Claudia Dain (29 page)

"I ever tell you that my ma, she thinks your name is kinda familiar?"

"No." Jack shoveled a mess of potatoes into his mouth. He was real hungry.

"Yeah," Shaughn said, leaning on the broom handle and looking out at the street "She's got a head for names and yours struck her like a ringing bell."

"Yeah, well," Jack said over the steak in his mouth, "she's not the first to know my name."

"Nah"—Shaughn grinned, looking over at Jack—"not your handle, your real name, Scullard. She's sure she's heard it afore."

"Well, tell her to pass it around," Jack said and took a swallow of beer. He was damn tired of being known as Jack Skull; never did much like it and it was growing real thin about now.

O'Shaughnessy went back to his sweeping. "She'll worry over it till it comes to her, and it will. She's got a head for names."

"I heard," Jack said over a thin smile.

"Heard about that gal over in Junction City."

"Elsa."

"Yeah. Terrible. Heard it was just like the other one. What'd she look like, anyway? Pretty?"

"She looked dead," Jack said, pushing away his empty plate. He wasn't going to talk about that woman as if she were nothing but news.

"Junction City, that's right close to Abilene. It's a mercy no one in Abilene's been killed yet. You think that murderer is going to try for one of the girls here? You think Abilene might have a murder?"

All he could see was Anne, her dark hair limp in the dirt, her blue eyes closed forever because of a purple slash across her throat. Anne, who was too trusting to push a man away when he got too close.

Jack stood up abruptly, making his chair squeak back along the floor. "No. There's not going to be a killing in Abilene."
Not while I'm breathing.

He paid O'Shaughnessy two dollars for the food and the beer and walked out, right into Anne.

"There must be a train due in," he said, catching her arm.

"There is, the Union Pacific from Salina," she said. "Care to come?" She'd seen Bill over at the dry goods store. Was it her fault that she'd have to walk by there to get to the train? It certainly wasn't her fault that Jack had offered to walk with her. Some days, you just got lucky.

"Yeah, I've always wanted to see a train out of Salina," he said wryly, holding her by the arm and escorting her down the boardwalk. "Must be somethin' to see."

"It is!" she said, grinning. "This one has a red cowcatcher and blue wheels and the brakeman wears a red-striped hat."

She was laughing, teasing, a thing he'd yet to see her do. What was that about? He looked around for Tucker; she sure was putting on a show for someone and she didn't need to smile and tease for him to trail after her.

He was as good as roped and tied and she was holding the iron that'd mark him.

"I just gotta see a man who wears a red-striped hat," he said, pulling his hat down low so that his eyes were in deep shadow beneath the brim.

She laughed, looking up at him, her smile wide and unguarded. She was leaning into him, her shoulder brushing his chest. He leaned away and kept rigid, getting a tighter grip on her arm to hold her off. She was too easy with herself, too loose and free with her laughter and her closeness. It was too easy to want a woman who acted that way. Too easy to think you could have her, to believe she wanted you the way she was teasing you to want her. She didn't want him. She wanted Tucker. She smiled at Tucker, too.

Had Elsa smiled up at the man who had killed her?

Had Mary?

Who'd watch out for Anne when he left town? Who'd keep her safe? Not Miss Daphne, she kept her like a dog chained in the yard, confined but not protected. She needed to use that gun he'd taught her to shoot and not be sparing with the rounds. Hell, maybe she couldn't afford to buy another box and would be too cautious in her firing. There was no protection in a gun if a body wouldn't squeeze off a few rounds.

Hell, he'd buy her another couple of boxes, just so she'd have enough. Maybe even take her out to the prairie again, for target practice. Maybe just hang close to Abilene until he was sure she was safe. Safe. There wasn't a safe place in this world, especially not in Kansas, especially not for a woman. Especially not now.

Maybe he could settle here, keep an eye on her for a while.

Jack shook himself mentally. It wasn't going to play out that way.

That wasn't the game he'd signed up to play. Sarah had made it pretty clear that his job was to get Tucker to sit up and take notice. Well, he was sitting straight enough now. That meant he was about out of a job, at least the job Sarah had in mind for him. But he wasn't leaving Anne to face the killer on her own.

