Redemption (12 page)

Jack felt a chill run the length of his spine as he caught a glimpse of the two men in the cab. As the truck continued down the street, he saw that the back plate had been plastered over with fresh mud and realized where he’d seen the pickup before.

He let out a curse as the driver turned behind the post office and stopped. The truck’s headlights went out. The engine died.

Jack waited for the sound of pickup doors opening. But all he could hear were the usual night sounds. An owl hooted somewhere close by, the breeze sighed in the pines across the road and closer he heard the steady thump of shoe soles. Someone was running toward him.

* * *

J
ACK TURNED AS
a slim silhouette entered the alley and ran toward him. Like the first time he’d seen her, Kate LaFond was dressed in running gear. Over the sound of her sneaker soles pounding the hard earth, he heard another sound. Two pickup doors opened and slammed shut behind the post office nearby.

He realized Kate hadn’t seen him in the dark alley. Nor had she heard the men coming. He grabbed her before she saw him and pulled her back against the rock wall, his hand cupping her mouth. She instantly began to fight him with a determination he’d only glimpsed in her before. Adding to that, she was stronger than she looked.

“It’s me, Jack,” he whispered in her ear. He let out a low groan as her instep connected with his ankle. But he managed to keep his grip on her.

She was breathing hard, but she quit fighting. A moment later, he heard her catch her breath. She’d heard them, too. Two men moving along the back of the café building. They stopped at the door to the café, tried the knob, one of them swore, then they came around the corner of the café and started up the stairs directly over his and Kate’s heads.

All the fight had gone out of her, but he still held her, still cupped his hand over her mouth, but more gently, as they stood in the blackness of the shadow against the rock wall. He thought he could feel her heart thundering against his chest, but it could have been his own. The two men were directly above them now. One of them knocked on the apartment door, then waited a few seconds before knocking again. He tried the knob. Locked. The two looked at each other, clearly debating whether to break in. That’s when Jack saw the handgun one man had drawn.

At the sound of a vehicle coming into town, the men quickly retreated down the stairs. A carload of kids drove past, stereo blaring, the music and their laughter trailing after them through the dark night. More cars were coming—the fair must be over. People would be coming home or heading to the Range Rider to party until closing time.

Jack realized he, too, was holding his breath. He didn’t let it out until he heard the men get into their truck. The engine revved. A few moments later, the steady throb of the big motor died away as the truck left town. At least temporarily.

Kate was trembling in his arms. He turned her to face him as he stepped away from the wall. Fear and anger mixed into a deadly combination. “Who the hell were those men?”

“How would I know?” she demanded.

He shook his head, unable to contain his anger. “One of them had a gun. They would have broken into your apartment if that carload of kids hadn’t come by when they did. They were looking for
you
.”

“The real question is what
you’re
doing here,” she snapped.

“Saving your butt. Again. Please, don’t thank me,” he said as he took a step back from her, hands raised. “Lady, you’re in trouble. You want to pretend you’re not. Want to pretend you don’t know what those men are after? Fine. Have it your way. Like you said, you can take care of yourself. Hell, one man is already dead. You figure you can handle two more? Maybe you can. Don’t let me butt into your business.” He turned and was halfway down the alley before she spoke.

“Jack. Wait.”

He stopped, but he didn’t turn. Looking up at the night sky filled with stars, he told himself to keep walking. Hell, better yet,
run.

She had followed him and touched his shoulder, her warm fingers like the jolt of a cattle prod. “I’m sorry. Thank you. I don’t like needing anyone’s help. I guess I’ve spent too many years alone, taking care of myself because there was no one else to do it. But I swear to you, I’ve never seen those two men before.”

* * *

K
ATE WATCHED
J
ACK
turn slowly to look at her. He had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Right now they were like a cutting torch, flames of hot-blue light boring into her. She wasn’t sure what she expected him to say, but it wasn’t what came out of his mouth.

“Is there any peach pie left?”

