"I thought you needed me."
She sat across from him at the table. As usual, her dark blue eyes appeared too big for her small, heart-shaped face. She was older than she looked, but then she looked twelve, which only made what he had done more reprehensible. Illness threatened again, and he doused it with the bottle.
"What in hell gave you the idea I needed anyone?"
She continued to stare at him calmly. She always did that, as if she could see right through his bravado and into his broken, blackened heart.
"What if I did need you? That means you sleep with me? I thought you were smarter than that."
"So did I. But apparently we were both mistaken."
"I don't understand why you would let me touch you like that."
"Maybe I didn't want to die a virgin."
He gaped at her. "You plan on dying soon?"
"One never knows."
His head swam. Was she purposely trying to confuse him even more than he already was? "You knew what we did was wrong."
"Funny, it didn't feel wrong at the time."
The light dawned. "I seduced you."
She laughed, but the sound was forced. Nate knew well the true cadence of her laughter. "Don't flatter yourself, Nate. You aren't that tempting."
Now, that wasn't true. Women from here to Kentucky, then onward to Virginia, had fallen into his bed willingly, and not just for money either. He might not be much for conversation, but practice did make perfect. He knew how to have great sex.
Nate shook his head, but stopped when a shard of pain threatened to split his brain in two. He was doing far too much thinking far too early in the morning.
"Jo, what I took should have been for your husband."
"I gave it to you. I'll never have a husband."
"Of course you will. Don't be foolish."
Concern for her future overtook him. She had no one to advise her. What if she made another bad decision? In many ways, Jo was as old as Nate, but in so many others she was still a child.
Not anymore, thanks to you.
Nate ignored the voice, which might be his conscience. He wasn't sure, since he heard from it so rarely these days.
"If you don't stop calling me names, I might do something drastic."
"More drastic than sleeping with a drunken old man?"
"You're not old."
"But I am a drunk."
"What's done is done," she said briskly. "Let's forget it ever happened and go home."
He noticed she didn't say he wasn't a drunk. She could only lie so much. And she was lying. He just wasn't sure why.
"So you're saying you used me to get rid of your unwelcome virginity?" Skepticism laced his voice.
"If you want to put it that way." She began to pack his scattered belongings into his saddlebags. "Which makes me the villain here, not you."
He saw what she was up to. Jo wasn't happy unless she could make everyone in her reach happy too. He had seduced her, but she didn't want him to feel guilty about it. Which made the villain in this case him. Big surprise.
A stray question flitted through his mind. "How did you find me?"
"Cash."
He snorted. "You really need to stop lying, Josephine."
The glance she threw his way was shuttered; the way she hunched her shoulders screamed guilt. "I did find out from Cash. He just didn't know I was listening."
Nate smirked. He couldn't wait to throw that in his old friend's face.
The next instant his smile faded. Cash wasn't one to be unaware of who was lurking about. Either the man was losing his edge, which meant Nate had better get back to Rock Creek and watch his back, or the bastard had known Jo was listening, known she would come after him, known she would get him to come home when no one else could. Cash had not only allowed her to overhear but let her come alone. If that was the case, then Nate needed to get back to Rock Creek and kick Cash's ass.
There was always another town, another day, another way to die.
"Guess we can get on the road." Nate stood and took the packed bag out of her hands.
"You're coming with me?"
"Isn't that why you're here?"
"I didn't think it would be this easy."
"I'm not going to let you go back alone. I can't believe Reese allowed you to leave." Her gaze fell. "He didn't know, did he?" She shrugged. "Oh, you're in trouble now."
Her chin went up and her eyes blazed blue fire. "He isn't my keeper."
"No. That seems to be my job."
"You never cared what happened to me before."
That wasn't true. He'd cared far too much, which was why he'd avoided her for the past several years. He'd started to look forward to her presence, listen for the sound of her step outside his door, her voice in the night.
The last time he'd seen her, she'd kissed him. Of course he'd woken up far too sober, with tears drying on his face. Then she'd walked in. He'd tried to pretend that nothing was wrong, but he could never fool her.
She'd scared him half to death with that kiss, because even though she'd surprised him, she'd reached him—deep down where he could not allow himself to be reached. Not then and certainly not now.
"Before?" he sneered. "You mean before I slept with you?"
Her eyes narrowed. "We are forgetting that ever happened."
He shrugged. "I've forgotten already."
Hell, he didn't remember anything to forget.
"Wonderful. Then no one else need ever know what happened here. Agreed?"
"Fine by me." A chill went over him, followed by a sudden and horrible thought. "You're forgetting one little thing."
She sniffed. "I don't think so."
"What if you're...?" He couldn't bring himself to put words to the terrifying possibility that had belatedly occurred to him—a possibility that would be just punishment for him, but completely unjust for her. But he should know by now the world had never been fair, and the innocents were always the ones who paid.
Jo's forehead creased; she waited for him to finish. Nate took several swallows of courage, cleared his still dust dry throat and plunged ahead. "What if you're with child?"
She went white. He wasn't the only one not thinking past the moment. Slumping onto the bed, she put her head between her knees and breathed deeply.
