Lips That Touch Mine (39 page)

"Our roving sheriff returns," Kyle said,
jerking his chin toward Duke, who was crossing the yard toward
them. "You coming to work today?" he yelled.

"For a couple of hours," Duke hollered back,
closing the distance rapidly.

When he stopped beside them, Boyd dug the
deputy's badge out of his coat pocket. He kept it with him to keep
it safe, and also because he feared he might need it. But now that
Duke was back, he would let his brother and Levi handle the
mounting unease in town.

"Did Anna testify?" he asked, handing the
badge to Duke.

Duke nodded. "She was scared stiff, but she
did it. If they don't hang him, Larry is going to spend his life in
jail. It took a lot of courage for Anna to testify against that
bastard." His brother handed the badge back. "I could use an extra
deputy right now."

Boyd fingered the silver star. "If the ladies
find out you have a saloon owner as your deputy, they'll run you
out of town."

"It's because of those ladies that I need
another deputy," he replied. "Everyone's in an uproar. What the
hell's been going on while I've been away?"

Boyd told him that his patrons were furious
with the saloon closings, the ladies' boycotts, and their continued
visits to all working bars. "I warned Claire that she and her
friends need to ease off for a while, but she refuses."

Duke scowled and scratched his head beneath
his wool cap. "Maybe you should keep that room at her boardinghouse
for a while."

He couldn't stay a night in her house without
climbing into her bed. He was too weak. He wanted her too much. "I
can't" he said. "Ask Levi to stay."

Duke arched an eyebrow.

"I'm too busy with my saloon right now." He
held the badge out. "I don't have time to play deputy."

"This isn't a game," Duke said. "Keep the
badge. And when you're not too busy with your saloon, peek across
the street to make sure those ladies are doing all right. Levi and
I will stop by when we can."

Boyd nodded, but he was afraid that watching
wouldn't be enough. If men would throw a brick through Claire's
widow and sneak a poisonous snake into another woman's kitchen, who
knew what they would do next?

It unnerved Boyd, not knowing how nasty the
fight would get. Even if he closed his saloon, Claire would
continue to march until
all
the saloons closed. That would
never happen. Don Beebe and the Taylor brothers would never stop
selling liquor. Claire and the others were fighting a losing
battle—and it was going to get someone killed.

The
first week of February buried everything in a mountain of snow—the
roads, the fields, and Claire's porch. She and Anna took turns
shoveling. Tonight, unfortunately, was Claire's turn. She pushed a
shovelful of snow off the end of the porch and cursed the winter
weather.

Too bad her father wasn't still here. His
arms and back were far more suited to this heavy work. Anna had
offered to shovel, claiming she enjoyed it, that it was soothing to
her, but Claire couldn't allow Anna to do all the work.

Anna had returned from Pittsburgh just before
the storm dumped five feet of beautiful but freezing snow on their
town. Claire was relieved to have the woman back safely, but Anna
seemed saddened and changed by the trip. Testifying against Larry
had been an emotional trial. Also, Claire sensed Anna's sadness was
caused by her family. She didn't say much about the visit, only
that the reunion wasn't what she hoped for.

Claire was proud of her friend for taking the
hard stand and being courageous in the face of danger. Despite her
melancholy, Anna could build a new life for herself. Like Claire
had done.

Or had tried to do.

Since Boyd stopped calling on her, the
routine of her life seemed thankless and demanding. Her house was
empty without the sound of his voice filling its cavernous rooms.
Her bed was cold without his compelling touch, without his warm
body curled against hers. Her days were dark and lonely without the
challenge and surprise he brought to each moment, without the light
and laughter that was such a natural part of him.

Claire shivered and chided herself for not
shoveling earlier, when it had been still light enough to see what
she was doing. The short days were just one more reason she loathed
winter. Everything felt frozen—her hands, her world, her life.

She wanted Anna's courage.

She wanted her father's confidence and
conviction.

She wanted Addison's wisdom.

And she wanted Boyd's ability to enjoy
life.

