Claudia Dain (33 page)

"Gettin' married has softened you already," Grey said from his spot at the table. "I remember a time when it took less for you to kill a deserving man."

"I'm getting older, wiser," Jack said, escorting Anne to the table. "I don't want to kill a man when I'm about to have a piece of pie with my intended. Too messy."

"You are getting old." Grey laughed, stretching his legs out. "When are you going to introduce us?"

"Anne," Jack said lightly, "this is John Grey. And this is Josiah Blakesley. Last I saw them, they were in Texas. What they're doing here, I don't know," he finished in a tone just shy of condemning.

"Hello," Anne said softly, still coming to grips with the notion that she'd just said she'd marry Jack. He sure was talking like he'd meant it; Bill was gone. He could rest easy and let it all out as a joke, especially in front of his friends. That he was acting so serious about it left her speechless.

"Ma'am." They both nodded, John Grey lifting his hat to her. Josiah Blakesley, stood up, bowed briefly, and looked her over while taking his chair again. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, returning the look.

"Anne, you just go on and call them Grey and Blakes, like everyone else does. Mr. Winslow," Jack called out, his arm on the back of Anne's chair, his nearness proprietary, "we'll have four coffees, four pieces of apple pie, and extra sugar."

Everett grumbled but he didn't hesitate, not when faced with the three men plunked down in his establishment. They were fighting men and looked every inch of it. Totally unexpectedly, Jack Skull had reinforcements.

The pie and coffee appeared without delay. Jack shoved the sugar bowl toward Anne. He didn't need to be reminded that she liked sugar in her coffee. Anne settled back in her chair, feeling slightly befuddled about her agreeing to marry Jack. She needed to talk to him quick, before news of it spread all over Abilene and landed at Miss Daphne's feet.

Mr. Grey and Mr. Blakesley dug right into their slices of pie; Mr. Winslow wasn't slight on his portions, no matter how he felt about his customers. Jack just sat back with his arm around the back of her chair, a real satisfied expression on his face. He took his time and ate his pie one bite at a time; his friends ate theirs in two or three gulps, their cheeks bulging and their throats working. They were on their second cup of coffee before Anne had swallowed once. It was good pie; flaky, light, and sweet. Still, she was having trouble swallowing. The idea of marriage was caught in her throat.

"I haven't had a nice slice of pie since... when was it?" Grey asked the air above his head. "That time in Miles City or maybe that fancy place in St. Louis?"

"What about that place in Brownsville, just before the Chisholm drive?" Blakes asked.

"Yeah, that was good pie. Blackberry," Grey said with a dreamy expression.

"You come up here to talk pie?" Jack asked.

"Nah," Grey said, "but I don't mind. I like remembering. Course, it's rude to cut you out, ma'am." He nodded in apology.

"That's all right. I don't mind," she said. It kept them from talking marriage and that was good.

"You know why we came," Blakes said.

"I know why you think you came," Jack said, tipping back in his chair. "And you can go on home."

"Well, we're not going," Grey said with a smile, "so we're here for a while. Extra hands never hurt no job, Jack."

Jack said nothing for a while, just looked down at his pie, taking a bite every now and then. Finally, he said softly, "Guess not."

Their mood relaxed at that.

"Well, I guess we'd better find us a place to stay. This town's short a hotel and it'll take some doing to find ourselves a bed," Grey said.

"I could help you—" Anne said.

"Nah," Jack interrupted, "they can take care of themselves. The prairie's not too bad, this time of year."

"Hell, Jack, it's a cold wind blowing out there," Grey grumbled.

"You'll get along," Jack said easily.

"I guess you got a place," Blakes said.

"I do and there's no room for more," Jack said.

"I can guess where," Grey said. The eyes of the two strangers turned to Anne and flicked over her lightly. Anne flushed instantly.

"Good," Jack said, "then you know you'll have to fend for yourselves. The jailhouse isn't bad."

"You speaking personal?" Grey grinned.

Jack shrugged and Grey laughed softly. "Hell, I guess we can bunk there as well as anywhere."

"You watch your mouth, Grey," Jack said. "You're cussing in front of a lady and I have it personal she don't take to it."

