by Austin, Lori
The undertaker already knelt on the frozen ground, measuring Hoxie for his coffin. Noah paused and bowed his head. Hoxie had been ten years younger than him, but in the outlaw life only half as long. Very few men became outlaws at the age of sixteen, as Noah had.
Good with a gun but not very smart, Hoxie had only survived this long because of Noah. It didn’t seem right that he had died because of Noah, too. But what did seem right now that everything in his world had gone wrong?
The undertaker glanced up. “He’ll need an extra-long coffin.”
“I’ll pay,” Noah murmured.
“That you will,” Harker replied, and pulled Noah across the street.
The crowd continued to trail in their wake. There had not been this much excitement in Kelly Creek since … Well, Noah had no idea, but he figured in a mighty long time.
“Sheriff!” Banyon shouldered his way through the crowd. “I’ll need to interview you both.”
“Forget about it.” Harker increased their pace.
Banyon kept up. “Kansas is news, Sheriff. Bigger news than just Kelly Creek. Hell, I could get a book out of this! I always wanted to write one of those penny dreadfuls.”
“Great,” Noah muttered.
“If you two won’t talk to me, I can always interview Miss Ruth instead.”
Noah and Leon stopped, looked at each other, then faced Banyon. “No,” they said as one.
The newspaper man smiled. “Thought you’d see things my way.”
***
In a daze, Ruth picked up the packages Noah had dropped. No one paid her any mind; they all followed after Noah and Leon. She’d best get out of town before that changed. Folks would start questioning her, blaming her, and right now she could barely think past the pain in her heart, the panic in her brain, and the slightly ill sensation in her belly.
She’d never seen a man killed, and while she knew in her head that if it hadn’t been Hoxie, it would have been Leon, her stomach rebelled that it had been anyone at all. She carefully avoided looking at the body as she crossed to the wagon.
Ruth tossed the packages—ruined now, since the mob had stomped all over them—into the rear, climbed up onto the seat, then clucked to Annabelle. The gay jingle-jangle of the bells mocked her as they left town.
Out on the prairie the sound seemed to bounce off the frozen tundra and pound against her forehead. Annabelle, who had no idea that Ruth’s dream had just died, tossed her head up and down, back and forth, until Ruth couldn’t bear it anymore.
“Whoa!” Ruth climbed out of the wagon and plucked the bells from Annabelle’s mane. By the time she had them all free, her fingers ached from the cold, and her nose burned with it, too.
She stared at the pile of silver bells in her hand—so shiny and bright, unlike her life. Ruth pulled back her arm and threw with all her might, scattering the handful to the wind.
The bells hit the ground, one after the other, the ping-ring-a-ling a sound of loneliness and an accent to her despair.
Annabelle snorted and pawed. She could smell Ruth’s distress. Needing a friend, needing some warmth as she began to shake, Ruth put her arms around Annabelle’s neck and buried her face in the mare’s mane.
The garnet, which she always wore beneath her dress, next to her heart, now lay like a lump of ice upon her skin. Ruth couldn’t get her mind around the fact that her sweet Noah was a notorious outlaw. Leon had not been far wrong. A gunfighter was a whole lot closer to an outlaw than a farmer.
Had every word from Noah’s lips been a lie? Had the kisses, the touches, the promises, and the dreams been as much a lie as Noah Walker himself?
What did it matter? Because when Billy Jo Kansas died, so would the dream of Noah and Ruth. Whether a lie or the truth, the dream would be just as dead.
Hoofbeats broke into her reverie. Figuring someone from town had spied her and come to investigate, if not help, Ruth didn’t bother to raise her head. Her luck that John Banyon wanted to ask her questions about Noah that she could not answer even if she wanted to.
Her visitor reined in and dismounted. The crunch of boots across the frozen snow grated along Ruth’s tightly strung nerves. When they stomped on a stray bell, the resulting jingle and screech brought up her head with a jerk. “What do you want?”