"Where's that gun I gave you?" he asked.

"I didn't have a belt strong enough to hold it. I'll get one. I'll wear it. Tomorrow."

"You do that," he said. If he had to buy her a belt to hang a six-gun on, he'd do that, too.

He wasn't handing Anne over to Bill, with a gun or without it. There was something about that one that set his fingers itching. He wasn't leaving Abilene until he had Tucker pegged down and dried out.

"How long you been keeping company with Tucker?"

The smile got wiped right off her face. She stopped looking at him to look down toward the station.

"Not long. I really don't know him well at all."

"Funny. The other night you seemed to know him well enough."

"Well, when he's in town, we ... we see each other some."

"Yeah? How often's he in town?"

"Oh, I don't know."

"Don't tell me you don't know when your regular beau's in town."

He was getting mad. He couldn't help it. She'd kissed Tucker; told him so to his face. Rubbed his nose in it; not a real friendly thing to do.

"He's not my... regular beau. He's just courting me."

She was starting to fuss with her hat. She wasn't leaning into him anymore. That was good. It went better for him when she kept her distance.

"So, how often is he around to court you? How often is he gone?"

"About as much as you," she said, a little sharply for her.

He had to tuck his head to hide a smile. Anne fighting back always made him feel good, like maybe she'd come out of this whole thing alive.

"So, he's like me? How else is he like me?"

They had almost reached the station. The stationmaster was keeping an eye on them, but there wouldn't be anything to see, not this time. Anne was mad enough to keep her distance.

"I didn't say he was like you," she said, looking down at the ground as she walked, her pace no longer strolling and playful, but brisk.

"No? He don't hang around you, like me? He don't kiss you, like me? He don't get invited in to set in your parlor, well, hell, that's not like me, is it?"

"I told you," she gritted out, climbing the steps to the platform, "he's courting me."

"And what am I doing, Anne? Am I courting you?"

"I don't know what you're doing," she said in a near whisper.

The hell of it was, he didn't know what he was doing either.

He wanted her, but he knew that she was playing a game with him as the pawn to get her proper beau to propose. He wanted to keep her safe from a killer on the prowl, a killer who went after girls close enough to touch a wedding day and no sense to protect themselves. He wanted her to want him just as badly as he wanted her, but she didn't and the whole town was pushing her away from him and Anne was just the sort of person to let herself get pushed. The only thing Anne wanted out of him was his kisses; she seemed to have a real firm attachment to his kisses.

And the trains. She had a true passion for meeting each and every train that rolled through Abilene. Why?

"Who are you waiting for, Anne? Who's going to get off this train one day?"

She kept her posture and her face composed, but she didn't turn to face him. No, she kept looking at that train.

"I'm not waiting for anyone."

"Then why come?"

"I just do. I've been coming here since ... since, well, since we got here."

"What do you think about when you watch these folks get on and off the trains? You think about leaving?"

She took a deep breath and turned to face him, her eyes bright and glistening. "Yes, I think about leaving. I want to get out of Abilene someday and it'll take a train to do it."

"Is that what I'm for? To get you out of Abilene?" he whispered harshly. It sounded true and fit what he knew. He was being used, by Sarah for her purposes, and by Anne for her own. It didn't matter what he wanted. Nobody cared what he wanted.

Damn, but she looked guilty.

"No," she said quickly, then, "I don't know. I've never told anyone before. They all think... I don't know what they think. But I want to get out. I want to leave," she said, her voice hard.

"Where do I fit into that? You want me to buy you the ticket? You want an armed escort? Hell, I'll ride with you as far as..."
Foreve
r. "Dodge. You want to see Dodge? Rough town. A girl like you needs a man like me to keep the scum off, right? Is that what I'm for? Is that what you got in mind for me?"

"I'm sorry," she said, her eyes soft.

"I just knew there'd be an apology in there somewhere," he bit out. "You been doing a lot of thinking, sounds like," he just about snarled. "Ever think about what I wanted? What I'd like?"

