Travis smiled, looking awestruck. “That from the marshals’ code, like a book or something?”
Lucas shook his head, not realizing he’d said the words aloud. He turned away. “You never been to church, kid?” he asked, irritated at himself. “Psalm 82. Fancy way of saying somebody’s got to protect the good folks of this world from the bad ones.” He must be dead-on-his-feet tired. It wasn’t like him to reveal anything about himself to someone he’d just met.
Lucas decided he could explore the rest of the hotel later. He strode back into the half-finished main room, changing the subject. “So if Dunlap’s long gone, who holds the deed on this place?”
“That’d be the bank—last one in town. You’ll have to talk to Cyrus Hazelgreen.” Travis scrambled to keep up. “But, Marshal, you mean you’re lookin’ to buy this whole hotel, sir? There’s lots of places to stay in town—”
“None that’d let me make a few improvements. And it’s more like commandeer, not buy. Let’s go see Hazelgreen.”
“But it’s after eight o’clock. Shouldn’t you wait until tomor—”
“Kid, you wanted to know what it’s like to be a marshal. Well, it usually ain’t pretty and half the time you’re doing it in the middle of the night. Here’s your chance to learn firsthand.” Lucas opened the door and gestured with his lantern for Travis to proceed. “Let’s go see Hazelgreen. Then we’re going to need some tools. And some cement.”
~ ~ ~
Annie opened her eyes, moaning softly, not sure what had awakened her. Darkness surrounded the bed, and the last dose of laudanum still fogged her senses, dulling the pain that throbbed in her side. A clock somewhere chimed twelve. She remembered Rebecca helping her undress and wash up, and Mrs. Owens lighting a fire on the hearth in Dr. Holt’s guest room, and a feeling of warmth that had nothing to do with the quilt covering her. A feeling so tentative and new she hardly dared name it hope.
But now she shivered, all too aware of the cold handcuffs around her wrists.
And the sound of two male voices downstairs, arguing. “Can’t you just leave her be for the night?”
That was Daniel. The other, deeper voice was less familiar, but Annie knew who it belonged to.
“You the only doctor in town?”
“Yes—”
“Then you’d best get out of my way. Because there won’t be anyone to treat you if you end up bleeding and unconscious on the floor.”
Annie’s heart pounded, louder than the footsteps on the stairs. She sat up, feeling dizzy at even that small movement, as she heard a door across the hallway open and slam. Then the door to the guest room burst open.
“Well, Doc, this is a surprise.” Lucas McKenna appeared out of the darkness, a shadowy figure in a black coat and low-slung hat, his broad shoulders all but filling the doorway. “Here I thought you’d have her cozied up in your own bed.”
Daniel was a step behind him. “Damn you, McKenna, this woman is my patient—”
“And my prisoner.” The marshal’s arm shot out to block the doorway. “I’m taking her into custody, Holt. I’ve got a warrant. A legal warrant. You try to stop me again and you can have a cell next to hers.”
Even in the dim light from the hearth, Annie could see fury brewing in the doctor’s expression, and it frightened her. “Daniel, don’t... please.” The laudanum made her so drowsy, it was difficult to form words. “I don’t want... anyone to get hurt.”
The marshal chuckled, a low, mocking sound. “Yeah, Daniel, don’t,” he drawled, his gaze fastening on her. “The woman who murdered my brother doesn’t want anyone to get hurt.”
Annie clutched the quilt, holding it in front of her, her cheeks burning. The drug might have numbed her senses, but she remembered vividly that she was dressed only in her camisole and knee-length pantalettes. “I’ll... I’ll go with you, peacefully,” she told him, trying to face him without flinching. “If you’d just give me a moment to—”
Before she could even finish the request, he crossed the room in two strides and scooped her up, quilt and all—though his hold on her was much more gentle than his voice. “Save the demure act for someone who buys it, lady.”
“Take it easy, McKenna—”
“Sure, Doc.” The marshal turned toward the door. “Kid gloves. I’ll let you know when visiting hours are. You can come over for tea.”
