by Hatch, Marcy
The problem was he didn’t know anything about her and it bothered her. She hated always having to watch what she said and hated having to be careful of the things she did in case of rousing questions she couldn’t answer. Most of all, she hated knowing who Alanna was, knowing they were related, knowing what Alanna had done to Jack.
What if they found Alanna? What if she didn’t miss next time? Katherine knew she couldn’t leave yet. Alanna had to die and Katherine needed to make certain it happened and that Jack survived it. Then she could go home.
She closed her eyes, but she didn’t sleep, at least not right away. Instead she played out the scenes in her head, writing the scripts. And they all ended badly.
❧
Jack returned to their compartment ahead of the minister and his brother. Katherine had fallen asleep, her head resting at what looked to be an uncomfortable angle. He slid in beside her and pulled her toward him so that her head rested on his shoulder instead. She sighed in her sleep, mumbling something that almost sounded like his name, frowning a little before settling against him.
She felt good next to him, he thought, wondering if there was any way she would stay, wondering if he should even ask. There was so much she didn’t know about him, so much he couldn’t tell her. And what way was that to start a relationship?
He was a fool. He should never have slept with her, never taken advantage of her that way. He wasn’t who she thought he was, and he couldn’t give her what she deserved: the truth. He glanced at her again, her eyelashes fluttering a little against her cheeks, her hair so soft against his.
“Newly married?”
“I’m sorry?”
The minister smiled. “I was thinking that you two look as though you’ve just married.”
Jack gave a nod, almost wishing it were so.
❧
Three days later, they arrived in Tombstone via the stage from Contention, a journey that had been every bit as unpleasant as Jack had expected. They had been sandwiched in between too many people, none of whom had bathed recently, and Jack was pretty sure the driver had been drinking.
Katherine had held onto his arm for dear life, and it was all he could do not to grab her back. After a hellishly long time, they were at last deposited outside the A. D. Otis & Company Store, Katherine clutching her valise close, hat askew and a dazed expression on her face.
“C’mon,” Jack said, shaking off the ride. “Let’s get out of this heat.” The sun had only been up for a few hours but it was already scorchingly hot.
Katherine hurried after him, matching his stride as he led her down Allen Street to the Cosmopolitan Hotel, one of the nicer places Jack had stayed at. The room they took offered a view of the street below and its numerous saloons (Jack counted five at a glance), a solid oak bed covered by a star quilt, and a tall chest of drawers. A plush chair with an ottoman sat in one corner, the other screening what passed for a bathroom.
Katherine removed her bonnet and mopped her brow with one of the few handkerchiefs she had left. Jack offered a sympathetic smile.
“I’ll go see if they can bring some water up,” he said.
He was gone before she could protest, but instead of finding someone to bring water for a bath, he headed back to where they’d first gotten off the stage. Because he’s spotted something he hadn’t seen in a long while: ice cream. Israel’s Ice Cream to be precise, and Jack was willing to bet Katherine had never had anything like it.
Katherine had barely gotten comfortable in the chair by the window when Jack returned.
“You’ll never guess what I found,” he said.
She sat up, trying to see what he had. Her eyes lit up as he drew closer.
“Where did you get that?” she asked.
“Israel’s Ice Cream,” Jack said with a pleased smile, handing her the dish. “I spotted it as we walked.”
“You are a man of many talents, Jack McCabe,” Katherine said. She dipped the spoon in and closed her eyes as she savored the taste, sighing with pleasure; it was cold and sweet and very vanilla.
She had eaten it all before she noticed Jack didn’t have any. “Oh! I should’ve shared!”
Jack shook his head with a smile. “It’s okay. I think it was actually more enjoyable watching you eat it.”
“You’re silly,” Katherine said.
“Look who’s talking,” Jack said, his gaze moving pointedly down to her bare feet.
Katherine grinned guiltily. “I couldn’t help it. It’s hot!”
“I know, and you hate to wear shoes.” He sat down on the bed. “I found where the telegraph office is while I was out. Do you want to go over now or later?”
Katherine considered. She sighed and bent down to put her on boots. A few minutes later they were walking up Fifth Street, stopping before a single story building with large plate glass windows at either side of an open door. It was dim inside after the brightness of the street and there was funny smell to the place.
At first Jack thought it was the smell of ink. And probably that was most of it. But after a moment he recognized the other smell. It was days old, he guessed, but still distinctive. It was the smell of blood.
“Hello?” a voice called out from the back and in a moment they saw a man step around from the press. He was taller than average, lean, and wore a heavy apron stained with ink, shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow. Like the majority of men, he wore a mustache and Jack guessed him to be no more than forty. He was almost completely bald.
Jack offered his hand. “Good afternoon, I’m Jack McCabe.”
“And I’m John Clum. How can I help you?” he asked.
“We were hoping to speak to the operator,” Jack said, gesturing to the telegraph in the corner.
Mr. Clum glanced over to the empty chair in the corner and his face took a hard turn. “I’m afraid Mr. Edwards is no longer with us.”
