SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits (203 page)

Making her way over to the archway, Taylor kept her gaze downward, tucking her chin and avoiding meeting anyone’s stare. When she glanced up, she realized no one seemed to notice her or even be interested in her presence.
Good
. As she entered the room, almost immediately she heard the muffled voices of three men arguing. Making her way along the wall to gain a better vantage point, she recognized Jackson’s voice.

“The vest is ready, Will. I picked it up today. When will you have the gun? It’s time to finish this.”

“Relax, Jackson, we’re still waitin’ on Pete Spence’s gun connection. It should be any day now. Them little vest guns ain’t that easy to get. Yer soundin’ a little too anxious about this to me. Relax.”

“You have no idea how difficult this is getting,” Jackson said. “I don’t know how much longer I can stand working for that murderer, knowing what I know—”

“Now, Jackson,” Will interrupted, “don’t go and get all jumpy at this stage. We just have to wait a little longer. Pete Spence wants Earp dead just as bad as you do, but you gotta have a gun on you if this is gonna work. Now let’s go over it one more time since we’re all here.”

Taylor heard the scrape of chairs as the men seemed to sit down. She flattened herself against the wall and crept a little closer. Fear and anger put her stomach in knots, and she shivered as the fearful images of a shootout built in her mind. And the worst part? Now she knew Jackson was definitely involved.

“Now, Dean and I will be at the Faro table that’s at the back of the room. Jackson, you’ll need to keep an eye out so you’ll be ready to cover us. We’ve seen how fast Earp is with a gun—we saw how quick he killed your Pa in Dodge City.”

Taylor covered her mouth with a shaking hand to smother her labored breathing. She was afraid to leave, but was also beginning to feel she just might not want to hear the rest.

“I don’t know what we’re waitin’ for anyway,” a new voice said. “I bet we could sneak in our own guns and just take him down whenever we please—that Marshal can’t see everything all the time, and—”

“Quiet, Dean, and listen. Your loud mouth’ll get us in trouble yet—simmer down or I’ll be sendin’ ya back to Arizona with yer sorry tail between yer legs. I don’t know why I thought you could handle this job anyway—”

“Aw, Will—you know I’m a good shot and—”

“I don’t care how good a shot you are, Dean, keep yer trap shut and listen!”

No one said a word for several moments and Taylor only heard the sharp clink of a bottle against glass, then the slamming of glasses on the table as she guessed they were drinking shots of whiskey.

“We’ll keep bettin’ at the Faro game,” Will continued, his voice not quite as harsh, “and we’ll start fussin’ about somethin’. Dean, you’ll give me a shove off my chair. Jackson, you’ll be coming over to help get us under control. Earp won’t be far behind, you can bet on that. You can also bet that he’ll have a gun with him—”

“I don’t know, Will,” Jackson interrupted. “In all the cleaning and stocking I’ve done since I started tending bar, I’ve never seen a gun in the place. Are you sure he’ll have one?” Jackson’s voice clearly sounded a little uneasy about Will’s claim. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe he’d back out. She couldn’t help hoping so.

“Relax, Jackson. We
know
Earp. That’s how he’s always handled it before, and that’s the way he’ll do it here too. You relax, and quit thinkin’ so much. You ain’t changin’ your mind, are ya?”

“No, no—”

“Jackson,” Will said, “you and us—we got a common bond that’s real strong. That bastard took the life of our uncle at the OK Corral—just the
same
way he took your pa’s. Murdered. In cold blood.”

“I just want to make sure. It’ll look a lot better if his own gun is drawn.”

“Like I said, don’t worry.” There was a pause, and then he added, “Partners, right?”

“Partners,” Jackson answered, his tone not quite as enthusiastic as Will’s.

“Alright—now, by this time I’m on the floor and Dean, you put your hands ‘round my throat like you’re gonna choke me to death right then and there. And you need to make it look like you’re really gonna kill me…and just wait. When Earp gets there, he’ll most likely come up next to you with his gun pulled out. You just remember to keep still and look ‘im in the eye and keep his attention on you. Jackson, there’ll be plenty of time to pull your gun and finish him off. In all the commotion after he’s shot, we’ll make a run for the back room and get out through the window. It’ll be easy as pie, as long as everyone does his job.”

