Under A Prairie Moon (12 page)

“Well, what do you know!” Kathy muttered sarcastically. “It speaks.” She gasped as Dalton’s hand closed over her arm. “Take your hand off me.”

“I asked you a question!” he said, his voice a low growl.

Slowly, deliberately, she peeled his fingers from her arm. “Yes. I had a good time. What business is it of yours?”

A look of unbearable anguish passed over his features. “None,” he said hoarsely. “None at all.”

“Dalton…”

But he was already gone.

* * * * *

It was after midnight and Kathy sat on the sofa, a cup of hot chocolate, forgotten, in her hand. She had tried to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, she saw the misery in Dalton’s eyes, heard the torment in his voice. How could he be jealous of her friendship with John? Why did she care?

Why, indeed? That was the question that had kept her awake for the last two hours.

“I’m sorry, Kathy.”

Three words, softly spoken, yet she felt as though someone had just pulled a huge thorn from her heart. “Me too.”

As soft as a sigh, he materialized beside her on the sofa. “Maybe I shouldn’t bother you anymore.”

“You’re not bothering me.”

He smiled sadly. “Aren’t I?”

“Don’t leave me, Dalton. Please.” She didn’t stop to wonder why she needed him; she knew only that he had become important to her and she couldn’t bear to think of never seeing him again.

“This isn’t doing either of us any good.”

“I know.”

“Kathy…” He reached toward her, then withdrew his hand. “I…” He swallowed hard. “I hope you’ll be happy with Lawson, or…or whoever else you…shit, don’t cry.”

“I’m not,” she said, and burst into tears.

Muttering an oath, he took the cup from her hand and set it on the end table and then, knowing he was about to make the second biggest mistake of his life, he drew her gently into his arms and tucked her head beneath his chin. And she went to him willingly, burrowing against him, her arms wrapping tightly around his waist. He couldn’t help noticing that her body fit against his perfectly.

“Kathy, ah Kathy, don’t cry, darlin’. Please don’t cry.”

“I can’t help it,” she wailed softly. “I can’t lose you too.”

“You won’t.” With a hand that trembled, he stroked her hair. “I’ll stay as long as you want me.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” he said, and wondered what right he had to make such a vow.

She sighed and then relaxed in his arms. A moment later, she was asleep.

And Dalton Crowkiller, half-breed drifter and hired gun, admitted he was in more trouble now than he had ever been when he was alive. He had been in lust before, many times, but this was the first time in his life—he grinned ruefully—or his death, that he had been in love.

Kathy woke in her bed the next morning with a smile on her face and no memory of how she had gotten from the living room into the bedroom. But she had a clear memory of being held in Dalton Crowkiller’s strong arms, of falling asleep wrapped within the warmth and security of his embrace. Of feeling utterly at peace for the first time since Wayne had passed away.

Dalton. In spite of everything, she was falling in love with him. It was impossible, ridiculous, and yet the fact remained. She was falling in love with a ghost. She reminded herself that she had vowed never to fall in love again. Of course, she hadn’t allowed for falling in love with a ghost, so maybe this didn’t count, since nothing could ever come of it. No matter how much she might yearn for more, it was unthinkable. The most they could ever be was friends, since it was impossible for them to have any kind of physical relationship.

Rising, she showered and dressed, wondering where he was, what he was doing, if he had held her all through the night.

She caught the scent of coffee perking as she walked down the hall, and when she entered the kitchen, she saw Dalton sitting on the counter beside the stove. Seeing him caused a flurry of excitement in the pit of her stomach.

Dalton’s gaze moved over Kathy in a long, slow glance, appreciating the way her blue jeans and soft yellow t-shirt clung to her every curve. There was something sexy, intimate almost, about the fact that her feet were bare. He had held her all through the night, his body aching with a need he couldn’t satisfy, torturing himself with images of the two of them lying in her bed, bodies entwined beneath the sheets. He shifted uncomfortably on the counter as his body responded to his thoughts.

“Morning, darlin’.”

The sound of his voice, the ease with which he called her darlin’, filled Kathy’s heart with sunshine.

“Good morning. Did you get a good night’s…oh I forgot. You don’t sleep, do you?”

Dalton shook his head. “No, don’t seem to need any. How about you? Did you sleep well?”

