West of Paradise (6 page)

She should have shot him.

❧

Katherine woke suddenly and tried to place herself. It took a moment for the fog of sleep to lift, and when it did she was aware of two things. One was that she hurt. The other, which took precedence over her pain, was her need to use a bathroom. Of course, she knew there was no such thing as a bathroom but she had to find something akin to one and soon.

She glanced over at Jack McCabe, finding him quite different under the guise of sleep. The anger and hate that made him look so mean had disappeared and his face didn’t seem as hard. His hat had fallen in his lap; she could see how long his hair was, light brown and streaked through with gold, curling a little around his neck and ears. His legs were stretched out before him and she remembered him taking off his shirt. How brown he was, how . . .

Katherine shook her head with an angry frown. He was a jerk, she reminded herself, and he wanted her dead. But why hadn’t he killed her already? He’d wanted to; she’d seen that in his eyes. Her attempted escape had certainly given him the perfect excuse to exercise that option. Yet he hadn’t, why?

She rose and walked to the window, rubbing away at the layer of dust and grimacing.
What a horrid place this is
, she thought. Dry and hot, no green to be seen, just the faded yellow of the plains and the washed out colors of the earth. The sky, which had been so blue the day before, had turned leaden.
Rain
, she thought.
It feels like rain
. She could even see a dark line forming along the horizon.

Her gaze drifted over to Jack, and she realized she would have to wake him, unpleasant as it might be. He would be cranky, no doubt, and probably bite her head off but she couldn’t wait much longer. She called out his name, softly at first, then louder. When that didn’t work she stomped her foot down on the floor, sure that her sharp heels would produce the desired effect.

In an instant the gun was leveled at her before Jack had even focused his eyes. Katherine froze where she stood, too frightened to breath.

“What are you doing?” he snapped, lowering the gun a hair.

“I need to use . . .” The word died on her lips and she racked her brain for the one she needed, still standing as still as a statue.

“Outhouse?” Jack supplied, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“All right.” Jack donned his hat and put the gun away, allowing Katherine to release her breath. He rose and opened the door. As soon as she took a step toward it he whirled and grabbed her arm, ignoring her small gasp.

“You’re hurting me,” she said.

He made no reply, but his grip loosened as they went downstairs, step by step. Jack took her out through the pantry door, which led to a small, enclosed area that had once been neatly fenced off. The fences were all down now, overgrown and half visible through the witch grass and bluestem. Katherine’s gaze went to a narrow building that slanted at an angle. Jack opened the door, and she started forward.

She stopped before entering and turned to him, taking a deep breath before speaking, “Would you mind untying me, I can’t . . .” She felt her face go red and cursed herself for being ashamed of a perfectly natural bodily function.

Jack searched her face, then her outstretched hands, debating whether he should allow her the luxury.

“Fine,” he said. “But you don’t want to spend a lot of time in there.”

“Believe me, I will do my best not to.”

The town might be deserted but the smell emanating from the outhouse indicated the place was still used on a somewhat regular basis. She rubbed at her wrists as soon as he’d removed the ropes and turned away, closing the loosely hinged door behind her. She told herself that he couldn’t hear her.

Katherine emerged from the outhouse gulping fresh air and quickly slamming the door closed behind her. What had ever made her think she would enjoy the old west? What was wrong with the roaring twenties? Or even the early part of the last century when they had hot and cold running water. Proper facilities.

She held out her hands to Jack and he retied the ropes in a hasty knot before grabbing her and pulling her along behind him.

“Where to now?” Katherine asked crossly.

“To get water before it rains,” Jack answered, his eyes flicking at the darkening skies. “We may be here a bit longer than I expected.”

“How wonderful,” Katherine said dryly.

“Don’t get smart,” Jack said. “We could be on our way if some fool hadn’t decided to chase my horse off.”

“Ah, a choice between this charming town or riding to my death. I’m not sure I can choose.”

Jack turned to stare at her, shaking his head. “This must be why Will is no longer with you,” he said, jerking her through an alley way that led between the hotel and the general store. “Your charming sense of humor must have driven him away.”

“You’re hurting me again,” Katherine ground out, trying to tug her arm away.

“Oh? So sorry, your highness,” Jack let go of her arm for a brief moment, bowed, then grabbed her again and yanked her through to the other side, dragging her to the well.

“And now who’s being smart?”

“Touché,” Jack tipped his hat. “Now lower that bucket and bring up some water.”

“What! Are you helpless?” Katherine gaped at him as if he had lost his mind.

“No, but I’m busy guarding you,” Jack answered with a sardonic smile. “And if you want water to wash up with then I suggest you get moving.”

“As if I could get very far,” Katherine muttered, lowering the bucket. “We’ve already proved you’re faster than me and stronger than me. I don’t even know
where
we are or which way I’d head if I did escape.”

“Then you have a poor sense of direction in addition to your nasty sense of humor,” Jack retorted. “Now pull!”

Katherine glared at him and pulled the rope up, feeling her shoulder burn with the effort. A sudden gust sprang up and whipped through the town, blowing a great cloud of dust into their faces before the rain began.

“Great,” she said.

“Here, give me that,” Jack said impatiently, snatching the bucket from her hands and untying the rope that held it.

“Well, go on! What are you waiting for? A good soaking?” Katherine gave him another evil look before gathering up her skirts and making a dash for the hotel.