"Well, of course, I just thought," she stammered, getting a pretty little blush going, "I mean, I thought that we... well, you have kissed me."

"Why shouldn't I? You keep letting me!"

Her eyes flared at that and good, hard anger took the place of embarrassment. "I'm not letting you. You're just doing it!"

"Doing it all by myself, am I?"

"I... I... I thought... there've been times when you... just last night, you, by the door."

"Hell, I thought you were asking me, the way you were actin'."

She blushed red and clasped her gloved hands together like she wanted to strangle something. Probably him.

"I didn't know that's how it looked. I'm sorry."

"Damn it, Anne, if you're mad, be mad. Don't apologize for every damn thing."

"Don't you cuss at me! And you don't have to kiss me, either!" she snapped.

She turned around and stomped off like a stallion who's had his face kicked one time too many. He watched her walk off, her bustle bumping with each and every step, that little white bow bouncing.

"At least she didn't apologize for that," he said to the air.

* * *

They rode into town from the other end, so Jack missed their arrival, not that he'd known they were coming. He'd come north on his own, used to working alone, needing no one. At least that's what he thought. These two thought Jack Skull just might need a bit of help, even if he never did ask for it.

Emma Walton saw them first, living on the edge of town like she did, and recognized them for what they were straight off. She hustled her kids out of the yard and into the house and shut the door before anyone could ask her anything. Once she had her back against the door, she could admit that she wasn't surprised; bad company followed after its own.

Powell came out of his livery and watched them ride silently and sedately into town. He wasn't fooled for a minute. They had the same look as Jack Skull, hard and well armed and used to trouble. At least they had their own mounts.

Sheriff Lane was talking to the doc about nothing in particular when he saw them. He may have been the only person in town who was glad to see them, with the possible exception of Doc Carr, who thought they might just be the men to gun down Jack Skull for that string of murders.

Not likely, since they were his closest friends.

"Howdy," Lane said from the boardwalk.

"Howdy," the dark one answered. The fair-haired man didn't say anything. Lane wasn't alarmed; some folks just weren't talkative.

"Looking for somebody?" Lane asked.

"Yeah, trailed him up this way," the black-haired man said, remaining seated, his hands resting easily on his saddle horn. He could afford to rest easy, his partner was keeping watch while he kept his mouth shut. "Looking for Jack Skull."

"He's here," Doc Carr offered quickly. "Staying just down the road."

The black-haired man smiled and said, "Thanks. Looks like you're eager to get rid of him."

"I'm not," Lane said, taking control of the conversation. "Come on in. We'll talk. Doc? I'll see you."

"Thanks again," the man said, dismounting. Only when he was on the ground did his partner dismount. They watched out for each other carefully; an old habit and one they had no wish to lose.

"Name's Lane," he said, motioning them into the jail-house.

"Grey," said the talkative one. "And this is Blakes."

"You've traveled a bit, looks like," Lane said.

"Not without reason," Grey said.

"What's the reason?"

"I think you know. If you don't, I'll talk to Jack first,"

Grey said without any attempt to be polite. Lane didn't mind.

Grey was taller than most and lean as a whip with shoulders like a young bull's. Black hair hung straight down to his collar. His eyes were matching black and his features lean and hard. For all that, he didn't quite have the look of a man with Indian blood, not that it would have mattered. With the way he carried himself, Lane couldn't think of a man who'd challenge him.

Blakes was slightly shorter and built like a man who'd laid track for most of his life. He was thick with muscle and hard as brick with sandy hair and dark blue eyes. It didn't look like he was much of a talker.

"I know," Lane said, offering the two men a drink. It was a lucky thing that he had four cups and had just washed two of them. They took the proffered cups silently, showing their appreciation by how fast they drank it down. "We've had three up here, all recent."

"All since Jack's been here?" Grey asked.

"Yeah, or thereabouts. None in Abilene."

"Not yet," Blakes said. His first words. Not pleasant ones.

"Not ever, if I have my way," Lane said, taking a drink for himself.

"I hope you get your way, at least on this," Grey said.