A complete stranger stood far too close. “What else could I possibly want but you, ma’am?”
Dumbfounded at his words and his appearance, Ruth gaped. Fringed by yellow lashes and a face as pale as snow, his eyes shone like polished ebony and held about as much emotion as the stone. Despite the weather, he wore no hat, and the sunshine shade of his hair shone garish in the winter light. Though only a few inches taller than she, the man had a neck as thick as a tree trunk and arms to match.
Ruth liked the look of him less than Annabelle liked his smell. The horse bucked and whinnied, which was good enough for Ruth.
She tensed, prepared to run—though where, she had no idea—but he grabbed her arm in a bruising grip and held on as she struggled. “Who are you?”
“Dooley.”
Ruth stopped struggling and frowned. “I’ve heard that name.”
“Most likely from Billy Jo. We’re pals, him and me.” He grinned, revealing gaps in teeth as yellow as his hair.
“Pals?” Ruth couldn’t imagine Noah being pals with this frightening creature. But then, today had proved she knew nothing of Noah. “Did he send you after me?”
Images came to her of a jail break, a mad ride through the night to a secret hideout, a race to Old Mexico and safety. Ruth wasn’t sure if the flutter in her belly was excitement or fear.
Dooley laughed, a high-pitched, cackling, crazy sound that carried over the prairie. Annabelle bunched up one hind leg and kicked a hole in the wagon.
“No, Billy Jo didn’t send me. He’s got himself in a peck of trouble, as I’m sure you know. I was watchin’. Saw you two together. So you’re going to have to come along with me now.”
“What for?”
“You can show me where he hid the money.”
“What money?”
“My five thousand dollars.”
“Yours?” Ruth recalled talk of five thousand dollars, too. That was the money stolen in the Danville bank robbery by the Kansas Gang. “Are you in the Kansas Gang?”
“Sure am.”
Ruth scowled at Dooley. “Did any of you actually die?”
***
By the time night fell, Noah was heartily sick of the view from behind the bars of the Kelly Creek jail. All he had to look at was Harker’s happy face, the huge, frightened eyes of Deputy Barnett, who appeared to be all of twelve years old, and the varying expressions—from disappointment to outright hatred—of the townsfolk who meandered through.
He’d best get used to it. This was the view he’d have for the rest of his short, cursed life.
He was also sick of the questions Sheriff Harker peppered him with whenever they were alone for a moment or two.
“What did you do with the money from the Danville bank?”
Noah refused to answer. He’d hang whether he returned the money or not. Where the money was, it stayed.
“Did you care for her at all?”
Noah refused to answer that, too. Any truth about his feelings would accompany him to the grave.
“Did you think you’d get away with it?”
He had. That was the sad and sorry truth. He’d actually begun to believe that the life he’d never even known he wanted was within his grasp.
Things didn’t get much better when John Banyon arrived with his notebook. “Ready, Noah?” Banyon pulled up a chair on the other side of the bars.
“You better not get too close,” Harker said. “He might strangle you.”
“I might strangle you,” Noah muttered. “But John’s safe.”
The sheriff scowled as Banyon laughed. “If he was set on killing anyone in town, he’d have done it already. Right, Noah?”
“His name’s Billy Jo Kansa
s,” Harker snapped.
“No.” Noah met Harker’s eyes, steady and sure. He knew who he was as well as he knew what he’d done. “It isn’t.”
“When you die, you’ll die as Billy Jo. Accept it.”
“I already did. Long ago.”
He’d almost forgotten what it was like to be Billy Jo in the days and weeks he’d rediscovered Noah. He’d begun to believe the dream he’d had—that he could fashion Noah into the man he’d once hoped to be and live a life he’d always wanted with the woman he’d never dared to touch.
So he’d dared; he’d dreamed; he’d touched. Then he’d learned. Who a man was had nothing to do with his name and everything to do with his soul. Whether Noah or Billy Jo, that soul was black, and he couldn’t cleanse it no matter how much he might want to.
