Claudia Dain (13 page)

They walked slowly, his steps shortened to match hers, dust rising with every step they took. It had been a dry, cool spring. Miss Daphne's flowers weren't going to do well unless they got more heat and more rain. Anything that put her grandmother in a foul mood was to be avoided, even contrary weather. Thinking of the weather and her grandmother were fine topics if she wanted to forget that Jack Skull was walking at her side. Fine topics, except that they weren't working. Every breath was forced; her ribs seemed to press down against her lungs, her heart to beat sideways. He did things to her that didn't need doing.

"Why do you watch the trains?" he asked as they walked. She looked askance at him. He wasn't looking at her, his eyes were skimming the boardwalk, the storefronts, the flat distance of the prairie, never still, searching. He wasn't even looking at her, but her heart thumped sloppily. She was just shameful. They were intruded upon by Jim Conner, which was a delight; that kept her from having to answer Jack's question about why she met the trains.

"Good day, Anne," Jim Conner said.

"Good day, Jim."

"Meeting the train from Topeka? Well, you'd better get on, it's been in for a full two minutes now and it's not a long stop."

It was awful, the way Jim ignored Jack. Though Jack didn't seem to mind; he ignored Jim just as completely.

"We'll make it," she said cheerfully, including Jack.

Jim didn't say another word.

"That was Jim Conner, from the stockyard," she explained to Jack.

"Seems everyone knows of your interest in trains," he said. "Or is it that you're expecting somebody?"

For a stranger, he was striking too close to the mark. No one around here had ever stopped to think about why she met the trains. It was a common enough pastime. She'd used to come with Sue Ann until her friend married and moved out of town. That she kept up the practice on her own wasn't cause for comment. She wasn't going to flatly refuse to answer; she was going to divert him with a question of her own, staring just on the edge of polite protocol.

"We were all surprised when you decided to stay in Abilene; bounty hunters don't usually stay long."

"You know a lot of bounty hunters?" This time he looked at her. Those blue, blue eyes were trained right on her. She stumbled on a rock in the road. He made a move to steady her and then stopped, letting his hand drop.

"Of course not."

"Of course not," he repeated softly.

Had she insulted him? Did he want her to admit to knowing a passel of bounty hunters? Which, naturally, she didn't. She'd never wanted to get anywhere near a bounty hunter until she'd seen Jack come off that train like a bull out of the pen, hard with muscle and with the spark of a fight in his eye. She'd never seen a man like him. He was absolutely nothing like Bill.

Which was the problem. She could take a full breath with Bill.

"I was so sorry about the girl—Mary I think her name was? What happened?"

They were at the station and Jack took her elbow and helped her up the few steps to the platform. She didn't need the help, she could have skipped those steps in the dark. His mouth tightened and he looked at John Campbell, the stationmaster, who looked right back. John had a special, disapproving look for Anne; she blushed and smiled weakly. There was no doubt now that Miss Daphne would know about her special escort to the station. Her stomach muscles clenched in anticipation as she kept her smile in place for John and Jack and all the world to see, but she felt sick inside at the scolding she knew waited for her back home.

Jack led her down to the far end of the platform and stood between her and John Campbell, shielding her from the stationmaster's eyes, breaking eye contact between them. She looked up at Jack and saw that he was staring down at her. Their eyes held for just a few moments and she saw that he knew, knew the state of her fear and saw the dread that was hanging on to her skirts. He knew and he was trying to protect her from it in any way he could, without actually killing someone. And just when she would have hung her head in shame at being so sick with fear, he winked and looked away, his eyes searching the featureless prairie.

He winked. The moment was gone. Her tension thrust away from her by his simple, discerning act. How had he known it was just what she needed? It didn't bear thinking on. She needed him to manage Bill for her, that was all. Winking wasn't going to have any place in that. She'd make sure of that.

"Where did you find her?" she asked.

His eyes narrowed and he took a shallow breath that she could hear, even on the windy platform.

"I haven't been to Abilene in a few years. Don't remember your friend Bill being here then. How long has he been here?" he asked, ignoring her question.

"A few months."

"What's he do?"

"He's a land developer."

"You mean a speculator."

Jack obviously did not want to talk about the murdered girl. She did not want to talk about Bill. She had no idea how to get Jack to stop talking about Bill. Talking about Bill made her feel underhanded. Standing here with Jack, she wanted to forget all about Bill. Seven o'clock was hours away.

"You been seeing him long?"

Anne just stared at his second button. It was made of horn and the thread was black. Maybe if she looked away, Jack would stop asking her these questions.

She turned to face the station. Facing John Campbell was better than talking about Bill with Jack.

"He must travel some with his work. You get to see him often?"

"I see him enough," she said mildly.

"It must be hard on a man, having to be gone so much from the girl he's courting. He is courting you, isn't he?"

She didn't know what to say to that. If she answered truthfully, Jack might walk right off this platform since she would be declaring herself another man's girl; her invitation for him to accompany her didn't cast her in too soft a light, either. But she couldn't lie; he could ask anyone and hear the truth. In fact, he wouldn't have to ask; there were plenty of folks who'd shout it out to him as he passed.

"Why don't you just tell me to mind my own business?" he said, his voice soft and gentle. Amused.

She turned to face him, her fingers clutched together. Again, he seemed to know what she was feeling. No one had ever tried to see into her thoughts the way he did. She felt naked in front of him, exposed and vulnerable. That wasn't good.

"That would be very rude," she said.

"So what?" He grinned. He had the most engaging smile. Those laugh lines hadn't lied.

