by Pam Crooks
She was hiding out with the bounty hunter. Why, Catfish couldn’t figure, but he’d seen her there himself. Yesterday. Sitting on Santana’s porch and drinking lemonade.
Lemonade.
Just as free as you please. Like the Muscatine heist was the farthest thing from her mind. The red-haired witch didn’t believe what ol’ Catfish had told her—split the loot with him or else.
His lip curled. She didn’t think the money was worth fighting for, either.
But he did.
And he intended to fight dirty to get it.
A night like this one reminded Ross of why “home” had come to mean just about everything to him.
Jo-Jo would never know it, but he’d shown Ross how complacent he’d gotten of late. He’d taken his blessings for granted. Blessings like freedom to live his life the way he wanted. Peace, hard-won at first, that let him sleep at night. And a deep-seated ability to know right from wrong.
Jo-Jo reminded him of how lucky he was to have Chat, too, and how she’d grown into a fine upstanding young woman. He’d have to tell her so the first chance he got. She deserved to hear it.
He unlocked the door and slipped quietly into the house. A single lamp burned in the front room. The bedroom doors stood open, their interiors dark, like the kitchen.
His glance swung to the couch and found Chat and Lark in their nightgowns, dozing, each with a Colt in their lap. Waiting for him.
The two women in his life. One by birth, the other by chance. Both of them claimed a part of him.
And both of them safe. The worry lifted from him, and he pushed the door closed, turned the lock. The metal clicked, and Chat’s eyes flew open. She sat up with a start.
He put a finger to his lips. He didn’t want to disturb Lark if they could help it. Chat visibly relaxed, her eyes wide as he hung his Stetson on its hook and approached her.
“Everything all right tonight?” he whispered, squatting in front of her. He took the revolver and set it aside.
“Nothing happened,” she whispered back.
“Good.” He took her hand, pulled her up, walked with her toward her bedroom.
“Did you see Mr. Sumner?” she asked.
“I did.”
“How is he doing?”
Ross hesitated, thought of the man’s reaction. “He’s hurting like any father would, under the circumstances.”
The man’s grief had turned ugly at Ross’s part in those circumstances, but with Sheriff Sternberg there as witness, he couldn’t act on it. At least, not then. Ross didn’t know what to expect from him; time would tell if he had more sense than his son.
Chat didn’t need to hear the details. She was distraught enough over Jo-Jo’s death. To keep her from asking questions, Ross pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“We’ll talk more in the morning, sweet. Go in to bed. And thanks for taking care of Lark while I was gone.”
“She’s a cool one.” Chat peeped at him wryly from beneath her lashes. “I think she took care of me. She didn’t act scared at all. Not like I was.”
His heart twisted, hearing of her fear. “This will all be over soon. I promise.”
“I hope so. I’m glad you’re home.” She leaned closer and gave him a quick hug. “Good night. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
She yawned and entered her room, shutting the door. She seemed more like herself now that he was here, and he felt better, too, knowing it.
He turned and discovered Lark watching him. He strode closer, his boot steps silent on the thick rug, and hunkered down beside her.
“Did we wake you?” he asked in a low voice. The late hour seemed to call for talking hushed. Or maybe the solitude of the shadowed room did.
“I wasn’t sleeping. Not really.”
The arm of the couch cushioned her head, and wild curls spilled over the brocade fabric. A fine pillow they’d make, those curls. Silky, soft. Thick. Made him want to lay his head on them, too.
“You fooled me, then. Playing ’possum,” he said, and his mouth curved.
Hers did the same. She looked relaxed half lying there, her bare feet on the floor, but the rest of her body reclined. Did she know how sultry she looked? How seductive?
“I learned to sleep that way a long time ago,” she said. “Too many times, it was necessary.”
He understood. He’d done the same, when he’d been on the hunt for a man who didn’t want to be hunted, who resented him for it and intended to retaliate. Ross had taken a liking to waking up each morning. Sleeping half-awake allowed him the privilege.
Her smile faded. “What happened tonight?”
Unlike Chat, Lark needed to know the truth. “Eb took the news hard. Blamed me for Jo-Jo’s death.”
Dismay furrowed her brows. “Did you tell him it was self-defense?”
“I told him, but he wasn’t hearing it.”
“What do you think he’ll do?”