She blinked and then laughed. She’d expected him to cross-examine her, demand to know what those men wanted. She was still shaking inside from the encounter. But was it from the close call with the two men? Or from being in Jack’s arms in the darkness?

“As a matter of fact, there is a piece left.”

“Coffee?”

“I could make some.”

“That’s why I came down here tonight. I had a sudden craving for peach pie and coffee.”

“I’m glad you did.” She tilted her head as she studied him in the dim light. He wasn’t just good-looking. His cowboy charm was intoxicating. And he
had
saved her tonight. She’d had so much on her mind that she’d foolishly gone for her run without her gun. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“Come on in,” she said, a little afraid of where this might lead, but convinced she could handle it.

As she pulled her key and let them both in the back door of the café, her hands were shaking. She was sure Jack noticed. He noticed everything, but did he know how much
he
rattled her?

She turned on the lights and went to the coffeemaker. “I heard you just got out of prison,” she said, hoping to steer the conversation away from her and what had happened tonight. “So you’re a dangerous hombre, are you?”

He chuckled at that. “Yeah, that’s me. A cattle-rustling fool. A prize bull ended up in my corral after a night at the bar.”

“You stole it?”

“The judge thought so and sent me to prison for two years.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, glancing back at him.

He shrugged. “I worked the prison ranch, so it was pretty much like what I’d been doing all my life, spending my days on the back of a horse chasing cattle.”

“A cowboy, huh.” She wrinkled her nose.

“If you are so disdainful of cowboys, what are you doing in Beartooth?”

She started a pot of coffee and turned, expecting to see Jack in his usual booth or lounging against the counter behind her, waiting for an answer.

No Jack. But the inside door to her apartment was open.

Kate let out an oath and headed for the stairs. “The coffee is—” The rest of her words froze in her throat.

Jack was standing in the middle of the apartment’s small living area. When she saw what he held in his hands, her heart dropped.

“You kept his hat.”

Kate stared at the hat in Jack’s hands. Why had she kept it? “It isn’t what you think.”

Jack laughed. “You have no idea what I’m thinking.” He glanced at the hat in his hand. “The hatband is hitched out of horsehair in much the same pattern as the rope the sheriff showed me.” His gaze came up to meet hers. “The same rope that was used to kill the man, I would imagine. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, right?”

She said nothing. There was nothing she
could
say.

“Look, I already know your friend spent some time in prison. I’ve already narrowed it down to Yuma.” He must have seen her skepticism. “It’s the
hitched
horsehair. There are only four prisons I know of where inmates hitch. Walla Walla, Washington; Rawlins, Wyoming; Deer Lodge, Montana; and Yuma, Arizona.”

“Yuma?” she asked, calling him on it.

“It’s the colors and the pattern. Yuma has a Mexican influence—they hitch in a lot of bright colors. They also use a lot of pink.” He tossed the hat to her.

She caught it effortlessly and glanced at the predominant pink color in the hatband before dropping it on the couch. Crossing her arms, she said, “What does that prove?”

“That the man who was accosting you in the alley the first night we met probably did time in the Yuma prison. If you didn’t know him, then why keep the hat? Because you expected him to come back? Or because you knew he would never be coming back for it? Either way, it proves to me that you knew him. Or at least knew what he wanted.”

Kate let out a nervous laugh. “Based on a
hat?
” She shook her head and started to turn back toward the stairs. “Your pie and coffee are ready. If that’s really why you came down here tonight.”

He grabbed her arm, turning her to him and shoving her back against the wall to press her body there with his own. She didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Every instinct told her to push him away. She’d already let him get too close.

His fingers grazed her cheek as he brushed a lock of her hair back from her face. “Have you ever told the truth in your life?” he asked, though there was no accusation in his tone.

“It’s never come up.”

He smiled at that. He had the most amazing smile. Kate figured the devil smiled like that. Mischief danced in his liquid-blue eyes. Gold flecks flashed like sunshine on warm water, as if inviting her to come in for a dip.

