by Prairie Heat
When she stepped from the tub thirty minutes later, she felt clean and refreshed, as if she’d been reborn.
She toweled herself dry, combed her fingers through her damp hair and then, reluctantly, put on her dusty traveling suit, wishing as she did so that she had thought to bring a change of clothes into the bathhouse with her.
Rounding the corner of the bathhouse, she saw Mr. Kane and McCord sitting on a long wooden bench outside the relay station. McCord was smoking another of his odious cigars.
Elias Kane smiled at Matilda as she approached. “You look as fresh as a daffodil,” he remarked, touching his hat brim with his forefinger.
“Thank you, Mr. Kane.” As usual, his flattering words left her feeling vaguely uncomfortable. With a brief nod of farewell, she hurried into the relay station.
“I had Mr. Daniels get your bag,” Letty said. “It’s there, in the corner. I knew you’d want to comb your hair and put on a clean dress.”
Matilda smiled. “You’ve had women passengers here before, I suspect.”
“A few, here and there.”
“Thank you.”
Letty rang the dinner bell at seven o’clock sharp.
Jess McCord stood up and followed Kane into the building, thinking he’d be glad when they reached Lordsburg and he’d be freed from the shackles that chafed his wrist, and free of Elias Kane, as well.
The driver, Luke Daniels, and the shotgun guard, Pete Walton, were already inside, sitting across from each other at the end of the raw plank table. Horace Malloy sat at the head of the table. Yellow Hawk was sitting cross-legged on the floor, and no amount of persuading could get him up to the table. There was no sign of the Thornton woman.
“Smells good, ma’am,” Kane said, taking his seat.
“It’s nothing fancy,” Letty Malloy replied, “just beef stew and biscuits. But my biscuits are light, and there’s plenty of meat in the stew.”
“Where’s Mrs. Thornton?” McCord asked, curious in spite of himself.
“Right here,” Letty said as Matilda stepped out of the bedroom.
Elias Kane whistled softly as Matilda took her place at the table.
Jess stared at her, feeling as though someone had sucker-punched him when he wasn’t looking. He’d thought her as plain as an old prune, all bound up in her traveling suit, with her hair skinned back and stuffed under an ugly, broad-brimmed black hat. But now…
He shook his head. Her skin, untouched by powder or paint, glowed like ivory alabaster. Her hair, still damp and as yet unpinned, fell down her back in a riot of ebony waves, framing a face as lovely as any he had ever seen. She had changed into a blue cotton dress with fitted sleeves and a nipped-in waist. Her figure, heretofore hidden beneath her heavy skirt and bulky jacket, proved to be neat and trim and totally feminine. She wasn’t too skinny after all.
Luke Daniels, who was old enough to be her father, was staring at the Thornton woman in a way that was anything but fatherly. And Pete Walton was just as bad.
Matilda concentrated on the food on her plate, all too aware of the stares of the men. It was a new experience for her, having men look at her, really look at her, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. She wasn’t used to being the center of attention and while it was flattering, she didn’t know how to behave.
Fortunately, Letty Malloy kept up a steady stream of conversation so that Matilda only had to nod now and then. She was glad when the meal was over and the men went outside to smoke.
Letty refused to let Matilda help with the dishes since she was a paying customer, and so Matilda thanked her again for the bath and the meal and crawled into bed, fully clothed except for her shoes and stockings.
Sleep was a long time coming. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the astonishment in Jess McCord’s eyes, the admiration in Mr. Kane’s. Was it possible that she was pretty, as Mr. Kane had said? She had never thought so, and it was hard to believe, even now. Surely her mother had never praised her looks.
Ruth Conway had claimed that physical beauty was unimportant, that only inner beauty mattered. She had not believed in enhancing one’s appearance with powder or paint. A decent, God-fearing woman made do with what the good Lord gave her, and if she was plain, then she was plain.
