West of Paradise (20 page)

“What is it?” she asked.

“A slingflip.” Jack smiled.

“Good lord, what’s in it?”

“Not sure, bourbon, I think, some sort of lemon liquor, spices. Mr. Leslie said it was guaranteed to cure any ailment.”

“Probably because if I drank it all I’d be unconscious,” Katherine said, taking another careful sip.

Jack took a good swallow from his own glass.

“Wow. You may be right.” He set the glass aside.

“I’m sorry. For being such a baby. I’m just not used to . . .”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Jack said, meaning it.

Katherine nodded. “Where do you think Alanna has gone?” she asked to distract herself.

“I don’t know, but I’ll wager Jim Woolbridge is on the right trail. I think we should talk to the stage driver tomorrow. Maybe he’ll remember seeing one or both of them. And I could go talk to the sheriff, I suppose, though I’d have to leave my guns behind . . .”

“Why would you have to?” Katherine asked.

“There’s an ordinance. No guns allowed. The stage driver announced it as we came into town. ”

“But . . . but what was that that just happened?” Katherine asked.

“Oh, well, that was a gunfight between some of the alleged law- abiding citizens and some of the not so law-abiding citizens,” Jack said with a smile.

“And which one are you?” Katherine asked.

“That depends,” Jack answered honestly. “Mostly I’m law-abiding, and under different circumstances I’d happily turn my weapons in to the local authorities but in light of who we’re looking for I think I’ll keep my guns.”

“You have more than one?”

“I have the one in my shoulder holster and a .32 in an ankle holster.”

“I guess you’re prepared then,” Katherine said, taking another sip of her drink. “Who were those people?”

“I don’t know. But I saw the sheriff; I’m sure he’ll sort everything out.”

Katherine, nodded, shivering a little, and Jack put his arm around her. She turned her face toward his, her blue eyes languid. He reached out to brush her hair away from her face and she sighed at his touch.

“Kiss me, Jack,” she whispered.

He didn’t wait to be asked again.

❧

When Katherine woke later the room was dark but for the remains of a candle still burning on the tall dresser. The light flickered, casting shadows over Jack sleeping beside her. Outside the night was broken by the light from the saloons and dancing halls, music drifting. The air had turned cool, and Katherine felt her skin tighten.

The remains of the meal they’d ordered still sat on the bedside table and Katherine rolled over to pick at the grapes. She hardly remembered crawling into bed but she’d also finished off most of that slingflip—or whatever it was that Jack had brought—after she’d had the best sex of her life.

She peered over her shoulder at him, sprawled naked, tempted to wake him for a repeat performance. But instead she stretched out beside him and watched him sleep. His hair was messy, falling this way and that, glinting gold, like something Rumpelstiltskin might have spun.

He was dreaming about something; she could see the flicker of movement beneath his eyelids. His skin was nearly flawless, an enticing shade of bronze and smooth when she touched it, unable to resist running a finger over his shoulder and down to where the skin puckered and pulled taut and white.

She remembered when he’d first shown the wound to her, how angry he had been thinking it was her. Now it was her turn to be angry, and afraid. She didn’t want anything to happen to Jack and she was deathly afraid that something might. The fact that Alanna had killed yet again made it obvious that she had no regard for any human life however remotely it might threaten her.

She let her finger run down along Jack’s taut stomach, all the way to where his skin turned pale again. A shiver ran down her spine as her eyes traveled down the length of him, feeling herself grow warm just thinking about what he did to her.

What was this feeling? When had this happened? She pulled away abruptly, sitting up in the bed, the night air nipping at her skin.

Chapter Twenty-Five
Tombstone (Part Two)

W
here are we going?” Katherine asked the next morning as she tied her bonnet.

Jack wiped the last of the lather from his face and rinsed the razor in the basin, tapping it dry. “Breakfast. Then we’ll go talk to the stage driver when he comes in. If we’re lucky he’ll have seen either Jim or Alanna.”

