Under A Prairie Moon (15 page)

“Why the hell not?”

“It’s too soon.”

Dalton frowned, and then sighed. “You’re thinking of him, aren’t you? Your husband?”

Kathy nodded, wondering when she had ever felt so miserable.

Dalton blew out a breath, then shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Leaving?” Panic surged through her, obliterating everything else. “Why? Where are you going?”

“To find my father’s people.”

“The Sioux?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I made a promise a long time ago. I mean to fulfill it.”

She stared at him, unable to believe her ears. He was going to go off and leave her. What would she do without him? “How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know.”

“But…you can’t go.”

“I think it’s for the best.”

“What do you mean?”

He scowled at her. “You’re driving me crazy. I can’t stop thinking about you, wanting you. I…shit!” He turned away from her and raked a hand through his hair. “It’s better this way.”

“Better?” Her voice came out in an anguished squeak. “You’re going to go off and leave me here, alone?”

“Damn.” What was he thinking of? He couldn’t just ride out and leave her behind. Slowly, he turned to face her. “I need to find my people,” he explained. “I made a promise to my father before he died, and now that I’ve been given another chance, I intend to keep it, if I can.”

“There’s more, isn’t there? Something you aren’t telling me.”

He blew out a breath. “I’m afraid,” he said quietly, so quietly she had to lean forward to hear him. “Afraid if I stay here, I’ll wind up at the end of that damn rope again.”

Kathy nodded. She didn’t blame him for being afraid.

“Can’t I go with you? To the Sioux?”

He thought of what it would be like, to be with her day and night and not touch her, to look into her eyes and know she was thinking of her husband, and knew the hell he had lived in before had been a pale shadow of the hell he was about to endure.

“It won’t be easy for you,” he said, hoping to discourage her. “Most of my people don’t speak English, or have much affection for the
wasichu
.”

“Wasi…”

“
Wasichu
. The whites.”

“Oh.” She pondered that a moment, but knew she’d still rather go with him than be left behind. “I don’t want to stay here without you.”

“Why don’t you sleep on it?”

“Okay,” she agreed, even though she knew she wouldn’t change her mind. Maybe it was her imagination, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that they had to stay together, that something awful would happen if he left her behind.

“I’m going for a walk.”

Kathy nodded, her mind in turmoil as she watched him descend the stairs. She’d sleep on it, if she could sleep at all, but she didn’t think she would be getting much sleep, not with the memory of Dalton’s kiss still playing havoc with her senses.

As she feared, she didn’t get much sleep that night. She tossed and turned until the wee small hours, reminding herself that she had vowed never to love again, that even if she decided to risk her heart a second time, it couldn’t be with Dalton. He was a hired gun, a man from another century. They should never have met and sooner or later, Fate would step in and set things right. She would find her way to her own time, and Dalton Crowkiller would stay here, in his.

Rising, she put on her bra and panties, pulled on her petticoat, slipped the dress over her head, wondering, as she did so, why it had taken women so long to wear jeans. She put on her stockings and boots, brushed her hair, wished again for a toothbrush.

Glancing in the mirror, she shook her head at her reflection. “Morning, Miss Katherine,” she muttered. “Time to go visit the outhouse.”

When she saw Dalton at the breakfast table later, she could tell from the dark shadows under his eyes that he hadn’t gotten much sleep either.

He offered her a wintry grin when she sat down at the table across from him.

Martha Dunn clucked at them like a mother hen as she filled their cups with coffee. “You’ve missed breakfast,” she scolded. “Mr. Petty and Miss Canfield have already gone.”

“That’s all right,” Dalton muttered. “I’m not hungry.”

“Me either,” Kathy said.

Martha stood beside the table, her hands fisted on her hips, a frown on her face. “I have some blueberry muffins left,” she said. “Still warm from the oven.”

Dalton shook his head. “Not for me.”

“I’d love one, if it’s not too much trouble,” Kathy said.

“No trouble at all,” Martha said. She left the room, returning moments later with a fat blueberry muffin on a plate.

“I’ll just leave the coffeepot here,” she said. She smiled from one to the other. “I’ve got laundry to do. Lordy, it just never seems to end.”