“Where did he go?” Jack asked.
“He was cruelly murdered,” Mr. Clum said.
Katherine gasped.
“Has anyone been arrested?” Jack asked.
“No. But why are you asking after Mr. Edwards?”
“As I said, I’m a bounty hunter, and I have a suspicion I may know who did it.”
“That’s what Mr. Woolbridge said,” Mr. Clum said.
“Oh? Mr. Woolbridge has been here?”
“Been and gone,” Mr. Clum said.
“Where did he go?”
“Sorry, he never said. All I know is he talked to a few people around town: Sheriff Behan, his deputy, Billy Breakenridge, myself. That’s it.”
“Thank you,” Jack said, adding, “And I’m sorry for the loss of Mr. Edwards.”
Mr. Clum nodded. “You’re welcome, and . . . here, have a paper.” He thrust a rolled up newspaper at Jack who glanced at it briefly as they turned to leave. He stopped suddenly in the doorway.
“What is it?” Katherine whispered.
Jack didn’t say anything, but he looked at the paper again, then back at Mr. Clum. “What day is it?” he asked.
“It’s Wednesday, October the 26th,” Mr. Clum answered. “Why?”
“Shit,” Jack sucked his in breath and rolled the paper up, turning to Katherine. “We have to get out of here. Now.”
“What is it, Jack?”
And almost he told her. Almost he slipped up and told her why they had to leave, what was going to happen any moment now. But he remembered and peered out into the street, one hand on Katherine’s arm, the other at his belt. He stepped out from the shadow of the doorway slowly, eyes peeled for movement.
“What is it, Jack?” Katherine asked again. “Is it the paper? Did you see something in the paper?”
“No, it’s not the paper. I . . . I just have a funny feeling, that’s al
l.”
“Funny ha ha, or funny uh oh?”
“Uh oh.”
“Should I be scared?” Katherine had lowered her voice to a whisper.
They were about to turn onto Allen Street when what sounded like a car’s backfire made them both jump. Except it wasn’t a car because there were no cars in 1881.
It was gunfire. A quick succession of volleys followed, a rat-a-tat-tat that set Jack’s heart beating fast. They flattened against the building. Katherine squeezed her eyes shut like a cat who thinks they’ll be safe from what they can’t see.
“Turn around and walk the other way,” Jack said quietly.
She didn’t move.
“It’s all right, Katherine. Trust me.” He took her hand and linked their fingers, holding tight.
Jack guided her down Fifth Street, past the Crystal Palace, and across the street to their hotel.
“It sounded like a gunfight,” Katherine said once they were inside. “Was it? Was that what was happening?”
Jack said in his calm voice, “I think so, but it’s probably over by now. This town isn’t big enough for the sheriff to be too far away.”
Of course, if memory served, Sheriff Behan was quite close to the action though apparently unable to put a stop to any of it. Jack could’ve kicked himself for not paying better attention. They were lucky they hadn’t stumbled into the crossfire.
He took Katherine upstairs even though a part of him was dying to go out on the street and watch the aftermath of the gunfight, maybe catch a glimpse of Wyatt Earp and his brothers, or even Doc Holliday. But of course he couldn’t; Katherine was obviously scared to death and, he reminded himself, he already knew what happened.
Once he got her sitting down he pulled the curtains aside for a quick peek and was rewarded with the sight of four men all walking together toward the Oriental while a fifth man, Sheriff Behan, Jack saw by his badge, trailed them, calling out.
Angry words were exchanged but Jack noticed that not one of them made a move to draw and a minute later it was over, with Wyatt, his brothers, and Doc Holliday all walking over to the Oriental Saloon; Sheriff Behan stopped in his tracks.
Jack turned to Katherine who had made herself comfortable on the chaise and was fanning herself with her bonnet.
“You okay?” he asked her.
She forced a brave smile. “I’m fine,” she said.
He went to her, bending down on one knee and putting his hand to her forehead. “It’s over now. I don’t think there will be any more shooting today. I’ll go get us something to drink from downstairs and then we can try to figure out what to do next.”
She nodded her agreement and Jack wasn’t gone more than five minutes before he returned with two tall glasses of what looked like whiskey and ice. He sat down next to her, handing her one of the glasses and she sat up to take it, sipping slowly, expecting a burn that never came. Instead there was a jolt of lemon so tart and tangy it made her blink.
“What is it?” she asked.
“A slingflip.” Jack smiled.
“Good lord, what’s in it?”
“Not sure, bourbon, I think, some sort of lemon liquor, spices. Mr. Leslie said it was guaranteed to cure any ailment.”
“Probably because if I drank it all I’d be unconscious,” Katherine said, taking another careful sip.
Jack took a good swallow from his own glass.
“Wow. You may be right.” He set the glass aside.
“I’m sorry. For being such a baby. I’m just not used to . . .”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Jack said, meaning it.
Katherine nodded. “Where do you think Alanna has gone?” she asked to distract herself.