“Got it,” Dean replied. “It’ll be easy. Jackson, you just make sure you do some straight shootin’, that’s all. That Earp deserves what he’s got comin’ and we’re gonna give it to ‘im!”

Taylor heard a heavy hand slap the table followed by ugly laughter.

“Hey, pretty boy, you ain’t gettin’ cold feet, are ya?” she heard Will ask again.

Jackson’s voice was even and calm. “You just get the gun and leave it with Charlie at the City of Paris store. But I don’t think we should be seen together anymore,” Jackson added. “It’s too dangerous. Just leave a note with the gun with the date we’re going to do this. I’m ready.”

“Fine with me,” Will replied. “Your daddy would sure be proud of you, Jackson. It’ll be a pleasure takin’ care of business with ya.”

Taylor heard the grating sound of chairs being pushed away from the table as the men seemed to have concluded their discussion. She turned, then quickly walked toward the archway to leave The Reading room before they appeared. Luckily, the bar was even more crowded now and she placed herself in the middle of a boisterous group, keeping her head down and trying her best to blend in.

“Hey, it’s the McLaurey boys,” someone shouted. “Got any money to lose tonight?”

As she tipped her head up just enough to be able to watch, Dean and Will McLaurey walked out of The Reading Room and stopped momentarily, appearing to decide whether to take their place at the bar or scout for a table in the packed gambling area. She lifted her chin so she could see better and then stared at both men, memorizing their faces, then watched them walk to the bar, turn their backs to her, and order a drink.

Taylor waited for Jackson to appear next. After an uncomfortably long five minutes or so she concluded he had used a back door or perhaps was waiting long enough to be certain there would be no visual connection between him and the two men. Her clenched stomach muscles confirmed it was time for her to get the heck out of there.

* * *

Jackson sat back down at the table in The Reading Room. Things were progressing much more slowly than he’d hoped, and it had already been a long and agonizing journey for him.

Since his mother had died of consumption nine years ago, Jackson had pretty much been on his own. His life had changed dramatically due to his mother’s death, but more so because of her tearful acknowledgment of the truth about his father. Jackson had grown up thinking his father had died before his own birth but on her deathbed, Jackson’s mother had revealed that his father had indeed just died the year before.

That last conversation had been painful for both of them, Jackson remembered. His mother told him that she had fallen in love with his father, a man named George Hoyt, who had promised to take her west for a life of adventure, something she’d been secretly dreaming of. After a quick courtship, he’d left to secure their new home, promising to send for her in a month. By the second month, she knew he wasn’t coming back to marry her, and worst of all, she was with child—
his
child. To save face, Jackson’s mother had told everyone that she and George had secretly married before he’d left and that he’d met a dire end out on the trail.

Jackson closed his eyes. He remembered how his mother had often looked to the west at sunset with a wistful expression. Now he understood what she’d been dreaming about. Even after all those years, she still waited for his father to return. As a young boy, Jackson had fallen in love with the idea of traveling west, to seek out the adventures he’d heard about, where lawless towns established their own ways to deal with right and wrong. Now he knew he had probably inherited his own mother’s desires to explore and to experience a less civilized side of life. Maybe his father’s too.

Jackson had tirelessly cared for his mother, especially that last year. He hoped he’d never see anyone suffer as much as she had—struggling to breathe, sometimes without enough strength to eat. That last pain-racked day, she’d tenderly told Jackson she couldn’t die without telling him the truth—how she and his father had never married, and that his father didn’t even know he had a son. She’d also heard that he had been killed in Dodge City by the Marshall there, though she wasn’t sure how or why.

Jackson closed his eyes, picturing his sick mother—pale, weak, and gasping for air. He had reassured her that everything would be fine, that
he
would be fine. He’d held her hand while she took her last breath. He was sixteen, and alone.

After his mother’s burial, he continued to wonder about his father, but he’d finished his schooling like he’d promised and then worked on a neighbor’s ranch. And occasionally he would go into town and work Saturday nights at the saloon there. He’d come up with a plan—he would save any extra money to make the trip someday to Dodge City, to find out once and for all what had happened to his father, and then he’d head west, just as his mother had dreamed of doing.

