Pale Moon Stalker (The Nymph Trilogy) (17 page)

"So is my husband. He'll see to it that Zeb and his men are locked up when we reach the next town," Sky replied.

"Won't do no good," Ginny said with a weary shrug. "Jimmy's right. No sheriff'll be able to keep McKerrish in jail. None of them passengers in our car tried to stop him when he had his men drag me off the train. Only Jimmy."

"If you press charges—"

"It would be bad for our health," the gambler said with finality. "We thank you for your help, but Ginny and I are going to disappear. You and your husband might want to do the same, unless you got some pull in Denver." He sounded dubious.

A bitter smile touched Sky's lips. "You might be surprised. We aren't afraid of McKerrish...but I do wish my husband hadn't talked me out of killing the bastard." Turning to Ginny, she said, "At least let me treat your injuries. We have a private car where no one will see you."

The girl looked at the gambler, who nodded. "I expect it'd be a good idea to stay out of sight until we can slip off the train. Maybe McKerrish will forget about us."

Unspoken was the fact that the cattleman would not forget the mixed-blood woman who had smashed in his face with her rifle butt. And because of her, the Limey had another enemy to add to an already long list.

* * * *

True to his word, James Cavendish took young Ginny and slipped off the train when they reached the next town. Sky gave them money to purchase a couple of horses so they could disappear. Max returned to their railcar shortly before the train once more got under way.

"Well, are they in jail?" she asked, already guessing the answer.

"It would seem Mr. Zebulon McKerrish is a very important landowner, a veritable American earl. The sheriff flatly refused to arrest him or his lackeys. And, since their victims have refused to press charges..." He shrugged in disgust.

"He just let them go then." Her voice was flat.

"No, Cary and his boss were both in need of a doctor, thanks to you, love. At least with McKerrish unconscious, he won't be sending gunmen after that girl and her companion for the present."

"He'll come after us. Bet on it."

Max nodded. "Your brother wouldn't take odds against it, but by the time McKerrish is able to issue orders, we'll be long gone, too."

"He'll find out who you are. You've just made another vicious enemy."

"He'll have to wait his turn. The queue is already quite long," Max replied dryly, as he poured two cups of coffee and laced them generously with whiskey, then handed her one. "We're after bigger game than McKerrish, love. Forget about him." He studied her over the rim of his mug, fearing she might be right, but not wanting her to second-guess her decision that morning.

"When he wakes up, do you think he'll send someone after Ginny and her gambler?" she asked.

"No. And I doubt he'll try me either. I made certain he knew who I was before we left town."

"What if you're wrong?"

He smiled sadly at her and took a swallow of the hot black liquid. "Then I suppose I shouldn't have talked you out of killing the lot of them."

She set aside her cup without taking a drink. "I've become someone I don't even recognize anymore."

"You're seeing that little girl who Deuce brutalized...and Will Brewster. I recognize you, Sky Eyes of the Ehanktonwon. You aren't a cold-blooded killer. In fact..." He set down his cup and walked over to her, taking her chin in his hand, tilting her face up to his.

Sky held her breath as he lowered his mouth to hers and gave her a soft kiss. "Sometimes we can't forget the past, love. We have to live with it." His eyes held hers until she nodded. "You did the right thing, Sky. If McKerrish causes trouble down the line, I'll handle him."

He left a taste of coffee-flavored whiskey on her lips and a burning warmth spreading through her body.
He's offering me comfort...

When she reached up and encircled his neck with her arms, he picked her up and carried her to the bed...and the oblivion of passion.

* * * *

The following day the train pulled into Leadville. Sky sat at the window, already dressed in one of her best traveling suits, a gray linen with narrow white stripes and black piping on the jacket. She'd arranged her hair into a bun at her nape and wore a small gray hat perched at a jaunty angle on her head.

The veil on the headgear reminded her fleetingly of the mysterious woman who'd rescued her and Delilah back in Missouri, but before she could dwell on her identity, the train lurched to a complete stop.

Max entered the car in a three-piece suit with gold watch fob glittering in the late afternoon sunlight. He inspected her appearance with appreciation. "You'll be the most elegant lady in Leadville."

"Somehow I doubt that would be difficult."

"Don't sneer. The population has grown now to around thirty thousand souls, or so I was told. Quite a boomtown, filled with rich men and beautiful women."

"If Blackie's friend has information on Deuce, I don't care if she's ugly as Medusa," Sky replied, trying not to flush with pride at the way he admired her. With the passing of each day—and night—it seemed their marriage grew to be more genuine...more permanent. His reply brought her back to reality.

"I'm certain Mrs. Simmons will be reasonably attractive, considering her work, but Blackie's never mistaken about a source. We'll find out where Deuce has gone to ground."

"Good. I hope he's here in town."

"In case he's already overstayed his welcome, I saw to stabling for the horses Steve lent us. If we have to ride after Deuce, we'll require camp supplies, but that shouldn't be a problem in a mining town."

"At least you're not still insisting I stay behind any longer. Thank you, Max."

Her earnest expression caught him off guard. Did it mean that she trusted him and only wanted to watch his back...or did she still need to see Johnny Deuce die at her feet? He hoped it was the former, not the latter. "You're welcome, love. What man can stand against a determined woman—especially one who's a dead shot with a Yellow Boy?" he asked as he helped her from the train steps to the crowded platform.

Sky looked around her, amazed at the stark scene. Leadville was a huge, sprawling mining town plunked ten thousand feet above sea level, surrounded by snowcapped mountains. "Why would so many people want to live in this cold, isolated place?"

"Hot or frozen, gold has its draw. And the men who run the mines want their pleasures close at hand."