Katherine nodded and slipped on the white blouse with the pleated front, tucking it into her skirt. She was beginning to tire of her rather limited wardrobe and wondered if there might be some place in town to shop. She still had money and no reason not to spend some of it on a new dress.

Jack patted his face dry and found his boots where he’d kicked them off. Katherine watched him while he finished dressing, wanting very much to go over and hold him and tell him that they could forget about Alanna and maybe go back to that house Harlan Harris had. But of course, she wouldn’t. Even if she wanted to stay she knew she couldn’t.

“Ready?” Jack asked, offering his arm.

Katherine put a smile on her face and hooked her arm through his, the two of them exiting the room together and practically running into a woman dressed in a prim gray poplin gown with a high neck and half sleeves. She wore a matching bonnet which might have hidden her face had she not looked straight up at Jack to apologize.

“I’m terrible sorry,” she began.

Jack stared. “Mrs. Pratt? Eliza Pratt? What are you doing here?”

She backed away, glancing down the hall from where she’d come, but he grabbed her arm tight and yanked her into their room, pushing the door shut with his heel. Surprisingly, she didn’t struggle, only glowered at Jack like she knew him. He let her go, parking himself in front of the door.

“Mrs. Pratt, isn’t it?” Jack said.

“Who?” Katherine asked, frowning.

“Will Cushing’s sister. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Pratt?”

The woman nodded stiffly, her eyes flicking between them.

“Please, have a seat,” Jack said, gesturing to the chair in the corner. “I’m sure you have lots to tell us, like why you’re here.”

She declined the seat. “I’ll stand, thank you,” she said.

Jack shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’m happy to chat standing. But you start.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Mrs. Pratt said with a sniff.

“You’re Will’s sister?” Katherine said, taking a step toward her.

She looked at Katherine now, her dark eyes turning confused.

“Well?” Jack prompted.

The woman’s eyes darted between them for a second or two, settling on Jack and turning hard. “You should go. Both of you. Right now.”

“Go? Go where?” Jack asked, frowning at her.

“Anywhere.”

Jack shook his head. “No, I think we’d rather hear your story, the part where you left Boston and strangely ended up here, in Tombstone. Unless you’d rather take a walk down to the sheriff’s office. I’m sure he’d be interested to hear why you’re here, once I tell him who you are.”

“Just because I’m Will’s sister doesn’t mean I had anything to do with what he did,” Mrs. Pratt said defensively.

“Maybe. And maybe not. But if you don’t start talking—” Jack leaned forward and Katherine was almost going to protest, beginning to feel badly for the woman.

“All right then!” she cried. “There’s no need to threaten me. I’ll tell you. I . . . I’m with her.”

“Excuse me?” Jack said.

“I’m with her. Alanna McLeod.”

For a moment both Jack and Katherine were speechless.

“But . . . she’s responsible for the death of your brother,” Jack said when he found his voice.

“It was Larry Sweet who killed my brother! She loved Will. She told me so!”

“And you believed her?”

“Yes, I did . . . I do!” Mrs. Pratt said, crossing her arms and glaring at him.

“I think you better start from the beginning,” Jack said.

Mrs. Pratt gave a hard sigh, speaking hesitantly, almost stuttering. “It was . . . after you left. I got to thinking about everything you said and I did a little investigating of my own, found out who she was. And when Will wrote to me, asking if I could send him money, I knew they had parted ways. It took a bit of doing but eventually I spotted her outside her . . . grandfather’s house with her son and I knew it was Will’s, knew why she left him.”

“Does she know who you are?”

“I told her.”

“You’re lucky she didn’t kill you like she has everyone else.”

“Why would she? She knew I had William’s best interests at heart. My brother could no more have been a good father to him than our own was. It just wasn’t in him. It was best for everyone if they stayed apart, better for my brother, and better for his son.”

“And you think
she
can be a good mother?” Jack asked, incredulous.

“She
has
been good, was good for him until . . . until
you
showed up.”

“Me?” Katherine said indignantly, “It’s not my fault I look like her, and may I remind you that I’m not the one who has killed people!”

