Heart of the Hawk

by Justine Davis, Justine Dare

  He’d never been with a woman who’d responded to him so sweetly. In fact, since he’d never been one for seducing respectable women, had rarely been with one who hadn’t been paid, and the fact that he knew Kate didn’t know enough to be pretending only heightened his exhilaration. Knowing that he’d given her pleasure where she’d once known only pain and humiliation made him feel a pride he’d never experienced, had never even known was possible.

  She stirred in her sleep, and instinctively Josh reached to cuddle her near, to savor the closeness. And froze. Never had he done such a thing, never had he craved a woman’s closeness once his need had been assuaged. But he craved Kate, not just for the unexpectedly powerful physical release he’d found, but simply to hold her and feel her warmth. Simply to know she was there, within reach. To know that if he woke her, as he had more than once during the night, she would look at him with that sleepy little smile and welcome his touch.

  To know that strong, determined Kate had wanted him enough to risk this, had wanted him enough to give him the chance to prove he wasn’t like her brutal husband. To know that despite the scars she bore, ugly souvenirs of Arly Dixon’s brutality, the marks that had made him want to weep for what she’d been through, she had trusted him to be different. To know—

  A rattle from the back door of the kitchen brought him upright. The sound brought back to him the noise, forgotten until now, that had awakened him. The front door, he realized now, was still locked.

  “Josh?”

  Kate’s voice was husky with sleep, and were it not for whoever was at the door, it would have tempted him to show her that mornings could be as sweet as the nights.

  Morning. He glanced at the old clock on the high shelf above the kegs of nails, barely readable in the dim light. A good hour past the time Kate normally opened the store. And the shades were still down, signaling to the entire town of Gambler’s Notch that something wasn’t as usual.

  “Miss Kate? Josh?”

  Luke’s call came to them faintly from the back door. Josh sensed Kate’s sudden stiffness as she awakened fully and became aware of where she was. She sat up swiftly, and he caught only a glimpse of her breasts, the full, rounded flesh he’d caressed so thoroughly last night, before she grabbed at the blanket he’d pulled over them and clutched it to her. He hoped it was merely because of Luke’s imminent intrusion, and not that she was embarrassed to be with him now, or ashamed of what they’d done.

  Impulsively he leaned forward to kiss her, a brief brush over her lips that left him wanting more even as he knew he couldn’t have it now.

  “I’ll keep him busy,” he said softly. “Get dressed.”

  The grateful smile she gave him, clear even in the faint light, both pleased and relieved him for the same reason; it told him that it was indeed Luke she was worried about, not that she was ashamed.

  Quickly, he scrambled into his clothes, aware she was watching him, glad she wanted to but sorry he couldn’t take advantage of the fact at the moment. Then, as if she’d realized she should make some similar move herself, she reached for her underclothes and began to tug them on. He didn’t dare watch her; he didn’t have that much faith in his restraint at the moment. He hastily tucked in his shirt and fastened his pants. He grabbed up his Colt in a reflexive action that was automatic.

  “I was worried,” Luke said when Josh opened the door for him. He trotted in, then turned to watch Josh curiously as he strapped on the Colt, but said only, “Miss Kate’s always open by now, but the shades were still down and the door was locked. Is she sick?”

  “No. We were . . . taking inventory,” Josh said, fighting the urge to grin sillily at the boy.

  “In . . . ventory? What’s that?”

  “It’s when you count what you have,” Josh said, thinking that for the first time in a long time it might be possible for even him to have something worthwhile. He’d never dared think of such a thing before, had always been certain riding on was the only way for him. But now, with Kate’s scent clinging to him, with the memories of her in his arms fresh and vivid and powerful in his mind, he wondered if maybe, just maybe—

  “Oh.” Obviously bored by that idea, Luke hastened to impart his news. “There’s another man lookin’ for you,” he said excitedly.