Daniel took a step forward, clenching his fists. Tension ricocheted through the air and Annie knew she had to try and stop it. Quickly. This close, she could see how tired and haggard the marshal looked—and guessed his fuse to be dangerously short. He wasn’t going to back down.
And though she was keenly aware of the hard, muscled strength of his arms, he wasn’t hurting her. “Daniel, please.”
For a moment longer, the two men remained in place, standing almost toe-to-toe, glaring at one another.
Then the doctor stepped aside, eyes narrowing as the lawman carried her past him. “You’re a real son of a bitch, Marshal.”
“Yeah, Doc, and believe it or not, you’re not the first person to tell me that.” The marshal held her securely against his chest as he started down the stairs. “But unlike some people around here, I have a real easy time telling the good folks apart from the bad.”
“Where are you taking her?”
“Across the street. Don’t worry,” the marshal called back. “I mean to take care of her. The sooner she heals up, the sooner we’re on our way to Missouri.”
Annie shut her eyes at that threat, and by the time she dared open them again, Lucas McKenna had carried her outside, beyond the safety of Daniel’s house, into the deserted, moonlit street.
“I have to hand it to you, Antoinette,” he said, his tone silky as he looked down at her. “You’re sharp. Already got him and half the town wrapped around your little finger, don’t you?”
Annie didn’t bother trying to argue, his eyes so cold they made her wonder if he had ice where his heart should be. “Where are you taking me?”
“Jail.”
The word rang with finality.
All at once, the hope she had felt earlier evaporated. Safe in Daniel’s parlor, surrounded by friends—the first real friends she’d ever known—it had been easy to believe in the simple plan they’d devised. All they needed was time, Daniel had said. Time and a little help from nature, and she would be well enough to escape and her friends would help her disappear. Nobody would get hurt. He had promised her that.
But now, alone with Lucas McKenna, five weeks suddenly seemed like a long time.
Five minutes suddenly seemed like a long time.
Maybe it was some strange effect of the laudanum, but even with the thick quilt wrapped around her, even through the fabric of his coat and shirt, she seemed able to feel every muscle of Lucas’s arms. And the hard, lean shape of his shoulder and chest beneath her cheek. And his hands on her arm, her thigh, as if he were touching her bare skin.
An odd, prickly warmth flowed through her. For a man with such a cold voice and frosty eyes, his body seemed awfully... hot. A fluttery sensation began in her middle—which couldn’t be from the laudanum.
Because it was the same sensation she had experienced this afternoon, when she first saw him standing in front of the saloon, watching her.
She didn’t understand, hadn’t felt this way when Daniel had carried her in his arms. Or when any other man had looked at her. Even James.
“You cold?”
“No,” Annie said quickly, caught off guard, unable to tear her gaze from his face.
“You’re shivering.”
“M-Maybe the laudanum is wearing off,” she said.
“Maybe you’re afraid.” His voice seemed to soften, almost imperceptibly. “Because you realize that whatever scheme you cooked up with your doctor friend isn’t going to be easy to pull off.”
Annie shook her head. She wasn’t afraid. For some ridiculous reason, she believed what Lucas had told Dr. Holt: that he intended to take care of her.
If he wanted to hurt her, he would’ve shot her out on that hillside. Or dumped her in the middle of nowhere and left her to die. Or ignored Dr. Holt and just set out for Missouri tonight regardless of her injuries. But he hadn’t done any of those things.
And at the moment, despite his mocking words and icy glares and foul mood, he was walking slowly, and seemed to be taking care not to touch her injured ribs or jostle her much as he carried her.
Which only confused her all the more. Marshal Lucas McKenna wasn’t an easy man to figure out.
And he wouldn’t be easy to escape.
At the far end of the street, he stepped up onto the boardwalk, walking toward what looked like a hotel.
“I-I thought you said we were going to the jail—”
“This muddy excuse for a town doesn’t have one right now. This’ll have to do.”
