’d wondered whether she was going to ditch him. By the time she did he’d been sure she never would. He supposed the last little job they pulled had done it. Someone on the stage had whispered his name; and four days later he woke up to an empty bed, empty pockets, and the law hot on his heels.
After that he’d laid low for a while, spent some time in Mexico before slipping back across the border and making his way north. He’d grown a beard and lost more than a few pounds, so that by then most folks didn’t even recognize him. But it wasn’t like it was before and it didn’t take him long to see it. He could die by the rope or live in the hope of finding Alanna again. He chose hope.
He was taking a big risk going after her. He knew that. There were still posters around with his name and face plastered all over them. But he had to find her. He had to see her one more time and pay her back for what she did. No one crossed Will Cushing, no one.
❧
In Abilene, Will Cushing enjoyed the first real bath he’d had in months. He got himself a shave, his mustache trimmed, and bought fresh clothes with the last of his money. The rain had started to come down in heavy sheets, wind gusting, and Will knew he’d probably be wet and miserable within the hour. He consoled himself with the
thought of Alanna’s face, imagining how surprised she’d be to see him. Maybe a little bit glad at first, thinking he’d saved her from a hanging. It would be fun to play with her like she’d played him, string her along for a while then let her have it right when she wasn’t expecting it.
Will smiled. It would all be worth it, he told himself. Whatever misery he had to endure would be well worth it. When the barber finished, Will lit his last cigar, standing by the window while he smoked. Tommy came running across the street and Will could tell by his face he was nearly bursting to spill his guts. Will put his finger to his lips as soon as the boy came in.
“Later, Tommy,” he said, turning to examine himself in the glass the barber held up for him. Not too bad, he told himself, a trifle too thin and a few years older but his dark eyes still held that devilish glint, and he still had all his hair, most of it the same dark brown it had been when he first met Alanna. He supposed there were a few more lines around his eyes and maybe he didn’t smile as easy as he used to, but he was still Will Cushing and Alanna would have no trouble recognizing him.
He thanked the barber and laid his money on the counter, ushering Tommy out onto the wooden sidewalk that led around the block. There was an overhang that sheltered them from the worst of the weather, and from where they stood they had a clear view of the saloon and livery across the muddy street, lights glowing in the dark.
It would be nice to go in there and drink and play cards, Will thought, maybe find a woman who could pretend for an hour or so that she meant what she did. But that would be pushing his luck.
“What’d you find out?” he asked the boy after taking a long swallow from the bottle he’d brought.
“They ain’t comin’ by stage an’ they ain’t comin’ by train an’ there’s a whole mess of other folks comin’: newspaper folks, Pinkertons, marshals. The trial is scheduled for Friday.”
“I guess they’ll be waitin’ a bit longer than they thought,” Will said. “So how are they coming?”
“No one knows.”
Will thought for a moment.
“But they’re comin’ from Leavenworth, right?”
“Yep.”
“Then they’ll be taking the Grafton road,” Will said. “That’s the only way they’d get here so quick. Come on, boy, we got some ridin’ to do.”
“In this?”
“Oh yeah, and we better hurry if we want to make it across the river before it rises.”
Will pulled his hat down and stepped off the walkway into the mud. The pleasant clean feeling he’d had only minutes before was gone in seconds under the onslaught of the rain. He swung himself up into the saddle and wheeled his horse about, kicking her into a trot. He wanted to dig his heels in and make her run but that would only tire her out. She was too old to keep up that sort of pace, and he had run her too hard as it was.
Will reached into his coat for the bottle and brought it to his lips again. Where were they now? Holed up somewhere? Waiting out the rain? And what was he going to do when he caught up to them? Should he kill that bounty hunter or let him live? It would be easier to kill him, safer, too. But he never really liked killing people. There had only been two occasions when he had done so without provocation, both times at Alanna’s request.
Damn, she was no good. He should’ve known that the second he saw her in that alley, should’ve turned around and walked away as fast as possible. Sometimes he even imagined what might have happened if he had. But if he were honest, things would probably have been pretty much the same. He was always restless. His ma always said he’d never stay in one place. Fate, that’s what it was. Just plain old fate.
And with that, Will set his mind and took another swallow, giving the mare a nudge. I’m coming, Alanna, he thought. Coming to settle up.
Chapter Seven
Interlude
Katherine stared at the tiny flickering flame, glad for the bit of light it offered though still damp from finding it. Jack had insisted she accompany him in the search for a lamp, and she suspected he’d done this out of more than distrust. The man had a nasty side to him, one that enjoyed inflicting misery. She wondered if it was just her or if he treated all the people he brought in the same way.
