Claudia Dain (4 page)

Powell was right, the Walton place was an easy hit. The front porch was yawning with kids. A baby was sitting in the dirt of the front yard eating... dirt. Jack shrugged. Dirt never killed anybody. One or two of the kids ran in, slamming the door behind them; he could hear their muffled yells. Mrs. Walton came out directly, calling her kids to her as she did, picking up the baby and resting him on her hip. That baby grabbed a fistful of his mama and held tight.

They faced him and it was a crowd. No one spoke, so he guessed it was up to him.

"Morning, ma'am." He tipped the brim of his hat. "Fine day."

She didn't answer right off, just pulled one of the kids back from the edge of the porch to shove him behind her. There wasn't room enough behind her to hide them all.

"Mr. Powell sent me this way...." She looked alarmed and like maybe she'd skin Powell when she saw him again. "Thought you might have a horse to sell."

"Don't have nothing here you'd want."

"But, Ma, what about—"

The girl didn't get any further; her ma shoved her into the house and slammed the door.

"Ma'am?" Jack proceeded. "I need a horse. I'll pay good money."

She considered, he could feel it, and continued to keep her eye on him. He stood stock-still and let her take his measure. He needed that horse. And she needed the money.

"Ain't he the one?" one of the kids whispered.

"Pushed him right off," another whispered in the shrill tones of a child who has no idea how to whisper. "Made him fall down."

"He's mean."

"You little kids stay back or he'll push you off, too!" one of the older girls hissed. They shuffled back like penned cattle.

"Lillian, bring Joe around," Emma Walton said, her eyes not leaving his.

He hoped Joe wasn't one of her kids.

Lillian sprang to the job and came around the side of the house tugging on a frayed rope. Joe followed. Joe was a brown gelding. At fifteen hands, he was a good-looking animal and didn't look to be more than ten years old.

Lillian ran up on the porch and held on to Joe from there.

"He's a fine-looking animal, Mrs. Walton. I'll pay seventy-five dollars for him and the tack that goes with him." It was a fair offer.

With a nod of acceptance, Emma Walton sent Maureen in to fetch a pen and paper. She drew up a bill of sale as she balanced the baby on her hip while he got the bridle and saddle on Joe. Lillian brought him an old brown saddle blanket after another nod from her mother. It was all over in a matter of minutes. Pocketing the bill of sale and leading Joe out of the yard, Jack could feel the eyes of the Walton clan on his back. They were clearly still nervous about him.

And he hadn't pushed even one of those kids off the porch.

His walk back through the center of Abilene was about what he expected. He was more and more certain he felt the weight of that bill of sale with each step he took, and more and more thankful for it. If any man stood to be named a horse thief, it was him.

"Isn't that Emma Walton's horse?"

"You know it is."

"Didn't
he
come in on the train? Isn't he leaving the same way he came in?"

"I heard Powell wouldn't sell him spit."

"Powell always was smart as March wind."

Jack ignored them and kept walking. At least Joe wasn't giving him any trouble.

"Where'd you get the horse?" one of the onlookers asked him. He looked up; she was the first one to talk to him directly. She was a spry woman with a mass of dark hair and bright blue eyes, sort of reminded him of the little Samaritan.

"Bought it," he answered without breaking stride. "And Mrs. Walton's got the same number of kids now as she did when I got there."

One of the kids hanging around in front of the mercantile ran off down the street, back toward the Waltons'. His word obviously wasn't good enough. It figured.

The dark-haired woman with blue eyes kept looking him over as he tied up Joe at the sheriff's. She seemed to be sizing him up for purchase, though that was a crazy thought. Jack walked into the sheriff's office through the open door. Lane was sitting behind his desk, eyeing the horse he had tied to the rail.

"If anybody asks, I bought this horse from Mrs. Walton for seventy-five dollars. I have a bill of sale."

Lane smiled and draped his legs over the corner of his desk. "If anybody asks, I'll tell 'em."