Alarmed, Nate took a step toward her. "Jo?"
"Give me a minute."
Slowly she straightened, and the color flowed back into her face. Too much color now—her eyes a brighter blue above the twin peaks of red in her cheeks. "This isn't the right time," she muttered.
"I don't understand."
"The Indians believe there are certain times a woman can become..." She waved her hands, shrugged. "From what I've seen, they're right. And now isn't my time."
"You're sure?"
"I think I'd know," she snapped.
He held up a hand. "All right. Then we—"
"Forget this ever happened." Jo stood and marched out of the cottage without a backward glance.
Nate wished he had half her courage, but his strength had died on a long ago night in Kentucky, and he'd never figured out how to get it back except with a bottle and gun.
Turning, he glanced around the cottage, his gaze flicking over, then back to, the mattress. One last thing to attend to before he settled with Nando.
Nate dropped his saddlebags by the door and yanked the mattress from the bed.
* * *
Jo stomped into the glorified lean-to that served as a stable for the saloon.
Forget this ever happened?
Nate might not remember a moment of last night, but she recalled every word, every breath, every touch. At the time she had not known he was making love to his wife. At the time she'd thought he was making love to her, and therefore the memories were the most beautiful she possessed. Even the truth could not tarnish them.
Ruth blew a welcome between loose lips. Jo crossed the floor, relieved to find the mare was none the worse for her mistress'
s neglect. The horse nudged Jo's side, rubbed her nose along Jo's arm. All was forgotten as if it had never happened.
Such seemed to be the way of things in Soledad.
She fed Ruth, the rhythmic chewing a soothing, familiar cadence. Jo should eat, but the thought turned her stomach. She'd do without this morning. Penance for her foolishness and lies.
She'd had to come up with something to tell Nate. She'd known he would press for a reason to explain her idiotic behavior. He might not have known who he held in his arms, but Jo had. To keep from blurting out her love for him, instead she'd blurted any lie that came to mind.
Well, liars and cheats rarely prospered—or something like that. She had no one to blame but herself for this mess. And blame herself she would—all the way home and beyond.
"Let's get a move on, little girl."
Nate stood outside the lean-to with his horse saddled and packed. He was dressed for traveling in denims and boots; a black vest covered his long-sleeved brown shirt, and a well-worn, wide-brimmed hat sat on his head.
"I'm no longer a little girl."
His shoulders slumped. Jo wished she'd kept her mouth shut. "Fine. Josephine."
"That reminds me of my father."
"What in hell should I call you then?"
Angel face, she thought, but the endearment belonged to a dead woman.
"Just Jo. That'll do."
"All right, Just Jo, let's get a move on." She snorted over his lame attempt at a joke, and he smiled. "I've only got enough booze for a day. Guess I drank all the whiskey in Soledad."
Jo's amusement disappeared.
"And I'm not paying money for tequila. That stuff tastes like limes left to rot in the sun. By this time tomorrow, I plan to be sitting in Rogue's Palace having a drink with my good friend Daniel Cash."
"Thought you two were on the outs."
"With Cash that's a common occurrence. If I pretend nothing happened, so will he. Although we do have a few matters of contention to smooth over."
"How does one smooth over contention with a gunfighter?"
"By punching him when he isn't expecting it."
Jo blinked. "And he hasn't shot you yet?"
"No. But I keep trying."
Uncertain if he was kidding or not, but figuring he probably wasn't, Jo let the matter drop and readied Ruth, then followed Nate northeast out of Soledad.
At the edge of the village, a weak breeze tugged on her hat and fluttered what was left of her hair. The scent of smoke made Jo turn in her saddle. A thick stream of black marred the blue sky.
"Nate!" she cried. "I think your cottage is on fire."
"No, it isn't." He continued on without even looking back.
Jo swung her gaze from the village to the receding rump of his horse. "Shouldn't we help?"
"Nando's watching it."
Frustrated, Jo urged Ruth into a canter, slowing her to a walk when she reached Nate's side. "Watching what?"
"The fire I set."
"You set fire to your cottage?"
"Only part of it."
"Nate," she said in a warning tone. Today he was even more provoking than usual.
He glanced at her then returned his attention to the barren landscape in front of them. "I burned the evidence."
"What evidence?"
"The mattress. We agreed what happened last night was between us. Now it is for certain."
Jo's cheeks flamed. Evidence, he'd called it, as if they'd committed a crime. She was certainly starting to feel that way.
They rode for several hours in silence. The sun pounded on their hats, making sweat drip down their faces. Nate drank from his bottle, Jo from her canteen. If they kept pushing ahead, they would be in Rock Creek by morning. Then what?
Nate would sit in Cash's place and revert to drinking and gambling. On occasion the two of them would mosey out of town and avail themselves of a woman or a gunfight.
Jo would live in the rectory until a new minister was hired. Then she would be out on the street with no place to go except back to Indian Territory. Alone. One day she'd get word that Nate had died through any one of his favorite pastimes, and a little part of her would die too. Could she live with that?