But Jess McCord hadn’t looked at her as if she were plain. He had looked at her with surprise and then admiration. Even old Mr. Daniels had stared at her as if she were pretty. But what did it matter what any of them thought, Matilda mused as she closed her eyes. It was Mr. Thornton’s opinion of her that was important. She was his wife, and it didn’t really matter what anyone else thought of her.
But it was Jess McCord’s image that followed her to sleep that night, the look of admiration she’d seen in his dark-gray eyes invading her dreams, making her smile with pleasure as she walked down the aisle in a gown of white silk.
And in her dream, it was not Josiah Thornton, but Jess McCord, who waited for her at the altar.
Chapter Four
Matilda donned her navy-blue traveling suit the following morning, and after a huge breakfast served by Letty Malloy, she climbed into the Concord once again, fervently wishing there were a faster way to reach her destination.
She was the last one in the coach. Kane and McCord were in their usual places, Kane looking neat and fit, McCord looking more rumpled and sullen than ever. Yellow Hawk was riding topside with Mr. Daniels and Mr. Walton, and Matilda felt vulnerable without him, though she couldn’t say why. He was just a boy, after all.
She smoothed her skirt, adjusted her hat and then, feeling McCord’s gaze, she looked up to find him watching her, one black eyebrow arched, a bemused expression on his swarthy face.
“Is something wrong?” Matilda asked, wondering why the man irritated her so.
“Just wondering why you insist on wearing that wool suit when the dress you had on last night looked so much more comfortable.”
“And so much more flattering,” Kane added gallantly.
“Thank you, Mr. Kane,” Matilda replied politely. “As for what I choose to wear, Mr. McCord, I’ll thank you to mind your own business.”
Jess shrugged. There was no accounting for taste, and if she wanted to travel bundled up in that ugly outfit, floppy hat and kid gloves, it was, as she’d pointed out, none of his business.
Resting his head against the back of the seat, he closed his eyes. He’d be glad when they reached Lordsburg. He was anxious to be free of Kane, free of the damned handcuffs that restricted his movements and kept him shackled to a man he hated. He’d miss the girl though. He’d never seen anything like her in his life. Prim was the word that came to mind. Prim and proper as a schoolmarm. He could easily imagine her at the head of a classroom, keeping order with no trouble at all.
A wry grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. She wasn’t his type, but he had to admire her grit. She never complained about the constant jarring of the coach, or the dust, or the lack of creature comforts that she was obviously accustomed to. She was a pretty woman when she wasn’t trying so hard to hide it, and he wondered again what she was doing so far from home and how long she’d stay before she realized she didn’t belong out here and hightailed it back to wherever she’d come from.
No, he thought again, she wasn’t his type. He liked them tall and a little plump, with hair the color of corn silk. A sharp pain tore at his heart and he swore softly, wondering if he would ever get over losing Kathleen. Sweet, gentle Kathleen, who had died before she had even begun to live. If not for him, she would still be alive, with her whole life before her. She would have married a decent, God-fearing young man, had a houseful of happy young’uns and lived to hold her grandchildren on her knee.
Grimacing, he opened his eyes and sat up, only to find himself staring into Matilda Thornton’s curious blue eyes.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
McCord swallowed hard, then shook his head. “No.”
Matilda shrugged and looked away. It was foolish of her to expect a
stranger, a criminal, to confide in her, and even more foolish of her to pry into something that was none of her business. But for a moment, he had looked almost vulnerable, as if he were suffering from some deep mental anguish.
She brushed a bit of dust from her skirt, chiding herself for her romantic notions. The man was obviously a brigand. No doubt it was his own guilty conscience that was causing his distress—if indeed, he really was suffering—and the understandable fear of whatever fate awaited him when he reached his destination, wherever that might be.
Matilda was staring out the window, wishing the journey was over, when she saw a cloud of dust rising from behind the coach. At first, she thought it was a dust devil caused by the wind, but then she heard the faint sound of fast-approaching hoofbeats.
She blinked several times, unable to believe her eyes, and then she heard Luke Daniels holler, “Indians!” and felt the Concord lurch forward as he laid the whip across the backs of the horses.