She had followed him in silence, not giving him the satisfaction of a protest, and waded through the muddied streets to the general store. At first she was surprised to find things still on the shelves: canned goods, a box of ribbons, small bolts of moth eaten cloth, and an assortment of bottles containing God knew what. The labels were too faded to read but she guessed they were somebody’s special recipe, guaranteed to cure all sorts of ailments. Most of it was useless and not worth carting away but they had found the lamp in the back, lying on its side, glass shattered but with enough oil to see them part way through the night. Katherine had also found a wooden toothbrush, still in its original packaging, which she snatched up and pocketed.
Now, with the dark upon them, she was glad for the light. Glad too for the whiskey that had lent some warmth to her body and lulled her into a state she generally avoided. She would pay for it in the morning, she knew, but at least for the moment there was a respite from the choking fear.
Jack sat at her side, the blanket from his horse beneath them. He had said little since their return to the hotel’s kitchen, and she wished he would talk. She had tried to draw him out but her questions had been met with short, sullen answers. He was probably afraid to talk to her, afraid to know any more about her than what he already thought. If he did then he might begin to believe her.
She looked toward the window, hearing the rain that still fell and the wind, whistling at times and rattling the glass. The flame in the lamp danced with the drafts, sending shadows up the walls and growing smaller with each passing moment. Katherine let her head rest against the wall, shivering as a gust blew in through the place. Oh yes, that stove would be nice about now, she thought, not that she’d give Jack the satisfaction of telling him. He’d just gloat and say, ‘I told you so.’
Maybe she could pull the ropes loose with her teeth later, after Jack had fallen asleep, but she doubted she’d be able to stay awake that long. Already her eyes were beginning to close of their own accord and even the uncomfortable chill could not keep the drowsiness away. As she drifted off she mumbled a last plea, but if Jack responded she never heard it, sinking into dreams of the sea.
❧
Jack opened his mouth to respond but saw she’d already gone and was slowly leaning toward him. An urge to shove her away was quickly replaced by resignation, and he let her fall against him.
Damn her, he thought, hating the memories that conflicted so with the woman at his side. She was just as pretty as he remembered, enough so that it was hard not think about how she looked back in the hotel room. He had said he’d seen better but that wasn’t true. Maybe in magazines but not in real life, up close. Her body was perfect, slender where it should be and nicely rounded in all the right places. She wasn’t too tall or too short, and her hair was an interesting shade of brown, coppery when the sun hit it.
But pretty as she was he couldn’t help but wonder how she managed to look exactly the same—if not a bit better. There were other things, too, things he’d dismissed at first, like the way she talked and swore when she was mad. Even her insistence that she was not Alanna McLeod troubled him. He had expected a fight and an attempt at escape but she knew damn well he’d seen her that day. She’d stared right at him when she’d shot him. How could she deny who she was and what she’d done? He had told himself it was an act, a pretense to avoid the trial and certain hanging.
But the doubt persisted, nudging him again when she said drunkenly, “I’m not her, Jack,” which only reminded him how she hadn’t shot him when she tried to escape. Why? Why hadn’t she shot him? He looked away, reminding himself that she was a consummate actress in addition to being a mu
rderess and a thief.
He held onto the thought as he gave in to sleep, holding it as tightly as he held the rope that bound her hands.
Chapter Eight
Ambush
The rain continued to fall in spurts that ranged from a steady drizzle to an outright downpour. By the time Will and Tommy reached the Arkansas River all that was dry were a few hairs on the top of their heads. Will had been sucking on the bottle in an effort to relieve his discomfort, but thus far it had offered nothing of any benefit. The nice, clean feeling he’d had was a distant memory, a lovely dream washed away by the rain.
By this time the water had risen over the shallow crossing, and they ended up an hour out of their way finding a place to cross. They were half-way to the other side when Tommy’s horse stumbled, and they both went floundering into the cold water. Tommy flung out a hand and Will grabbed him before he was lost, pulling the boy and his horse to the other side.
They’d rested then, too tired from crossing to dismount, simply sitting there and staring dully at one another. The wind whipped the rain against their faces and the wind stole into the folds of their coats and at some point they started off again.
“Might as well keep moving,” Will said. “We’ll be wet and miserable either way.”
The night stretched endlessly before them and the cold, gray light of morning found them riding into Baker’s Flats, a dying town with a pitifully small population. The town woke up when Will and Tommy rode through, alerted by two mangy dogs which set off a racket, baying loud enough to wake the dead.
Three women came to their doors dressed in caps and nightgowns, their faces frightened imitations of one another. The men, ranging in age from a score of years to too many to count, took up their places along the street, rubbing their sleepy eyes and holding their shotguns before them like talismans.
Will tipped his hat drunkenly and grinned, passing through the place like a black cloud. Tommy stared with longing at the tiny saloon, and for a moment Will did, too, imagining its warmth and the friendly smell of whiskey and smoke. Then he tore his eyes away and forced his gaze grimly ahead to the plains.
