Jasper Mountain (36 page)

As she exchanged the cloth, balling up the old one and tossing it into a basket for future laundering, she wondered how to broach the subject of Beth in the supply room. The girl looked so pathetic, Milena knew she needed someone. Something.

Milena wondered where Beth’s prince hid. Digger, the man with the scarred face and quick laugh. Where was he, now that his love needed him?

Danger. Smother. Death.

Milena stumbled back. Foreboding dropped and wrapped around her. She looked at the ladies, then searched outside the window for anything to account for the warning. She tried to keep panic at bay. Surely no one would set fire to the medical clinic?

No. Not here. Not now.

Chilled air circulated around her. Something was forming. Beginning. Something bad.

Leaving the utensils soaking, she hurried to the front of the clinic. “I must leave you for a time, Doctor,” she said, stepping over an inert lady to reach the door. On the way past, she glimpsed into Cassandra’s room to see the proprietress sitting next to the body. Milena didn’t stop to offer comfort or aid. Panic pushed her forward. Where or to what, she did not know.

“Milena?” the doctor called after her. She did not pause to answer.

Outside, the sun hung low in the sky.

Danger. Smother. Death.

She turned, trying to feel where the threat came from, who it was aimed at, anything other than a disembodied thought.
“Shuv’hani?”
she asked aloud. Nothing.

A wagon rolled by and splashed her with mud. Milena took a few steps. The town teemed with people and animals. And spirits. Angelina leaned against a post by the saloon, a group of men around her, not aware of the spirit in their midst. She sucked her cigarette, her eyes burning through Milena, to communicate—what? Milena found her gift more frustrating than ever at this moment.

She needed to get to the mountain. To the heart.

Yes.

Putting her head down, she headed through town when one name hit her.

Jack Buchanan.

She stopped. Turned. Angelina continued to watch her.

Jack Buchanan.

Again, confusion. Surely, Jack wasn’t involved in the death of Angelina? No, Milena suspected the last man to see her alive, the Golden Guard, held the answers to that specific mystery. Then why Jack’s name? Was he the one in danger?

Yes.

A strange sensation bolted through Milena. Fear clenched a fist around her heart as she worried for the safety of Jack Buchanan. Another strange sensation tumbled through her at the thought of him. A strange and powerful feeling.

Jack Buchanan, the Hunter of Women, but he’d hunted to help her. Jack Buchanan,
gaujo
with sunlight in his hair and the blue of the skies in his eyes, like the men of the
MoortYak.
Yet not at all like them. Hadn’t hurt anyone. Quite the opposite, time after time he jumped in to help, especially those who weren’t as strong and able as him. He was a man, and could do anything he wished, like many of them did. He could simply take what he wanted, whether offered or not. Instead, he gave. Constantly.

She picked up her skirts and ran, heading through the town in the direction of his home. Mud sucked at her boots and slowed her. She hopped up onto a wood sidewalk, dodging people to make her way.

Finally to the edge of town, she kept her pace quick, praying she wasn’t too late to deliver her warning. Once more a fist squeezed in her chest at the thought of him in any sort of danger. When did she come to care so much for him?

Stopping for a moment to catch her breath, she recalled the look on his face every time he beheld her, his kind, gentle manner, the deprecation of himself he delivered with humor. The way he rushed to cover the proprietress from burning debris, not caring about himself or any injuries he might suffer. Somewhere in all this, in him, she’d learned there was someone she might be able to trust in this town. In this world.

Picking up her skirts again, she ran with renewed vigor. And prayed she wasn’t too late.

“I promise I’ll provide the finest funeral this miserable town has ever witnessed,” Isabella whispered to the serene girl. Like the moon, Cassandra had always glowed with an unassuming and fragile beauty. Not at all like the sun, blazing and showy. Indestructible. “Not at all like me,” Isabella whispered.

How strange. Cassandra merely slept, or so it seemed. Why couldn’t she reach over and wake the girl? Helpless in the face of death, Isabella certainly didn’t appreciate the feeling. Thank heaven she seldom experienced it.

She pulled the sheet back over Cassandra’s face, and then slipped outside to watch the setting sun. It blazed with intensity all summer, never wavering. At this time of year, its light glowed weakly. Tired. And strangely, most beautiful.

In a way, Cassandra was lucky, Isabella thought. Done with this wretched world, this disgusting town, Cassandra no longer struggled for a place, for survival. She slept. Forever peaceful.

Sleep called to Isabella, but she had no time for it. Not for a while yet. She longed for her silk sheets, rose-scented perfume, and her silver-gilded hairbrush. And something to wear that didn’t smell like a smoldering ruin. Smoke and antiseptic. She was weary of them both. She sighed and pulled back her shoulders, reclaiming her familiar, confident stance. To the task at hand. So much to do.

A funeral to plan. A world to rebuild.

The serenity of a finished day surrounded her. Isabella always looked forward to evening. Everything appeared much more civilized in the night. One minor difficulty: the night cloaked threats. Like the man who destroyed her home.