A curved sign above the entrance had THE DUNLAP HOUSE lettered on it in fancy gold script. Annie’s heart gave a strange, doubled beat as Lucas pushed open the door and carried her over the threshold, into what might’ve once been a magnificent hotel.
A lamp had been left burning on the front desk, the light glimmering off a chandelier on the floor. The room was so big, she could hear the sound of Lucas’s boots echoing back from distant, unseen corners. He carried her past the desk and straight toward a room at the back of the hotel—which turned out to be a suite.
He snagged a lantern that had been left on a table, moving quickly through a sitting room and into a bedroom that almost looked luxurious.
Except that it had bars on the two windows: three vertical, iron bars on each one.
He put the lantern on a table and set her carefully on the bed, then arranged a few pillows against the headboard to prop up her shoulders, as if he knew how much it would hurt her to lie flat.
Then he started unwrapping the quilt from around her. Annie gasped in alarm as he pulled it aside. She tried to cover herself, suddenly feeling vulnerable.
“Stop it,” he said derisively. “Stop trying to convince me that you’re some shy, sweet, proper lady. You might have managed to fool the yokels around here, but you’re forgetting that I know what you really are.”
She froze, staring up at him, aware of the tension in his body as he towered over her, aware of his hands, the harsh sound of his breathing.
But when he moved, he only reached into his pocket and withdrew a key. He used it to unlock the handcuffs from around her wrists.
“Get used to having bars on your windows, Antoinette. You’ll be seeing a lot of that from now on.”
Not taking her eyes from his, Annie gingerly reached for the quilt and drew it over herself. “If... if you would just listen.” She could barely find enough breath to speak. “If you would let me tell you the truth about what hap—”
He cut her off with a movement so quick she didn’t even see it.
One minute he was standing next to the bed, the next he was caging her with his arms, his fists planted in the pillow on either side of her head.
His face was only inches from hers. “Let me tell you the truth, lady. Every outlaw I’ve ever tracked down has had a thousand excuses. I didn’t mean to do it, Marshal. It was an accident. You just don’t understand. I was in a tough spot. There was no way out.”
Beneath the cold of his stare and the heat of his body, Annie couldn’t speak. Some of what he’d just said was what she had meant to tell him. Except in her case, it was true. But he wouldn’t believe it. And her attempts to explain only seemed to make him angrier.
“Everyone,” he said, breathing hard, “everyone gets into a tough corner at some time or other. Most people don’t try to solve their problems by blowing a hole in whoever happens to get in the way.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“Right.” He thrust himself away from her. “And every jail is full of innocent people. And you and every other outlaw behind bars has a sad story to tell. Well, I’m not buying it and I’m not crying, lady. You made your bed. Lie in it.” His gaze left her face, moving lower. “And while we’re on the subject of the truth...”
He took her left hand.
And slid the gold wedding ring from her finger.
Somehow, she felt even more vulnerable without it. Stripped of the last of her disguise. Naked before him. “Why does that matter to you?” she asked.
“Because it’s a lie, Antoinette. We both know what you are. My brother’s whore.” He flung the ring away with an angry snap of his arm. “My brother’s killer.”
He grabbed the lantern. “Pardon me for not leaving you a light,” he said as he stalked out, “but I thought you might take a notion to try and burn the place down. With me in it.”
Annie’s eyes adjusted quickly to the moonlight that filtered through the barred windows. She watched him carry the lantern into the sitting room, expected him to keep going, walk out and leave her in complete darkness, without even a fire for warmth.
Instead, he set the light down on a table in the sitting room. Then he took off his hat, shrugged out of his coat, and started unbuttoning his shirt.
Her eyes widened in surprise. “What are you... doing?”
“Staying right here,” he said curtly, stripping off the shirt. “I intend to keep an eye on my prisoner. Day and night.” He kicked off his boots. “Tomorrow you’ll get a nice cell door to match those windows.”
