Under A Prairie Moon (6 page)

Dalton whistled. “Eight women. When did he find the time to write?”

Kathy grinned at him. “That’s what I wondered.” She took a sip of her drink. “Tell me, what’s it like, being a ghost?”

“I don’t know how to describe it. Like being invisible, I guess. It was boring as hell before you got here. No one could see me or hear me. Sometimes I’d break things or move things, just to prove I existed…”

“Like that box of cereal the other day?”

“Yeah. I got a kick out of scaring the folks who stayed here.”

“Did you really appear to Lydia?”

His expression went dark. “Yeah.” He grunted softly. “I’m not the one who drove her crazy though. It was her own guilty conscience.”

Kathy tilted her head to one side. “Did you see her again, after she died?”

“At the funeral. It was quite a shindig.” He snorted softly. “Fit for a queen. Everyone in town showed up.”

“No, I mean, well, did you ever see her spirit or her ghost or whatever?”

“No. Far as I know, I’m the only ghost in these parts.”

“I hope so.”

He grinned at her. “I think you could take on an army of ghosts.”

“No thanks, one is enough. What have you been doing all these years?”

“Doing?” He shook his head, his expression thoughtful. “I just sort of…drift.”

“Drift?”

“I don’t know how to explain it. Kind of like being in hibernation.”

“That’s really weird.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” He glanced around the kitchen, thinking of all the changes he had seen on the ranch. Indoor plumbing and electric lights. Shiny ice boxes that didn’t use ice to keep things cold, but made ice instead. “You got one of those television sets?”

“A tv? Yes, why?” It was in the barn, along with her computer and fax machine. She hadn’t brought it, or her entertainment center, in yet, wanting to wait until she was done painting and the carpet was installed before she set things up.

“The last of the Conleys to live here, they had one. It was…interesting.”

“You watched tv?”

“Nothing else to do.”

“What was your favorite show?”

“
Star Trek
.”

The thought of him perched on a chair somewhere, watching Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock travel through the galaxy on their five-year mission to seek out new life forms made her laugh, and once she started, she couldn’t seem to stop. And then, without quite knowing how, her laughter turned to tears.

“Kathy?” Dalton looked at her, puzzled and distressed by her tears. “Kathy, don’t cry.”

She took a deep breath. “
Star Trek
,” she said, sobbing. “It was Wayne’s favorite show.”

“Shit.” He stared at her a moment, watching her shoulders shake, listening to her heart-wrenching sobs, and when he couldn’t take it anymore, he did the only thing he could think of. He drew her into his arms and held her close, one hand awkwardly patting her back. “Go on, honey,” he drawled softly, “cry it all out.”

She burrowed into his arms, her face buried in the hollow of his shoulder, and cried until she was dry and empty inside.

“I miss him so much,” she murmured, her voice muffled against his shirt.

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything, just held her tighter. They stood that way for a long time, his arms around her. She smelled like fresh peaches. Her hair tickled his skin, her body was soft against his, warm where he was cold. An emotion, a need he had thought long dead, stirred to life within him, awakening feelings no ghost should be having.

Knowing it was wrong, he brushed his lips across the top of her head. Lord, it had been over a century since he’d held a woman in his arms. Her nearness jolted him, her femininity calling to everything male within him.

He knew the exact moment when she realized what he was thinking. Her breath caught in her throat, and she went suddenly still in his arms.

Muttering an oath, he loosened his hold on her. “I’m sorry.”

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with surprise, her cheeks flushed.

“I…” Kathy drew in a deep breath, not knowing what to say. She knew when a man was aroused, knew desire when she saw it. But… “I didn’t know ghosts could…that is, that they ever…” Her cheeks felt hot and she knew she was blushing furiously.

“Me either.” He released her and took a step backward. “Damn.”

“I think…” She ran her tongue over lips gone dry. “I think I’ll start dinner.”

Flustered, she turned away to pick up her lemonade. When she turned around again, Dalton was gone.

A long string of vile oaths trailed behind Dalton as he walked along the stream. Why the hell did she have to come here? He had been resigned to his lot in life—or death—until she showed up on the scene. He woke from time to time, but mostly, he had just drifted through a thick gray fog, unaffected by the passage of time, by the changes taking place in the world.

Pausing, he picked up a rock and skipped it across the water. One, two, three, four… She smelled like sun-ripened peaches. Her hair was thick and soft, so soft. And her skin…smooth and soft and warm, so warm.

Damn! A man who’d been dead for a hundred and twenty-five years shouldn’t be thinking like this, feeling like this. He was as randy as a young stud, ready to mount the first mare who crossed his path.

He stared into the water, wondering if a good soak would cool him off.

Kathy… Even her name was soft. He closed his eyes, only to be tormented by the memory of how she had looked in the bathtub that first night, her cheeks rosy, her hair piled atop her head, her body clad in nothing but bubbles.

He opened his eyes and looked back at the house, wondering if it was too late to scare her away.