“Why did you change your name?” John asked.
“He was trying to hide,” the sheriff put in.
John shifted in his chair. “Leon, I’d like to hear this from him.”
Harker shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“Did you have something to hide?” John, ever the newspaperman, pressed.
“Not then.”
“Why Kansas?”
Noah raised an eyebrow. “It’s where we were.”
“Did you start the gang?”
Images flickered—shouts, shots, blood, a single death. “No.”
“But you became the leader.” Noah dipped his head. “How?”
“The way a man usually becomes a leader. I was the biggest, the strongest, and the meanest.”
Understanding flickered over Banyon’s face. “You killed the leader.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Noah read condemnation in the eyes of every man in the room. The baby deputy got up and left the jail altogether. Harker put his feet up on the desk and shook his head. John rubbed his forehead and contemplated his notebook.
Well, to hell with them. Noah hadn’t wanted to become an outlaw leader any more than he’d wanted to become an outlaw. Circumstance had dictated the path of his life. It still did.
Banyon continued with the questions. “Why hide your face?”
Why this man was working in a tiny Kansas town, Noah had no idea. He was annoying enough to work for a big-city paper.
“Why not?” he returned.
He’d actually gotten the idea from a penny dreadful himself. At that age, being mysterious had appealed. As the years passed and the legend of Billy Jo Kansas grew, yet Noah could walk down the street of any town without being recognized, he had kept wearing a bandanna and made certain all his men did, too.
His men. How many were left? Why didn’t he care? He’d ridden with most of them for years, yet word of their deaths had only brought relief. Looked as if he were as pathetic a leader and an outlaw as he was a banker and a gentleman.
“How many in the gang?”
“Varied. Men came and went. Stayed for a job or two. Got some money. Left again.”
With himself the only constant, Noah had kept friendships from forming and remained in charge, because when he was in charge, things went smoothly and fewer people died. Until Danville, at any rate.
Sadness swamped him; despair took hold. He hated talking about his past. He’d lived this life for years because he’d had little choice, but he hadn’t thought about it, talked about, studied it. He’d just survived.
“Noah?”
He glanced at John. “What?”
“I asked when you killed your first man.”
Noah winced. Was that how people saw him? Well, why wouldn’t they? The penny dreadfuls of the day painted Western outlaws as lying, thieving, killing animals—because most of them were.
Noah had always been closer to an outlaw than a gentleman. His sojourn into respectability had only proved how woefully inadequate he was at anything other than what he knew—lying, stealing, and leading rough men who wore guns.
He’d done what he’d done; he had his reasons. But they were his reasons. No one else’s.
“Well, hell, John. I don’t recall. That was a long time ago.”
Banyon frowned as Noah spoke with an exaggerated country twang. “How many, then?”
“They all run together for me. Guess I’d have to count the notches in my gun belt. But old Leon took it away; ’fraid I’d cheat the hangman of his job and Leon of his pleasure.”
“Noah, you’re not helping yourself this way.”
“And how would I help myself, John? What’s done is done. I am who they say I am. Will I die any better if I tell you all about it? I don’t think so.”
“I could ask Ruth my questions.”
Noah stilled. Across the room, so did Harker.
“Ruth doesn’t know anything about me. She thought she did.” Noah sighed. “But she doesn’t.”
He glanced at the sheriff again, and this time they shared a silent communication that should have amazed Noah but didn’t.
“Leave her be, John,” Harker ordered.
Banyon continued to contemplate Noah. “I can just make it up, you know.”
“John! Do you mean to tell me that all those penny dreadfuls are made up?”
Noah’s sarcasm surprised a laugh from Banyon. “I’d rather you told me the truth.”
“I don’t think I know the truth anymore.”
The newspaperman gave Noah a slow nod, then stood. “I guess I don’t really need to talk to you, Leon, since I’m making this up.”
“Fine.” Harker opened the door. “Good night, John.”
Banyon left, and Harker slammed the door behind him.