“Very.”

Desire pulsed between them, vibrant and alive and hopeless.

Dalton poured her a cup of coffee. “Hope it’s not too strong.”

She took a sip, and shook her head. “Perfect. Thank you.”

He smiled at her. “Sometimes I think I’d kill for a cup of coffee and a cigarette.”

It was a perfectly innocent thing to say, but it reminded her again of all the reasons why she couldn’t be in love with him. Not only was he a ghost, a man who had earned his living with a gun, but there was over a century between them that could not be breached or ignored. In her experience, men and women rarely viewed things the same. Even Wayne hadn’t been able to see some things from her point of view, but she was certain that a woman from the twentieth century and a man from the nineteenth century would have even more differences to contend with. Like his reaction to her hanging the curtain rod, thinking it was a “man’s job”.

Feeling suddenly depressed, Kathy turned away. She had an almost uncontrollable urge to go to Dalton, to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him until they were both breathless, but she didn’t. Couldn’t. Because she wanted so much more than kisses.

“Kathy?”

“What?” She forced a cheerful note into her voice, plastered a smile on her face and turned around.

“Is everything all right?”

“Of course,” she said brightly. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know.” He looked at her and frowned. “But something’s bothering you. What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Kathy, don’t lie to me.”

“Nothing’s wrong. Everything is perfect. Oh!” She slammed her coffee cup on the counter. “Everything is wrong! You shouldn’t even be here!”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Then I’m gone.”

“No! No, I don’t want you to go. It’s just that you don’t belong here, in this time, and I…”

Tears of frustration burned her eyes and she turned away from him, not wanting him to know she was on the verge of crying. Dalton stood up, his hands clenched at his sides. “What do you want from me?”

“I want the impossible,” she murmured.

“Tell me.”

She shook her head. How could she explain what she was feeling when she didn’t understand it herself? She was falling in love with him. There was no rhyme or reason to it. It was simply a fact. She was drawn to him. His smile, his voice, the way she had felt when he had held her last night, the vulnerability she sometimes saw in his eyes. She wanted to hold him and comfort him. She wanted to be held and comforted in return. It didn’t make any sense, but she felt as if her whole life up until this point had been nothing but a dress rehearsal, a period of waiting for the star of the show to arrive so the performance could begin. Only the star had arrived a hundred and twenty-five years too late.

She felt guilty for loving Dalton.

She felt as though she were betraying Wayne and the love they had shared.

“Kathy…”

The uncertainty in his voice tugged at her heart. There was a breath of cool air at her back, and then his arms slid around her waist.

“Kathy.” His voice was low and husky. “Don’t shut me out, darlin’. Not now.”

“I’m sorry.” Tears trickled down her cheeks.

Dalton blew out a sigh. He knew she was trying not to cry, knew his presence had turned her life upside down. Knew he should just disappear, go back to the limbo in which he had lived before she arrived at the ranch. And knew he wouldn’t do it. Knew he wouldn’t leave her unless she asked him to.

Slowly, giving her plenty of chance to object, he drew her back against him and rested his chin on the top of her head. As she had the night before, she melted against him, and he thought again how right it felt to hold her, how perfectly she fit into his arms. She was soft and warm and alive, so alive. Every nerve in his body reacted to her nearness.

“Kathy,” he said thickly. “Damn.”

Gently, he put her away from him before his body betrayed the path his mind was wandering, before the intensity of what he was feeling undid him.

“Got any plans for today?” he asked.

She turned around and looked up at him, her heart pounding. “Not really. Why? What did you have in mind?”

“How about taking a ride down by the creek?”

She took a deep, calming breath. “Let me grab a bite to eat first, okay?”

“Sure,” he said. And then, needing to put some distance between them, he added, “I’ll go saddle the mare while you get ready.”

Twenty minutes later, they were riding toward the stream. With Kathy sitting in front of him, her shapely behind cradled between his thighs, Dalton couldn’t help wondering if riding double was such a good idea. She shifted her weight, and his arm tightened instinctively around her waist. Maybe he should have walked. The scent of her filled his nostrils, her hair brushed his cheek, her breasts felt full and warm against his arm, and all of it reminded him that she was all female, and that he hadn’t had a woman in over a hundred years. Damn.

