Maureen McKade (9 page)

Kit sent her a stiff nod. “Hello, Louise.”

She batted blackened lashes. “So you’re Kit Thornton. You don’t act no different than all them other high-falutin’ women who think their privies don’t stink.”

Maggie had worked in a bar, too, but she didn’t harbor the spite that oozed from Louise.

Jake shook his head, a trace of impatience in the gesture. “Pull in your claws, Louise. Kit’s my friend.”

Kit was gratified to see the other woman glower at Jake and remove herself from his lap.

“Then I’ll leave you with your
friend
.” Louise’s sarcasm was sharp enough to skin a squirrel. She stomped away, her faded red satin skirt flouncing about her knees.

Kit lowered herself into the seat, shocked at Jake’s appearance. His brown eyes, usually so clear and steady, were now glassy and bloodshot. His cheeks held a three-day whisker growth and his shirt was spotted with stains.

“Sorry if I interrupted anything,” Kit said, without a hint of contrition.

The smile Jake gave her was anything but pleasant. “Louise’ll be back. She likes me.”

Kit’s anger rose to the surface. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

Jake reached for the bottle but missed and tried again, this time nearly spilling it before he clasped the neck.

“I am pouring myself some whiskey,” he enunciated carefully.

Kit leaned forward and wrapped her fingers around his hand. “I think you’ve had enough, Jake. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

With an effort, Jake focused on Kit and smiled inanely. “I’m not doin’ it, the whiskey is.”

Kit scowled. “Freda told me you haven’t stopped drinking in two days.”

“But I have. I can’t drink when I’m in the privy.” He wiggled his fingers. “Need these for other things.”

Kit ignored his coarse humor. “What do you think Johnny would think if he saw you like this?” she asked softly.

The question seemed to bring a moment of sober clarity to Jake. He sat up straight, grabbing hold of Kit’s wrist. “Don’t you let him see me. Don’t let him near me!”

She settled back in her chair, forcing nonchalance. “I
was beginning to wonder if you cared about anyone or anything. C’mon, let’s go back to Freda’s.”

He shook his head slowly. “Nope. Don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“The dreams.”

Kit’s calm evaporated. “What dreams?”

“I keep seein’ them,” Jake explained.

Puzzled, Kit asked, “Who?”

His eyes clouded with nightmares. “Men I killed; men I brought in to be hanged.”

The anguish in Jake’s voice cut a ragged wound in Kit. “Listen to me, Jake. Those men were murderers and robbers and God knows what else. You were doing decent folks a favor by bringing them to justice.”

He took a deep breath and lifted the whiskey bottle to his lips, but Kit pulled it away before he could drink from it.

“You’ve had enough. It’s time to go,” she stated firmly.

Jake stared at the bottle for a full minute. “All right,” he finally said.

Kit went and put an arm around his shoulders, helping him to stand. She took most of his weight as his feet shuffled about, doing more to throw Kit off-balance than propel him forward. They finally managed to make it past the gawkers and Louise’s hostile glare, and out onto the boardwalk.

They were nearly to Freda’s when Jake tripped, taking Kit down with him. They ended up in an undignified heap with Jake on top of Kit.

A devilish smile claimed Jake’s lips. “This is kinda fun.”

Kit’s face grew hot as her body responded to Jake’s lean muscles pressed tightly against her. What was wrong with her? His breath reeked of whiskey, and his unwashed clothes were saturated with stale sweat and
acrid smoke. She was disgusted by his drunkenness, yet she had no control over the searing desire that stole through her defenses.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

Kit recognized the voice, and humiliation and dread thrummed through her. She managed to get Jake to roll off her so she could scramble up to face Jameson. Glancing down at her ex-hero, who floundered about, trying to get to his feet, Kit felt a pang of sympathy.

Resolve filled her, and she placed herself between the men. “This isn’t any of your business, Will.”

Behind her, she could hear Jake struggling to rise.

Jameson sneered. “Some hero! Who would’ve thought the great Jake Cordell was a drunken bum!”

“He just had a little too much to drink.” Kit leaned down to help, but it took three attempts to get Jake in an upright position.

She looked up to find Jameson directly in their path. Her heart slammed against her ribs, and she felt like she was ten years old again.

