Maureen McKade (28 page)

Chapter 19

T
he explosion registered in Kit’s mind a split second before Preston fell forward on her chest. Reacting without thought, she shoved him off her and scrambled from the bed. She stared at his still body, trying to comprehend what had happened. Blood oozed from a wound high on his right shoulder.

She shifted her gaze to the doorway and spotted Johnny on the floor, a revolver beside him. Realization struck like a physical blow. Johnny had shot Preston.

“Dear God,” she whispered.

Charlie and Ethan appeared behind her son, and Kit closed her eyes in relief. Ethan knelt down beside Johnny, and his bewildered gaze found Kit. “What the hell happened?”

She hurried to Johnny’s side and wrapped her arms around her son. Hugging his shuddering body close, Kit replied in a shaky voice, “P-Preston attacked m-me.”

Ethan spewed a string of curses, and Charlie’s fingers rolled into ham-sized fists. Charlie strode to the motionless figure on the bed, then he gazed at Kit in alarm. “He was shot in the back.”

Kit stared at the dark man, and comprehension
seemed to stagger him. He looked at Johnny, empathy brimming in his eyes.

Charlie turned back to Preston. “The son-of-a-bitch is still alive.”

“I can fix that,” Ethan growled.

“No,” Kit said. Clinging to her sobbing son, she said in a low voice, “We can’t let him die. Get the wagon, Ethan. I’ll take him to the doctor’s office.”

The half-breed stared at her for a moment as if he were going to argue, then he glanced at Johnny and nodded.

After Ethan had gone, Kit looked over at Charlie, bent over Preston’s still figure. “How bad is it?”

“Looks like the slug’s still in him.”

“We need to stop the bleeding.”

Charlie nodded. “I’ll take care of it. You get Johnny out of here.”

Grateful for her friend’s help, she led Johnny away from the bloody sight and steered him to his room. She lifted him onto his bed and knelt on the floor facing him.

“You did a very brave thing,” she began softly.

Johnny scrubbed his damp eyes with his fists. “Pa told me to take care of you.”

Kit’s heart leaped into her throat, and she had to wait a moment to answer. “Your pa would be very proud of you, but you can’t tell him that you shot Mr. Preston.”

His dark brows drew together. “Why not?”

Kit took hold of his tiny hands, hands that had just held a gun and shot a man. Moisture burned her eyes. “We’ll tell everyone I did it.”

Fear skittered across his tearstained face. “You’ll go to jail, and I won’t ever see you again.”

She forced a reassuring smile. “They won’t put me in jail for shooting someone who was trying to hurt me.”

She shivered with remembered terror, then choked the
fear back. She had to remain strong for Johnny. She had to protect her son. “This’ll be our secret. Yours, mine, Charlie’s, and Ethan’s, okay?”

Worry shadowed Johnny’s features. “Won’t Pa be mad?”

He’d be furious
, Kit thought. Regret stabbed her. No, if Jake found out, there was no telling what he might do. And she couldn’t risk the whole town turning against her son for protecting his mother. “Not if he doesn’t find out.”

Johnny nibbled his lower lip and nodded.

Kit embraced him, drawing him close. “I love you, sweetheart, and I’m very, very proud of you.”

He looped his thin arms around her neck and hugged her tightly. “I love you, too, Ma.”

Reluctantly, she released him and studied the swelling around his right eye. A week ago, she wouldn’t have believed Preston capable of such violence.

“Let’s go downstairs and put a damp cloth on that eye for you. Looks like you’re going to have a shiner, young man.” She kept her voice light to counter the anger churning within her.

Johnny hopped down from the bed and took her hand. She kept herself between him and the doorway to her bedroom and led him down to the kitchen.

As she wet a cloth with cold well water, she heard footsteps on the stairs. In another minute, she heard more coming down. Knowing Charlie and Ethan were carrying Preston out, she kept a light-hearted conversation going with Johnny. She talked about Salty and Pepper, and Jasper. And Jake.

If only Jake had been home, none of this would have happened. Kit knew it was unfair to blame him for Preston’s actions, but she couldn’t help herself. If Jake truly loved her as he claimed, he wouldn’t have left them.

Charlie entered the kitchen, followed closely by
Ethan. The brawny man glanced at Kit, then Johnny. “Quite a shiner you got there, Johnny.”

“Mr. Preston done it,” the boy replied, then glanced guiltily at Kit.

“It’s all right, sweetheart. You can tell them the truth.”