“I don’t know, but I’ll wager Jim Woolbridge is on the right trail. I think we should talk to the stage driver tomorrow. Maybe he’ll remember seeing one or both of them. And I could go talk to the sheriff, I suppose, though I’d have to leave my guns behind . . .”
“Why would you have to?” Katherine asked.
“There’s an ordinance. No guns allowed. The stage driver announced it as we came into town. ”
“But . . . but what was that that just happened?” Katherine asked.
“Oh, well, that was a gunfight between some of the alleged law- abiding citizens and some of the not so law-abiding citizens,” Jack said with a smile.
“And which one are you?” Katherine asked.
“That depends,” Jack answered honestly. “Mostly I’m law-abiding, and under different circumstances I’d happily turn my weapons in to the local authorities but in light of who we’re looking for I think I’ll keep my guns.”
“You have more than one?”
“I have the one in my shoulder holster and a .32 in an ankle holster.”
“I guess you’re prepared then,” Katherine said, taking another sip of her drink. “Who were those people?”
“I don’t know. But I saw the sheriff; I’m sure he’ll sort everything out.”
Katherine, nodded, shivering a little, and Jack put his arm around her. She turned her face toward his, her blue eyes languid. He reached out to brush her hair away from her face and she sighed at his touch.
“Kiss me, Jack,” she whispered.
He didn’t wait to be asked again.
❧
When Katherine woke later the room was dark but for the remains of a candle still burning on the tall dresser. The light flickered, casting shadows over Jack sleeping beside her. Outside the night was broken by the light from the saloons and dancing halls, music drifting. The air had turned cool, and Katherine felt her skin tighten.
The remains of the meal they’d ordered still sat on the bedside table and Katherine rolled over to pick at the grapes. She hardly remembered crawling into bed but she’d also finished off most of that slingflip—or whatever it was that Jack had brought—after she’d had the best sex of her life.
She peered over her shoulder at him, sprawled naked, tempted to wake him for a repeat performance. But instead she stretched out beside him and watched him sleep. His hair was messy, falling this way and that, glinting gold, like something Rumpelstiltskin might have spun.
He was dreaming about something; she could see the flicker of movement beneath his eyelids. His skin was nearly flawless, an enticing shade of bronze and smooth when she touched it, unable to resist running a finger over his shoulder and down to where the skin puckered and pulled taut and white.
She remembered when he’d first shown the wound to her, how angry he had been thinking it was her. Now it was her turn to be angry, and afraid. She didn’t want anything to happen to Jack and she was deathly afraid that something might. The fact that Alanna had killed yet again made it obvious that she had no regard for any human life however remotely it might threaten her.
She let her finger run down along Jack’s taut stomach, all the way to where his skin turned pale again. A shiver ran down her spine as her eyes traveled down the length of him, feeling herself grow warm just thinking about what he did to her.
What was this feeling? When had this happened? She pulled away abruptly, sitting up in the bed, the night air nipping at her skin.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Tombstone (Part Two)
Where are we going?” Katherine asked the next morning as she tied her bonnet.
Jack wiped the last of the lather from his face and rinsed the razor in the basin, tapping it dry. “Breakfast. Then we’ll go talk to the stage driver when he comes in. If we’re lucky he’ll have seen either Jim or Alanna.”
Katherine nodded and slipped on the white blouse with the pleated front, tucking it into her skirt. She was beginning to tire of her rather limited wardrobe and wondered if there might be some place in town to shop. She still had money and no
reason not to spend some of it on a new dress.
Jack patted his face dry and found his boots where he’d kicked them off. Katherine watched him while he finished dressing, wanting very much to go over and hold him and tell him that they could forget about Alanna and maybe go back to that house Harlan Harris had. But of course, she wouldn’t. Even if she wanted to stay she knew she couldn’t.
“Ready?” Jack asked, offering his arm.
Katherine put a smile on her face and hooked her arm through his, the two of them exiting the room together and practically running into a woman dressed in a prim gray poplin gown with a high neck and half sleeves. She wore a matching bonnet which might have hidden her face had she not looked straight up at Jack to apologize.
“I’m terrible sorry,” she began.
Jack stared. “Mrs. Pratt? Eliza Pratt? What are you doing here?”
She backed away, glancing down the hall from where she’d come, but he grabbed her arm tight and yanked her into their room, pushing the door shut with his heel. Surprisingly, she didn’t struggle, only glowered at Jack like she knew him. He let her go, parking himself in front of the door.
“Mrs. Pratt, isn’t it?” Jack said.
“Who?” Katherine asked, frowning.
“Will Cushing’s sister. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Pratt?”
The woman nodded stiffly, her eyes flicking between them.
“Please, have a seat,” Jack said, gesturing to the chair in the corner. “I’m sure you have lots to tell us, like why you’re here.”
She declined the seat. “I’ll stand, thank you,” she said.
Jack shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’m happy to chat standing. But you start.”
“I have nothing to say to you,” Mrs. Pratt said with a sniff.
