Chasing the Sun (49 page)

Although the fire in the stove was down to glowing coals, the water in the tank was still hot. Jack let it run until it emptied all the heated water, then climbed in, bad leg and all. He settled back with a long sigh.

Before he left, Molly had checked his leg and said the cut was healing well, but insisted he keep the stitches in for another few days. The massive bruising from hip to knee would take a lot longer to go away, which she said was a good thing, because the lingering soreness would keep him from overworking the leg before it was fully healed. The logic of that had escaped Jack, but after his twelve-hour jaunt today, he conceded she might be right. Thankfully, the hot water eased the stiffness a lot.

He soaked until hunger forced him out, then he toweled off, pulled clean clothes from his saddlebags, dressed, and went back to the kitchen.

Hank was already sitting on one of the benches at the table, gobbling stew. Jack was pleased to note that a bottle of Jessica’s fine Scotch whiskey and two mugs sat on the table by the lamp.

They ate in silence until Hank finally pushed back his empty plate. After pouring a healthy dose of whiskey into each mug, he took a deep swallow from his, then looked at Jack’s hand. “Where’d you get the tooth marks?”

Jack glanced at his swollen knuckles. “Brady.”

“Figures. Who won?”

Jack thought it over while he chewed. They’d both cleared some long-standing problems between them and he felt easier about his big brother than he had in a long time. So maybe he won. Or maybe not. “Neither.”

“What set you off this time?”

“The account he opened for me at the bank.” Spearing a bite of potato, Jack studied his second brother. “Why didn’t you tell me about it, Hank? Or use it to pay off the loan?”

“It wasn’t my call. It was yours.” Tossing back the last swallow of whiskey, Hank plunked his mug onto the table. “And if you brought the horses back, you made the right one.”

“Kind of a risk, wasn’t it?” He could have just taken the money and left, although, thinking back on it now, Jack realized that idea had never occurred to him.

His brother smiled.

Did Hank really have that much faith in him? If so, then Jack had been wrong about him too. As he mopped his plate with a slice of black bread, he thought about all the angry years and bottled resentments. No wonder his brothers lost patience with him.

“And this way,” Hank added after a moment, “you made the offer all on your own. You weren’t asked to do it, or pushed into doing it, or told to do it. You just did it.”

“Like you knew I would,” Jack said dryly, a little disturbed that his brothers seemed to know him better than he did.

“Like I knew you would,” Hank agreed, looking smug. “I am the smart brother, after all. Your pretty little wife said so herself.”

Not wanting to trade blows with this brother too, Jack ignored the jab. Pushing back the bench, he rose and carried both their plates to the sink. “Thanks for watching out for them,” he said, anxious for Hank to leave so he could go back to Daisy.

“They’re my family too.” Rising with a yawn, Hank cleared the rest of the table and returned the whiskey bottle to a cupboard. “You leaving tomorrow?”

“I am. But not because of Brady.”

“The singing thing.”

Christ.
Did everybody in the territory know about the singing thing but him? Jack glanced over, saw his brother watching him, and shrugged. It didn’t matter who knew. He would end up with Daisy, and that was all that mattered.

Hank stretched, his hands brushing the ceiling. Taking his hat and jacket off the rack of pegs by the door, he said, “There’s a cot in the storage area behind the fireplace, if you’re interested.”

Jack wasn’t. Nor did he care to reveal to his brother that he had no intention of sleeping anywhere but next to Daisy. Now that he’d caught up with them, he wasn’t letting either her or Kate out of his sight until he’d settled this singing thing once and for all. “Where are you staying?”

“There’s still a couple of rooms open at the hotel.” Hank crossed to the door. When he opened it, a cool draft swept in, making the lamp light flutter and bringing with it the smell of wood smoke and the lonely call of a whippoorwill. Jack saw stars hanging above the mountain peaks before his brother stepped into the doorway and his broad form blocked the view. “Come to the depot in the morning. I’ll need your help attaching the sail to the handcar.”

After the door closed behind him, Jack stood in the kitchen for a moment, wondering if he should go into the bedroom. Stupid question, he chided himself. But he’d be careful not to wake Daisy. He was too weary to do anything anyway, and right now, all he wanted was to lie down beside his woman and go to sleep. Words could wait until tomorrow.