* * * * *

Kathy was nervous and on edge all evening, waiting, wondering what she would say when she saw him again.

Every time the house creaked, she looked up, expecting to see him, which was silly, since he never made a sound.

She went into the bedroom after dinner and sorted through the things she had bought that day.

Going into the bathroom, she spread the rug on the floor, put the new towels on the shelf, hung one over the rack near the sink. She put up the new shower curtain as well.

She had bought a matching curtain for the window over the tub and she went off in search of a hammer to put up the new rod.

Returning to the bathroom, she stood on the tub, one foot on either side. She was humming softly as she hammered the first nail in place and reached for the second. And then her foot slipped. With a shriek, she felt herself falling. In an instant, she imagined herself landing in the tub. What would she break? An arm? A leg?

But she never hit the tub. Strong arms caught her, held her safe.

“You damn fool. What are you trying to do, break your neck?”

She stared up into his eyes, beautiful black eyes fringed with short, thick lashes. “Hi, Dalton.”

“Hi, Dalton!” He cocked one brow. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

Rescued from certain injury, she felt a bubble of hysterical laughter rise in her throat. It took all her self-control to keep it bottled up.

“Thank you,” she said, sober as a judge.

He glared at her. “Damn fool woman, trying to do a man’s work.”

She felt her temper start to rise. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Listen, you male, macho jerk…” The words died in her throat as a slow smile curved his lips.

“Macho jerk?”

“You don’t even know what it means, do you?” she asked smugly.

“I’m not an idiot. I may not know what the words mean, but there’s no mistaking that tone of voice.”

“You can put me down now.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.”

Her heartbeat accelerated. “Don’t you?”

He shook his head. “You feel real good right where you are.”

“Do I?” She felt warm all over. Hardly aware of what she was doing, she slid her arms up around his neck.

“Kathy.”

She felt his muscles flex as he held her tighter. This close, she noticed there was a faint white scar at his hairline.

“I think you’d better put me down.”

He hesitated a moment, then did as she asked, her body sliding against his as he lowered her to the floor.

Flustered, she bent down to pick up the hammer.

“Here,” he said, “let me do that.”

“I can do it.”

He lifted one brow.

“Well, I can!”

“I know.” With a wry grin, he took the hammer from her hand.

She would have argued further, but she rather enjoyed watching him, watching the play of muscle beneath his shirt as he hammered the last two nails in place.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“No, I don’t think so.”

Dalton put the hammer on the sink, then rested one shoulder against the door jamb while she threaded the narrow white rod into the slit in the top of the curtain.

She was getting ready to climb on the edge of the tub again when he took the curtain from her hand. “I’ll do it.”

With a humph of annoyance, she crossed her arms over her chest. Had the men in his time really thought women so helpless? Of course, it was easy for him to put the rod in place. He didn’t have to stand on the edge of the tub. He didn’t have to stand on anything. He just sort of floated upward. How could he be so solid, yet defy the laws of gravity? She had always thought ghosts were ethereal creatures, without substance. But there was nothing intangible about Dalton. He was as solid as a rock.

“Anything else you want me to do?” he asked.

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

He glanced around the room. Bathrooms were a relatively new invention, certainly a big improvement over the old outhouses. “I always had a hankering for my own place.”

“You never had a home?”

“Not really. Never stayed in one place long enough to sink any roots.”

“Let’s go in the kitchen,” Kathy suggested. “I want to get something to drink, and then maybe we can get to work on that book.”

“Sure.” He followed her into the kitchen, admiring the fit of her Levi’s, the alluring sway of her hips. Women hadn’t worn pants in his day. It was an innovation he rather liked.

Kathy pulled a root beer out of the fridge, then sat down at the table. “Let’s see, I guess we should start at the beginning. Where were you born?”

Dalton settled into the chair across from her. “Near the Little Big Horn.”

She picked up a pencil and began writing on the scratch pad she had used to make her grocery list. “When?”

“In the summer of 1844.”

She looked up at him. She knew he’d been born over a hundred years ago but somehow it hadn’t seemed real until now.

1844. She shook her head. “Who were your parents?”

“My father was a Lakota medicine man. My mother was a white woman. She’d been taken in a raid by the Cheyenne. My father bought her for three ponies and a buffalo robe.”

It sounded like a Movie of the Week. “What were their names?”

“The ponies?”

She looked up, and he burst out laughing.

“No, silly, the names of your parents.”

“My father was Night Caller. The Lakota called my mother Star Singer but her
wasichu
name was Julianna Dalton.”

“How did you get to be a gunfighter?”

Dalton shook his head. “I don’t know. It wasn’t anything I planned. It just sort of happened.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Tell me how it happened.”

He sat back in the chair, legs stretched out in front of him, arms folded over his chest. “I guess it all started when I was about fourteen. Some traders came through our village, and I traded some beaver pelts for an old Hawken.”

“Hawken?”