Laundry. Kathy frowned as she imagined heating water on the stove, then washing her long gingham dress and petticoats on a scrub board in a wooden tub, wringing the heavy cloth out by hand, hanging everything up on a clothesline.

Dalton drained his cup and poured another. “So, what did you decide?”

“I don’t want to stay here alone.”

He nodded, a resigned expression on his face. “When you get done there, we’ll need to go over to the mercantile and stock up on a few things. And then I’m gonna take a ride out to the Triple Bar C.”

“Whatever for?”

“My horse is there.”

“Oh. Is it safe for you to go there?”

“Safe?” Dalton shrugged. “I reckon so. I’ve been staying there for the last three months.” He frowned. “Or I was.” He muttered an oath. “You know what I mean. Damn, this time thing is confusing.”

“Tell me about it.”

She finished her muffin and drank another cup of coffee, heavily laced with sugar and real cream. It was stronger than she was used to, but delicious.

“Well,” Dalton said, “let’s go.”

Careful not to touch, they left the boardinghouse and walked to the mercantile.

“Go buy whatever you think you might need,” Dalton said. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be gone, so you’d better buy another dress, and a hat.” He frowned. “I guess you know what you’ll need better than I do. I’ll meet you up front when you’re done.”

With a nod, Kathy walked down the nearest aisle. If they were going to be riding across the plains, she didn’t intend to do it mired down in yards of gingham and petticoats.

Going to the men’s department, she picked out a pair of men’s Levi’s, two flannel shirts and a sheepskin jacket. She chose a gray hat with a wide brim. Going to the shoe department, she tried on several pairs of boots until she found a pair that felt right, shaking her head when she saw the price. Three dollars. The last pair she had bought had cost almost a hundred bucks. She wished she’d been wearing them when they were zapped through time.

Moving on, she picked up a bar of white naphtha soap priced at five cents a bar, a washcloth, a length of toweling. She picked up a couple of large white handkerchiefs that were priced at twenty-five cents each. Kidskin gloves were a dollar and a half a pair. In passing, she noticed that three yards of ribbon sold for seventy-five cents, and five yards of linen was only two-fifty.

Intrigued by the store itself, she wandered around for a few more minutes, amazed by the wide variety of items for sale: salt, spices, raisins, sugar, cheese, eggs, butter, salted meat and fish, tea, coffee, Arm and Hammer Soda, KC Baking Powder. A ten-pound bag of Matoma Rice was only sixty-five cents. Beer and whiskey, molasses and vinegar were dispensed through spigots from barrels. Pickles and crackers were also sold from barrels. She was startled to see cans of Van Camps beans in tomato sauce on the shelf.

One counter held chamber pots, slop jars, spittoons, dish pans, wash basins and coffee grinders, flour sifters, dust pans, bread pans and milk pails, coffeepots, foot warmers, frying pans and tea kettles.

A showcase held knives of all sizes from tiny pen knives to a huge Bowie knife in a leather sheath. And guns, of course, clearly marked: an Iver Johnson 32 caliber for a measly three dollars and forty cents, a Frontier Colt .45, a small ladies revolver.

With a start, she remembered that Dalton was waiting for her. Hurrying to the front of the store, she saw him standing with one hip canted against the front counter while a clerk rang up his purchases.

“Got everything?” he asked.

“I guess so.”

She glanced at the jars of peanut brittle, taffy and fudge displayed in jars near the cash register and asked the clerk to please add a piece of fudge to their order.

Dalton frowned when she placed the Levi’s and shirts on the counter.

“I’m not riding in a dress,” she explained, daring him to argue with her. “For one thing, it isn’t practical.”

“Suit yourself.”

“What about dishes?”

“I got those.” He gestured at two tin plates, a blue-speckled coffeepot and a couple of matching cups, knives, forks and spoons, a large frying pan, a Dutch oven. “You ever cooked outdoors?”

“A little.” She had gone camping in Yellowstone with Wayne and his folks one summer soon after they were married.

Dalton nodded, then turned to the clerk. “Pack all this stuff up for me. We’ll pick it up first thing in the morning.”

