Under A Prairie Moon (16 page)

She felt a thrill of excitement as Dalton knocked on the door. “Hey,” he called, “you ready yet?”

“Yes.” She spun away from the mirror and went to open the door. “How do I look?”

Pretty enough to eat, he thought. “You look fine.” Until they had come here, he had never seen her in a dress. He had to admit, he liked the way she looked in pants, but there was something about a woman in a dress that made him remember he was a man. “Let’s go.”

It looked like most of the townspeople were gathered near the lake. Red, white and blue bunting was tacked to a bandstand. A rather stout woman was singing “I Dream of Jeanie With the Light Brown Hair,” accompanied by a three-piece band. They were all slightly off key. Children and dogs ran everywhere. Women sat on blankets in the shade, babies sleeping beside them. Farther on, a man with a violin was playing “Little Brown Jug” to the delight of several little girls who stood around him, clapping their hands.

It was late afternoon, and all manner of contests and games were under way.

Dalton slid a glance at Kathy. Her eyes were shining with excitement. He didn’t understand the attraction. It all seemed like foolishness, bobbing for apples, seeing who could make the biggest pig of himself by gobbling down a pie. He saw the blacksmith arm wrestling with the preacher. A couple kids were flying kites. Some young men were playing tug-of-war over a mud puddle.

He thought about what Kathy had said about changing history. He was changing his, he mused. In his first life, or past life, or whatever the hell it was, he hadn’t come to the picnic, only to the dance that evening.

A small carnival was set up near the lake. Kathy took his arm and dragged him over to where a man was trying to knock three milk bottles down with a ball. There were boos and catcalls when he failed.

“All right, who’s next? How about you, little lady?” the barker asked, offering the ball to Kathy.

She shook her head and backed up. “No.”

“Go on,” Dalton said. “Give it a try.”

“Three tries for ten cents,” the man.

“I don’t have any money.”

Dalton grinned as he slapped a dime on the counter. “You’re covered.”

She hit two bottles on the first try, one on the second, two on the third.

Dalton made a clucking sound when she missed again.

“Here,” she said, thrusting the ball into his hand. “If you think it’s so easy, you try it.”

Dalton tossed the ball into the air a couple times, then drew back his arm and let it fly. All three bottles tumbled to the ground.

“A winner!” the barker exclaimed. “See, folks, nothing to it!” He handed Dalton a Kewpie doll. “Who’s next? Step right up, folks.”

Dalton handed the doll to Kathy with a wink. “See? Nothing to it.”

She made a face at him. “Think you’re so smart, don’t you?”

“Never claimed to be smart,” he retorted. “Just a damn good shot.”

He turned as the sound of gunfire his attention. “Come on,” he said, and taking her by the hand, he led her to where a dozen men were lined up, shooting at targets.

Gradually, the number of contestants dwindled to two. They were both amazing shots, Kathy thought, watching as the contestants repeatedly hit whatever targets were placed before them: bottles, cans, playing cards, bottles tossed in the air.

“The big fella is Woody Fryer,” Dalton remarked. “He rides shotgun for the stage company. The other man is Johnny Palmer, one of Burkhart’s fast guns. The guy in charge is Lars Hansen.”

Kathy nodded. Fryer was big and blond; Dodge was of medium height, and so skinny he looked like he might be suffering from anorexia. He had delicate-looking hands, thin lips and gray eyes that looked as hard and cold as stone.

After a time, Fryer missed a shot. With a good-natured grin, he holstered his gun and offered Palmer his hand. Palmer lifted one brow but didn’t take Fryer’s hand.

“Guess that proves that Mr. Palmer is the best shot in town,” Lars Hansen declared. “As such, Mr. Palmer is entitled to a month of free haircuts, courtesy of Vaughn’s Barber Shop, and a champagne dinner at the hotel. Oh, and the prize money, of course. One hundred dollars.”

Palmer accepted the money with a slight nod, and the crowd began to disperse.

“Wait!” Russell Conley plowed his way through the crowd.

“I’d like to propose a new contest.”

“Well, sure, Mr. Conley,” Hansen said. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’d like to see a match between Palmer and Crowkiller.”

Palmer glanced over at Dalton, then shook his head. “I got nothing to prove.”

Conley ignored the gunman. “What do you say, Burkhart? Your man against mine?”

Burkhart nodded. “I’ll put a hundred on Palmer.”

“Not very sure of him, are you?”

“Five hundred then.”

“Done.”