“It’s a rifle made by Sam Hawken and his brother. Anyway, I got to be a pretty good shot with that gun. Later, I got hold of a pistol. I liked the way it felt in my hand. I was going on fifteen when my father was killed in a raid against the Crow. My mother decided she wanted to go back to her own people. I didn’t want to go with her, but I couldn’t let her go alone. I bid my grandparents goodbye, promising to return as soon as possible, but I never did.”

“Was your mother happy, living with the Indians?”

“Not at first, but she’d pretty much resigned herself to it by the time I came along. She told me once she hated my father until the day I was born.” He looked away, his expression suddenly distant, melancholy. “She said she couldn’t hate him anymore after that. Said the love she felt for me kinda spilled over onto him.”

Kathy looked up. “Go on.”

“I can’t imagine why anyone would be interested in all this.”

“I’m interested.”

He lifted one brow, then shrugged. “My mother was from Boston, and that’s where we went. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before. Men in tight suits and women bound up in layers and layers of clothing and big hats. Lots of buildings and smoke. I’d heard people say Lakota villages smelled bad, but the streets of Boston smelled a lot worse. People stared at us. Looking back, I guess I can’t blame them. You didn’t see many people parading down Main Street in buckskins.

“We went to my mother’s house. Her people didn’t live there anymore, and no one knew where they had gone. I knew then and there that I’d never make it back to the Lakota, knew that I couldn’t go off and leave my mother alone in a strange land.

“I sold my Hawken for twenty-two dollars and we used the money to pay for a room. My mother bought a secondhand dress and a pair of shoes and after several days, she found a job working as a housekeeper for some rich family name of Worthingham. They gave me a job too. Let me look after their horses. My mother slept in the house, and I slept in a room over the barn. I hated it, at first anyway. But they paid me good, and I liked working with their horses. As time went by, I got to liking city life pretty well. I didn’t have any expenses, and I acquired a taste for fine whiskey and expensive cigars.”

“Did your mother ever find out where her family had gone?”

“No. We’d been with the Worthinghams about two years when their butler asked my mother to marry him, and she said yes.”

“How did you feel about that?”

“I was happy for her. Murray’s been good to her. I left the Worthinghams a few months later. There were big things happening in the West, and I had a yearning to be a part of it. During my years with the Worthinghams, I’d bought myself a new Colt .44. When I wasn’t busy, I practiced shooting at targets and quick-drawing my gun.”

He paused to give Kathy time to catch up. He studied her bent head, noting the beauty of her profile, the way her hair fell over her shoulders to frame her face.

“Okay, go on.”

“I didn’t have much to do with people in Boston, and those I did associate with accepted me for what I was. Nobody cared much that I was a half-breed. As soon as I left Boston, all that changed. Seemed nobody had a good thing to say about Indians.”

“I’d think it would be just the opposite,” Kathy said.

Dalton shook his head. “People in Boston read about the Indian wars, but it didn’t really mean anything to them. They were too far away from it all. It was different out West. Decent white folks were suspicious of me because I was half Indian.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Kathy decided. It was a lot easier to be tolerant of people when you weren’t directly involved with them. “So, what happened next?”

“I was in a saloon in Virginia City when a man started giving me a bad time, calling me names. He was a little drunk, and so was I. Next thing I knew, he was drawing on me.” Dalton shrugged. “When the smoke cleared, he was dead. People came up to me then and started slapping me on the back, congratulating me for killing him. Seemed the man I killed had been a well-known gunslinger name of Charlie Whittaker, and now that he was dead, his rep was mine.

“It didn’t mean much to me at first except free drinks and…” He looked at Kathy, then grunted softly. It had meant free women too, but he didn’t think she would appreciate that. “Not too many days later, a friend of the deceased came after me.”

“And you were faster.”

“Yeah. For a while there, seemed like there wasn’t a day went by that I wasn’t defending that reputation. I don’t know if people finally decided to give up, or if I’d gunned them all down, but things quieted after I shot Stu Cassidy, and I started getting offers.”

“Offers?”

“Yeah, you know. People started offering to pay for my gun.”

“Oh. Have you killed very many men?”

“More than my share, I reckon.”

“Did you ever go back to your father’s people?”

He blew out a sigh, remembering the promise he had made to his father. “No, I never did. I regret that. I always aimed to but…” He shrugged. “Just never found the time.”

Kathy put her pencil down and stretched her back and shoulders. “I guess that’s enough for tonight.” She yawned. “Do you ever get tired?”

“No, just bored out of my mind.” He smiled at her. “You don’t know how glad I am that you’re here.”

“Yes, well…” She felt her cheeks grow hot as he continued to look at her, his dark eyes filled with admiration and desire.

“I think I’ll get ready for bed. Good night.”

“Good night.”

She stood up, acutely aware of his gaze on her back as she walked away.

In her bedroom, she closed and locked the door, and then thought how foolish it was to try to lock out a ghost. No doubt he could walk through the walls if he was of a mind to.