He turned to look at her. “Until you’re well enough to travel, Antoinette, you and I are going to be spending all our time together.” He stood in the doorway, clad only in his tight-fitting black trousers and his gun belt. “Close as two quills on a porcupine.”
Chapter 5
At least an hour had passed since Lucas had turned down the lamp and flung himself onto his cot in the sitting room. Yet he still lay wide awake, staring at the wall, one arm behind his head. Long after his eyes had adjusted to the moonlight, he kept counting the leaves on the patterned wallpaper, down one row and up the next.
This hell-fired, jaw-cracker of a day had left him feeling like he’d been dragged behind wild horses, yet for some reason, he couldn’t sleep.
He finally had Antoinette Sutton in custody, so why didn’t he feel any peace? He had expected a sense of victory. Triumph. Or at least the usual satisfaction that came from the successful end of a long pursuit.
Instead, he felt nothing but a strange ache, right in the middle of his chest. And he didn’t even know what it was.
Hope, maybe. Hope that what he had accomplished today might bring his family some measure of comfort. Might help his sisters and Olivia and the children begin to heal.
Might allow his brother’s departed soul to rest.
I got her, James, he thought as he lay there, looking up into the darkness. I got her.
A muscle worked in his cheek. His throat felt dry and tight as he tried to picture James’s face. He could summon only a blurred image from memory, like a photograph taken while the subject moved. The last time he had seen James, they had both been moving, both so busy with their work. Four years ago. Or was it five?
He tried to remember what they had said, but couldn’t recall a word.
And all at once, it hit him like a fist in the chest. The tearing sense of grief and anger and pointlessness. This was all he had left. Unfinished memories, blurred images, forgotten conversations. And it was all he would ever have.
Because he would never see James again.
He shut his eyes. Why had he believed that catching his brother’s killer would lessen the pain of losing him? Until tonight, he’d had a goal, a mission, a chase to keep himself from thinking or feeling.
But now it was over.
And having Antoinette in custody only made everything worse.
Because even as he lay there, with that hollow ache burning a hole through him, he couldn’t stop himself from listening to her... to every small sound she made.
Every squeak of the bed beneath her slight weight. Every movement. Every sigh.
>
And he couldn’t keep his gaze from drifting to the mirror. That damned, decadent mirror that Dunlap had installed so he could cavort with his bride in carnal abandon.
Lucas had wanted to take it out, but the thing was so big, the bedroom must have been built around it. And since he’d been rational at the time, he had actually thought it might help him. Had even angled his cot in the sitting room so that he could keep an eye on his prisoner, watching her in the mirror without her knowing he was watching. She couldn’t make one move without him seeing it.
Trouble was, she couldn’t make one move without him seeing it.
And he was no longer feeling the least bit rational.
Moonlight filtered through the bars on her windows, enough to illuminate the outline of her body, so slender beneath the quilt... and her hair, a dark, shimmering mass. As she shifted restlessly, he would catch a glimpse of a slim calf here, a bare thigh there, a shoulder, a wrist. It was like some slow, hypnotic, erotic dance, and he couldn’t look away. In the past hour, he had memorized most of her in the moonlight.
And imagined the rest.
With a stifled curse, he raised one arm to cover his eyes, wishing he had closed the drapes before stalking out of her cell. He couldn’t very well stalk back in and close them now.
Damn it, how could he feel anything, even lust, for the woman who had taken his brother’s life?
He angrily reminded himself that she was a born seductress, a prostitute’s daughter, no doubt well-versed in the ways of stirring desire in a man. She was probably doing this to him on purpose.
He heard her moving again, restlessly, heard the sheets caressing her skin.
“Would you go to sleep?” he shouted into the darkness.
She went silent and still.
“Sorry,” she said after a moment, “if I’m disturbing you.”
Her voice was soft, but not the least bit seductive. In fact, it held a note of sarcasm.
Lucas tried to get his breathing under control. “Not at all,” he bit out. “I imagine a guilty conscience makes it tough to get much rest.”
After Sundown Page 8