Dalton scowled at Conley. “Forget it.”

Russell dismissed his objection with a wave of his hand. “I can’t back down now.”

“I don’t want any part of this.”

“I’ll make it worth your while. Just be sure you win.”

Dalton glanced at Kathy, then, with a shake of his head, he went to stand beside Palmer.

Hansen and a couple of the other men quickly set up several rows of bottles, cans and jars of various sizes.

Kathy stood to one side, while all around her, men were making side bets on the outcome of the match. She saw a movement out of the corner of her eye and noticed that Lydia Conley had joined the crowd. She wore a fitted pink jacket over a frilly white shirtwaist, and a full skirt that matched the jacket. A pink bonnet with white streamers shaded her face. She looked like a strawberry ice cone. Beautiful and cool.

Dalton and Palmer made quick work of the targets. Next, Hansen tossed bottles in the air, one at a time at first, then two, then three, but neither man missed.

“This isn’t proving anything,” Palmer said, holstering his gun. “All we’re doin’ is wastin’ good ammo.”

Dalton nodded. “He’s right.”

“Have ’em draw agin each other,” someone called. “That’ll prove who’s faster.”

“Good idea, Charlie.”

“I have to agree,” Burkhart said, grinning. “Although it’s the first time Charlie ever had a good idea.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

Kathy forgot about Lydia as she watched the sheriff step forward. Palmer and Dalton handed him their guns, and the lawman emptied both weapons.

“On three,” Burkhart said.

Dalton and Palmer stood about six feet apart. Palmer looked tense. Eyes narrowed to mere slits, legs spread, he looked deadly, like a rattler poised to strike.

In comparison, Dalton looked almost relaxed.

“One. Two. Three.”

It was close, almost too close to call, but Dalton’s gun cleared leather a fraction of a second before Palmer’s. It was a sobering thought to realize that minute amount of time could have made the difference between life and death had the shoot-out been for real.

Burkhart scowled. Conley laughed out loud as he slapped Dalton on the back. Palmer pushed his way through the crowd and headed for the saloon.

Kathy glanced over at Lydia. There was an odd look in the other woman’s eyes, a look that sent a chill down Kathy’s spine, the kind of look the Romans must have worn while watching the lions devour the Christians.

“Let’s go.”

She looked up to see Dalton standing beside her, loading his Colt. “Congratulations.”

“Yeah.” He shut the loading gate and slid the gun into his holster. “Let’s get out of here.”

They made their way through the crowd. Several of the men congratulated Dalton, but Kathy noticed that they were careful not to touch him.

They went to one of the long tables and picked up two glasses of punch. Dalton took a swallow and grimaced. Muttering, “I need something stronger,” he steered her away from the crowd to a small table where several men were gathered around another punch bowl.

“Good shootin’, Crowkiller,” one of the men said, and Kathy recognized him as the drunk from the Square Deal Saloon. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Dalton grunted. “Don’t tell me you’re selling whiskey?”

“Well, I ain’t givin’ it away,” Sullivan said with a grin. “Carly hired me.”

“Must be a dream come true. You got any whiskey back there?”

“Sure thing.” Sullivan reached under the table and withdrew a bottle. He poured a shot and handed it to Dalton.

“Thanks.” Dalton drained the glass in a single swallow, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t know.”

Side by side, they left the crowd behind. “Is that what a real gunfight is like?” Kathy asked.

“Not even close.”

“I’ve never seen anything so fast,” she said. “I’ve read books, of course, and seen movies. They always compare a quick draw to greased lightning. Now I know why.”

Dalton grunted.

“Is he the fastest you’ve ever seen?”

“Yeah.” He took a deep breath, held it, then blew it out in a long slow sigh. “I wouldn’t want to have to face him when it mattered.”

“But you beat him.”

“I beat him today with an empty gun. You saw how close it was.”

“So what do you want to do now?

“I want to make love to you.” His gaze moved over her in a long, lingering look that was almost tangible. “I want to touch you and taste you from now until the sun comes up.”

“Oh. I…oh.” It was the most erotic thing anyone had ever said to her, and she came to an abrupt halt, hardly aware that she had done so.

He looked at her, and shrugged. “You asked.”

It was tempting, she thought, and tempting was putting it mildly. She had been attracted to him from the first, had wished for this very thing, wanted it, dreamed of it. Before, the fact that he was a ghost had prevented them from having any kind of physical relationship. Then, she had thought, if only he were real….and now he was, and she was still reluctant, afraid to pursue the attraction she felt, afraid to trust her heart, to risk being hurt again. Afraid she might be sent back to the future without Dalton. He didn’t belong in her time, and she didn’t belong in his. Making love would only complicate things. She couldn’t give him her body without giving him her heart as well.