“Where is she?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Pratt said. “She said she would be back this afternoon.”

“Where’s William?” Katherine asked.

“He’s in our room,” Mrs. Pratt said.

“You left a child in a room alone?” Katherine asked, incredulous.

“He was sleeping,” Mrs. Pratt said, giving Katherine an odd stare.

She turned to Jack for support but he, too, was giving her the same odd look, the one that told her she’d forgotten what time she was in.

❧

Jack scrutinized Eliza Pratt again. She was hiding something. There was more to her story than she was saying. He was sorely tempted to bring her over to the sheriff—but that might not get him what he wanted. No, better to keep her close, her and the child. Eliza Pratt might not be worth much to Alanna, but Jack was willing to wager the child was.

A part of him immediately dismissed the notion of using a child as a hostage. But then he thought, if that child could draw Alanna in and aid in her capture, well, wouldn’t everyone be better off? Including the child?

“I think we should adjourn to your room, Mrs. Pratt,” Jack said, sweeping his hand politely toward the door as he turned the knob, deciding on a course of action. “We will wait for Alanna there.”

He ushered her out, checking the corridor first on the off chance she tried to make her escape. But Mrs. Pratt did no such thing, walking ahead of him and stopping before a door at the very end of the corridor.

“This is our room,” she said.

“Well, go on and open the door,” Jack said.

Mrs. Pratt drew the key from her pocket and unlocked the door, gently pushing it open. At a glance, Jack could see that the room was furnished much as their own, the only difference being a pair of single beds rather than the double.

Mrs. Pratt went toward the far bed where a small boy was curled up, his fingers in his mouth. Jack followed.

No sooner had he stepped across the threshold than he felt the sudden sting of a blade and something crashing into the back of his head. He went down fast, bashing his head on the corner of the dresser and hitting the floor hard. Stars erupted in a sea of black and he fumbled for the gun at his shoulder. His fingers grasped at nothing, and before he could even contemplate the notion of trying to get up, someone had hold of his hair and was pulling it painfully, yanking his head back.

“Get in here,” a voice snarled. “And shut that door.”

❧

Katherine stared at herself in horror.

It’s not me
, she told herself. It wasn’t. It was Alanna McLeod, smiling just as pretty as you please, one hand in Jack’s hair while the other held a bloodied blade at his throat.

Katherine could see a big welt near his hairline, blood running down the side of his neck from the lamp Alanna had broken over his head. More blood stained his side, the small patch spreading. There was something odd in his expression, and it took her a second or two to realize what it was: it was doubt. For the first time since they’d met Jack wasn’t sure of anything.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” Alanna said, letting go of Jack’s hair and pulling the Colt from the nearly hidden holster and waving it in front of Jack’s eyes. “Did someone forget to turn in their firearm to the proper authorities?”

She aimed the gun at Katherine, cocking it with a cold eye and practiced fingers. “You, shut that door like I asked if you want to live a little longer.”

Katherine did so, certain in that moment they were both going to die; there was something beyond hatred in Alanna’s eyes, something that held every hurt she’d ever had, every wrong, every wound that wouldn’t heal. For reasons Alanna probably didn’t know and Katherine couldn’t begin to guess, it was all directed at them. They were a symbol for some demon she thought she could kill.

“It won’t help you to kill us,” Katherine said.

Alanna turned quick as a penny and slapped Katherine across the face, stunning her.

“And you had best keep your tongue still,” she said, bringing the gun closer to Katherine, who looked away. “Now, make yourself useful. Get him into that chair and tie him to it.”

Alanna reached to pull a long blue scarf from the top of the dresser, never taking her eyes off Katherine, and laid it over the back of the chair.

Jack was still on the floor, dazed, one hand holding himself up and the other pressed to the wound in his side. The stain was growing, blood seeping, and Katherine was almost tempted to tell Alanna to go screw herself. After all, if she was going to kill them anyway, it hardly mattered whether Jack was tied to the chair or not. But before she could gather her courage to tell Alanna off, Jack made a noise and shook his head.