* * *

Anne stood and watched the westbound train depart. The steam curled around the wheels before rising to stain the sky. Car after car lumbered past, heavy, almost reluctant in their initial momentum, they eventually would have to be forced to a stop at the next station, farther down the line: Solomon City, then Ellsworth, Russell, Hays City, Trego, Buffalo Station to the northwest or Great Bend, Kinsley, and Dodge City to the southwest. Due south lay Council Grove, Emporia, Newton, and Wichita, while due east lay many more options, the grandest being Kansas City. She knew them all, each stop, each station, on the web of lines that connected Abilene to the world, but she had been nowhere. Abilene was all she'd ever remembered seeing. She'd seen enough of it to last a lifetime.

"He didn't get on, did he?"

Anne turned and looked into her aunt's blue eyes. Sarah knew something.

"He didn't," she answered. "I thought he'd be out on the first train."

"Is that why you're here?" Sarah said. "Looking for him?"

"I'm not looking for anyone," Anne sniffed. "Why, did you find him?"

"Whole town's found him," Sarah said on a laugh, "even though you're the one who's supposed to be looking for him. You'd starve as a bounty hunter, Anne."

"What's he doing that the whole town is watching?"

"He bought himself a horse." Sarah grinned.

Anne couldn't see that buying a horse would be much to look at, even in Abilene.

"Tried to hire one from Powell first," Sarah said with a smile, remembering the story as she'd heard it from Susanne. "Powell wouldn't hear of it. Then he tried to buy one and didn't get any further."

"That's ridiculous. How is Mr. Powell going to make a profit if he refuses to let out his stock?"

"Said he figured that Jack Skull would kill any animal he sat on."

"Ridiculous."

"Wait, it gets better," Sarah said. "Skull practically had to beat it out of Powell to get the name of anyone in Abilene who'd sell him a horse. Powell eventually coughed up Emma Walton."

"He hit Mr. Powell?" She needed him for her plan, but she didn't want to hitch up with anyone as violent as that. Not even for a day or two. No matter how he looked.

"Emma hid her kids on the porch as if the Apache had come to visit," Sarah went on, not to be derailed in what was a fine story, no matter how much truth there was to it, "and when Jack Skull looked ready to throw a couple of them off the porch just for sport, she agreed to sell him Joe, tack and all."

"I can't believe that he would tangle with a child," Anne murmured.

"Then he parades that horse down through the center of town like the governor himself, not a trace of guilt to the tips of his fingers, and holes up with Charles Lane. And speaking of his fingertips," Sarah said, turning to face Anne fully, "you didn't say what a handsome man he was, Anne. He's a sight. Why'd you let a man like that walk clean away without a tussle from you?"

A man like that? According to Aunt Sarah, he had beaten Mr. Powell, threatened to throw innocent children around, intimidated Emma Walton, and was unconcerned about the whole matter. So he was handsome. Lots of men were handsome. Bill was handsome, though in a different way. Jack Skull was rougher, though his features were finer, more cleanly cut, and his eyes the soft blue of a hazy summer sky. And the way he'd looked at her, as if she were the only person in the world he wanted to be looking at, as if he'd come to Abilene just to find her.

Anne shook herself mentally. He was rough. His hair was long and tangled, his clothes dusty, and his expression forbidding. That's what he looked like and his manners were made to match. Tangled. Dusty. Frightening.

He was not the sort to stay in Abilene, which made him just about perfect.

"So he's still in town?" Anne asked as she and Sarah left the platform.

"For now," Sarah said with a knowing look. "But he's bought a horse; that must mean he plans to use it."

"He might have checked into the hotel, though."

"He might have."

Sarah couldn't shake the smile that shadowed her lips and gave up trying after a while; there was little enough to smile about in her life. She might as well enjoy the sensation. If Anne was taken with the good-looking bounty hunter, it wouldn't do her any harm; besides, he didn't seem as ornery as folks made him out. And he was such a pretty man. Why, if she wasn't an old woman, she might try to corral him herself.

"It was kind of him to give Emma money for her horse; she surely needs it," Anne said as she casually looked up and down the street.

"Well, he bought the horse, Anne; it wasn't a donation."

"Still..." Anne looked into the window of the Demorest Restaurant. He wasn't there.

"Still?"