“Yes sir.”

Dalton paid for their supplies, then opened the door for Kathy. She walked out, turning toward the boardinghouse, only to come face to face with Lydia Conley.

Lydia Conley spared hardly a glance at Kathy as her gaze sought Dalton’s. A slow smile spread across her face. It was the most blatantly sultry, provocative, predatory smile Kathy had ever seen.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Crowkiller,” Lydia said. Her voice was soft and seductive, like warm silk sliding over cool satin sheets, as she offered him her hand.

Kathy glanced over her shoulder, curious to see Dalton’s reaction to the woman who had been the cause of his death.

Dalton took Lydia’s hand and quickly released it. “What brings you to town, Mrs. Conley?”

Kathy frowned, wondering if it was her imagination, or if he had stressed the word Mrs. Was it to remind Lydia that she was a married woman, she mused, or was it to remind himself that she was off-limits?

Lydia lifted an elegant hand and let it fall. “I was bored, so I asked Whitey to bring me to town.” She slid a glance at Kathy, the look in her eyes reminding Kathy of a mongoose eying a cobra. “Who is this?”

“My cousin, Katherine Wagner, from New York City. Kathy, this is Mrs. Conley.”

Kathy nodded at the other woman. Lydia Conley was indeed beautiful. The pictures she had seen had not done the woman justice. She wore a blatantly expensive orange and brown taffeta dress that complemented her wavy auburn hair and deep brown eyes and emphasized her creamy white skin. A bonnet with matching orange and brown streamers was tilted at a jaunty angle over one eye. Expensive brown kidskin half-boots and a pair of white gloves completed her outfit.

Standing beside her, Kathy felt about as attractive as an old worn-out shoe.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, I’m sure,” Lydia said, her voice perfectly modulated. “How long will you be visiting?”

“I’m not sure.” Driven by some perverse urge, Kathy slid her arm through Dalton’s. Smiling up at him, she batted her eyelashes. “Dalton is such fun to be around, I just may stay forever.”

Dalton frowned at her, as if to remind her that they were supposed to be cousins, but Kathy didn’t care. Even without meeting Lydia’s gaze, she could feel the other woman’s animosity.

Lydia turned back to Dalton. “What brings you to town?” she asked, her full attention again focused on Dalton. “Are you taking care of business for Russell?”

Dalton shook his head. “No ma’am. I’ve been taking care of my own business.” Deciding it was useless to go on pretending they were cousins, Dalton placed his hand over Kathy’s, the gesture flagrantly possessive. “Why don’t you do the same?”

Jealousy, disbelief and indignation clashed in the depths of Lydia Conley’s eyes. “How dare you speak to me like that!” she hissed, and lifting her skirts, she swept past them, as aloof as a queen among peasants.

“So,” Kathy murmured, “that’s the infamous Lydia Conley.”

“That’s her.”

“Did you love her?”

“No.” Dalton glanced over his shoulder. Lydia was walking across the street, back rigid, skirts swaying. “But I wanted her,” he muttered. “Heaven help me, I wanted her.”

Kathy withdrew her arm from Dalton’s. She could understand why Lydia was jealous. Foolish as it was, she was feeling a touch of the green-eyed monster herself.

“Why don’t you go on back to the boardinghouse,” Dalton said. “I’m going out to the ranch to get my horse.”

“Do you really think that’s wise? I think you should stay as far away from the Conleys as possible.”

Dalton watched Lydia go into her dressmaker’s shop across the way. If he knew Lydia, she would be in there for at least an hour, more likely two. “I think now is just the right time.”

“All right. I’ll see you at Martha’s later. Be careful.”

With a nod, he headed for the livery.

Kathy stood there a moment, watching him walk away, then, with a sigh, she started walking toward the boardinghouse.

“How long have you known Dalton?”

“Excuse me?” Turning around, Kathy again found herself face to face with Lydia Conley.

“I am not a fool. If you two are cousins, then I am the Queen of England.”

“I haven’t known him very long,” Kathy said, “not that it’s any of your business.”

“Are you in love with him?”