“Ethan, why don’t you take Johnny to the front room and play a game of checkers?” Charlie suggested.

Johnny clung to Kit. “No, I want to stay with Ma.”

Gently, Kit loosened his frantic grip from her. “It’s all right, sweetheart. Mr. Preston can’t hurt us anymore. Besides, Ethan and Charlie are here now. They won’t let anything bad happen.”

Fresh tears filled Johnny’s eyes, and Kit’s throat constricted.

Ethan led him out of the kitchen, and Johnny kept his frightened gaze on Kit until he was gone.

“You’d best get yourself cleaned up before you go into town,” Charlie said.

She glanced down at her ruined shirt and noticed for the first time that her chemise had been torn, too, exposing a patch of pale skin between her breasts. Kit pulled the sides of her shirt together, and the shakes caught her off-guard. Her whole body quaked. Ragged sobs escaped her throat, and tears ran unheeded down her cheeks.

Charlie wrapped his arms around her and she stepped into his comforting embrace.

“He was going to rape me,” she managed to get out.

His muscles tensed, but he only smoothed Kit’s hair in a comforting motion. “If I’da known what kind of man Preston was, I wouldn’t have let him out of my sight.”

“He had everyone fooled with his city manners.” She hiccuped. “Especially me. I can’t believe I thought he was my friend.” She drew out of his arms. “Nobody
can know that it was Johnny who shot Preston in the back.” Her stomach fisted. “I’m going to say I did it.”

Charlie stared at her in shock, then shook his head vehemently. “I ain’t gonna let you do that. I’ll tell them I did it.”

“Once it’s out that he was backshot, you’d be strung up without a trial. Same as Ethan.”

“But—”

Kit squeezed his hand. “No, I won’t take that chance.”

“You figure on hidin’ it from Jake, too?” he asked, his tone disapproving.

Kit swallowed her remorse. “I have to. Jake’s a lawyer. He’d feel obligated to tell the truth. He’ll get the same story as everyone else. Preston attacked me, and hit Johnny, then I shot the snake.”

He shook his head. “Tell him the truth. He’s your husband.”

“No. I can’t risk having him labeled a backshooter for the rest of his life.” She searched for understanding in Charlie’s eyes. “Johnny wouldn’t be punished by the court, but folks would call him a coward and worse as he grows older. I have to protect my son.”

“He’s Jake’s son, too.”

She hesitated, and said quietly, “That’s another reason I have to do this.” She turned toward the door. “I have to go change and get Preston to the doctor.”

“I packed the wound to stop the bleedin’.” He reached behind him, withdrew the revolver from his waistband, and handed it to Kit. “Here.”

She took it with trembling hands, recognizing it as the one she kept in her desk drawer: Judge Cordell’s Colt revolver. “Thanks.”

“I’ll ride with you into town,” Charlie said.

“No. I don’t want you or Ethan anywhere near Chaney for a little while.”

Kit went to the library, and placed the unloaded gun back in its box. She noticed a packet of envelopes lying on the desk beside the box and tossed them in the drawer with the weapon.

Half an hour later, Kit drove the team of horses down the dusk-lit road. Preston had lost a lot of blood, but his unconscious groans told her he was still alive. Torn between wanting him to die and wanting him to live, Kit struggled with her conscience. She’d never wished for a man’s death before, and the savagery of her thoughts frightened her.

She thought of the novels she’d written glorifying Jake’s gunfights. Despite the men being outlaws, she had cheapened the lives and deaths of human beings. And made Jake a hero without remorse. Her vision blurred, and Kit removed her spectacles to rub her eyes. Replacing them, she thought of the final dime novel she’d been trying to write. She now knew how to conclude the legend.

Chaney came into sight, and she guided the horses to the doctor’s building. She glanced up at Jake’s office, blanketed in darkness, and once again wished he’d been home. Dashing aside the useless musings, she hopped to the hard-packed earth and rushed into Dr. Lewis’s office.

“The fire station’s down the street,” Dr. Lewis growled from his desk.

Kit blinked, at first bewildered. “I’ve got a badly wounded man in the back of my wagon.”

He came to his feet with a scowl. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

“I—” Kit shook her head. There was no use arguing with him; she’d never win. “He’s been shot.”

Dr. Lewis rushed past her, surprising Kit with his agility. He looked into the wagon bed. “Looks like the newspaperman.”

“It is,” she affirmed. “I did it.”

“Didn’t agree with one of his editorials?”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Kit smiled. “Not exactly.”