  Josh sighed. He’d forgotten this little detail in his silly thoughts. Just as he’d forgotten it last night during all those hours of pleasure found in Kate’s arms. There would always be another Carter, another Robards.

  “He’s talkin’ real big about how he’s going to kill you,” Luke exclaimed. “And he’s got a bunch of men with him.”

  “Carter,” he said with a nod.

  Luke’s eyes widened. “You already know?”

  “Knew he was in town. The rest only figures.”

  “He’s over at the saloon now. Made Mr. Markum open up early. Told him he’d shoot the place up if he didn’t.”

  “Be a shame to put a bunch of holes in that fancy mail-order saloon outfit of his,” Josh drawled.

  “Hello, Luke.”

  Kate’s voice was soft, husky. Josh had been so absorbed in reluctantly admitting the impossibility of the idea that had come to him that he hadn’t heard her come in. That seemed to be happening a lot lately, and there was no surer way to get himself killed. He wondered how much she’d heard.

  He glanced over his shoulder at her, and nearly smiled at how she looked. Her dress was neatly buttoned, her expression composed. But there were two spots of high color on her cheeks, and several wisps of her hair had already broken free of her hasty attempt at her usually severe bun.

  And for the first time in his life he truly wished, not for the end of his life, but that he could change it. That somehow he could have a second chance, a chance to make things different, so that it wouldn’t be impossible, so that he could stay with Kate, or take her with him, if she truly had to leave Gambler’s Notch. She was tough in a quiet way many wouldn’t understand, in a survivor’s way. She was generous enough to have worried about the welfare of an orphan boy even when her own life had been a daily battle. She had the courage to risk herself in an act that had before only brought her pain, because she had somehow hung on to the belief that not all men were brutal and cruel. And when she had, she’d given him the sweetest night of his life.

  The color in her cheeks deepened, and Josh could only guess what his expression must look like, how it must have reflected his thoughts. She quickly turned to Luke.

  “Do you want some breakfast?”

  Luke shook his head. “I ate hours ago,” he said, causing Kate to blush even more deeply. “Are you gonna open up the store?”

  “I . . . yes. I just did.”

  “Good. Mr. Rankin wants some sugar. He ran out for his coffee this morning, and he was snarlin’ like a bear.”

  Josh smiled inwardly. Until he saw that Kate’s hands were shaking.

  “You go tell Mr. Rankin the store’s open, will you?” he asked the boy.

  “All right,” Luke said, turned, then stopped. “You won’t fight that Carter without tellin’ me, will you? I want to watch!”

  “Luke!” Kate exclaimed, horrified at the boy’s bloodthirstiness despite her upset.

  “I don’t doubt you’ll be one of the first to know,” Josh said truthfully.

  Appeased, the boy trotted toward the now open front door.

  “Kate,” Josh began soothingly, turning to her. Kate shook her head a little frantically, and dodged back into the kitchen.

  Josh started after her, but before he had taken more than a step he heard Luke yelp as if in pain, then yell Josh’s name, sounding frightened. Josh whirled and ran to the door. He saw Luke sprawled face down in the dirt in front of the store, just past the water trough. Josh’s gut knotted and he dashed outside, wondering if some runaway horse or wagon had hurt
the boy.

  He knelt beside him. Gently he turned the boy over. When he saw Luke was weeping, he let out a sigh of relief; if the boy could cry, he couldn’t be hurt that badly. He opened his mouth to reassure the boy.

  The voice came from behind him, and Josh’s words to Luke never came. He froze. Every instinct that had become dulled in his peaceful time here leaped back to life. He’d been right to wonder about the gunfighter riding in alone.

  He ticked them off in his head. A man on the boardwalk in front of the saloon. Another near the livery stable. A third behind him in the alley beside the mercantile. And the man in front of him. He was trapped.

  He cursed himself; he’d let himself get lazy here, let himself ease up. Now it seemed he would pay for his foolishness with his life. It was going to happen exactly like the damned Hawk book had said.