He had never associated with a woman like Kathy before, not with the kind of life he’d led. If only he had met her when he was still alive, she might have saved him a lot of grief, might have been able to make him put up his gun and settle down. But then, if she had met him in his time, she wouldn’t have had anything to do with him. Decent women didn’t associate with half-breed gunfighters.

He reined the mare to a halt when they reached the hanging tree.

Kathy glanced over her shoulder. “Why are we stopping here?”

“I don’t know.” He rubbed his hand over his neck as he glanced up at the long branch that had once held a hanging rope.

A sudden stillness seemed to gather around them, as if time had stopped. As if the earth were holding her breath.

“Did they hang very many men here?” Kathy asked, her voice a whisper.

Dalton nodded. “Rustlers mostly. Back in the early days, before there was any law to speak of in these parts, justice was right quick. There wasn’t any need for a trial. A man caught branding a calf with a running iron had no defense, and justice was dispensed on the spot.”

Kathy shivered. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah.”

She stared up at the tree, remembering how she had imagined seeing a man hanging there, a man dressed all in black. With a shock, she realized that she had been seeing a glimpse of the past. Dalton’s past.

She leaned toward him. “I wish there was a way to clear your name…”

His arm tightened around her waist. “I wish I could go back and do it all over again….”

They spoke simultaneously, words trailing off as they kissed.

Kathy felt suddenly dizzy, as if the world were spinning out of control. There was a low roaring in her ears, like the sound of distant thunder.

She screamed Dalton’s name, and then everything went black.

Awareness returned slowly. Feeling dizzy and disoriented, Kathy opened her eyes. “What happened?”

Dalton shook his head. “Beats the hell out of me.”

Kathy glanced around, wishing the world would stop reeling. The sun was shining, there were no clouds in the sky, nothing to explain the sudden darkness that had engulfed her.

She looked over her shoulder when she heard Dalton swear.

“What’s wrong?”

Dalton pointed to the east. “The sun.”

“What about it?”

“Before whatever happened happened, it was a little after ten.”

Kathy glanced down at her watch. It was ten-fifteen. “Yeah. So?”

“So, I’d say that, judging by the sun, it’s just a little after dawn.”

“It can’t be.” She looked at her watch again, checking the second hand to make sure it was still running. She frowned as she glanced across the stream. “Look!” She pointed at a herd of cattle grazing in the distance. “Where did they come from?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe they strayed from Holcomb’s ranch.”

“I don’t think so. He raises horses, not cattle.”

Kathy turned and stared toward the house. A blue-gray column of smoke rose from the chimney. The paint, which had been dingy gray the last time she had seen it, was now a bright white, as if it had been freshly painted. The broken window on the second floor had been magically replaced. Flowers bloomed on both sides of the porch stairs. A dozen or so horses were penned in two large corrals near the barn. The barn itself looked new. “I don’t understand,” she said, feeling faint. “What’s going on?”

Dalton shook his head. “I’m afraid to say it out loud.”

“Say what?”

“What I’m thinking. Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.”

Tugging on the reins, he turned the mare downstream, seeking the cover of the trees.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m not sure.”

There were clumps of cattle everywhere, all carrying the brand of the Triple Bar C. The cement driveway was gone, and in its place was a wide rutted lane. They passed a wooden arch that spanned the road. It was dark red, with the words “Triple Bar C” painted in white.

Kathy shook her head. What had happened to the driveway? Where had that sign come from? And all those cattle wearing the Conley brand…

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” she murmured.

“Yeah.”

When they reached the end of the narrow path that paralleled what should have been the driveway, Dalton turned the mare south.

Kathy felt a shiver of unease as she took in her surroundings. The paved highway was gone. Her mailbox was gone. There were no telephone poles. Acres of gently rolling grassland fell away as far as the eye could see.

Too stunned to speak, she held tight to Dalton’s arm. The landscape looked familiar, but the landmarks—the gas station and the mini-mart a mile down the road, the sign advertising Saul’s Crossing—were gone. There was nothing to see but grass and cattle and the endless blue vault of the sky.

“Dalton?”

He grunted softly.

“What do you think happened? Where are we?”

“You’ll think I’m crazy.”

“Right now I think I’m crazy.”

“I think we’ve gone back in time.”