He blew out a breath. “Well, it was worth a shot.”

“Dalton…”

“Forget it. Listen, will you be all right on your own for a little while?”

“I guess so. Why? What are you going to do?”

“I’ll meet you at the dance later.”

“All right, but where are you going?”

“I need a little time alone.”

She nodded. “Sure, I understand.”

Dalton caressed her cheek. “I doubt it,” he muttered. “I’ll meet you at the schoolhouse in about an hour, all right?”

“All right.”

He could feel her gaze burning into his back as he headed for the Square Deal. He had an itch that needed scratching in the worst way. For a hundred and twenty-five years, that need had burned within him and he had been powerless to do anything about it. But he wasn’t powerless any more.

The saloon wasn’t doing much business. Most everyone was over at the picnic, but his favorite dove was sitting at one of the tables, playing solitaire. She was a pretty girl, younger than she looked, with dyed red hair, blue eyes outlined with kohl and rouged cheeks.

She looked up, a slow smile spreading over her face when she saw him standing beside her.

“Hi, Chief,” she purred. “Have you come for my scalp?”

It was the same thing she said every time he saw her. Usually, he just laughed. Today, it irritated him. Grabbing her by the hand, he pulled her to her feet.

“Hey!” she protested, “careful with the merchandise.”

“Sorry, Linette,” he muttered. “I guess I’m in a hurry.”

“Really?” She ran her hand over his chest. “Let’s go then.”

Holding his hand, she led him up the stairs, her hips swaying provocatively.

She glanced over her shoulder as she paused to open the door. He was her favorite customer, and they both knew it.

She let him go in ahead of her, then closed and locked the door.

Dalton removed his hat and tossed it on the bed post, then sat on the edge of the mattress, waiting. It was a small room, but she kept it neat and clean. Her wrapper hung from a hook behind the door. A rag doll sat on a shelf, alongside a couple bottles of cheap perfume.

Linette moved around the room, drawing the shades, unpinning her hair, removing her shoes. Slowly, so slowly, she began to undress.

“Dammit, hurry up!” he growled, and then, unable to wait a moment longer, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her down on the bed beside him.

Kathy watched Dalton cross the street to the saloon. He might just be going in for a drink, but she knew, somehow, that whiskey was the last thing on his mind.

He had told her what he wanted, and she had refused. Could she really blame him for going elsewhere?

She hugged the Kewpie doll to her chest, wondering why she felt so betrayed. He was nothing to her. Nothing at all. Instead of fretting because he had gone to satisfy his lust elsewhere, she should be worrying about how to get back to her own time where she belonged. And yet…

Turning, she stared at the town. Strange as it seemed, she felt at home here. Or maybe she just felt at home because Dalton was here.

The thought irritated her. She didn’t want to need him or be in love with him. Or think about him. But she couldn’t help it. All she could think about was Dalton lying in another woman’s bed, another woman’s arms. And the longer she thought about it, the madder she got. She knew she was being unreasonable. After all, he was a man, a man who hadn’t had a woman in a very long time. She could hardly blame him for going elsewhere. But she did.

She had a sudden urge to march into the saloon and give him a piece of her mind, and before she quite realized what she was doing, she was across the street and inside the saloon.

The place was as quiet as a church. Dalton was nowhere to be seen. Two men were playing blackjack at a table in the back. A heavily painted woman clad in a low-cut red satin dress, black fishnet stockings and black slippers sat on the edge of the bar, one leg swinging slowly back and forth.

Kathy’s gaze moved toward the stairway. She was too late. Once his mind had been made up, he certainly hadn’t wasted any time!

“Can I help you?”

She glanced over her shoulder at the bartender. “Did you say something?”

“You’re becoming quite a regular in here,” he remarked, his expression wry. “If you’re looking for Crowkiller, he’s upstairs. If you’re looking for work, you’ll have to talk to Carly, but he’s not here now.”

“Work?” Kathy gaped at the man, not knowing whether to laugh or be insulted. “No, no, I’m not.”

“Well, like I said, Crowkiller’s upstairs, but I doubt if he’d want to be bothered just now.”

