Under A Prairie Moon (14 page)

“Well, if you never go back to the ranch, you won’t get caught in the barn with…you won’t get caught and Russell Conley won’t have any reason to hang you.”

“Yeah.” Dalton massaged his throat, wondering if it could be that easy, wondering if he had truly been given a second chance, or if he was fated to die on the morning of July 28, if not at the end of a rope, then by some other means.

He slid a glance at Kathy. She was gazing into the distance, a bemused expression on her face. Looking at her made him forget everything but the way she had felt in his arms.

Moving closer, he slid his arm around her waist.

Kathy blinked at him. “What are you doing?”

“It’s an experiment.”

“What do you mean?”

“Trust me.”

“Can I?”

“Sure you can,” he murmured. “Trustworthy is my middle name.”

She would have argued about that if he hadn’t kissed her. Her eyelids fluttered down as a delicious warmth spread through her. Dalton’s arm tightened around her, drawing her closer, dragging her into his lap. His tongue teased her lower lip and she moaned softly, lost in a maelstrom of wild emotions. She felt the heat of his hands penetrate her clothing, felt the tension building within him. He kissed her until she was breathless, and all the time she felt herself waiting, waiting for him to disappear. Her hands folded over his shoulders, feeling solid flesh and muscle as he turned her on his lap so that she was straddling his thighs.

He drew back a little, his dark eyes searching hers, and then with a low groan, he kissed her again, his hands moving restlessly up and down the length of her back, his thumbs skimming the curve of her breast.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on for dear life as the world spun out of focus, and she felt herself falling, drowning in a molten sea of desire. This was no ghost, no phantom, but a very real man, with a man’s needs. She could feel the evidence of that desire in every taut line of his body, in the urgency of his kisses.

With a jolt, she realized that everything was different now. She could love him. She could make love to him, and he wouldn’t disappear. The thought filled her with equal parts of fear and excitement, uncertainty and anticipation. She didn’t belong in this world any more than he had belonged in hers, and yet she didn’t care.

It startled her to know that she wanted him desperately, wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything in her life.

“Kathy.” His voice was harsh, ragged with longing. He lifted his head and glanced around, searching for a place a little more secluded, but there was none, and as much as he wanted her, he couldn’t take her there, within sight of the town.

Arms locked around her waist, he stood up, carrying her with him, and headed for town. He had a room at Martha’s, and that room had a bed, and a door, with a lock on it.

“Dalton!” Kathy gasped. “What are you doing?”

“Going where we can be alone.”

“Put me down.”

He shook his head, afraid if he let her go, she would come to her senses and change her mind.

“People are staring at us,” Kathy exclaimed. It was early afternoon and the street was filled with people.

“Let ’em.”

She buried her face against his shoulder, wondering why she should care what a bunch of strangers thought anyway.

Dalton came to an abrupt halt. At the same time, a stillness fell over the town. Puzzled, Kathy lifted her head and glanced over her shoulder. There was a man standing a few yards away. Legs spread, hat tilted back, one hand resting on the butt of his gun.

“I been looking for you, Crowkiller,” the man said.

“Have you?”

The man nodded.

Moving slowly, Dalton set Kathy on her feet and gave her a little shove. “Get out of here.”

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t have time to explain. Just do as I say.”

Heart pounding, she went to stand on the boardwalk. She remembered reading somewhere that the idea of two men facing each other in the middle of the street was a product of Western myth and had never happened. But it seemed about to happen now.

“You’ve found me,” Dalton said. “Now what?”

“I aim to kill you.”

“Is that right?”

The man nodded. “You killed a friend of mine last night.”

“Did I? I wouldn’t think a man as ugly as you would have any friends.”

Both men were moving before Dalton finished speaking. For a moment, Kathy was sure Dalton was going to be killed. The other man reached for his weapon a fraction of a second sooner, but Dalton was moving too, dropping to the ground, drawing his gun as he rolled quickly to the right. The other man fired a hair’s breath sooner, only his target was no longer there.

The two gunshots sounded like one. She noticed, in a distant part of her mind, that real gunfire wasn’t as loud as it was in the movies. Twin columns of blue-gray smoke drifted on the breeze. The other man reeled backward, his free hand grabbing at his chest before he fell.

Dalton stood up slowly, his gun tracking the man’s every move.

There was a loud silence, and then the sound of footsteps as the sheriff came running down the street. People emerged from the shops along the boardwalk, all talking at once.

“Did you see that?”

“Damn! They was fast, both of ’em.”

“Is he dead?”

Kathy stared at the man lying in the street, at the bright red blood that stained his shirtfront, and felt sick to her stomach. She had seen death before, but never like this, never seen anyone killed right before her eyes.

She swallowed the bile in her throat, and then she turned to look at Dalton. He was still standing in the street, his gun dangling at his side. Slowly, as though it weighed a hundred pounds, he lifted the revolver and slid it into his holster.

Descending the steps, Kathy ran to him. “Dalton? Dalton, are you all right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, what’s the story?” the sheriff demanded, pushing through the crowd that had gathered around the body of the dead man.

“He called me out,” Dalton replied. He jerked a thumb toward the people milling around. “There are a dozen witnesses if you don’t believe me.”

“I’ll get to ’em. In the meantime, I think you’d better come on down to the jail. I’ll have to lock you up until the circuit judge can hear your case.”

“Like hell.”

The sheriff started to reach for his gun, only to back off, his face turning a sickly shade of white, when he found himself staring into the barrel of Dalton’s Colt. “I’m not going to jail,” Dalton said, his voice cold. “I’ll be at the boardinghouse if you need me. You got that?”