The callused pads of his fingertips trailed down from her cheek to the corner of her mouth. This was no urban cowboy. He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. His gaze followed it. At first she thought he didn’t feel the uncontrollable shudder that moved through her. But when he glanced from her lips to her eyes again, he gave her a knowing grin.

She’d had enough of this, she told herself, and prying her hands between them, put her palms against his hard chest.

She opened her mouth to tell him his kind of cowboy charm didn’t work on her, but when she parted her lips to speak, his mouth dropped to hers, robbing her of her breath and her senses.

He pressed her tighter against the wall, his body as hard and solid as the wall behind her. Even when she did come to her senses, cursing herself for playing with fire when it came to Jack French, she didn’t break the kiss for what seemed a very long time. Had she ever been kissed like this? She made a halfhearted attempt to push him away, but it was like trying to dislodge an immovable object.

His hand moved from her hip to her waist, drawing her even closer. Her every instinct warned her to stop, but it felt so good and it had been so long since she’d felt—

Jack broke off the kiss with such suddenness that she stumbled against him.

That’s when she felt his hand just below her rib cage, his warm fingers tracing—

“What the hell?” he demanded, and lifted the hem of her shirt. At the sight of her scar, he let out a curse. Clearly he had come to
his
senses. “What did you tangle with?”

She stepped back from him, jerking her shirt down and mentally kicking herself for letting him get too close. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?”
He reached for her.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t touch? Or don’t ask how you got a scar like that?”

“Just don’t.” She turned her back to him.

“Kate, it just surprised me, that’s all,” he said softly as he came up behind her. “Was it an accident or some kind of surgery?”

“It’s none of your business.”

She swung back around to face him. “You should go.”

“Everything is a secret with you, isn’t it? Makes me wonder just how many secrets you have that you can’t even tell me about a scar.”

“Jack—”

“Don’t bother. Whatever comes out of that beautiful mouth of yours will be a lie anyway. I forgot that you and the truth aren’t on a first-name basis and that the last thing you want is me interfering in your life.” He met her gaze, held it for a heart-stopping moment, then tipped his hat. “Good night,
Kate.
” With that he walked out.

After he left, Kate moved to the full-length mirror on the bedroom door and, lifting her shirt, studied the scar. It was called a hockey-stick incision. Five inches at an angle just above her stomach, then seven inches back toward her right side. Twelve inches total and one hell of a scar.

Kate dropped her shirt, and stepping back in the living room, collapsed into a chair before putting her face in her hands. She hadn’t cried. Not since Claude died.

When she went downstairs, she found that Jack had taken the last piece of peach pie and helped himself to a cup of coffee, leaving money to cover both on the counter.

She stood for a moment, fighting her warring emotions. Then, taking a deep breath, she went to the door, locked it and leaned against it. She knew it wouldn’t be the last she heard of Jack French.

Or of the men who’d come looking for her tonight.

Shoving all thoughts of Jack and that kiss away, she concentrated on her bigger problems. Those men would be back—if she didn’t do something.

Unlocking the door, she ran toward the Range Rider bar and the old-timey pay phone out back. It cost her fifty cents to make the call, giving the dispatcher what information she could about the two men.

“They were driving a truck.” She could tell that by the sound of the engine. “A diesel, I think, because it was big, but it was too dark to tell what color or make. One of the men had a gun and they were trying to get into the Beartooth General Store.”

She hadn’t given her name, saying she was just passing through and didn’t want to get involved because she was a woman traveling alone.

Kate hung up and walked back to her apartment over the café. Claude had been right. But it was getting more dangerous than even he had anticipated.

“Beartooth, Montana, is a little piece of heaven,” Claude said.

She’d shown up at his door, telling him she was reconsidering his offer. It was a lie. She only wanted answers.

“Oh sure, the town won’t look like much to you,” he said. She noticed how he seemed to have gotten some of his color back when he talked about the place. “Beartooth takes a while to get into your blood, into your soul. That’s why I’ve added a provision with my gift.”