Kathy nodded, unable to believe she had actually come here. What had she hoped to prove? And what would she have done, what would she have said, if she had found Dalton, anyway? He didn’t owe her any loyalty or any explanations.

Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, she turned and headed for the door.

“Kathy? What the hell are you doing here?”

His voice, edged with surprise, stopped her in her tracks.

“I…nothing.”

He had descended the stairs and was coming up behind her. “Kathy?”

Suddenly, it was all just too much. She couldn’t face him, couldn’t admit she had come here because she couldn’t bear the thought of his being with another woman.

With a wordless cry, she pushed her way through the bat-wing doors and ran down the street toward the boardinghouse, wanting nothing more than to be alone. She had to think, had to find a way to get back to her own time. Dalton was back where he belonged and right now, all she wanted was to go home.

She was breathless when she reached her room. Flinging open the door, she rushed inside, tossed the Kewpie doll on the dresser, then threw herself down on the bed and let the tears flow. She cried because Wayne was gone, because her whole world had turned upside down, because she was in love with a man she never should have met.

“Kathy.”

She sat up, startled. She had been so lost in her own misery, she hadn’t been aware that he had followed her. “Go away. Go back to your…your floozy. Oh, just go away and leave me alone!”

But he didn’t go away. Instead, he closed the door, tossed his hat on the chair, then sat down on the edge of the bed and lifted her onto his lap.

“Let me go!” She struggled against him, hating him, hating herself for being jealous, for wanting the impossible.

“Kathy, nothing happened.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“Don’t lie to me. I can smell her cheap perfume all over you.” She put her hands against his chest and pushed. “Let me go!”

“Dammit, nothing happened!”

“I don’t believe you.” She tried to twist out of his grasp, but his arms held her tight. “Let me go.”

“You’re jealous, aren’t you?” he asked with a knowing grin.

“Jealous! Of you! Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Why are you so mad then?”

“I’m not mad!”

He lifted one brow. “No?”

“Of course not. Now let me go.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

He ran one hand down her back. “I kind of like you right where you are.”

Some of her anger evaporated as she became aware of how good his arms felt around her. She risked a look at his face, saw that his dark eyes were smoldering. She could feel the evidence of his desire. Either he was telling the truth and nothing had happened at the saloon, or he was ready again in a remarkably short time. Of course, since he hadn’t had a woman in a hundred and twenty-five years, that was entirely possible. “Let me go.”

“You want me,” Dalton said quietly. “Admit it.”

“Pretty full of yourself, aren’t you, cowboy?”

“Am I? Tell me you don’t want me as much as I want you.” His arms tightened around her, crushing her breasts against his chest. “Tell me you’ve never thought about it, wondered what it would be like between us.”

Her gaze slid away from his. As much as she wanted to deny it, she couldn’t. It seemed she hadn’t thought of anything else since they met.

Dalton put his finger under her chin and tilted her face up, forcing her to look at him, and then he kissed her.

Kathy struggled against him for all of three seconds before she surrendered to the need that burned hot and deep within her. What was the use in fighting it? She wanted him, wanted him with every fiber of her being. Right or wrong, and she knew it was wrong, she wanted him.

He kissed her as he lowered her to the mattress and stretched out beside her, drawing her body up against his, one hand sliding slowly, seductively, over her back and down her thigh. She returned his kisses fervently, her tongue dueling with his in a mating dance as old as time, her hands needy and restless as they skimmed over his broad back and shoulders, delved beneath his shirt to caress his back.

“Hey,” he murmured, “that’s not fair.”

“All’s fair in love and war,” she replied a hint of a smile in her voice.

“Really?” His hands made short work of the long row of buttons down her back. Gently, he eased her dress over down over her shoulders, only to frown when he saw her bra. “What the devil?” he muttered.

Kathy grinned at his look of surprise. She seemed to recall that women in this time wore corsets, corset covers and a chemise, in addition to drawers and about a hundred petticoats. She hadn’t seen the need for all those undergarments. Her bra, panties and a petticoat were more than enough.

“Like this,” she said. Unhooking her bra, she flung it aside, then wriggled out of her dress and underpants and dumped them on the floor.

Dalton’s gaze devoured her. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “So beautiful. You’ve been driving me crazy since the first time I saw you.”

Kathy frowned. “Did you watch me take a bath one night right after I moved in?”

He hesitated a moment. “Maybe.”

“I thought I saw you in the doorway.”

“Okay, I watched, but I didn’t really see anything but bubbles.”

“A ghost and a peeping Tom,” Kathy murmured with a rueful shake of her head.