"Ma'am," Grey apologized. "Won't happen again."

Grey and Blakes scraped back their chairs on the wooden floor and stood to go.

"We'll see you later, Jack, and it was a real pleasure to meet you, ma'am. You're a real lady to take on a man like Jack Skull."

"Shut up, Grey," Jack said calmly.

"Ma'am," Blakes said softly, "I wish you well on your marriage. Jack's a lucky man."

"Thank you," Anne said to both of them.

"You better be getting on, too, right, Jack?" Grey smirked. "Ain't you got to go meet with the preacher and get things arranged?"

Jack had just finished his pie. Anne had just picked at hers, her stomach so tight with emotion that she could hardly breathe. What she'd managed to swallow lay like a stone in her middle. She didn't want any more.

"You ready to go, Anne?" Jack asked, his eyes still soft and blue and warm with some emotion she couldn't name but wanted to bathe in, it warmed her so. Stupid. She needed to get away from him as fast as she could run.

"Yes, I am," she said.

When they were out of the Demorest, the streets of Abilene quiet and dark, she said, "I didn't see you as the marrying kind."

"No man sees himself that way, but it happens," he said.

"But not to you," she said.
Not to me.
"I know what you did back there, that was for Bill, that was just men talking, trying to best each other."

"What?" He stopped her and turned her to face him. She couldn't quite look into his eyes, so she stared off over his left shoulder.

"You weren't serious, I know you weren't. I won't hold you to anything. You probably just wanted to drive off Bill. Well, you have. That's all there is to it."

"You don't understand men at all, do you, Anne?" His voice was low and hard, filled with an anger that she could feel throbbing out from him. "Well, hell, that's fine, because I understand women real good. I understand you."

"Excuse me?" she said, looking up into his eyes.

"Yeah, you ought to ask to be excused, but you won't. Hell, I played my part, didn't I? I got you free of Tucker. Your aunt, now she thinks that you need to find a man to be happy and she'll use me to get you one. What she don't know is that you don't want a man, but you'll use me to get rid of one for you. Hell and damnation, I'm real popular when the women of your house need something done. But what about what I want? You give any thought at all to what I might want?"

He understood things too well, that was the trouble. He didn't want a wife—what man did?—but he didn't want to be played for a fool either. A man sure didn't want it to get out that he'd been played.

"You don't need to do anything you don't want to do," she said, turning from him, walking on. "I'm certain you don't want a wife."

He grabbed her arm and spun her around, pulling her in close. She could feel his breathing against her chest and her own breathing faltered.

"You don't know me, Anne. You don't know the first thing about what I want."

"I know—"

"You keep still," he said, tracing a hand down her face to her throat. "You listen to me. I'll tell you what I want. I want you to marry me. I want you to want to. Understood? You've got three days to get there and then, by damn, you're going to be my wife."

"You won't force me to marry you. Not you."

But she couldn't quite see his eyes in the shadows of the night. His hat was pulled low, hiding his features from her. Where was the man who didn't push and prod? Where was the man who let her find her own way?

"You don't know me," he said, his voice a husky throb that touched her face like a rough caress. "You want to escape marrying me? You got to leave Abilene to do that." He laughed, soft and quick. "Can you do that, Anne? Can you leave Abilene? 'Cause that's your only way out."

"Do
you
want to get married?" she asked.

"Let's just say I want you to want to."

Pride. It was all about pride. His, of course, not hers. Well, she wasn't going to give in to male pride.

"Not an answer," she said, turning sharply and walking away from him. He let her go and kept step with her.

"It's good to see you got some fight in you, Anne. It gives me real pleasure to see it. This town sells you short."

"What does that mean?"

Jack looked at her sideways, his eyes showing light against the dark slant of his brows. He was a handsome man. He was going to be her husband. Or so he said. She would have to leave Abilene to keep it from happening. But he couldn't make her say the words, could he? Even if she stayed? No one could force her to do that.

"I meant that you're a grown woman," he said, "and more than half this town treats you like an adorable halfwit."

She didn't stop walking toward home, she had at least that much self-control, but the surge of anger that burst up with that casual remark was as hot and high as heat waves in August. A half-wit? He thought that the respect and concern and pure affection that her friends and neighbors in Abilene showered on her was the pitiful condescension they'd give to a half-wit?