“That’s impossible,” Kathy said, horrified to hear her own thoughts put into words.

“I know it is.” He blew out a deep breath. He jerked his chin at the road. “See that?”

Kathy frowned. “See what? Our shadow?”

Dalton nodded. “Take a good look. This morning, down by the river, I didn’t have a shadow.” His gaze held hers. “I haven’t cast a shadow or a reflection for a hundred and twenty-five years.”

Kathy stared at him, speechless, as her mind tried to grasp what he was suggesting. He couldn’t be serious.

“Take hold of my hand.”

“What?”

“Give me your hand.” He slipped his hand into hers. It was warm. Warm when it had always been cold.

Kathy shook her head. “This can’t be happening.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself.”

The enormity of the situation hit her all at once. Everything she had ever known was gone. The people she loved had not yet been born. And Dalton was alive, really alive.

Feeling suddenly lightheaded, she swayed against him.

Dalton reined the mare to a halt and slipped his other arm around Kathy’s waist. “You all right?”

“I don’t know. What if it’s true? What if we’re really in the past? What does it mean?”

He shrugged. “Maybe it means I’ve got a chance to turn my life around. Keep a promise I made to my father.” He grunted softly. “And stay the hell away from Lydia Conley.”

“Well, that’s great for you. But what about me? I don’t belong here.”

His dark gaze met hers. “Maybe you do,” he murmured. “Maybe you were meant to be mine, and this is Fate’s way of putting things straight.”

“You don’t believe that?”

“I don’t know what I believe.” He gave her a squeeze, then clucked to the mare. Saul’s Crossing was about fifteen miles ahead. Once they reached town, they would know for sure where, and when, they were.

She was bone weary, her thighs and back aching, her nose sunburned, by the time they reached Saul’s Crossing. The trip, which would have taken no more than twenty minutes by car, had taken hours. But her discomfort was quickly forgotten when she caught her first glimpse of the town, along with any hope she had clung to that she was dreaming.

There was no doubt in her mind that she was looking at the town as it had been in the nineteenth century.

The paved roads were gone. The street lights were gone. There wasn’t a car in sight, just a dozen or so horses standing at the hitch rails, dozing or swishing their tails at flies. Red, white and blue bunting was draped across the front of several of the buildings.

She heard Dalton swear under his breath.

“It’s true,” she murmured as they rode down the center of the street. “We really are in the past.”

She stared at the wide dirt road, at the boardwalk, the rough-hewn wooden buildings. The Cattlemen’s Bank and Trust. The Square Deal Saloon. Saul Brown’s General Store. Lawson’s Furniture Emporium. Henderson’s Livery.

Her fingers dug into Dalton’s arm. “It isn’t possible.” She stared at the building that would, in a hundred years or so, become a Holiday Inn. The sign out front read:

Martha Dunn’s Boardinghouse

Rooms to let by the day, week, or month

“Looks damn possible to me,” Dalton muttered.

He reined the mare to a halt in front of the newspaper office. Dismounting, he picked up a newspaper someone had left on a chair.

“July second,” he muttered. “Eighteen seventy-three.” He had died on the twenty-eighth. That didn’t give him much time.

Kathy shook her head. “Eighteen seventy-three. I don’t believe it.”

Dalton blew out a sigh. “Well, you’d best get used to the idea.”

He held up the newspaper so she could read it for herself. 1873. A hundred and twenty-five years in the past. She swayed in the saddle.

Dropping the paper, Dalton lifted her from the back of the horse and wrapped his arms around her. “You okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“Humph! Such goings-on! And in public too!”

Startled, Kathy leaned to one side to see a woman glaring at her. “I beg your pardon?”

The woman, covered in pink gingham from neck to toe and wearing a matching bonnet snugly tied under her chin, stared at Kathy in obvious disdain.

“Have you no shame?” she declared in a voice thick with indignation. “Wearing men’s clothes, and carrying on like that in public? And in front of a child too!” Clicking her tongue, the woman grabbed her daughter by the arm and hurried across the street.

Kathy stared after her, shocked by the woman’s outburst.

“Old biddy,” Dalton muttered.

“She seemed a little upset,” Kathy remarked. “Good thing I wasn’t wearing shorts.”