His lips nibbled her ear. “You taste so good.”

“Do I?” The words were a gasp as his tongue slid along the curve of her neck.

“Sweet,” he said. “Sweeter than molasses in summer.”

She felt the fire building deep within her. Needing to touch him, to feel him against her, she tugged his shirt from his trousers and tossed it aside, then fumbled with his belt buckle.

“Careful,” he warned.

“Why? Got a tiger in your tank?”

Dalton frowned, and she laughed softly. “It’s an old tv commercial.”

With a grunt, he sat up and removed his gunbelt. Hooking it over the bedpost, he shucked his boots, then drew her into his arms again.

“You won’t disappear on me this time, will you?”

“I hope not.”

“Then kiss me,” she whispered. “Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.”

“My pleasure,” he replied, his voice low and husky.

She pressed herself against him, loving the heat of his skin against hers, the solid feel of his body, the taste of his kisses, the touch of his hand in her hair, the sound of his voice whispering that he wanted her, needed her, that she was beautiful.

He told her everything but the three words she wanted to hear.

“What is it?” He drew back, his gaze searching her face. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do this.”

Dalton swore a short, pithy oath.

“I’m sorry, it’s too soon.” It was a lie, but she couldn’t tell Dalton the truth, couldn’t tell him that making love to him without the words made her feel like she was one of Carly’s crib girls.

Dalton sat up, his back toward her.

Kathy grabbed a corner of the bedspread and drew it over her. “I think maybe I’ll stay here while you go visit your people.”

“No.”

“But before, you said you thought I should stay here.”

“I changed my mind.” He wasn’t about to leave her behind. She was too pretty, too vulnerable, and there were too many men who would try to take advantage of her.
And you want to be the first one.
He ignored the taunting voice of his conscience.

“You can’t make me go with you,” Kathy said.

“Can’t I? What are going to do here, alone?”

“Whatever I want,” she retorted. “I’ll…I’ll get a job.”

“Yeah? Doing what?”

“I don’t know.” There probably wasn’t much call for a computer programmer in Saul’s Crossing, but she was a college graduate, there had to be something she could do, even if it was waiting tables in the hotel restaurant.

“Well, forget it, you’re going with me.”

“No.”

“I don’t think we should separate.”

“Why not?” she asked, even though, in her heart, she felt the same way.

He shrugged. “We came here together. I think we should stay together.”

Kathy didn’t argue. Even though she knew it would be better for her peace of mind if she stayed here, she was certain Dalton was right, certain she would never get home again if they separated. There had to be a reason why they had been sent back through time together; it seemed logical that they would have to be together to travel forward again.

“Maybe you’re right,” she remarked sullenly.

“I’m always right,” he muttered. Rising, he began to dress.

Kathy knew she should look away, but she didn’t. He was tall and lean and gorgeous, well-muscled without being bulky. Her gaze was drawn to the spider web of scars on his back. When he’d been a ghost, the marks had looked fresh; now they appeared old and faded. She wondered why they hadn’t disappeared, since they had returned to a point in time before the beating.

The sight of his scars made her sick to her stomach, not because of how they looked, but because of how he had gotten them. How had he endured the pain of such a beating? How could one man do that to another?

“Did it hurt terribly?” she asked quietly.

“Did what hurt?”

“The whipping Conley gave you?”

“Damn right it hurt. Burned like hellfire.”

“It was a terrible thing for him to do.”

Dalton grunted. Terrible didn’t begin to describe it. Yet, as painful as it had been, the worst part had been the humiliation of having Lydia there, watching. It had taken every ounce of his self-control to keep from crying out. He had wanted to scream, to beg for mercy, to curse Lydia. Instead, he’d ground his teeth together until his jaw ached.

“Why don’t you get dressed and we’ll go to the dance?” he suggested. He didn’t really feel much like dancing, but it would give him a good excuse to hold Kathy in his arms again. “I’ll wait for you out on the porch.”

“All right.”

Grabbing his hat and gunbelt, he left the room.

The sun was setting when they left the boardinghouse. The western sky was ablaze in a riot of crimson and gold and lavender. Kathy stared at the heavenly display, a sense of awe rising up within her. Never had she seen such a glorious sunset. The sky seemed to stretch away into forever, making her think of eternity, of distant planets and galaxies, and worlds without end.

She heard the sound of music as they neared the schoolhouse. Kathy smiled as the strains of “Silver Threads Among the Gold” drifted toward them.