"Bill doesn't call me a half-wit," she said through clenched teeth, her feet speeding up without any plan on her part. Jack kept pace with her and, for once, she wished he wouldn't.

"Maybe not," Jack said, "but he treats you like one."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, huffing in her hurry to get on, to get away from him. "Everybody likes me."

"Sure they do," he said, "and why not? You work damn hard at being agreeable."

"There's nothing wrong with being agreeable."

"No?" he said, pulling her up short just before they reached the light that flooded from her home to light the dust of Abilene. "Even when you go against what you want to do?"

"I do exactly what I want and right now I want to go home," she said.

"You do exactly what you want? Every time?" he prodded.

"A person should do what's right, should want to do what's right," she said.

"Then how come you keep kissing me?" he said and she could see his grin shine white in the dark.

"I just
knew
you'd say that," she flared and jerked her arm out of his and marched up the steps. "If you were so offended, you should have just... shot me. In fact, since the fact that we've kissed a few times seems to rile you so, you won't want me for your wife and that's fine with me. More than fine. Perfect."

He grabbed her around the waist and turned her to face him. "Nice try, Anne, but no go. I'm the man who does what he wants." He pulled her into his embrace, his arms wrapping around her. She didn't fight much. Did she ever? "I asked you to be my woman. For always. Nobody made you say yes, but I'm the man who's going to hold you to it."

His words made her stomach drop to her feet and flutter there like a June bug in September. Could anything be for always? She wanted something in her life to be for always.

"Why should I marry a man who thinks I act like a halfwit?" she mumbled, her face almost pressed against his chest. He smelled like soap and clean cotton.

"Now you're fighting like a woman," he said with a smile. "Makes me feel like we're married already. I never said you act like a half-wit; I said you were treated like one."

"But I wouldn't be treated like one if I didn't act like one," she said, pulling back. Her ma was watching from the window, and one of the Walton kids, the one who worked for Powell, was standing in the street and making kissing noises on the back of his hand. She was making a spectacle of herself and Jack was helping.

She didn't like it. She should put a stop to it. Lots of things she should do. Had she ever done any of them?

"You just need to stand up for yourself more," he said calmly. "Take care of yourself better." How did he have the nerve to instruct her on proper behavior? He seemed almost amused.

"So you're saying that I
do
act like a half-wit?"

"Of course not, it's just that, well, you
shouldn't
go around letting men kiss you," he said in an angry rush. At least she wasn't the only one mad now.

"I don't let men kiss me!"

"You let me kiss you! Again and again!" he said, taking off his hat and slamming it against his leg. Dust flew.

"Well. I'm so sorry," she bit out, turning her back on him and walking up the stairs with stiff little steps. "You won't ever have to
suffer
through it again since I'm not about to marry you!"

"Not marry me?" he said slowly, his voice deep and severe. She'd never heard him like that; it made the hair on her arms stand straight up. "Oh, you'll marry me. I asked. You answered. That's that. Understood?"

She didn't look at him. Didn't dare, really. He sounded mad enough to kill and, though she was learning to talk to him like she couldn't with anyone else, she still didn't enjoy all this fuss. If she'd eaten any more of that pie, she'd have thrown it up, right now. She wondered what the Walton kid would have done with that.

"Fine," she said, showing him her back.

"Good," he said.

"You can leave anytime," she said stiffly. "I'm perfectly capable of making it inside, half-wit that I am, without any help from you."

"I'm getting damned sick of people telling me I can leave. I'm staying."

"Stop cussing," she said, her chin up and quivering.

"Stop meeting the train," he said, "Whoever you're waiting for won't get off. And you're not getting on."

She turned and fired, verbally, for he'd hit hard and in her most vulnerable spot, but she wasn't going to admit the worst of it. "I'm sure you're right," she said, her voice quaking with suppressed emotion. "I'm sure I'll never get out of Abilene, just like I'm sure you'll never stay. One day it'll be you who climbs on and leaves and never comes back."
No one ever comes back.
Hidden tears scrambled up her throat to lodge in her mouth.