"I just couldn't do that," she said, trying not to fuss with the strings of her reticule.

"Why not?" He took a step nearer. She snapped one of her strings.

"I've been taught—"

"I've talked to your aunt; it ain't that," he said on a chuckle.

He'd talked to Sarah? About what? Knowing Sarah, remembering the focus of their most recent conversations, she blushed to think.

He was laughing at her and she didn't know why. She had no idea what to do about it. Bill never laughed at her. Bill rarely laughed with her. Bill didn't laugh much at all. It was just possible that she didn't either. There hadn't been much to laugh about in her life. She had absolutely no idea what to say to him, especially since he was standing so close.
Because
he was standing so close. He'd shaved recently; there was a small slice of a cut near his left ear. Why was it even that looked wonderful on him?

"Miss Ross, you need to speak up for yourself or any fool man will take up with you."

She didn't have anything to say to that. It wasn't true. No one wanted her to speak up for herself. No man had ever tried to take up with her. Until now. And she didn't mind it a bit.

What was wrong with her? She knew what lay at the end of this trail and she wasn't going there. She lived in a houseful of women who'd followed that trail and she'd learned better. There was nothing there, nothing but the emptiness of a man's name.

"I'm sorry," she said. "But you don't need to worry about me. No man has ever tried... I mean, there has never been anyone who... it's just that I..."

"You're scaring the life right out of me, one day at a time," he growled. "You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?" He took a step closer, his boots brushing the hem of her skirt. She stayed right where she was. Seven o'clock was such a long way off; why, it wasn't even lunchtime yet. "You can't just go off with any man, letting him touch you and get close to you. There's dangerous men in this world, Miss Ross...."

She didn't pay much attention to his words after that. He was leaning down to her and she rose up on her toes, lifting her mouth to his, ignoring everything she knew of men, just for this minute. Just for a minute, she wanted to get close to him, to taste him, to feel the pulse of him on her lips. Just once, she wanted to surrender.

He hesitated just for a second, just before their mouths met; she closed her eyes and tilted her head back, showing him that she was surrendering, that she wanted this kiss at this moment more than she remembered wanting anything. He seemed to growl a bit and then he kissed her.

It was the kind of kiss that could drive a girl into some real deep trouble.

It was hunger wrapped in gentleness, roughness cloaked in restraint. It was deep and thorough and wet and it was over much too fast.

He lifted his head, pulling away from her. She leaned against him, her mouth seeking his still, until he held her by the arms and pushed her away from him.

"Do you kiss Bill that way?" he said in a hushed growl.

She opened her eyes slowly and blinked away the haze. "No."

The Topeka train whistle sounded sharply just a few feet from where they were standing. Anne jerked as if whipped and turned away from Jack, shamed beyond words, only to face John Campbell. He looked as though he'd like to whip her, right then and there. But he'd most likely let Miss Daphne do the job.

Anne rushed off the platform, her skirts swinging against her legs, not giving him a backward glance, which Jack thought was smart. The first smart thing she'd done since he showed up on her porch like a stray dog. Jack watched the stationmaster until the man stopped looking at Anne and turned to face him. It didn't take long for the man to duck his head and turn back to the station depot. Jack was left alone on the platform as the train pulled out of Abilene. What stuck with him was how naive that gal was with men, and the memory of that kiss. And the memory of her telling him that she kissed Bill.

What got into him when he was with her? This was the second time he'd made a fool of himself with her on this platform, acting like a bull with a cow when she had her tail up. Anne Ross wasn't a cow twitching her tail; she was a proper lady and he was acting more bullish each time he saw her. Trouble was, she didn't know the first thing about heading off a man who was charging after her. She shoulda stopped that kiss. He'd thought she was going to and couldn't stop himself when she didn't. She shouldn't have looked at him as though she wanted to melt into his bones, as though she would have gone on kissing him until the sun set if he hadn't held her off. He didn't have much practice at holding women off of him and he sure didn't want to learn with her. Damn, but she was a fool woman to lean into a man that way.

There was a killer out there who'd just love to find a woman like Anne Ross under his hands.

Jack slapped his hat against his leg and jumped off the platform to the dust below.

"Why didn't she tell me to mind my own damn business?"

Chapter 11

"John, don't often see you in here this time of day. Beer?"

Shaughn stopped sweeping to step behind the bar and pour out a beer before John Campbell had a chance to answer.

"Rye," John gritted out. "And you'd better save that beer for yourself when I tell you what I just witnessed over at the depot."

"Not another killing," Shaughn said slowly, setting down the half-full glass of beer and pouring out a jigger of rye.

"Of a sort. The killing of a fine girl's reputation," John said, taking a swallow from his glass. He in no way came close to finishing it off in one swallow; he wasn't much of a serious drinker.

"A girl's reputation was killed at the depot? At ten-thirty in the morning? How?"

"You wouldn't need to ask how if you knew the man who did the killing. Specializes in killing." He took another swallow.

There was only one man in town who specialized in killing. And there was one girl, one fine girl who was at the depot several times a day, who had caught that man's eye, caught his eye right here at this bar. Shaughn reached for the beer.

"What happened?" he asked after he had downed the beer and set the glass carefully on the polished bar. He had to know. He felt somehow responsible since Jack Scullard had spotted Anne standing right here in his saloon. But maybe it wasn't all that much; people liked to talk, especially about someone universally hated, and Jack Skull was that. Might not have been much at all. After all, what could happen on a railway platform before supper?