How had she lost so much of herself? Even her
father had noticed. He'd said she wasn't his bright-eyed Claire
anymore, that she had grown wary and distrusting. Addison alluded
to the same thing when he'd come to apologize for the incident with
Desmona. He'd suggested that Claire was as entrenched in her views
as his wife was, and that he was afraid for both of them because he
knew their stubborn convictions wouldn't have allowed either of
them to back down during the confrontation.

Claire didn't want to be like Desmona.

She didn't. But she feared Addison was right.
She'd become so cautious and set in her ways that she'd become
narrow minded and unwilling to change. Why couldn't she just admit
that the temperance marches weren't helping stop men from beating
their wives? Why couldn't she admit that she may be wrong about
closing the saloon? Because she was afraid that changing her mind
might cause more harm. That's why she couldn't accept Boyd's
proposal. She was afraid of making another mistake that would trap
her in a hell she couldn't escape. How could she change that? How
could she stop being afraid?

She hated being afraid. She stabbed her
shovel into a drift in the corner of her porch, angry with Jack for
lying to her, angry with herself for believing his lies.

Even now she felt afraid. The tingling
sensation crawling down her spine wasn't from the cold. It was from
remembering the cold look in Jack's eyes the night he drowned.
She'd been powerless against him. He'd hurt her, and she hadn't
been able to stop him.

She grunted and pushed another shovelful of
snow over the edge of the porch. How she wished she possessed a
man's strength. How daring and adventurous she could be. How easily
she could fetch and carry without straining herself. How freeing it
would be to be able to defend herself against a man like Larry.

The thought of Anna's husband brought on
another shiver, and the feeling of being watched caught her off
guard. Her heartbeat jumped to double-time as she scanned the
winter darkness.

Was she imagining things? Would she spend her
life flinching at noises and searching the darkness for danger?

No. No, she would
not
live a scared
life any longer. She pushed another load of snow off the porch with
a vicious shove. She would stop being afraid. And she would stop
flinching at shadows.

"Good evening, Mrs. Ashier," said a raspy
male voice from the foot of her steps.

Claire gasped in fright and clutched the
shovel handle to her pounding chest.

"I'm so glad to finally catch you alone."

The man's hat was angled too low for her to
see his face, but his voice sent jolts of alarm pulsing through
her. She hadn't been imagining danger. This was real. Her gut knew
the difference between the threat of violence and the promise of
injury. This man's voice and stance said he was here to hurt
her.

She inched toward the door.

"Don't rush away. I want to talk to you," he
said mildly, but his intent was clear in his bunched fists. He
climbed her steps.

Trying to gain a momentary advantage, she
swung her shovel into his knees, then lunged for the door. She
wrenched the knob with desperation, but the man shoved her from
behind, and followed her into the dark foyer. She'd left a candle
burning, but the light was negligible as she whirled to face the
man.

She saw him then, and remembered the pain
Karlton had inflicted the night he dragged her out of the storeroom
in Boyd's saloon. She took a step back. "What do you want
Karlton?"

He grabbed the front of her coat and yanked
her against him. "I heard your father made a respectable deposit in
your bank account. I came to collect the money you've caused me to
lose because of those damned marches."

She groped behind her for the closet door. If
she could get her gun, maybe she could force him to leave. But all
she felt was a gaping space. Had she left the door open? Or was she
too far away to reach the door?

"You ignored my note."

Maybe she should call for Anna.

"You ignored the brick through your
window."

Was Anna upstairs or in the kitchen?

"You got me fired from my job, and you're
ruining my liquor business saloon by saloon. It's only fair that
you make restitution."

Would Anna be able to help, or would she end
up hurt?

"I'm not making any more requests, Mrs.
Ashier. I'm telling you to stop the marches. And reimburse my
loses."

She was considering stopping the marches but
wouldn't be pushed into it by this brute. "Get out of my
house."

He slammed her against the foyer wall,
knocking the breath from her lungs. "Don't push me. Your watchdog
isn't here to save you this time."