A knot tightened deep within her and twisted tighter. And tighter. She’d find him. Discover who killed Cassandra and ripped from Isabella and her ladies the only sanctuary they’d ever known. No matter who he was, he had no idea of what he called to himself. No man was a match for Isabella St. Claire. She planned to make him pay. Dearly.

Even if it did turn out to be Victor Creely.

“I will find you,” she whispered into the dark. “I will find you.”

Jack tossed his untouched steak to the dog and pushed away from the table. He might as well clean up the dishes. In a few hours he’d meet the other men at Sam’s. Something hooked into him and pulled him—he didn’t know where, or to what, exactly. He’d find out soon enough.

He loved being home with his dog again. He admitted to himself, with a bit of guilt, he was relieved Mouse wasn’t underfoot. Pete, Digger, and Gentleman Bill were apparently as good as their word and much more capable of keeping a hold on the kid than Taryn and the doc.

He lifted a bucket to the counter and his thoughts rambled to the clinic and how the ladies might be doing.

“Who are you kidding, Buchanan?” he asked out loud. “You wonder about her.”

He strolled out to his front porch, looking down to the lights of Jasper. A backdrop of faraway sounds beckoned. His future, or lack thereof, waited for him down there.

A small rustle shushed through the dark.

Animal? Assassin?

There he was, his imagination running wild again. His eye caught a phantom figure. Then nothing. Ghost? It reappeared and he realized that, indeed, someone headed in his direction. He squinted. He’d recognize her anywhere, even if he couldn’t quite see her.

“Milena.”

He remembered the first time he’d seen her, in the woods, when she appeared magical. She came closer, lamplight transforming her from a creature of magic to a woman. Warm and real. And God Almighty, so desirable, it hurt him to see her.

She must have run the entire way to his cabin, frightened. The last time she’d run to him, the Boarding House burned to the ground. Something was wrong. All his instincts sharpened to protect.

“I come to warn you, Jack Buchanan.” She stopped and took a few gasps, her eyes wild, worried. “I feel something. Danger.” “Oh, magnificent.”

“Not quick, like the Boarding House fire. Something waiting. Stalking.”

Jack nodded. “Yeah, I actually know what you’re talking about, and I can’t even see the future.” He smiled, but she still seemed worried. “Milena, please don’t be concerned. I am walking into some trouble, but I know where any threat might come from.”

Her chest still heaved and her lips parted. Lust bolted through him, and although he should be ashamed, he wasn’t. Lordy, he wanted to touch her, taste her. In the middle of all his problems, one thing pulsed through him stronger than any other.

He wanted her, plain and simple.

He moved closer, and she didn’t back away. Her eyes widened. He pulled her in, holding her until her breathing came down to even. She trembled and he held her tight, afraid she might dissipate into thin air. He felt every part of her in his arms. A living, breathing woman. Real, warm. Her heart beat under his, and slowly the two met, coming together to strike the same rhythm. He buried his hands in her hair and the curls twined around his fingers, soft as a whisper. Gently, he tugged. She raised her face to his.

“Jack—”

He silenced her with a kiss. Light at first. She responded, and he delved in, deeply. She tasted like sweet, spiced wine. Passion grew along with a yearning so deep he thought it might explode through him, but instead it rose until he took in a breath against her mouth and moaned.

He remembered the doctor’s regret. He would not make the same mistake.

“Milena, I’m in love with you,” he said, his voice husky. She gasped a small sound of surprise, her eyes questioning, not quite believing. “But,” he continued, “you probably already knew that, being able to see the future and all.”

Her astonishment softened into a smile.

“God, you’re beautiful when you smile. You need to do it more often.” He lowered his head and kissed her again, feeling her smile under his lips. He was content to lose himself to her forever. He nipped at her jaw and brushed his mouth down her neck.

She shuddered. “Jack, please.”

He pulled away to look at her.

Her eyes, warm and soft, contrasted with her words. “You are in danger. I feel this very close, this warning.”

He stepped away from her, mostly to think straight and put a sentence together. He needed to get hold of himself. Big night ahead.

“I’ll be careful.”

“This is not enough.”

“It will have to be. I know what you’re trying to tell me. I’m about to put something in motion, something I should have begun the moment I arrived, if I’d had the nerve.”

“You are not the same man who came to Jasper.”

Jack chuckled. “No, no I’m not. I guess that’s good.”

“I am frightened,” she whispered.

He took her hands. “Don’t be. Not for me. Consider your warning delivered. Come on, I’ll walk you back to the clinic. I’m heading into town anyways.”

Despite her foreboding warning and his uncertainty of the future, Jack felt the most contented he’d been in a very long time.

“Oh, hold on,” he said, and cracked the door open an inch. “Be a good dog.”

Duke didn’t even lift his head to look, the steak not much more than a bone.

“We’ll spread the word among the night crew.” Harley puffed as he spoke, wheezing. He coughed into a soiled rag Jack supposed was a handkerchief.