THE DIP OF THE MATTRESS BROUGHT DAISY FROM DEEP sleep to drowsy confusion. For a moment she lay still, disoriented and not sure where she was or what had awakened her. Then strong arms reached from behind to pull her back against a hard, warm body.

She came instantly awake. “Jack?”

Her answer was a weary yawn.

She tried to look back over her shoulder to see his face, but he was wrapped around her so tightly she couldn’t turn far enough. The scent she recognized, a lingering hint of Jack’s spicy soap, overlaid with the smell of beef stew and whiskey.

He’d come after her. He had actually come after her.

She smiled into the darkness.

Warm breath fanned her nape as he yawned again. Then in a voice roughened by exhaustion, he said, “You’re not leaving me, Daisy.”

A heartbeat later, he began to snore.

Warmth flowed through her, bringing with it such a swell of contentment tears stung her eyes.

He had come after her.

He had read her letter, and knew what she felt she had to do, and he had still come after her. Did that mean he intended to give up his wandering life and stay with her and Kate?

Cocooned in his warmth, she watched the stars move past the window, growing brighter as the moon slipped behind the mountains. By the time early dawn stained the windowpanes pink, she knew what she had to do.

“GO HORSY! GO HORSY!”

Jack groaned and covered his head as a small body began bouncing up and down on his back.

“Kate, no,” Daisy whispered, lifting the squirming imp away. “Let him sleep.”

Too late for that.

“Horsy!” Kate insisted at a pitch that would have deafened him if his head hadn’t been under the pillow.

“Later, Kate.” Daisy’s voice and Kate’s protests faded, then stopped altogether with the click of the door latch.

Jack sighed. Muscles relaxed and his mind grew sluggish. His body felt heavier and heavier ...

With a gasp, he lurched up onto his elbows. Bright afternoon sunlight seared his eyeballs.

How long had he slept? Where was he?

Hank’s. With Daisy and Kate.

Still bleary with sleep, he slumped back, listening for sounds beyond his closed door. But the house was so quiet the only thing he heard was the thud of his heart against his ribs.

Too quiet.

Panic sent his mind into another flurry.

Goddamn.
They’d left him again.

Rising too quickly on muscles that weren’t yet awake, he collided with the bedpost in his stumble across the room. When he reached the door, he flung it open so hard it banged against the wall. “Daisy!”

“What? What’s wrong?”

Blinking groggily, he saw her standing at the stove, staring at him with worried hazel eyes. “Jack?”

“I—” He let out a rush of breath. His heart resumed a less frantic rhythm. “I thought you were gone.”

Her face cleared. Smiling, she walked over and put her arms around his neck. “I’m right here,” she said against his cheek.

Shaky with relief, he grabbed on to her, pulling her so close he could feel those perfect breasts flatten against his chest and the steady beat of her heart within. She smelled so good to him—flowers, lemons, yeast, bacon?
Bacon?
Glancing over the top of her head, he saw a pot of coffee on the stove, bread rising, fatback sizzling in a pan.

His stomach growled.

Still only half-awake, he lifted his head and scanned the room. “Where’s Kate?”

She gave him a quick kiss then stepped out of his arms. “With Anna.”

“Anna?”

“Anna Strobel,” she said over her shoulder as she went back to the stove. “She made the stew you ate last night. She sometimes watches the children when your brothers bring their families into town. Sort of like a grandmother.”

She stirred something on the stove, then hesitated and glanced over at him, her smile less sure. “I thought it would be best if Kate wasn’t here when we talk.”

Talk?
Jack sighed. Of course she would want to talk. Women always wanted to talk. Just as well. He had some things to say too. “Let me get dressed first,” he said, ducking back into the bedroom. It was hard for a man to be taken seriously in a confrontation when he was wearing nothing but his drawers. Besides, he wanted to wake up a bit more before he called her to accounts.

He took a little longer than he needed to, going over in his head what he wanted to say to her. Like his brothers, Daisy had apparently underestimated him. But having had the long ride from the ranch to think it over, Jack couldn’t say he blamed them. He hadn’t been the most committed fellow. But then, he hadn’t had anything worth committing to.