"It's just that... he can't be as bad as people say. No one could be that mean. People just like to talk."

"You're the one who saw him push that man from the train. I only saw him lead a horse he'd just bought. And that was bad enough."

"Was he cruel to the horse?" Anne asked, stopping to look at Sarah.

"No, there's just something about the man, beyond his pretty face, that makes you pause. Still"—Sarah took a deep breath to feed her resolve—"he's a comely man and sure to leave town. You could do worse. And to tell you the truth, I think half of what they're saying about him is empty talk to pass long hours. I looked him over good and proper; he don't have the look of a killer. Just don't think he's more than he is and you'll save yourself some hurt."

"I won't," Anne promised absently, resuming her stride.

* * *

The Cattlemen's Hotel was the only hotel left in Abilene; it was also on the edge of town, as far away from the grumbling humanity of Abilene as he could get and still stay in Abilene. The exterior was shingled and painted, the porch shady and well swept, the glass dusty. The interior was worn but respectable with red carpet and one tufted chair in the small lobby. He'd seen a dozen hotels just like it. His reception was exactly what he was learning to expect.

"And you wish to stay how long?"

"As long as it takes," Jack said, his throat hoarse.

It was clearly not an answer that pleased the proprietor.

"I will require some information as to the duration of your stay. You are not our only patron."

Jack looked around. He couldn't hear another person. The lobby was empty. The porch was empty. Jack looked at the man behind the counter and kept his silence. The man behind the counter developed a twitch underneath his left eye.

"Here's a week in advance. I'll let you know if I'm staying longer."

The proprietor held his tongue. It was a good thing.

Jack had just about had it with Abilene and her prickly residents.

He climbed the angled stairs that led to the second floor; the sixth one creaked. He would remember that. His room was on the north side of the building, facing the street. There were two windows, a bed, a washstand, and a rack for his clothes. It was a respectable room; the bedding looked clean and, better yet, smelled fresh. He turned around and locked the door and headed back out to buy supplies for his trip onto the prairie. He'd be leaving in an hour at worst. He was eager to go; there was no point in dawdling around in an unfriendly town when all the excitement was happening elsewhere.

He had a murderer to catch.

He crashed into the little Samaritan on the stairs first.

It was on the sixth stair, the one that creaked. His arms wrapped around her torso, steadying them both. Her hair, as dark as prairie earth, got in his mouth. She smelled like flowers.

It all rolled over him in the space of a breath and then he let her go, holding on to her elbows just long enough to be sure that she was firmly on her feet. He let go and backed up, up to the seventh stair, the one that didn't creak. He had to back up from her because all he wanted to do was keep pressing her down until her back was to the floor and her skirts were over her head. He'd never wanted a girl like that, so hard and so fast, not in his whole life. He didn't want to feel that way now. He didn't want to feel that way ever.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he growled, tipping his hat, using the brim to cover his eyes.

"No, I... excuse
me,"
she said, her voice as soft as rainwater.

Her bosom rose as she spoke and he couldn't help watching the rise and fall. Then he felt like hell because he couldn't leave her alone, even with his eyes. She blocked him on the stair; if she didn't move aside, he'd have to brush against her to get down and out of the hotel. And he had to get out. He had to get away from her before he kissed her to the soles of her feet without even knowing her name.

"Ma'am?" he mumbled, urging her to get out of his way.

"Hmmm?"

She was staring at him, he could feel it, though she remained unmoving except for her breast, rising and falling. The urge to touch her was mounting in him and he felt a twinge of panic that he hadn't felt in twenty years. He couldn't have her. She was proper. Off his range.

He looked up and saw what he knew he'd see. She was looking at him, her light blue eyes unblinking, her mouth soft and open, the pulse in her throat beating visibly.

She stared at him, her gaze moving all over his face, taking in his untamed hair, his two-day growth of beard, his hungry eyes. She took it all in and stood there, looking softer by the second.

It was the chilly cough of the proprietor of the Cattlemen's Hotel that broke the moment. Jack was thankful for the intrusion. She turned toward the sound and he bolted down the stairs and out the door. He left her behind on the sixth stair.

Chapter 4