The lawless Jameson cornered the heroine, leaving her no escape. She pressed the back of her lily white hand to her smooth ivory forehead. “Please don’t hurt me. I beg you
.”

“
Unhand her, you evil brute,” Jake Cordell commanded
.

The outlaw laughed, a harsh grating sound that left no doubt Jake would have to shoot him to save the innocent maiden. He eased his Colt 45 from its holster, and leveled it at the bad guy. “Don’t make me kill you, Jameson
.”

The villain stared down death’s dark tunnel, then into the unyielding eyes of Jake Cordell. Jameson’s hand shook and his true colors emerged. “Please, Mr. Cordell, don’t shoot. I was only joshing
.”

The cold air had begun to stir Jake out of his stupor,
along with the harsh words between Kit and the police officer. He tried to straighten, and only partially succeeded. “I think the lady wants you to leave her alone.”

His words, slurred, didn’t come out as forcefully as he’d intended.

“And what are you going to do if I don’t?” Jameson taunted.

“Jake, leave it be,” Kit murmured.

“Jake Cordell, hiding behind a woman’s skirts.” Jameson snorted with derision. “Even if the woman doesn’t wear a skirt.”

Lucid enough to know his masculinity was being challenged, Jake took a wobbly gunman’s stance. “I don’t have to hide behind anyone.”

He focused on Jameson’s face, on the gray eyes that seemed as brittle as the cold evening. As he stared into them, Jameson’s features began to run like a wet painting, transforming into another face filled with merciless angles and shadows. His father’s murderer had returned!

Jake growled deep in his throat. “You bastard!”

He launched himself at the younger man, and the two of them rolled to the street below the boardwalk. Jake was able to dodge a few of Jameson’s blows and land a couple of his own, but too much liquor and not enough food had weakened him. The policeman got in an uppercut to his jaw and Jake fell back, shaking his head clear of the colored spots in his vision. Before he recovered, Jameson went on the offensive, sending another punch to his face. Warm, sticky moisture rolled across Jake’s lips and down his chin.

“That’s enough!” Sergeant O’Hara’s voice boomed out above them, and Jameson was jerked out of Jake’s line of sight. “What’s goin’ on here?”

“Cordell is drunk and disorderly. I was going to arrest him.”

“You liar,” Kit exclaimed.

Her angelic face, surrounded by a tangle of hair, swam into Jake’s view. Gentle hands eased him into a sitting position and he glanced down at his shirtfront, stained scarlet from the blood that flowed from his nose.

“Jake and I were going to Freda’s.” Kit’s sweet breath cascaded across his throbbing face.

“I’m believin’ the lass, Jameson. Go on with you, and leave Cordell and Miss Thornton be,” Patrick ordered with a wave of his hand.

Jameson glared at Jake, then mockingly tipped his hat at Kit and sauntered away.

Kit breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Patrick. Could you help me with Jake?”

He nodded and slipped a brawny arm around Jake’s waist, helping him up. Jake tried to escape the helping hands, but what little strength he had had disappeared.

“I see you have brought him home,” Freda commented, as she moved aside to allow them in the house. “Take him into the kitchen. We can clean him up there.”

They propped Jake in a chair by the table, while Freda poured water from the pot on the stove into a tin basin. Patrick got himself a cup of coffee with a familiarity that showed this wasn’t the first time he’d been in Freda’s kitchen.

Kit removed her jacket, then rolled up the sleeves of her wool shirt. Taking a cloth from Freda, she began the chore of cleaning up Jake’s face.

“What happened?” Freda asked.

“Will Jameson.” Disgust reflected in her tone. “You’d think he’d grow up some day.”

She dabbed at Jake’s swelling nose.

“Damn it, that hurts,” he cussed, grabbing her wrist and halting her ministrations.

“Mr. Cordell, what have I said about swearing under my roof?” Freda reminded sternly.

“You’d best be listenin’ to her, Jake. You’d hate to be missin’ out on her apple pie,” Patrick added with a wink.

With a muttered oath, Jake released Kit. Her lips settled into a grim, disapproving line, but she carefully wiped the blood from his face. Her clean, soapy smell tantalized Jake, and her flushed cheeks tempted his fingers to touch her, to learn if her skin was as peachy soft as it looked. But it was her mouth, only inches from his, that held his rapt attention. What would her lips feel like? He imagined her soft compliance as he kissed her lush ripeness, and his groin tightened in response.