Until now.

Daisy had a feast waiting when he returned to the kitchen. Moving past the bench, he took a chair at the end of the table, all but smacking his lips as he watched her load a plate with beefsteak, collards with bacon, potatoes, carrots, green beans, and thick slices of black bread. As she set it before him, he picked up his fork, then saw that she hadn’t served herself, and set it back down. Resting his hands beside his plate, he tried to be patient and ignore the growling of his stomach.

“How did you know where to find us?” Daisy asked, going back to the stove.

“Brady.”

“Typical.” She lifted a clay mug from a peg, filled it with coffee, and carried it to the table. “Did you read my letter?” she asked, setting it beside his plate.

“I did.”

“So you know why I had to leave.”

“I know why you
thought
you had to leave.”

“But you came after us anyway.”

“Did you doubt I would?”

“I wasn’t sure.” With a sigh, she sat on the bench at his right and folded her arms on top of the table. “I should have told you, rather than leave it in a letter.”

“You should have. Could have saved us both the trip. You’re not eating?” he asked when he saw she wasn’t filling a plate for herself.

She explained she’d just finished lunch a while back and for him to go ahead and eat while she talked.

Which he did. Most of the time, he listened too.

It didn’t much matter what Daisy said. He’d read her letter and knew what was in her mind. Again like Brady, she’d made some assumptions about him that had no basis. Did she really think the wandering life would appeal to him more than being with her and Kate? And “
fondly
”? What man wanted to be remembered “fondly” by the woman he intended to take as a wife?
Hell.

But he’d let her say her piece. Then he’d tell her she was wrong, and explain how it was going to be, and then they could escape this ghost town and get on with their lives. So while she talked, and he ate and mostly listened, he studied her across the table.

She was looking especially pretty today. The sun had put gold in her light brown hair and with all their walks, her skin had lost that San Francisco pallor and had taken on a rosy blush. She was a fine-looking woman. And all his.

His gaze drifted over her as warm memories filled his mind.

He liked that yellow dress. It brought out the yellow-green in her hazel eyes and it fitted her much better than the dresses she usually wore. In fact, the soft cotton of her shirt molded around those round, perfect breasts like ... well, his hand. He smiled, thinking about how she squirmed under his fingers when he—

“Stop staring at my breasts,” she said with a note of exasperation in her voice.

Yet when he looked up, he saw laughter in her eyes. He grinned. “But they’re so noticeable.”

“They’re just breasts.”

“
Perfect
breasts,” he amended. “So round and soft and ... happy.”

“Happy?” She laughed. “Breasts don’t have feelings.”

“Sure they do. Come over here and I’ll show you.”

“Honestly.” She sent him that smirky smile he loved. Then waving all that aside, her expression sobered. “So you agree?”

“With what?”

“Jack!” She slapped her hand on the table. “Haven’t you heard a word I said?”

Caught off guard, he tried to remember what she had been talking about before her breasts demanded his attention. Something about singing. And not caging him. And doing what was best for Kate. Whatever. She could offer all the excuses in the world, but there was only one truth that signified.

Downing his last bite, he pushed aside his empty plate and slouched back, his left elbow hooked over the top slat of the wooden chair, his right hand gripping his coffee mug. He smiled friendly-like. “You said your piece?”

She nodded.

“Then I’ll say mine.” He decided to get the inconsequential matters out of the way first. “I had the sheriff check on that poster Ashford brought.”

A stricken look came over her face.

“Sheriff Foley found out some drunk lady shot Johnson then fell down the stairs and broke her neck. Case closed. So you don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

Oddly, she didn’t show the relief he’d expected. Instead, she turned to look toward the window and said in a flat, emotionless voice, “Johnson was going to steal Kate.”

For a moment Jack just looked at her, wondering if he’d heard right. “Steal Kate? Why?”

“To sell her to a brothel.”

Katie? His Katie? In a whorehouse?
Disbelief exploded in rage that boiled up inside him, and kept boiling until his chest and throat and head felt like they were on fire. A sharp cracking sound, and he looked down to see the broken mug in his hand and coffee spreading across the tabletop. “Goddamn.”