“Are you?”

“Of course not,” Lydia said quickly, but her flushed cheeks betrayed her. “Does he love you?”

Kathy hesitated, sorely tempted to lie and say yes just to see Lydia’s reaction. Instead, she said, “No. We’re just friends. Good friends.”

“Indeed?”

Kathy felt her cheeks grow hot as Lydia’s gaze swept over her in a glance that said, more clearly than words, just what kind of “friends” Lydia thought they were.

“It’s not like that at all,” Kathy sputtered. “We never…oh! You’re jealous, aren’t you, jealous to think he might have come to my bed when he turned you down flat.”

Lydia’s jaw dropped open in astonishment. “How do you know that?” Color flooded her cheeks. “Did he dare to tell you that?”

Kathy covered her mouth with one hand as she realized what she had let slip. Afraid she might accidentally blurt out something else that she shouldn’t know about, she turned and ran back to the boardinghouse.

* * * * *

Dalton thought about Lydia on the ride out to the ranch. Seeing her had filled him with a dozen conflicting emotions. Chief among them had been anger and a soul-deep rage that she had let him die when she could have saved him. Damn her! He wondered if she would have spoken on his behalf if, instead of rebuffing her advances, he had taken her to bed. Damn and double damn, it had been all he could do to keep from wrapping his hands around her pretty little neck and giving her a taste of what gut-wrenching fear was like, what it felt like to gasp for breath.

Lydia. Her cool beauty paled when compared to Kathy’s warm loveliness. Kathy, whose dark eyes were always filled with grief. Kathy, who turned to flame in his arms and set him on fire with longing. What was he going to do about Kathy?

He hadn’t reached any decisions when he arrived at the ranch.

The yard was empty this time of day. The hands were all out looking after the cattle, riding fence, checking the river, clearing away any debris that might be clogging the bend near the south pasture.

Old Carmen would be in the kitchen, cooking up something good for dinner.

And Conley…there was no telling where he might be. Russell took an active hand in the running of the ranch and could be found out on the range as often as in his office.

Dalton reined the mare toward the barn. The big buckskin stud was his. He didn’t need Conley’s permission to take it.

Dismounting, he looped the mare’s reins over a fence rail and went into the barn. The buckskin whickered softly as Dalton approached the stall near the back of the barn.

“Hey, boy.” The stud poked its nose over the door of the stall and nuzzled his chest, and Dalton scratched the horse between the ears. “Miss me?” At the sound of footsteps, he dropped his hand to his gun butt, but it was only Conley.

“Crowkiller,” Russell said, “I’ve been looking for you. We need to talk.”

“I’ve got nothing to say. I’m leavin’.”

“Leaving? Where’re you going?”

“Anywhere I damn well please. I’m through here. I just came back to get my horse.”

Conley frowned. “You can’t leave now. Burkhart’s hired himself a new gunnie. I don’t think this one’s gonna scare as easy as the last one.”

“That’s no longer my problem. I’m leaving the ranch. Leaving town.”

“The hell you are. We had a deal.”

“I’m breakin’ it.”

Conley’s face turned ugly. It was the same look Dalton had seen the night Conley took a whip to him.

A muscle ticked in Conley’s jaw. “Nobody walks out on me.”

“Is that right?” Dalton took a step backward and turned so that he was facing Conley head on. In a movement that might have been casual, he rested his hand on the butt of his Colt.

Like all the men in the West, Russell Conley went armed. But he wasn’t a fast gun, and he wasn’t stupid enough to draw against a man who was.

“When I pay for a job, I expect it to get done.”

“You can pick up your money at the bank.”

“You’ll regret this,” Conley warned.

“I got lots of regrets.”

Conley fixed him with a hard look, then turned and stalked out of the barn.

Dalton slid a bridle over the stud’s head, then led the horse out of the stall. He ran a brush over the horse, checked its feet, cinched the saddle in place. Swinging onto the stallion’s back, he rode to the front of the barn, pausing a moment to let his eyes adjust to the glare of the sun.

The yard was empty. Taking up the mare’s reins, he urged the stallion into a trot, eager to put the Conley family and the Triple Bar C behind him.