Settling the damp cloth on his nose, Kit said, “Lean back to stop the bleeding.”

He eased his head back until he gazed at the whitewashed ceiling.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” Kit said.

“It’s not,” Jake said. “I’ve had it broken a couple times, and it didn’t feel like this.”

“That’s reassuring,” Kit said dryly.

As he waited for the bleeding to cease, Jake tried to remember exactly what had happened. The fact that Jameson would’ve beaten him sent humiliation shafting through him. If he’d been sober, Jameson wouldn’t have been more bother than a mosquito. But because he’d indulged in a good case of self-pity, he hadn’t been able to protect Kit from the officer’s taunts. Some hero he was.

Slowly, Jake brought his head up, then closed his eyes as dizziness assailed him. Once the nausea passed, his eyelids flickered open and he found a steaming cup of coffee on the table in front of him.

And he and Kit were alone.

“Where’d they go?” he asked.

“Into the parlor.” Her curt reply did nothing to assuage his guilt.

Sighing heavily, he took a long swallow from the mug. He immediately slammed the cup down and swore, glad Freda had disappeared. “Did she boil it twice?”

Humor glinted in Kit’s eyes. “Three times. She figured you’d need it.”

Stubbornly, Jake drank the coffee, though this time he sipped it. He set the empty cup on the table. “There! I’m done.”

Kit stood and refilled the cup. “You haven’t even begun.”

Jake grumbled, but emptied the pot. By the time he was finished, he needed to make a trip to the privy. He felt more sober than he had in two days, and he pushed back his chair only to have the floor tilt beneath him. He threw out a hand, slapping the table to keep from falling flat on his face.

“Aren’t quite as sober as you thought, are you?” Kit asked softly.

Jake turned to find Kit within a few inches of him, and her arm curved around his waist. It was decidedly the only benefit of being so drunk he couldn’t stand on his own feet. Without his asking, she helped him down the muddy path.

“I’ll wait for you,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument.

A minute later Jake emerged, carefully holding onto the door frame. Kit moved toward him, but he shook his head. “No, I’ll do it myself.”

Slowly, Jake returned to the house on legs that wobbled like a two-bit chair. He leaned against a counter, trying to regain his equilibrium. As he waited, he studied Kit’s stance, the arms crossed below her breasts, her booted feet planted twelve inches apart, and her expression curtained.

“What were you doing in town today?” he asked.

“Trying to talk some sense into that thick skull of yours.”

He frowned. “How did you know—?”

“I didn’t. Johnny was upset that you hadn’t shown up for his next riding lesson. I thought it might’ve been my fault.”

Shame clogged his throat. He imagined the sparkle in Johnny’s eyes disappearing, replaced by disenchantment, and his heart lurched. He hadn’t meant to disappoint the kid. “I forgot.”

“Damn it, Jake, I don’t want to see Johnny hurt. Either you keep your promises to him, or you keep away from him.” Kit’s eyes blazed with righteous anger. “It’s up to you.”

For years he hadn’t answered to anyone but himself, and he’d liked it that way. The boy, however, had stolen past Jake’s defenses. He found himself wanting to see Johnny again, to teach him not just how to ride, but the other things a boy should learn.

Exhaustion crept up on him, and he pushed away from the counter. He stumbled slightly, but Kit didn’t try to help him. For some reason, disappointment flared within him.

Once in his room, Jake plopped down on his bed and removed his shirt with clumsy fingers. He lay down and his eyelids fluttered shut. Even when he felt Kit remove his boots and socks, he found he didn’t have the will to open his eyes. She tucked a blanket around him.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” he murmured. “Or you.”

“I know, Jake.”

Immediately before slumber overtook him, Jake realized that was a promise he couldn’t keep. When he’d bought the loan papers for the ranch, he’d sealed his fate. And theirs.

Chapter 7

K
it left Jake’s room and joined Freda, who had returned to her kitchen to make supper. Exhausted, Kit slumped in a ladderback chair and took a sip of the lukewarm coffee left in her mug. She grimaced and set the cup aside. “Did Patrick leave already?”

