Just Her Type (17 page)

Luke crossed the room. “I thought you were eager for Wyoming to gain its statehood.”

“I was.” She went over to the press. Tears blurred the page.

Tender hands turned her to Luke. “Mackenzie, you believe I love you, don't you?”

“Of course! It's just—” Taking a deep breath, she released it slowly. “You said that you'd be staying only until Wyoming became a state.”

“Once you couldn't wait for the time I'd be taking the next train out of town.”

“Once.” She caught him to her, drowning in the desperate pain she had endured when Cameron died. She had been stupid to fall in love with a man who was in Bentonville for a short visit.

When she stepped back, his lips were tight. If she thought it would do any good, she'd throw pride aside and beg him to stay. It would be futile.

Hearing Zared's voice raised in a joke, she tried to listen. “… good way to greet the news. How about one for me, Mackenzie?”

She smiled weakly and stood on tiptoe to kiss Zared's cheek. Putting her arm around her son's shoulders, she walked up the stairs. She was now the proprietor of
The Bentonville Bugle
of Bentonville, Wyoming. Not Wyoming Territory. If only the birth of the state did not mark the demise of her happiness.

“Don't,” ordered a whisper near her left ear as she set the coffeepot on the stove. They had a long night ahead of them redoing the paper.

Mackenzie's gaze rose to Luke's. “I'm trying,” she answered as Douglas climbed up to bed.

“We have to talk, sweetheart.”

“Yes.” She prayed she would be strong enough to hear what she knew he would say.

“Before …” Taking her hand, he drew her to the settee. He stroked her hand. “Maybe it's already too late.”

“Maybe it is,” she managed to choke out.

“I think I have a way to work this out. If—” A loud noise like two drays colliding echoed from the street. He rose and looked out the window. “Douse the light.”

“What is it?”

“It looks like something's going on over by Stub's.”

Mackenzie turned down the lantern. When she saw a flicker at the end of the street, she gasped, “Fire!”

He ran to the stairs. She followed, holding her skirts high so she did not trip. He threw open the door, and she halted as if she had run into an invisible wall.

Sound exploded around her. Raucous shouts and catcalls, the scream of horses, loud music from the saloon. Forms exploded from the shadows to whirl in a mad dance and disappear into the darkness.

Luke shook his head in disbelief. Although he had sampled Stub's whiskey, he had not thought it would change the whole town into madmen. And madwomen. A skirted figure danced with the cowpokes.

When Mackenzie brushed by him, he grabbed her arm and twisted her back into the office. He slammed the door. “You can't go out in that melee!”

“Why not?” she retorted. “I'm a newspaperwoman.”

He laughed coldly. “You're a woman, sweetheart. That's no place for you out there.” When she tried to tug away, he clamped his arm around her waist. “I don't care what you say about being equal. I won't let you go out there.”

“And I'm supposed to let you go?”

“Yes.”

“You arrogant, bigoted—”

Gripping her chin, he kissed her hard. He drew back before he forgot everything but the ecstasy they shared. “You're the editor. Send your reporter out to get the story, and then you can edit it.”

“All right,” she said slowly. “You have half an hour.”

Confusion creased his forehead. “Why the short deadline?”

She chuckled as icily as he had. “If you question me, then I guess I don't hold any authority here. Then I—”

He stamped over to her desk and grabbed some paper and a pencil. “Half an hour, Mackenzie. If you put so much as your little toe out that door before then, I'll make you sorry!”

“How?”

A malicious smile stole all warmth from his face. “I'll turn you over my knee.”

“You wouldn't be stupid enough to do that.”

“Try it, and you'll see, sweetheart.” He kissed her again. “I'll be back in half an hour. Then we'll find something better to do than shout at each other.”

Standing in the doorway, Mackenzie watched him race down the street. His shadowed form flitted in and out of the shallow pools of light.

Shrieks rang through the night as she closed the door. Half an hour. She would wait that long … if she could. Curiosity about what was happening taunted her, but she ignored it as she dropped the bar on the back door.

Time passed too slowly. Again and again she walked over to check on whether the half-hour was over. She heard church bells and guessed someone was ringing them to announce the ratification of statehood.