* * * * *

He left the horses at the livery, then walked over to the boardinghouse. He found Kathy sitting in the parlor, an untouched cup of tea in her hand.

She looked up when he entered the room. “Everything okay?”

“Fine, why?”

“I was worried about you.”

“No need.”

“I know you want to leave first thing in the morning,” Kathy remarked, “but do you think we could leave Sunday, instead?”

“Why?”

“Mrs. Dunn said there’s going to be a big celebration tomorrow, for the Fourth. She said there would be food and games and homemade ice cream. I just thought…” It was silly, might even be dangerous, but she wanted to stay. She had always wanted to see an old-fashioned Fourth of July celebration, and this might be her only chance.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Me either, but can we? Stay, I mean?”

He looked at her, at the excitement shining in her eyes, and knew he couldn’t refuse. “I reckon we can stay, if you’ve got your heart set on it.”

She smiled at him, and he felt a sudden tightness in his chest.

“Lydia thinks I’m your…your whore.”

Laughter erupted from Dalton’s throat. Grabbing a chair, he swung it around and straddled it, his arms folded over the back. Kathy glared at him. “I don’t think that’s so funny.”

“Sure it is.”

“Would you tell me why?”

“She’s a whore at heart, so she paints all women with the same brush. Makes it easier to believe that she’s no worse than any of the rest.”

“Well, maybe,” Kathy allowed.

“Forget about her. What did you do while I was gone?”

“Nothing much. I was bored, so Mrs. Dunn showed me how to make bread.” She had never realized what a long process was involved in turning out a loaf of bread. How much easier to buy it, already packaged, off the shelf. “We made pies too. Apple.”

“My favorite.”

Kathy nodded. “She made one, and I made one.”

“Be sure to tell me which one’s hers,” Dalton said with a wink.

“Oh you!” Kathy exclaimed, and grabbing the pillow from behind her back, she threw it at him.

Dalton ducked instinctively, and the pillow went sailing past his head. It landed on the table beside the sofa, knocking a large china figurine to the floor. There was a crash, the sound of breaking glass.

Kathy jumped to her feet, horrified by what she had done. “Look what you made me do!”

“Me?” Dalton stood up. “I didn’t tell you to throw that pillow at me.”

Kathy crossed the floor. “Oh no,” she wailed. “It’s broken.” She picked up the pieces. “I feel awful.”

“Hide it. Maybe she won’t miss it.”

“Dalton!”

He shrugged. “It was ugly anyway.”

Well, that was true, Kathy thought as she stared at the now-headless figure of a ballerina in her hands. Feeling like a little girl who had just broken one of her mother’s favorite knickknacks, Kathy squared her shoulders and went in search of Mrs. Dunn.

Dalton stared after her. It probably wasn’t a good idea to stay here for the Fourth. As he recalled, Lydia had arranged for him to dance with her.

He blew out a deep breath. But he had Kathy with him this time. He would keep her close. Hopefully, Kathy’s presence would discourage Lydia.

If not…hell, he’d worry about that when the time came.

Crossing to the window, he gazed into the distance. It was July, the time of year the Lakota called the Cherry Ripening Moon. The people would be busy, hunting, raiding, gathering wild fruits and vegetables. It was the time of the Sun Dance…

He glanced over his shoulder as Kathy entered the room. “Got it all squared away?”

Kathy nodded. “Oh she was very nice, said I shouldn’t fret about it.”

“Well then?”

“I just know it had some special meaning for her.”

“Well, there’s no sense worrying about it. What’s done is done, and you can’t undo it.” He looked back out the window, wondering if those words were true, wondering if, no matter what he did, he was destined to die at the end of a rope.

* * * * *

Kathy stood in front of the mirror, grinning. She had bathed in an old-fashioned hip tub with a bar of lavender soap, and now she was dressed in starched blue gingham, her hair neatly coiled at her nape. Mrs. Dunn had lent her a white straw hat, insisting that a lady always wore a hat when she went out. Kathy shook her head. She looked like she had just stepped out of the pages of a book about frontier life in the Old West.