Freda nodded. “He wanted to speak to Jameson.” She vigorously mixed dough for dumplings. “How is Jake?”

Kit shook her head. “I don’t know. He seemed to sober up some.”

Freda nodded, bitter experience in her expression. “Tomorrow morning, sick he will be. I will watch him so he does not hurt himself.”

“That’s not necessary.” At the older woman’s questioning look, Kit went on. “I plan on staying with him all night. That is, if you don’t mind.”

Freda shook her wooden spoon at the younger woman. “As long as there is no panky-hanky.”

Kit’s face flushed with heat. “He’s drunk, Freda.” A chuckle slipped past her embarrassment. “And that’s hanky-panky.”

“A man can still want a woman even if drunk he is.” Her stern features eased, revealing an uncharacteristic vulnerability. “This is true, I know.”

Remembering the feel of Jake’s lean body atop hers on the boardwalk, Kit understood what she meant.

She straightened in her chair, determined to ignore the humiliating image. “He’s not anything like I thought he’d be, Freda. The Jake Cordell in the books doesn’t drink or cuss or cavort with prostitutes, and he’s a sight more gentlemanly, too.”

“Maybe he is not like the man in the books, but a good man he is. All he needs is a good woman and family.”

Nervous agitation brought Kit to her feet, and she paced back and forth across the well-swept floor. “Nothing is that easy.” She paused, recalling the blond hussy on Jake’s lap. “Besides, Jake doesn’t care for me like a man cares for a woman.” She ignored the remorse that flickered deep within her. “We’re friends, that’s all.”

“Maybe so, maybe not. You are a very pretty woman.”

Kit shook her head. “No, he doesn’t think that way about me.” She forced a smile past her regrets. “Let me help you.”

Despite Freda’s protests, Kit helped get supper on the table. After they’d eaten and the dishes were done, Kit filled a cup with coffee and bade Freda goodnight. Entering Jake’s room, she sat in the rocking chair next to the bed.

Kit studied the faded bluebell wallpaper. She scrutinized a crack in the side of the maple armoire. She perused the faded block quilt. Then she imagined Jake’s muscular form beneath the blanket. Closing her eyes, Kit tried to think about something, anything, besides the man who lay on the bed. But she couldn’t ignore him any more than she could turn a deaf ear to her heart.

“Oh, hell,” she swore softly, and indulged herself in an unhindered examination of him. She leaned forward, placing her forearms on her thighs. Sweeping her gaze
across his sleep-slackened features, she yielded to the temptation of brushing aside an errant curl from his smooth brow. Her hand lingered, enjoying the sensuous feel of its silky texture. It reminded her of Johnny’s hair—which produced unwanted guilt. Perhaps Maggie had been wrong. Maybe Jake should be told he had a son.

Kit suddenly sat back. She couldn’t allow herself to weaken. Johnny was her son; Jake had no right to him. He hadn’t raised him since he was a baby.

Closing her eyes, she listened to the evening sounds of the town: the faint tinny tinkling of a piano, voices that grew louder, then faded as people passed by the house, and the eerie cries of two cats fighting in a nearby alley. The ceiling creaked as Freda prepared for bed in the room above.

Kit’s eyelids fluttered open, her gaze once again settling on the dim oval of Jake’s face. Even with three days of whisker growth, he appeared as vulnerable as a child, without any trace of the cynicism she’d witnessed in the saloon. What kind of demons chased him? What did he hope to escape from when he lost himself in a bottle of whiskey?

And where did her hero go?

Kit wasn’t sure what woke her, but when she opened her eyes the evening had changed to night and the town had grown silent. The lamp she’d lit earlier was still burning, though it was turned low. When she glanced at Jake, she realized what had awakened her. He muttered unintelligible words and moved about restlessly.

She leaned forward and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Shh, it’s okay, Jake.” His motions became more violent and Kit moved to the side of the bed. “Jake, wake up. Jake!”

“No!” he shouted, then sat bolt upright, his face drenched with perspiration.

“It was only a dream, Jake,” Kit reassured.

Awareness filtered into his sleep-rumpled features. “Kit?”

She breathed a sigh of relief as she let go of him. “That’s right. Are you awake now?”