The half-hour was finally over. Then another. By the time Luke was an hour overdue, Mackenzie could tolerate the wait no longer. Reaching for her shawl, she flung it over her shoulders. It was a deep red, and, with her black skirt, she would be difficult to see in the darkness. She slipped out and locked the door behind her. All the excitement was on the opposite end of town, so Douglas would be safe. Luke might need help.

Mackenzie took a deep breath. She could not remain here while the man she loved might be hurt … or worse. She ran along the street. She had to find out why Luke had not returned as he had promised.

Noise pounded Mackenzie's ears. The flames they had seen were from a huge bonfire. She gasped as the fire licked at the eaves of the mercantile.

She leaped aside as two horsemen rode at full speed along the street. They raised guns and fired skyward. Other shots answered. She rushed behind the print shop before some drunken cowpoke shot her. Her stomach lurched. Was Luke shot? Was that why he had not come back?

The buildings muted the shouts. Flames dyed the sky a thick crimson. She ran. The fields beyond the town were empty, but she kept looking behind her, not able to shake the sensation someone was watching her.

She pressed her back to the livery wall. Her breath screeched in her ears. Then she heard shouts of “Fire!”

Stub should have known better than to sell so much whiskey tonight, but he knew, as she did, that the saloon would survive the riotous celebration. The cowpunchers would want to keep drinking.

She inched toward the street, hearing the nervous whinnies of horses, then a soft moan. She stopped, looking in both directions. The whisper of a moan sounded again.

“Oh, no!” She dropped to her knees. A woman was face down on the ground.

Mackenzie found the pulse in the woman's neck. She drew her fingers back in horror. Blood etched them.

The woman was alive, but only just. As she turned the wounded woman over, she prayed the blonde was not Honey. “Lacey!” She stared at the battered face of the doctor's daughter.

Footsteps approached. She could not leave Lacey alone. If …

“Mackenzie! What are you doing out here?”

“Luke!” She swallowed a sob. He was alive! “Luke, I need your help.” As she stood, horror stripped the anger from his face.

“Sweetheart, are you all right?” Taking her hands, he turned them up. “All this blood—What happened to you?”

She glanced at the front of her dress and saw it was as bloody as her hands. She stepped away and pointed to the broken form on the ground.

Luke knelt. As she had, he pressed his fingers to Lacey's neck. “She's alive.”

“Can we get her back to the shop? Doc Langhorne's house is in the path of the fire.”

“Fire?” He stared at the street and swore as flames climbed the mercantile's roof. “Let's go. I can carry her.”

As he reached to slip his arms under Lacey, Mackenzie halted him. “Let me have your shirt.”

“My shirt?”

“To cover her. Whoever did this was thorough.”

“Perhaps more thorough than you realize, sweetheart,” he mumbled as he unbuttoned the shirt. He peeled it from his sweaty back as if it were a second skin.

Too many times Lacey had flaunted herself before cowpokes who could not aspire to possess the doctor's daughter. She had paid for that tonight. Mackenzie shuddered. No matter what Lacey had done, she had not deserved to be raped and beaten. Kneeling, Mackenzie placed his shirt over the beaten woman to cover the bruises under her ripped dress.

“She'll be all right, Mackenzie. Not the same, but all right.” Luke lifted the unconscious Lacey. “Mackenzie, have your gun ready.”

“I don't have a gun.”

Fury cracked in each bitten-off word. “You came out here without Douglas's shotgun?”

“I didn't—”

“Just remind me the next time you want to commit suicide to tell you I don't want to be a part of it.”

Chastised, for he was right, Mackenzie followed. No one noticed them hurrying to the print shop. The cowpokes were too busy celebrating.

“Stub started this by serving two drinks for the price of one,” Luke said.

“I was afraid of that.” She opened the door.

“Keep that door locked,” he called back as he carried Lacey up the stairs. He placed her on the bed and then hurried off to get Doc Langhorne.

When a crash sounded from the street, Lacey did not react. That frightened Mackenzie even more as she paced. She paused when she saw Lacey's lips moving.