After almost ten years, Jackson finally had enough money saved to pay for the satisfaction of his own curiosity. He’d said his goodbyes and set out for Dodge City.

The first night there, his good luck materialized and he’d met Will and Dean McLaurey and asked them if they knew anything about the killing of George Hoyt. They had been very interested, he remembered, especially when he told them George Hoyt was his father. Over a bottle of whiskey the three of them began to plan a journey to find Wyatt Earp. They intended to even the score for the killing of Jackson’s father and their own uncle, Tom McLaurey. Will had told Jackson he might as well go back home and wait for word from them. They’d contact him when they’d found the murderous Marshall, and he could join them then. Reluctantly he’d done just that, heading back home and waiting for word from the brothers. It felt like he’d spent a lifetime waiting.

A wave of boisterous laughter from the saloon crowd brought Jackson back to reality. He sighed and shook his head. It had been a long wait, and now he knew he needed to be patient for just a little longer.

Feeling fatigued and emotionally drained, Jackson pushed his chair away from the table. Maybe there was time for a little distraction. Perhaps the beautiful Rose was just what he needed to keep from becoming too anxious. The pull to know more about her was undeniable.

Jackson walked out of the Acme Saloon and made his way back to Ida Bailey’s.

Forever Rose: Chapter Eight

Shivering more from the overheard conversation than the chilly night air, Taylor hurried away from the saloon.
So, Jackson was the predicted false friend.

“No.”

Taylor stopped walking, startled to hear her father’s voice. How could he say that when she’d just overheard him plotting with two men to kill Wyatt Earp?

Taylor listened for her father’s voice to say something more, but she heard only the sounds of a buggy going by.

To her it seemed simple. The men were after revenge—an eye for an eye.

“Look for the truth.”

Taylor’s jaws tightened. Was that why she was here? Was she really supposed to figure out who the conspirators were, and then stop them by finding out the truth? The truth about what?

“Jackson is no killer.”

Dad. I heard what they said. They all want revenge—I heard about the gun, the plot, everything.

“Taylor...look deeper. Trust your feelings.”

His presence faded away and Taylor shivered, feeling even more confused.
Look deeper—at what?

The only benefit to her father’s interference, she considered, was the growing possibility that Jackson might not be what he appeared to be. In her heart of hearts, she
did
hope he wasn’t the ruthless assassin that two overheard conversations suggested he could be.

But could he?

She shook her head. Jackson just didn’t have the look or the demeanor of some kind of ruthless outlaw. At least not to her. The other two men, in contrast, were picture-perfect examples of the rough side of the old West. They could have walked onto any western movie set and fit in nicely. And they gave her the creeps.

Reaching Ida’s front porch, Taylor looked around to confirm she was alone. She quietly opened the front door and closed it behind her, leaning against it with a sigh of relief, then quickly decided to go upstairs the back way so there would be less chance of being seen.

Moments later, Taylor was safe in her room changing out of her slacks and vest. On her bed lay a red silk robe and a note from Ida.

Rose,

This never did fit me and I thought you might enjoy wearing it. Noticed you were gone and hope all is well. See you in the morning after ten or so for tea.

Ida

Taylor picked up the robe, holding it out to take a better look.
Sweet Ida. How nice she’s been to me.
Her fingers lingered on the luxurious satiny fabric, enjoying the sensuous feel of the cloth. Impulsively, she removed her underwear and bra and slid the robe over her bare skin. It felt velvety and warm against her cool flesh. Looking in the mirror, the robe almost seemed to shimmer in the moonlight that streamed into the room.

Taylor reached for the big china pitcher and poured some water into the washbasin. She washed her face and hands in the cool water, immediately feeling revived from her long day. The damp edges of her hair curled towards her face, and she felt very feminine, the robe a dramatic contrast to the boyish clothing she had just removed.

Sounds of the night’s carnal business drifted into Taylor’s room—high pitched squeals followed by heavy footsteps and laughter. Bed springs signaled a great deal of activity was underway just down the hall from her curtained doorway.