Jake blinked. “I think so.” He laid a hand on the side of his head and another on his stomach. “What did you put in that coffee?”

“Don’t blame the coffee,” Kit said.

She poured some water from the chipped china pitcher into the matching bowl, and wet the corner of a towel. She sat on the bed beside Jake, sponging his face like she’d done for Johnny when he’d been sick with influenza.

“Would you like a drink of water?” she asked.

He nodded.

She returned a moment later with a glass and helped Jake sit up to swallow the contents. Gently she eased him back on the pillow.

“Any better?” Kit asked.

“Yeah.” He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. “What’re you doing here? I thought you went home.”

She busied herself with smoothing imaginary wrinkles on the quilt. “I decided to stay and make sure you didn’t do anything stupid.”

Jake’s smile appeared more of a grimace. “You don’t have a lot of faith in me.”

Kit lifted her gaze to his lantern-lit face. “You haven’t given me much reason.”

A self-effacing grin tugged at the corners of his dry lips. “I guess you’ve got a point, lady. Am I going to live?”

“Unfortunately for you, you are. Why don’t you go
back to sleep? It’s the middle of the night.”

He shivered. “If I’m going to have another nightmare, I’d rather stay awake.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Jake closed his eyes a moment, as if summoning his courage. “Did you know I was almost killed back when I first started hunting Frank Ross?”

Kit’s stomach churned as she shook her head.

“He shot me. I thought I was going to die.”

“What happened?”

A few beads of sweat appeared on Jake’s forehead. “Ross had left a trail a tinhorn could’ve followed, and I got cocky. Only problem was, he was smarter’n me, and he’d set a trap.” He rubbed away the perspiration with a trembling hand. “My father would’ve seen it, but I was too sure of myself. I went down with a bullet in my side, figured I was a goner. But before Ross could finish me off, this family came by in their wagon, and they got me to a doctor. If those farmers hadn’t shown up when they did, I would’ve died.”

“Is that what your nightmare was about?”

“Partly.” He took a deep breath. “In my dream I was lying on a rough wood floor, and splinters were jabbing me. But all I could feel was this burning in my gut. I looked down and saw this bright red seeping through my fingers and down my side. It gathered in a puddle on the floor, and the sun that shone through one of the dirty windows made it glitter like a ruby.”

He paused, as if living through the nightmare. “I started to shiver and I closed my eyes. There was this long black tunnel, like the kind a train goes through in the mountains, but it had a light at the other end. I walked toward it and there was my father. I called out to him, but another voice answered.”

“Maggie’s?” Kit asked softly.

He shook his head, then pierced her with an intense
gaze. “It was you. You told me I couldn’t go yet.”

A cold hand fisted in Kit’s stomach. “What happened then?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I just wanted the pain to go away, but you wouldn’t let me go. You said I had too much to do yet.”

Although shaken by what he’d told her, Kit managed a reassuring smile. “I’m sure it was just brought on by everything that you’ve been through. When Johnny has nightmares, I sit with him to keep the monsters away while he sleeps.”

“Who’s taking care of Johnny?” Jake suddenly asked.

“Charlie and Ethan,” she replied, and lifted her chin. “They’re like family.”

Jake’s silent examination disconcerted her. “I told you, a person’s skin color never did make much difference to me.”

Kit nodded ruefully. “You’ve already proved that.” She paused, drew in a deep breath, and said, “I’m sorry, Jake.”

“For what?”

“For getting mad at you. Since Ethan wouldn’t press charges, it wasn’t your fault those two men couldn’t be charged.”

Jake touched her hand. “I wish I could’ve done something, Kit, but real life isn’t like those stories. Sometimes the law isn’t on the side of justice.”

His feathery strokes were turning her insides as soft as melted butter. “That’s a strange thing for a lawyer to say.”

“Maybe so, but it’s true more times than not.” His bloodshot gaze pierced her, and his finger ceased its unsettling caresses. “Someday you’ll know exactly what I mean.”

Unease rippled through her. Kit already knew that the
law and justice were not one and the same, but there seemed to be a deeper meaning to Jake’s words.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll be here if you have another nightmare,” she said softly.