Her chest cramped as she struggled to draw in
air, but nothing trickled into her paralyzed lungs.

"I'll make your husband look like a saint,
lady." He jerked her chin up. "I was at the bar when the sheriff
told his brother about your husband drowning. Tell me, Mrs. Ashier,
where were you when he was sucking river water?"

Terror knifed through her. What did he know?
That she'd been there? In the water with Jack? That she'd...,oh,
God,

"I think you could have helped him, but I'll
keep my suspicions to myself for one-hundred dollars."

"What?" She glared at him. "How dare you
threaten me with blackmail."

"Lady, my mother is going to lose her house
tomorrow if I don't come up with the money to payoff my loan.
Believe me, I'll dare anything right now."

Outrage overrode Claire's common sense and
she stared at him. "Let me guess. You risked your mother's house at
the gaming table on a sure bet." The surprise on his face made her
laugh derisively. "You're as sick as my husband was."

"I'm not sick!" He slugged her and drove her
head against the wall.

Pain exploded in her skull and she felt
herself falling. Her arms flailed as she fell sideways into a nest
of coats and bedding items hanging in the closet.

"Claire?" She heard Anna's voice, but it
sounded far away, as if she were standing at the end of a long
tunnel. Karlton jerked her upright by her coat lapels, bringing her
face close to his. "You'd better make damned sure you get to the
bank early tomorrow morning, and that every woman in this town
stops marching, Mrs. Ashier, or I'll come back and finish
this."

"Claire!"

Anna's voice grew louder, and the sound of
shoes striking the floorboards echoed in the tunnel. Dazed, Claire
stared up at the beast panting above her, and saw flashes of Jack's
enraged face glaring down at her.

"If you and your friends cost me one more
cent, I'll kill you." His gaze raked her breasts. "After I get my
money back."

He was enjoying this. He intended to hurt
her. He grabbed her throat and squeezed. "I'll meet you at the bank
at ten o'clock,"

She jammed her hand in the corner of the
closet, grasping for the gun, feeling her windpipe close beneath
his clenching fingers. The feel of hard steel gave her hope, but
she couldn't grip the gun properly with her mittens on. She scraped
her hand against the shelf, trying to rake the mitten off, but it
twisted around her fingers. Darkness bled in from behind her eyes.
She was seconds from passing out.

She shook her hand, but the mitten stayed
on.

A buzzing filled her ears. She remembered
that sound. It was the noise she always heard just before she
passed out.

Oh, God. She spread her fingers inside the
wool mitten and clamped her hand over the gun, The buzz grew
louder.

She swung the heavy revolver toward Karlton's
head.

The impact against his skull jarred her
entire forearm, He grunted and staggered back a step, his hand
raised to his bleeding head. Claire sucked in a breath and gripped
the doorframe to keep from falling.

"Claire! Oh my God..." Anna gasped, her eyes
filled with horror.

Claire staggered toward the door. "Get Boyd,"
she croaked, then lurched outside.

Anna's scream turned Claire's blood cold. She
yanked off her mitten and turned back, the revolver in her shaking
hand. Karlton leapt forward and hit her in the chest.

Claire stumbled backward, her arms flailing
and her hands hitting the railing as she fell. The revolver went
off as she plunged to the floor.

From behind Karlton, Anna raised a shovel and
struck him across the shoulders. The man turned.

"Get out of here," he said, wrenching the
shovel away and shoving her down the steps.

"Run, Anna!" Claire tried to push away, to
warn Anna to go for help, but Karlton gripped her throat again.

"You just made a big mistake, lady."

She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. The
shadows grew deeper and weakness saturated her body. She wanted to
tell Karlton to go to Hell, that she would never give in to a
coward like him, but the world was turning black. His voice came
from that long, dark tunnel. "I'll bet this is how your husband
felt when he was drowning."

Boyd clenched his hand around his carving knife, feeling an insane
urge to start hacking at the statue. The block of basswood was
misshapen and changed, but still a hunk of wood.