“Good thing,” Dalton agreed, “but I think she was more upset because I was holding you in my arms.”

“Well, what’s wrong with that?”

Dalton shrugged. “You heard her. It ain’t seemly.”

“What isn’t?”

“Me holding you in my arms in public.”

“But you weren’t holding me! I mean, you were, but not like that…” Kathy’s voice trailed off. In the nineties, a decade filled with AIDS and R-rated movies, a hug on the street wouldn’t have been noticed. But this was the nineteenth century, when intimacy was carried on behind closed doors.

Dalton raised one brow. “She probably thinks you’re a fallen woman,” he said with a roguish grin.

“Fallen woman!” Kathy sputtered. “That’s just great. I haven’t even been here a day yet and my reputation is ruined.”

“Take it easy,” Dalton said, laughing.

“Sure, easy for you to say.”

“We need to find you some clothes,” Dalton remarked.

“What? Oh.” She looked down at her jeans and tennis shoes and then glanced across the street. No doubt the woman had been shocked by her attire too. Women in this day and age probably didn’t wear pants to town, if they wore them at all. “Well, I don’t have any money to buy a dress, even if I was of a mind to.”

“I’ve got some.”

“You do?”

“Sure. I told you, being a gunfighter was a profitable line of work.” He secured the mare’s reins to the hitch rack. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“The bank.”

She couldn’t help staring at every building they passed. Some, like the Square Deal, looked familiar. Dalton grabbed her by the arm when she started to peer inside.

“Decent women don’t go into saloons.”

“I wasn’t going in. I just wanted to look inside.”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

“Fine.” She followed him down the street and into the bank, acutely aware of every curious glance that followed her.

Entering the bank, Dalton walked up to the teller’s cage.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Crowkiller,” the teller said, his voice cool but polite. “How can I help you?”

“I’d like to make a withdrawal.”

Kathy glanced around while Dalton took care of business. A wooden partition topped by a wire grate divided the bank. A man in an old-fashioned city suit and cravat sat behind a large desk, thumbing through a stack of papers. There were several posters tacked to one wall. On closer inspection, she saw they were wanted posters for bank robbers.

“Ready?”

She glanced over her shoulder to find Dalton standing behind her. “Yes, I guess so.”

Leaving the bank, they went to the general store. It looked like something out of an old John Wayne movie, with shelves and counters stocked with all manner of canned goods, blankets, bolts of cloth, cooking utensils, boots, shoes, bonnets and ready-made dresses.

“Pick out whatever you need,” Dalton said.

“Where are you going?”

“I need a few things myself. Meet me up front when you’re ready.”

“Okay.”

She wandered through the store, amazed at how much stuff was crammed on the shelves and counters. She glanced at the signs tacked to one wall: Peaberry Coffee, thirteen cents. Corn, four cans for twenty-five cents, butter, twenty-three cents a pound, eggs, nine cents a dozen, KC Baking Powder, eleven cents, Farmer Jones Syrup, twenty-one cents a gallon, Silver Leaf Pure Hog Lard, eight pound bucket, forty-nine cents.

In the shoe department, she sat down and tried on a pair of half-boots. The clerk looked at her oddly. She guessed she couldn’t blame him. He had probably never seen a woman in jeans and a t-shirt before, let alone one wearing Mickey Mouse socks. Tucking her new shoes under one arm, she went through the dresses on the rack until she found a few that seemed to be the right size. She picked out two—a pretty blue gingham with a round neck, puffed sleeves and a wide sash, and a lavender flowered print with a square neck. She was going to look as though she had just stepped out of the pages of
Little House on the Prairie
. She found petticoats too, and a pair of white cotton stockings, complete with garters. She found a hairbrush and a package of pins, and a long white nightgown that was so stiff she wondered if she’d have to sleep standing up.

She looked for a toothbrush, but to no avail, and then wondered if they had even been invented yet. On her way to the front of the store, she picked up a bonnet made of white straw, then, with a shake of her head, she put it back on the shelf.

Dalton was waiting for her at the front counter. “Find everything you need?”

“Almost.” She placed her things on the countertop. “Do you have enough money for all this?”

“Sure.”

She noticed then that he was wearing a new hat, black, with a wide brim. And a gunbelt, complete with holster and gun.