  Slowly, he rose to face Jackson Carter.

  Chapter 20

  “LET THE BOY GET out of the way, Carter,” Josh said.

  Carter lifted a brow. He hadn’t changed much, Josh thought. Still tall and rail thin, still so blond his hair appeared almost white, and still with the most lifeless pair of eyes he’d ever seen that weren’t on a vulture.

  Slowly, Josh reached down and pulled Luke to his feet.

  “I’m sorry, Josh,” the boy said, tears still spilling from his eyes. “I didn’t want to call you, but he made me, he—”

  “It’s all right, Luke. You run along now and—”

  “No!”

  “Go, Luke. Now.”

  “But—”

  “Now,” Josh repeated, and gave the boy a gentle shove. Luke gave him a distressed look, but started to back away. “Get,” Josh snapped, aware that Carter was known for his volatility, not his patience. Luke ran then, jumping up onto the boardwalk in front of the hotel.

  “Very touching,” Carter said.

  Josh ignored his words and his sarcastic tone. “I see you brought help. Still can’t face a man one to one?”

  Carter shrugged. “And I’ll outlive you. Starting today.”

  Josh had known it was useless; Carter cared little about the fairness of the fight, only that he was the one to walk away. He would shoot him down right here, armed or not. All he could do now was hope that Kate stayed inside. He didn’t relish the idea of her watching him die here in the street, and terror gripped him at the thought of her being possibly hit by a stray bullet. And with Carter’s cohorts surrounding him, the possibility seemed all too real.

  He thought he could take Carter. He’d seen the man in action down in Colorado, and while he was fast, he was also hasty, and not always accurate. But he also knew few men got the chance to draw at all; Carter’s habit was to let one of his men wound his opponent first, then finish him off himself.

  Carter glanced around, as if to assure himself everyone was in place. The other three men held their rifles at the ready, and Josh knew that this was it.

  Odd, he thought. He’d faced death before, and had always felt almost neutral about it. Pike—and Kate—had been right: when he’d been awaiting the hangman, he’d almost welcomed it. But now . . . now he was thinking of all the things he would miss if he died now. More nights in Kate’s arms. More days watching her change, bloom, now that she was free of her husband’s shadow. Hell, he’d even miss Luke. He’d never thought much about kids, but now that he’d never have any of his own, unlike the book said when it said he’d met the woman who . . .

  His mind jolted to a stop. He knew he was down to moments left alive, but time seemed to slow to a crawl.

  The woman who was going to make sure the Hawks continued as promised.

  The book had said nothing more than that. He’d thought it a contradiction at the time, this promise of the continuation of the Hawk bloodline and the prediction of his death. There was no way both things could be true. Unless . . .

  Unless Kate was already pregnant.

  What if last night . . . what if somehow, despite what she’d said, it had happened? What if even now she was carrying his child? What if the next Hawk was already growing inside her? Was that what the book had meant? That he would die, but the Hawks would go on?

  His grandfather’s words about the book came back to him. It follows the Hawk blood, legitimate or not. . . .

  Carter was staring at him. Fine time to start having regrets, Josh thought with a pang. He heard noises from behind him and across the street. The stable door slid open, and Art Rankin peered out. Josh gestured him back; he was too close to Carter’s man. Rankin backed up, but the stable door didn’t close.

  He heard another sound, from inside the mercantile. Any sense of time moving slowly vanished at the thought of Kate stepping outside into this. Even if she hadn’t heard Luke’s yell, she’d be back in the store soon, and she couldn’t help but realize something was going on. And if she came out to look . . .

  His mind began to race, to do what he should have been doing all along instead of mooning over senseless longings—looking for a way out. He could take Carter, and maybe the man in front of the saloon, before he went down from the shots from the man behind him in the alley. And should he get lucky and survive that, there was still the one by the stable to make sure he didn’t get up again.

  “Let’s get it done, Carter,” he growled.