Suddenly a shot rang out nearby. Max shoved Sky behind him and crouched, his double-action Remington pocket pistol drawn from an inside jacket with blurring speed. He tracked the shooter, then slipped the stubby revolver back into its hiding place. A drunk in a plaid flannel shirt had just taken a potshot at a jackrabbit and missed. The critter's white tail bounced across the open brushy landscape and vanished while the man cussed.

Then a second shot erupted from down the street leading into town. He again reached for his pistol, but quickly stopped himself when he saw another miner lower a rusty old Colt that he'd just fired in the air while yelling, "Whoopee! Drinks on me, boys. I struck 'er rich tadday!"

A crowd of eager takers converged on the celebrant, following him into the saloon, appropriately named The Hot Shot. Sky looked at the crowds of people walking, riding horses or driving carriages up and down the muddy streets. "Where are all these people going? This is busier than New York City!" Then, when another random shot rang out, she could sense Max flinch.

"Small wonder they call it Leadville. Whoever sells ammunition here probably makes more than the silver kings." He took her hand and tucked it around his arm, then hailed a carriage to take them to their hotel.

During the ride to the Clarendon Hotel on Harrison Avenue, the gunfire continued sporadically. Sky could see it was unsettling to Max. For a man who earned his living with a veritable arsenal of firearms, she found it difficult to understand, until she realized that stalking a murderer and capturing or killing him required few shots to be fired. A protracted battle, however, was quite a different matter.

Max must be reliving his war experience. Now she wished desperately that she'd found the time on their journey to visit a library and read about the battle at Rorke's Drift. How long must it have gone on? Knowing the details might help her better understand the enigma that was her husband...and the ghastly nightmares that still held him prisoner.

"Instead of going straight to the hotel, why don't we call on Mrs. Simmons at her parlor house?" she suggested to Max, thinking such a practical matter might take his mind off his ghosts. "It is on the edge of the city, isn't it?"

He smiled at her. "Patience, love. Although her establishment is nearby, the lady is doubtless occupied marshaling her staff for this evening's business. If we wish her goodwill, it would be wise not to disrupt her schedule. I'll send a note requesting a visit after we've checked into the Clarendon. They're reputed to have a splendid dining room."

Sky harrumphed her dissatisfaction, but said grudgingly, "I suppose we'd be wise to wait until it suits her."

The hotel was indeed quite impressive, a three-story brick building located next to the Tabor Opera House. It stood like some medieval castle overshadowing the peasantry milling about below.

"A bit garish, but it will do. Has done for men with titles far exceeding my paltry one," he said as they entered the front lobby. Their suite was spacious and overlooked the front of the building from the second floor.

Before dismissing the bellman, Max ordered baths for both of them and requested dinner reservations for seven that evening. He watched as Sky pulled the pearl hat pin from the frilly concoction on her head and tossed the hat and its lace veil on a pier table. He moved silently behind her and reached up, unfastening her hair and letting his fingers comb the heavy mass down her back.

"Mmm," he murmured. "It's so thick and shiny, but I imagine carrying all that weight about one's head is a trial...one I am most happy you endure."

She leaned her head backward, letting his caresses soothe the tension from her body. Then another series of shots rang outside the windows and she felt him tense.
I should be the one soothing him.
She turned in his arms and kissed him softly. It was not an embrace of passion, but rather one of solace.

Max inhaled the sweet scent that was so uniquely Sky and felt his frayed nerves calm. He was becoming addicted to having her in his life. If only it could last. He closed his eyes and held her fast, burying his face in her night-dark hair. Their tender moment was interrupted by a rap on the door.

"Bathwater, yer worship," a voice with a thick Irish brogue called out from the hallway.

* * * *

Sky dressed in her finest blue silk gown and wore a sapphire necklace and earrings Max had given her while they were in St. Louis. "You look luscious enough to eat. Perhaps we should forget about dinner and adjourn to the bedroom," he said when she twirled around, holding the train of the frothy gown out so it floated like a bright blue cloud.

"You promised me a gourmet dinner, sir. I will have that...first," she replied with warmth in her eyes that stole his breath.

And a gourmet feast it proved to be, beginning with smoked oysters on garlic toast points, followed by a rich beef consommé and then a rack of lamb in a marsala wine reduction. The dessert was a pastry concoction filled with chocolate and whipped cream.

"I'm so stuffed you may have to carry me back to our room," she said, pushing away her rich dessert, half eaten.

"Madame does not like ze puff pastry?" their waiter said in a heavy French accent, with one silver eyebrow raised haughtily.

"Oh, no. I've not had such a feast since Delmonico's in New York," Sky replied with a smile that disarmed him.

"Zat is no accident, madame." He puffed out his chest. "I myself accompanied ze chef from Paris to America, where we were employed at Delmonico's—until ze Clarendon brought us here to honor its guests with the finest cuisine in ze world."

Max raised his linen napkin and smothered a chuckle at Sky's look of amazement. "As I said, love, silver barons can enjoy the best of everything right here in the Rockies."

After leaving the crowded dining room, they requested coffee and cognac in their suite. Sky watched Max lace his coffee with heavy cream. When a burst of gunfire erupted down the street, he splashed a bit of it in his saucer and muttered an oath. "Damned if we'll be able to sleep tonight. I've heard stories about this place, but I must say it far exceeds its unenviable reputation."

"Well..." she replied, pausing until he turned his head and gazed at her, "We shall simply do something to tire us so we sleep soundly...that is, if you don't object to making love with a fat lady?" She patted her stomach and elicited the laugh she hoped to receive.

"Come, my plump pullet, and allow me to perform maid's duties," he said, rising and extending his hand to her.

"Only if you'll allow me to be your valet," she replied as he led her into the large bedroom, where the lights had been dimmed and the coverlet laid back by efficient hotel servants.

"Even more chocolate on the pillows," he said, holding up an exquisite chocolate rose resting on a small silver dish.