Matilda’s eyes widened with fear. “Indians,” she murmured, and felt her heart thud heavily in her breast as a half-dozen painted savages closed in on the coach, screeching like demons let loose from hell. Indians.
She pressed a hand to her throat as she realized she was going to die, that she would likely be scalped, or worse.
There was a sibilant hiss as an arrow found its way through the window and buried itself in the padding near Matilda’s shoulder. She stared at the feathered shaft, too frightened to cry out, her heart pounding in her throat as she realized how close the arrow had come to hitting her. Another couple of inches and it would have penetrated her heart instead of the back of the seat.
She stared out the opposite window, her eyes wide with horror, as one of the Indians rode by. He was bare to the waist, his torso streaked with yellow paint, his face a grotesque mask. There were feathers in his long black hair. A blond scalp dangled from his pony’s mane. She shrieked as Jess McCord reached out with his free hand, grabbed her by the arm and forced her down on the floor.
“Stay there,” he warned.
Matilda shuddered as she heard someone cry out in pain. The coach rocked dangerously from side to side, as if there were no longer a hand on the reins. Thick yellow dust swirled through the Concord, filling her nose and throat, stinging her eyes.
She heard another strangled cry, then the stage struck something hard and tilted sideways. For several long seconds, the Concord balanced precariously on two wheels before toppling over on its side.
She was suffocating. Gasping for air, she began to thrash about in an effort to free herself from the heavy weight that was crushing her. Something warm and sticky was dripping onto her cheek and she realized, to her horror, that it was blood. Jess McCord’s blood. He was lying across her chest, his eyes closed, the blood leaking from an ugly gash in his arm. Kane was next to her. He appeared to be unhurt.
With an effort, Matilda managed to free her upper body from McCord’s bulk, though her legs were still pinned beneath his.
There was the sound of people moving around outside, muffled shouts in a harsh guttural tongue, the excited whinny of a horse and then silence.
Kane cocked his head to one side as he sat up. “I think they’re gone.”
“Where’s Yellow Hawk?” Matilda asked, trying to slide her legs out from under McCord’s.
“Gone. I saw him take off right after the coach turned over.” Kane gestured at the large brass key ring lying near Matilda’s hand. “Toss me that key, will you? It must have fallen out of my pocket.”
With a nod, Matilda handed Kane the key and watched as he unlocked the cuff from his wrist. He smiled as he flexed his hand. “Damn, that feels good,” he remarked.
And then he reached inside McCord’s rumpled black coat and withdrew a long-barreled Colt .44.
Matilda stared at the gun in Kane’s hand. “Was that wise, letting him keep a weapon?”
Kane grinned at her, his green eyes as cold as winter ice. “I didn’t have much choice. I—” He broke off as McCord regained consciousness and sat up. “I guess I’ll be going now,” Kane remarked, slipping the key into his pocket.
Jess McCord shook his head to clear it, his eyes narrowing as he saw the gun in Elias Kane’s hand.
“I was hoping you were dead,” Kane muttered with a disgusted shake of his head.
A wry smile twisted McCord’s lips as he stared pointedly at the Colt in Kane’s hand. “Not yet.”
Kane jerked a thumb toward the window. “Crawl on out of here, McCord. Let’s see if those redskins are really gone, or just waiting for one of us to stick his head out.”
Jess did as he was told, snaking out the window, then dropping lightly to the ground. He cursed softly as pain jolted up his wounded arm.
A quick glance around told him the Comanches were gone, and he wondered what had spooked them.
Luke Daniels and Pete Walton were both dead, their weapons gone. They had both been scalped. Five of the coach horses were gone too. The sixth stood in the traces, blood welling from a ragged gash in its left foreleg.
Jess turned toward the Concord as Elias Kane jumped nimbly from the side of the coach to the ground.
“Well,” Jess asked, “what now?”
Kane glanced at the horse, then shrugged. “I guess I’ll be movin’ on.”
“Take the woman with you.”