The answer was the same now as it had always been. No.
From the day Nate had ridden into Rock Creek, Jo had been his friend and he had been hers. He'd needed her—or at least she had believed he had. His need had been a heady thing to a young girl needed by no one. He was an intelligent man, with a background similar to her own, though he denied that part of himself. He'd listened to her, talked to her, paid attention to her. To Jo, Nate had been the greatest gift she'd ever known.
So she'd continued to try and save him though he didn't want to be saved. She'd fallen in love with him, though he didn't want to be loved. Now she knew why.
Nate still loved his dead wife.
Jo glanced at him as he took another sip from his ever-present flask. Sometimes she wondered if the whiskey in Nate's flask was like the wine Jesus created from water. Neither ever ran dry. Unlike Nate's faith.
The stray thought made Jo sit up so fast in her saddle Ruth snorted. Jo soothed the horse with a pat and a murmur as her mind raced backward toward last night, and she suddenly recalled what had been bothering her about Nate's explanation.
If his wife was dead, then she was an angel. Somehow Jo doubted Angela Lang resided in hell. So if Nate believed Angela had come to take him home, where else could home be but heaven?
Hope made Jo lightheaded, and she clung to the saddle. Nate's faith wasn't dead, merely buried. Deep down, he still believed in everything he swore he did not.
It was up to her to make him see that in his darkest hour, the truth had shone through.
Chapter 4
Nate shook his flask. "About halfway there," he muttered.
"Home?"
Jo hadn't said much since leaving Soledad. Nate had nearly forgotten she was there.
That was the thing about Jo. She could chatter your ears off one minute and be quiet and still the next. Used to be she did either one when he wanted that one the least. Years had passed since he'd spent any time with her, and now she seemed to sense what he needed the most.
Nate shook his head and put the flask to his lips, taking a long, unhealthy swallow. He did not need Jo Clancy or anyone else, anything else, but this. He patted the flask and returned it to the pocket of his vest.
"Rock Creek," he clarified. He didn't want to call the place home. Home implied permanence, a future, two things he had no business even thinking about.
And he was thinking far too much. Nate patted his flask again, considered another shot then forced his hand back on the reins. He required more and more sips to find oblivion these days. If he continued to drink the way he had been all morning, he'd be fresh out of firewater before nightfall. He didn't want to contemplate what would happen then.
Jo cleared her throat. "I've heard tell of a shorter way."
"How come I haven't?"
"There's an old Comanche trail once used for raids."
She looked at her fingers, which played restlessly with her mare's mane. Nate frowned. He hated that she was nervous around him now. But he had no one to blame but himself.
"Is the trail safe?" he asked.
She shrugged. "I've never taken it. But most of the Comanches are confined. Besides, you'll be there."
Fat lot of good Nate would do if any Comanches had slipped the reservation and gone searching for a bit of excitement. "We'd best stay on the well-worn trail."
"No!" Her vehement denial confused him. "When I came south parts were washed out. With the spring rains, we could get caught in a flash flood."
"And the Comanche trail won't be flooded?"
"The Comanches knew the land. Theirs takes the high ground."
Nate grunted. Something about the idea bothered him. Something about the way Jo wouldn't look him in the eye made him twitchy. Then again, she had good reason not to look at him
.
"All right."
Her sigh sounded so relieved an itch started up on the back of his neck. Probably nothing but sunburn.
"Lead the way, Jo."
As she moved her horse in front of his, Nate withdrew his flask and sipped. No reason to conserve anymore. They'd be home long before he needed a refill.
* * *
Jo kept quiet as she led them along the ancient Comanche trail. She was afraid if she opened her mouth, more misleading half-truths would spew free. Nate trusted her, and she'd just hornswoggled him.
They'd get home but not for several days. The Comanche trail meandered around, over and through the area, then ended north of where they were supposed to be.
She didn't like deceiving him, but she had to do something drastic, and after her revelation about his faith this morning, the time for drastic measures was before they got back to Rock Creek. Once there, his friends would protect him, and in the process hurt him all the more.
The others loved Nate, felt responsible for him, would never purposely hurt him. But they refused to take his bottle away; they defended his right to hurt himself. She'd never understood that, and she could no longer stand by and watch him die.
So no matter how much Nate hated her when he discovered the truth, no matter how dangerous what she'd decided to do might be, this trip might be her last chance to help him, and Jo meant to make use of it. All she needed was some time away from all others, without Nate's ever present flask—or, rather, what was in it, which made him maudlin and sarcastic, angry at the world, but angrier still at God.
If there was no whiskey to be had, Nate would have no choice but to sober up. Once he did, he might like it. He might stop drinking or at least slow down. Then she'd have a better chance of convincing him of the truth she'd discovered.
Trying to tell Nate he still believed in God when he was doing his best to kill himself would do little good. Getting him clear headed and healthy, then showing him all the world still had to offer, might. Even if it didn't, at least Jo would know she'd tried.
He might never love her, but she would always love him. She would do anything to make him better, risk his hate to heal him, give her life to see him whole.
Nate (The Rock Creek Six) Page 4