His eyes closed, and Kit pulled the blankets up around his broad shoulders. Standing over him, she laid her palm against his whiskered cheek, enjoying the foreign, soft-bristled texture. “I’ve never known anyone quite like you, Jake,” she whispered.

She lowered herself into the nearby chair and began rocking. A quiet creak accompanied each backward motion.

“I never noticed how comforting the sound of a rocking chair can be,” Jake remarked in a low voice.

Surprised he was still awake, Kit paused a moment, then continued her rhythmic back-and-forth motions. “Did your mother ever rock you when you were a child?”

The sound of his husky voice broke the long silence. “I remember one time when I was younger than Johnny, Pa was gone and there was a bad thunderstorm. I remember being scared, then hearing my mother’s voice, soft and gentle, and she put me in her lap while she sat in the rocking chair in front of the fireplace.”

“When did she go back East?”

He shifted below the pile of blankets. “A long time ago.”

“Why’d you get drunk, Jake?”

She could see his eyes open in the moon’s slanted light.

“Because I wanted to.”

His flippant reply startled Kit. Hurt by his offhand-edness, she snapped, “I think you were only feeling sorry for yourself. Well, Mr. Cordell, I’ll have you know life is not a bed of roses for anyone. But the rest of us don’t hide in a whiskey bottle and wallow in self-pity.
We make the best of what we have. I suggest you do the same.”

She stalked out of the room, then leaned against the wall in the hallway, trembling from her outburst.

A touch on her shoulder startled her, and she peeled her hands away from her face to find the man in her thoughts standing directly in front of her. With his dark hair mussed and his feet bare, Jake hadn’t taken the time to pull on a shirt. Curly black hair covered his chest and tapered down to his flat stomach to disappear beneath his waistband. In spite of his appearance, or because of it, languid heat flowed through her limbs.

“Are you all right, Kit?” Jake’s voice was low, intimate in the darkened hallway.

“Fine.” Kit focused on a spot on the wallpaper behind him. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper. Especially with the way you’re feeling.”

Jake gazed intently at her, searching for a sign of—what? With a deliberate motion, he raised his hand and touched her peach velvet cheek. Her eyes widened behind her spectacles. Expectation displaced her surprise, and she leaned into the palm of his hand.

Using his thumb, Jake traced light whorls on Kit’s cheek, and she wrapped a hand around his wrist. He didn’t know if she wanted him to stop or continue; he chose the latter.

“You’re right, Kit. I
was
feeling sorry for myself, and I couldn’t just get on Zeus and ride away this time,” Jake confessed in a low voice. “You’ve got everything I ever wanted—a home and a son—and you get to do what you love, raise horses. I envy you, Kit.”

Her eyes widened behind her lenses. Abruptly she moved away from him. “I’ve envied
you
nearly all my life, Jake.”

Jake sensed the sadness in her words. “I’m not some
perfect made-up hero, Kit. And I can’t change who I am.”

“I know that now. You should get back to bed. You’re white as a sheet.”

They returned to the room, and Jake fell on the mattress and closed his eyes, his dark lashes shadowed against his pale cheek. The moon’s silvery rays glinted across his bare skin, revealing a puckered scar on his side. A mark of the violent life he’d led, the life she’d foolishly glorified.

Kit squeezed his hand reassuringly, and he clung to her.

“You won’t leave me, will you?” Jake asked in a low, raw voice.

His vulnerability undermined her defenses, clogging her throat with emotion. “No.”

A sigh escaped his lips, but he didn’t release her. Keeping her fingers curled around his, Kit pulled the chair closer to the bed with her free hand. She sat down, still imprisoned by his grasp. A few minutes later, the steady rise and fall of Jake’s chest told Kit he finally slept.

Jake awoke a few hours after sunrise and looked around, disoriented, his head pounding. Pressing a hand to his temple, he turned to find Kit curled up in the rocking chair, a blanket wrapped around her. He thought it had all been a dream—waking in the middle of the night and talking to Kit, and nearly losing himself in her compassionate eyes. And asking her to stay with him. She had done so, and not for any gain on her part, but because she was his friend and she trusted him.

He swallowed, not liking the taste of deception. The hell of it was, he wanted her friendship—yet he couldn’t have both the ranch and Kit.