“No.”
“You know damned well those Indians might come back. You can’t leave her out here.”
“I can and I will,” Kane retorted. “What I can’t have is you following me.”
Jess McCord felt his insides go cold as he stared into the unwavering muzzle of the .44. It looked as big as a cannon, as black as the bowels of hell.
He took a deep breath, his hands clenching at his sides. He’d faced death before but never like this. He’d never felt so vulnerable, so damned helpless. “Take the woman with you.”
“No.”
“Dammit, Kane, you can drop her off in Lordsburg.”
Kane shook his head, a malicious grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he thumbed back the hammer. “She’d just slow me down,” he drawled, “and what I need right now is something to slow you down.”
McCord took a step back as Kane’s finger tightened around the trigger, and swore a vile oath as the slug tore through the thick muscle in his right calf. He heard Matilda Thornton scream as he stumbled backward, slamming into the front wheel of the coach.
“You’d better kill me with the next one,” Jess warned.
“I should have killed you with that one,” Elias said with a sneer, “but I’d hate to leave Mrs. Thornton out here all alone.”
Jess glared at Kane. “She’s as good as dead if you leave her here, and we both know it.”
Kane shrugged. “I’d appreciate it if you’d toss me your gun belt. And I’ll take that cigar in your pocket too.”
Gritting his teeth against the growing pain in his leg, McCord unbuckled his gun belt and tossed it at Kane’s feet. He could feel the blood trickling down his leg and he took a deep breath, refusing to succumb to the rising nausea, determined to stay on his feet. It was a matter of pride, pride that had been deeply ingrained into him years ago.
Kane gestured at McCord’s shirt pocket with the .44. “The cigar.”
Slowly, deliberately, Jess withdrew the cigar from his pocket, dropped it to the ground and crushed it beneath his heel.
Kane laughed humorlessly and then, still chuckling, he kicked McCord’s wounded leg out from under him.
Jess grunted as he hit the dirt, hard. He swore as Kane grabbed his left arm and shackled his wrist to the rear wheel of the Concord, then reached into his hip pocket and relieved him of his cash. He choked back a scream as Kane stepped on his right leg, grinding his heel into the wound.
Blackness descended then, sweet merciful blackness that drew him down, down, into welcome oblivion.
Chapter Five
Matilda sat on the side of the overturned coach, watching i
n stunned disbelief as Elias Kane freed the remaining horse from the traces. He cut the long leather reins to a manageable length, hopped aboard the gelding’s bare back and rode away without a backward glance.
She shook her head, unable to believe that Kane was leaving her there, in the middle of nowhere, completely at the mercy of the elements. And the Indians. And if that weren’t bad enough, he not only robbed her of her wedding ring but had also taken what little money she’d had as well, so that even if she should make her way to civilization, she’d be penniless.
The thought scared her almost as much as being alone in the wilderness. Her family had never been rich, but they’d always had enough money to buy the necessities of life. She’d always had enough to eat, clothes to wear, even if they were hand-me-downs.
But more frightening than the thought of being broke was the thought of being completely on her own in such a hostile land. She had never been entirely on her own. She had lived with her mother, and then with the family who had employed her as a governess. But even if she had lived alone, there would have been people nearby, neighbors living on the same street, policemen to help in times of trouble, the church for spiritual guidance.
Matilda stared after Elias Kane, slowly shaking her head. How could she have been so wrong? She had always prided herself on being an excellent judge of character, but she’d been far and away off the mark this time, taken in by his easy charm and impeccable manners, deceived by his quick smile, his flowery compliments. She had thought him to be a man of principle, a lawman, when, in reality, he was a scoundrel.
And Jess McCord… She lowered her gaze to where he was lying unconscious beside the front of the coach. He had deceived her too. With his surly attitude, his mocking gray eyes and his disreputable attire, he had looked and acted exactly as she had supposed a western desperado would look and behave. Instead, he was a lawman. But how could she have known? Whoever heard of a lawman who was half Indian?