“Lacey? Lacey? You're safe now. Luke—”

“Jim—Jim—no!” Her scream pierced Mackenzie's heart. “Not him. Don't love him. I don't! Always been you. Always. No!”

When Lacey's words trailed off into mumbling, sickness ate at Mackenzie. This had not been a random attack. Someone named Jim had done this to repay Lacey for flirting with another man. With Luke, for his name had triggered her shriek. But which Jim?

Hearing a door slam, she raced into the other room. “Douglas, you should be up in your room!”

“Ma! You're all covered with blood!”

“Lower your voice. Lacey Langhorne is in the other room. She's hurt.”

“Bad?”

“Very bad.” Straightening, she ran a hand across her sweat-beaded forehead. A thunderstorm whipping through the street would send the drunks fleeing and put out the fires, she thought. “Luke's gone for the doctor.”

“Is she going—is she going to …”

She put her arms around him. “I don't think she'll die, but she's hurt very, very bad.” Hearing noise from the ground floor, she pushed him behind her and grabbed a cast-iron skillet.

She lifted the heavy pan and stared as the doorknob turned with gut-wrenching slowness. The door opened. With a cry, she rushed forward. Her wrist was grabbed.

“Luke!” she breathed out.

“I didn't think I'd have to fight my way in here, too.” Releasing her, he took the pan and set it by the coffeepot. “You're smart to protect yourselves. I relocked the doors downstairs, but I don't think anything will stop them if they decide they want to get in.”

She looked at Doc Langhorne. Cinders were laced through his gray hair. “We put Lacey in the bedroom, Doc. This way.”

He mumbled something as she hurried ahead of him. When she saw Lacey had not moved, she longed for words to ease what he must see, but she knew of none. He crumpled against the door with a choked gasp.

She put her hand on his arm. “Doc Langhorne, can I help?”

He stood straighten. “You run the newspaper, and I'll tend to the medical needs in this town.”

She backed out of the room and closed the door. Staring at it, she wondered if she should have left him alone.

Arms surrounded her to bring her against a warm body which melted the chill deep in her soul. She leaned against Luke. When another crash resounded from outside, she shivered. In her hair, he whispered, “I should tip you over my knee for going out there like that.”

“I waited, but you didn't come back.”

“It's not easy to get around town tonight.” His face grew hard with rage.

“When the half-hour was over, and you didn't come back, I was so scared you were hurt.” Her fingers rose to his cheek. Touching thick dampness, she gasped at the blood on her hand.

“Just a cut from a flying piece of debris. I'll have Doc look at it after he's done with Lacey.”

She pulled away to meet the fearful eyes of her son, who had been sitting in rare silence. Holding out her hand to Douglas, she drew him to his feet and into her arms.

Doc Langhorne opened the door, and she asked, “How is she?”

“She'll live.” He closed his eyes, swaying.

Luke put his arm around the doctor and assisted him to the settee. A crash erupted through the room.

Mackenzie was shoved to the floor. A blizzard of glass iced the floor and furniture. Something struck the wall across from the window. Coffee scorched her arms. She cried out in pain.

Luke shouted, “Stay down! Don't move!”

She gripped Douglas's hand. Noise warned that the riot had moved toward them.

“Get in the bedroom, Douglas!” Mackenzie ordered. She ran down the stairs. She did not intend to lose her press to drunken cowpokes. The front door burst open. Glass shattered, and a man laughed drunkenly.

Picking up one of the metal strips used to frame a page, she raced toward him. “Get out! Get out of my shop!”

The man fled. Mackenzie gave chase. She halted in midstep as she saw a quartet of men on the street. Rutherford's men. She stared at them. They stared back. A board squeaked behind her. She glanced back at Luke. With a shout, the cowboys jumped toward them.

The metal strip was knocked from her hand. She shouted Luke's name. The only answer was the sound of a fist striking bare flesh. Her captor twisted his fingers through her hair and forced her lips toward his whiskey-drenched ones.

Luke jerked her away and shoved her behind him. His fist sent the drunk reeling. She screeched a warning, but it was too late. The cowboy's three friends grabbed him. The one who had kissed her raised his fist. She grasped his arm.