  “In a hurry to die?”

  “Maybe I’m just in a hurry to take you with me.” Something flashed in Carter’s dead eyes. “Believe it. No matter what your backshooters do, you’re coming with me to hell.”

  Carter backed up a step, shoving his coat back to free his six-shooter. His gun hand twitched, but he still didn’t make his move. Josh willed himself to ignore everything except the man before him. Ignore the man who would no doubt put a slug in his back the minute he went for his gun. Ignore the other men who would pump lead into him until he stopped moving.

  “You can meet up with your thieving, cattle-rustling friends there,” Josh said, prodding, wanting this over before Kate wound up in the middle of it. “I hope for your sake these boys are less cowardly than your usual friends. But then, birds of a feather—”

  “Son of a bitch,” Carter snapped.

  The man moved then, clawing at his gun. Josh’s hand streaked downward. He heard a shout. He cleared leather. From another direction came a howl of pain. The distinctive report of a Henry rifle came from behind him, although he hadn’t seen one. He waited for the impact. For the pain in his back. It didn’t come. He heard a noise to one side, from the mercantile as Carter fired. A puff of dirt erupted at Josh’s feet; Carter had again shot too soon. Josh leveled his Colt and pulled the trigger. Flame spat. Smoke from the black powder curled. Carter doubled over, began to fall. In a crouch Josh whirled toward the livery stable, and the closest threat. He heard the boom of a shotgun, then another rifle shot. Then silence.

  Silence.

  No more shots. And he was still standing. And, as far as he knew, unhurt. It was impossible.

  Slowly, he straightened up. The man beside the livery stable was already sprawled in the dirt, his hands clutching his bloody head. A heavy draft horseshoe lay beside him in the dirt, and standing over him was a grinning Art Rankin. The man who’d been on the boardwalk lay dead against the wall of the saloon as if tossed, giving Josh proof that he had indeed heard the big Henry buffalo gun.

  Only one man left unaccounted for. Colt still in his hand, Josh spun toward the alley beside the mercantile. The fourth man lay there, staring sightlessly at the sky. The gaping wound in his chest told the tale: a shotgun left little doubt.

  Then his gut finally delivered the message it had been trying to get to his brain since he’d heard that last noise—the door opening, he realized now—from the mercantile. Slowly, he turned to face the store. And saw Kate standing there in front, shotgun at her side. She looked back at him, chi
n up, as if daring him to say anything.

  He’d gotten Carter, but expected to die doing it. Yet all three of Carter’s men were down. He was unhurt. And he’d had nothing to do with it. He tried to take a step toward her, but couldn’t seem to do it.

  “Reckon we ought to send somebody out to the river to round up Marshal Pike,” Art Rankin said as he strolled over, having tied up the only one of Carter’s men left alive.

  Josh stared at the blacksmith. The man had risked his own safety to help him. As had whoever had blasted the man at the saloon. And as Kate had, stepping out with her dead husband’s shotgun to once more save the life of the man who had killed him.

  “Why?” was the only word he could manage.

  “I hate stacked decks,” Rankin said with a shrug.

  “I . . . thanks, Art.”

  “My pleasure.” Rankin grinned. “Always knew all that horseshoe pitchin’d come in handy someday.”

  “Josh! Josh!”

  Luke’s yell was, Josh was sure, audible for miles. The boy raced toward them, skidding to a halt barely a yard from the downed Carter, seemingly undisturbed by the death surrounding him.

  “Did you see that shot Mr. Meeker made?” the boy asked excitedly. “Knocked that man at the saloon right off his feet!”

  Meeker. Again. To hell with the man’s desire for privacy; Josh wasn’t going to let this one pass. People were appearing now. Boardman’s gangly figure was visible in the doorway of the telegraph office, and Henry Meeker was peeking somewhat gingerly out of the hotel doorway.

  “And that was some nice shootin’ by Miss Kate,” Rankin said, smiling at her.