“Don’t you want to tell him the exciting story of your daring apprehension of the most dangerous criminal in the history of the West?”
Harker rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Kansas.”
Noah lay on his rickety bed and tipped his hat down over his face. He doubted he’d sleep, but he’d rather try than spar words with Banyon or Harker.
The door burst open with a thud, and Noah came to his feet, hand grasping for a gun that was no longer there. He needn’t have worried. Harker was already pointing his weapon at Robert Kelly.
At least their newest visitor wasn’t a lynch mob—not that one rope was much different from another once it was around a man’s neck.
Kelly looked wild, face flushed, hair askew. He wore no coat despite the cold night, and his usually neat suit was wrinkled and blotched with dark spots of damp from melting snow.
His frantic gaze searched the room, coming to rest on Noah. “What’s going on here, Walker?”
“I’m in jail, sir.”
“I can see that. And I’ve heard why. It’s all over town.” He began to curse, pacing back and forth in front of Noah’s cage. Harker shrugged and holstered his gun.
“I didn’t steal from you.”
Kelly stopped pacing and pressed his face between the bars. “Damn right. I checked your drawer every day after you left. You were always clear to the penny.”
“But you didn’t know who he was,” Harker put in, puzzled.
“I don’t trust anyone, Leon. Not even you.”
The shocked expression on the sheriff’s face would have made Noah laugh if he hadn’t been so mad. “You trusted me with your daughter but not your money?”
Kelly appeared confused as to why this was such a problem. Noah wanted to bang the man’s head against the bars until he understood what a bastard he was, but Noah doubted he had enough time left in his life to get that message through.
Kelly paced some more. “You’ve wrecked everything now. You’d have been so damned perfect if you’d just been Walker and not Kansas. I can smooth over a lot in this town, but I can’t smooth over a murdering outlaw. I’ll have a hard enough time smoothing over the fact that I let a thief loose in my bank.”
He paced and mumbled, mumbled and paced. Noah glanced at Harker, who shrugged again. Kelly was behaving irrationally—or more so than usual.
“
I look like a fool,” he muttered, “and I don’t take that kindly.”
Noah growled in disgust. “You are a fool, Kelly.”
The man stopped pacing, “I’m not the one in jail.”
Noah smirked. “No? You’re in jail out there as much as I am in here. You’re possessed by things—money, this town, your reputation.”
“That’s my legacy.”
“A legacy should be a person, not things.”
“Ruth.” Kelly’s face lit up. He whirled about and pointed at the sheriff. “You’re in, Harker. He’s out. You can have Ruth.” He rubbed his hands together. “Everything can go back to the way it was before he showed up. It’ll be like he was never even here.”
Harker contemplated Noah with an odd expression on his face. “Somehow I doubt that, Robert.”
Kelly ignored them both. “In fact, let’s get you two married tonight. That should help put some of the gossips to bed.”
Though Noah knew Ruth would be better off with Harker than her father—Harker cared for Ruth; her father didn’t—he still had an objection to her being married off against her will—and before he was too dead to care.
“Don’t you think Ruth should have something to say about this?”
“Fine, where is she?”
The room went silent. Noah looked at the sheriff. The sheriff looked at Noah. They both looked at Kelly.
“What do you mean ‘Where is she’?” Harker asked.
Kelly scowled. “When they didn’t come back by dark, I came to town. That’s how I heard what happened. Figured Ruth would be here mooning over him still. Maybe she’s found some sense, after all, though I doubt it. She was always enamored of love. Where did you say she was?”
Kelly glanced at Harker, then Noah, then back again. He didn’t seem to feel the tension in the room, didn’t connect what they’d said with the situation at hand. Why was Noah surprised? The man had proved time and again that all he cared about was his thrice-damned legacy.
“I didn’t say.” The sheriff’s eyebrows drew together in the middle. “I thought she was with you.”
Noah went cold. He had a very bad feeling about this. Why? He couldn’t say. She was most likely at a friend’s house or the hotel or the store.