The doctor shanghaied a couple men out of the crowd who’d gathered around the wagon and had them carry Preston into the examination room.

“You get queasy with blood?” Lewis demanded.

Kit shook her head. “No.”

“Good. I need a nurse.”

“But—”

“I got no time for shilly-shallying. Get in here.”

Kit accepted the inevitable with a sigh and rolled up her sleeves.

For the next hour, she helped Lewis remove the bullet from Preston’s shoulder. Tying off the bandage, she glanced at the doctor. “Will he live?”

“I look like God to you?”

Flustered, Kit shook her head. “Well, no.” She attempted another approach. “In your medical opinion, will he be all right?”

“Bullet didn’t do any real damage. He’ll be fit as a fiddle in a few weeks.”

Kit nearly collapsed with relief.

Dr. Lewis wiped his hands dry. “Preston do that to you?”

She noticed his attention on her neck, and she covered the painful bruise self-consciously. “Yes.”

His eyes gleamed with anger. “Preston got what he deserved. In my day, a man who attacked a woman would’ve been strung up without a trial.” His shrewd gaze remained on her. “Want to tell me who really shot him?”

Startled, she glanced down, and picked up the bloody cloths littering the floor. “I told you, I did.”

“How do you shoot a man in the back when he’s attacking you?”

“I got away from him and grabbed a gun and shot him. Simple as that,” Kit stated, her voice unnaturally loud. “Am I done here?”

He nodded.

Kit watched the doctor gather his tools, then went into the front office. She stopped short at the sight of Mayor Walters, Bertie Wellensiek, and Patrick. The Irishman’s usually pleasant expression was absent, and Kit’s palms grew moist.

“Is that David Preston back there?” Patrick asked without preamble.

Kit nodded, but didn’t offer more.

“Arrest her,” Bertie said in a shrewish voice.

Patrick leveled a quelling gaze at the reverend’s wife. “I want to hear Kit’s side.”

Kit recognized the Irishman’s struggle to control his temper. Quaking inside, she prayed for courage to keep to her story. “David came out to the ranch. He said he knew Jake was out of town and wanted to make sure I was all right.”

Bertie narrowed her darting little pig eyes. “Mr. Preston is a gentleman.”

“I hate to shatter your image of the wonderful Mr. Preston, but he’s no gentleman,” Kit stated shakily. “He attacked me. Fortunately, I was able to get away from him and grab a gun. Then I shot him.” She paused. “Dr. Lewis said he’ll be fine in a few weeks.”

“You shot him in the back, Miss Thornton,” the mayor commented.

She pinned him with a glare. “I had reason enough. And it’s Mrs. Cordell.”

Walters stuck two fingers between his stiff collar and thick neck as if he were suffocating. “Were there any witnesses to the shooting?”

Kit lifted her chin. “No.”

Bertie sniffed and dabbed at her beaked nose with a
delicate white lace hanky. “I think Mrs. Cordell enticed Mr. Preston out to her place since her husband was gone. And when Mr. Preston refused her, Mrs. Cordell shot him in a fit of anger.”

Kit closed her eyes, wondering if she should laugh or cry. Bertie Wellensiek’s storytelling abilities rivaled those of T. K. Thorne.

“Arrest her, Sergeant,” the mayor ordered.

Patrick glanced at the pompous little man, then turned to Kit, an apologetic look on his florid face. “I’ll have to put you in jail until the judge comes to town.”

Panic danced on the fringes of her precarious control. “It was self-defense!”

Misery lined the Irishman’s face. “I’m believin’ you, lass, but Preston was shot in the back.”

Kit’s hands trembled, and she curled her fingers into fists. “So I’m going to be thrown in jail as if this was all my fault?”

“I’m sorry, lass.”

What would Johnny think when she didn’t come home? She couldn’t have him blame himself, but she wouldn’t be able to reassure him.

Allowing the sergeant to guide her out of the doctor’s office, she passed the townspeople lining the boardwalk. Kit heard their murmurings in her wake, and although she couldn’t understand the words, she could tell by their tones what was being said. Stiffening her spine, she stared straight ahead and ignored them as she’d learned to do years before.

But deep down she was a ten-year-old girl again, vainly looking for her hero to rescue her.

Jake mopped the sweat from his forehead with his neckerchief, cursing the vagaries of a Wyoming spring. Soon after he’d arrived in Chaney, there’d been a snowstorm. Less than six weeks later, the sun beat down upon
him like he was in an Arizona desert. He tied the bandanna around his neck in a loose knot.