Jack stepped in right after her, motioning to the second door behind the bar. This led into the kitchen where he found a second pail and a rusty pot sitting on top of an old stove. He poured the water into the pot and handed Katherine the bucket while he checked the stove.

“Shoot,” he said.

“What is it?” she asked.

“A hole big enough to put my hand through,” Jack said. “That means no fire in this baby.”

“I don’t think we’ll need one,” Katherine said. “It isn’t that cold.”

“Not now, but if the wind picks up like I think it will and the rain keeps on, it won’t be as warm as it is now. You might wish this thing worked later on.”

Katherine didn’t answer, setting the bucket down on the floor and inspecting the room. It was nearly as large as the saloon but not quite as empty. In addition to the stove there was a long, rough table in the center of the room. Built in shelves lined the walls, some of which still held a few jars of preserves, mismatched plates, and a set of cups and saucers. The walls were unfinished with exposed beams and hooks that Katherine guessed might have held pots.

“If you want to wash up you better grab that bucket again,” Jack said.

“What’s wrong with the water we brought in?” Katherine asked.

“That’s for drinking.”

She sighed, picking up the bucket while her eyes traveled over to the window. The rain was coming down harder now and she knew she’d be soaked before she reached the well.

Jack took up the pail. “Come on, better to get it over with.”

By the time they got back inside they were both dripping wet. Katherine was soaked through, her clothes clinging to her, heavy and clammy against her skin. Her petticoats drooped, making a puddle at her feet, and her feet sat in wet stockings in damp boots that made a squishy sound with every step.

“Better get your valise,” Jack said, pointing and grabbing one of the saddlebags from the floor.

In the kitchen Katherine set the bucket on the table along with the valise and pulled out dry clothing. She glanced at Jack.

“I don’t suppose you’d leave the room,” she said.

“I don’t suppose I would,” he agreed.

“Well, at least untie me,” she said. “I can’t very well change with my hands tied.”

Jack eyed her with distrust.

“I promise I won’t try anything. You can tie me back up as soon as I’m through.”

He hesitated, but she gave him her very best good-girl look and he did as she asked.

“Thank you,” she said, turning away from him.

For a moment she closed her eyes, gathering her courage and telling herself to forget modesty, false or otherwise. He had already seen her half-naked once and there was no help for it if she wanted to be dry.

With as much dignity as she could muster she stripped off the black gown and tossed it on the floor. It was torn in three places now, completely ruined—thanks to Jack—but she was actually glad to be rid of it. Black had never been her color. She removed the petticoats, laying one across the table and ripping the second into strips to wash with. It was already torn and she was sure one petticoat would amply fill the skirt. The boots came next and then the stockings, which she wrung out and laid over the stove to dry.

She tried not to think of him standing behind her, no doubt watching her every move, but it was impossible not to be aware of his presence.
At least he isn’t saying anything
, she thought, wiping away the dust from her neck and shoulders, wincing as she did. She couldn’t see the cut, but it stung and she knew it was bleeding again.

“I have some whiskey,” Jack offered.

Katherine half turned toward him. “Excuse me?”

“Whiskey,” Jack repeated. “You might want to put some on that so it doesn’t get infected.”

“I will probably be dead before it does,” Katherine reminded him, returning to her toilette. She unbuttoned the chemise and washed herself as best she could without stripping completely, pulling up the gathered leggings of the drawers and remembering how nice it used to be to have a shower.

Once she was through she stepped into a dry petticoat, pulling the lace tight. A blue cotton skirt came next, followed by a white muslin blouse with short sleeves and a dainty collar. It was pretty but she couldn’t help but think of the gowns sitting on her bed at the hotel. She straightened and smoothed the wrinkles from the skirt before taking up the brush and pulling it through her tangled hair. She supposed she should be grateful he’d thought to bring that.

When she turned to face Jack she found he’d done his own washing up and had donned a clean shirt and bandana. Had he shaved he might have been almost handsome, but as it was he still looked more outlaw than lawman.
Bounty hunter indeed
, she thought.

“Are you hungry?” Jack asked.

“Yes, I suppose I am,” Katherine admitted, realizing she had not eaten since the night before. Her stomach had been rumbling since morning but she’d ignored it, not daring to ask him for food and not even sure he had any. She swallowed an angry sigh.

He would be watchful now, much more careful. There would be no more opportunities to escape. Her only chance would be to convince a jury of her innocence. She almost laughed. Why would anyone believe her when there would be eyewitnesses and a poster to prove her guilt? She might not be Alanna McLeod but she was close, closer than she liked to think.

Jack handed her a piece of beef jerky and Katherine ate it without a word. It was salty and bordered on unpleasant. Jack offered her a second piece, but she shook her head.

“Whiskey?” Jack asked, holding up the flask once more. “To drink.”

“Sure, why not.” Maybe she could get drunk—if he’d let her. At least she wouldn’t think about food, or anything else.

Jack took down one of the cups from the shelf and handed it to her. Katherine carefully wiped it out with a corner of her skirt before holding it out to him. He poured her a generous serving and she took a large gulp, closing her eyes as it burned all the way down to the pit of her stomach. She tipped the cup back again and felt the familiar warmth creep over her. She opened her eyes to find Jack watching her with raised eyebrows.

“Drink much?” he asked.

“I have been known to,” Katherine answered. “When the occasion calls for it.”

“And this does?”

“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

W
ill 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
.