“Y-yeah, I’ve got it.” The sheriff squared his shoulders. “Don’t leave town,” he said loudly. He turned back to the crowd still gathered around the body. “All right,” he bellowed, “move along.”

“Did you know that man?” Kathy asked.

“Never seen him before.”

“Does this kind of thing happen often?”

“Often enough.” He took her arm and cut across the street, heading for Martha’s Boardinghouse.

Kathy was aware of the looks thrown their way as they passed by, expressions that ranged from respect to fear. She caught bits and pieces of hushed conversation.

“…hired killer….”

“Works for Conley, I heard…”

“Killed more’n two dozen men…”

“….wonder who the woman is…”

Dalton’s fingers were like iron where they gripped her arm and didn’t relax until they were walking up the path to the boardinghouse.

Inside the parlor, he took a deep breath, blew it out in a long shuddering sigh. “Well, I guess that proves we can change the past,” he muttered.

Kathy nodded, wondering what the repercussions, if any, would be.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” He regarded her a moment. “Are you all right?”

“I feel a little queasy.”

“Maybe you should go lie down until supper time.”

“Yes, I think I will.” Some time alone was just what she needed, she mused, time to sort her feelings, time to remind herself that she did not belong in this place, in this century. Time to remind herself that, no matter how intoxicating his kisses, she could not be falling in love with this man, not now, not ever. She was never going to risk her heart again.

* * * * *

All of Martha Dunn’s boarders were present at the supper table that night. Martha introduced Kathy to Enid Canfield, who was the schoolteacher. She was a tall, buxom woman with light-brown hair, which she wore in a severe bun, and pale-blue eyes that were magnified behind thick spectacles. She sat as straight as a telephone pole.

Martha piled Kathy’s plate high with chicken and dumplings and baking powder biscuits. “You’re too thin,” she chided. “Men like a woman they can hold onto. Isn’t that right, Mr. Petty?”

“Yes, indeed,” Petty replied with what could only be called a leer.

Kathy slid a glance at Dalton, who was hiding a smile behind his hand.

“It’s a lovely evening,” Petty remarked. “Perhaps we can go for a walk later.”

Kathy looked over at Dalton, silently pleading for him to save her.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Dalton said. “My cousin is a recent widow. You understand.”

Petty nodded. “Oh, to be sure, to be sure.”

“I’m so sorry, dear,” Martha murmured. “Dalton, why didn’t you tell me?”

Now it was Dalton’s turn to seek help.

“I asked him not to mention it,” Kathy interjected.

Martha nodded sympathetically. “Of course. I know just how you feel. My Henry passed just a year ago.”

Kathy nodded.

“My condolences,” Enid Canfield said.

“Thank you.”

“Well,” Martha said, rising. “I hope you all saved room for dessert. We’ve got apple cobbler.”

* * * * *

“I think old Petty would like to get to know you better,” Dalton mused.

“Oh please, spare me,” Kathy said with a groan. “He’s old enough to be my father.”

They were sitting out on the front porch. Everyone else in the boardinghouse had turned in for the night.

Kathy slid a glance at Dalton. His chair was tilted back on two legs, his feet, crossed at the ankles, were resting on the porch rail. His profile was sharp and clean in the yellow lamplight shining through the parlor window. He had a fine, straight nose, a strong, square jaw, high cheekbones, straight black brows. It all combined to create a face that was both arresting and incredibly handsome. Even the faint scar on his cheek did nothing to distract from his roguish good looks.

As though feeling her gaze, he turned toward her. “Something wrong?”

“Wrong?” she asked, bemused. “What could possibly be wrong except that I’m a hundred and twenty five years in the past?”

He grunted softly. “Yeah, I guess that is a bit of a problem for you, isn’t it?”

“Just a bit,” she retorted.

“Still, there’s not much waiting for you in your own time.”

The fact that he was right filled her with a sudden sense of dismay. Of course, her family was there, but they were hundreds of miles away and, except for holidays, she didn’t see them very often. She had left all her old friends behind when she moved to the ranch.

“Hey,” Dalton said softly. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“Maybe not, but it’s true. There isn’t anything waiting for me there. Probably no one will even realize that I’m gone until I don’t show up at home for Christmas.”

Feeling the sting of tears, she lowered her head so Dalton couldn’t see. Even though there was no one waiting for her in her own time, she didn’t want to be here. There were things she would miss…like all the modern conveniences that she took for granted—washers and dryers and microwaves, her car, her stereo, movies, tv, shopping centers, pizza, hot running water, toilet paper, toothpaste.

“Kathy?”

She looked up to find him standing beside her chair. Gently, he lifted her to her feet and drew her into his arms.

“Ah Kathy.”

Just her name, but he didn’t have to say anything else. She knew what he wanted. She could see it in his eyes, feel her own need flowing through her.

Slowly, giving her plenty of time to refuse, Dalton lowered his head and claimed her lips with his.

A maelstrom of sensations and emotions flooded through her. She wanted him with an intensity that threatened to consume her, wanted him to lay her down on the porch and take her there, with her skirts up around her waist and his hands tunneling through her hair. The thought shocked her. She had never felt this way before, not even with Wayne. Guilt was like a knife plunging into her heart.

“I can’t!” She put her hands against his chest and pushed him away. “Please, I can’t.”

“You want me,” Dalton said, his voice gruff. “Dammit, I know you do. Why won’t you admit it?”

“All right, I admit it.” She shook her head. “But I can’t.”