“Do it,” he said.

Katherine set her jaw together and walked the few steps to where Jack lay, bending down to him. He clutched at her with his other hand and she pulled him to his feet, helping him over the chair. He slumped in it and she had to grab hold of him, righting him like he was drunk.

“Jack—” Katherine began, afraid for him.

“Shut up!” Alanna leveled the gun at Katherine’s head. “You don’t talk! Either of you! Now tie his hands behind him and make it tight.”

Katherine took the scarf with trembling hands. Jack gave her his hands, pressing them together to make it easier for her. Tears started in her yes, burning, blurring her vision, and she felt her whole body convulse in one huge sob as she tied. But she sucked it in and breathed until the tightness left her chest, blinking the tears away.

“Step away from him,” Alanna said, waving the gun in the direction she wanted Katherine to move. She kept her eyes on Katherine while she checked the tightness of the scarf, stepping back once she was satisfied.

“Now, who wants to die first?” she asked, using the gun as a pointer. “You, my little look-alike? Or you, Jack McCabe, bounty hunter?”

Neither of them said anything.

“What? No one wants to die today?”

“You don’t have to do this,” Jack said. “Katherine alive is just as good as Katherine dead. I’ll wager Jim Woolbridge would be happy to take her in your place.”

“Oh. Is that her name?” Alanna asked, inspecting Katherine like she was a piece of meat. “Well, you may be right, Jack, but I think I like the sound of Katherine dead better. Anyway, your friend Jim is no longer with us, I’m afraid. Loose ends, you know.”

“She can still take the fall,” Jack said. “Kill me . . .”

“No!” Katherine cried, moving involuntarily toward him.

Alanna pulled the trigger and the gun went off like a firecracker, the bullet whizzing by Katherine’s head and embedding itself in the wall behind her. She gave cry and fell to her feet instinctively, crouching near Jack.

“I think you should be first,” Alanna said to him. “If not for you, Will and I would be living happily in Mexico by now. That was the plan you know, to live happily ever after. But then you had to get on that train and ruin everything.”

“Kill me then,” Jack said evenly. “But let Katherine go. She had nothing to do with it.”

“Oh no? Then why was she traveling with Will? What were they doing in Boston together, eh?” She glared at Katherine who shrank from her gaze. “Well? Tell me, what were you doing in Boston with Will.”

Katherine searched frantically for words but they had frozen on her lips.

Alanna took a step closer. “Well?”

Katherine shook her head, knowing she could not tell Alanna the truth.

Alanna took another step closer, leveling the gun, her blue eyes as hard as diamonds. Katherine flinched.

“Miss Alanna, please, I think there’s something wrong with William.”

Mrs. Pratt was on the bed, leaning over the boy. She looked at Alanna, worry creasing her dark eyes.

“What is it?” Alanna asked crossly.

“He won’t wake up,” Mrs. Pratt said.

“I gave him some Winslow’s Soothing Syrup. I didn’t want him to see anything . . . unpleasant.”

“But he looks funny,” Mrs. Pratt persisted. “I think his color is off and I’m not sure if he’s breathing right.”

Alanna glanced once at Katherine and Jack, as if they were somehow to blame, before edging over to the bed where William slept, keeping the gun aimed in their general direction.

Katherine peered at Jack. The blood from his head wound had quit dripping, most of it beginning to dry, but the knife wound was still seeping. The whole bottom half of Jack’s shirt was red now. There was sweat beading across his forehead. He looked hard at her, his mouth moving silently.

She shook her head, not understanding, glancing over at Alanna who was going to turn back to them any second. She shuddered and shifted her gaze to Jack.

He tried again, slower, and glanced down toward his feet, repeating himself until her eyes widened in understanding.

The other gun. The .32 he had in his ankle holster. She slid her eyes over to the bed where Alanna was leaning over her son, then back to Jack, nodding. She reached over to his ankle, heart pounding like crazy in her chest, and pulled the gun free.