She appeared more worried for him than anything. Appeared to have forgotten, too, that she had a worse problem with Catfish Jack, who’d be a more formidable enemy than Eb Sumner ever would.
“No way to know. If Eb turns against me, I’ll deal with it then.” Ross eased the Colt away from her, set it next to the first, further down the couch. “I had a talk with Sheriff Sternberg.”
Her eyes widened a little. “And?”
“He’s real frustrated that he’s had no word about your whereabouts.”
“Thanks to you and Chat.”
“He’s concerned.”
She glanced away, as if the inconvenience she’d caused everyone troubled her. “I’m sure.”
“He’s had no sign of Catfish Jack, either, though he’s done his best to find one. Demanded that Eb tell us what he knew about the man.” Ross frowned. “Eb admitted Catfish had been staying in the back room of the Hungry Horse all along.”
She drew back in surprise. “The Hungry Horse!”
The news had stirred up Ross’s suspicions plenty. Questions about a man who’d knowingly hide someone like Catfish in his place of business. And why.
“But when we went back there, he was gone,” Ross continued. “He’d grabbed his gear and disappeared.”
She paled in the dim lantern light. “Maybe he knows Jo-Jo is dead.”
“I’m figuring so, for him to up and leave like he did.”
Despite Ross’s efforts otherwise, Catfish had likely seen him ride in tonight with Jo-Jo’s body. Which, in turn, would leave him feeling real desperate.
“That’s all the news I have,” Ross said, slipping an arm beneath her head, the other under her knees. He lifted her from the couch.
Her arms came around his neck, as if she’d done it a hundred times. “That was plenty, I think.”
He grunted. It wasn’t near enough.
But he pushed the thought from his mind. He filled it, instead, with her clean scent and how it wrapped around him, refreshed him. How she felt cradled against him, too, her body soft and female through the thin cotton of her nightgown.
Thinking of nothing else, he turned and carried her to the bedroom.
Chapter Thirteen
He laid her gently on his bed, and Lark sank into the cool sheets. Heavy shadows veiled the room, attesting to the lateness of the hour. He found a match on the bedside table and lit the lamp’s wick, keeping, she noted, the kerosene burning at its lowest vantage.
She expected him to leave for his bed on the couch. She was glad he didn’t. She had her decision to tell him, and it couldn’t wait until morning.
Still, she delayed shattering the awareness-charged mood which had arisen between them, an intimacy she found herself relishing. He stood over her, his hands on his lean hips, warming her blood with the very sight of him. His hair hung recklessly against his collar, his strength a powerful thing.
He seemed reluctant to leave, and she took courage from it. Her arm lifted. She twined her fingers through his and thought how easy it’d become to touch him. A gentl
e tug brought him down to sit next to her.
Neither pulled away. He watched her. Waited. As if he knew she had something to say.
Her gaze dropped to their joined hands. His, roughened by work, darkened by the sun. Capable of killing a man. Or gentling a woman. Her own…smaller, softer, not quite steady. And guilty of stealing what they shouldn’t.
“Might as well get it off your chest, Lark,” he said quietly. “I’m staying right here until you do.”
Her gaze rose. “You must promise to hear me out.”
His nod of agreement came slow, as if he measured the seriousness of what she was about to reveal. “You know I will.”
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Like a gathering storm, his expression darkened. “And where are you going?”
“Home.”
“Home.” His eye narrowed. “As easy as that.”
“My job, too. The bank, I mean. My life, Ross.”
“The hell you are.”
She pulled her fingers from his and sat up. “Mr. Templeton expects me to be at my desk, as I always am on Monday mornings.”
“He does, does he?”
“I will be there. Promptly, in fact.”
Abruptly, Ross stood. “Templeton has no idea of the risk. If he did—”
“I intend to tell him.”
Ross stared at her. “Tell him what? That you’re Wild Red?”
She swallowed. Hard. “He deserves to know the truth, because if I don’t tell him—”
“Listen to me, Lark.”
“—Catfish will.”
He opened his mouth as if to argue further, swore instead and left the room. The lamplight in the front of the house went out. He returned and pushed the door shut behind him—privacy from Chat overhearing.
“So you think I should just let you go,” he said.
“I insist that you do.”
“And if I don’t?”
She stiffened. She knew he’d react like this. “You have no right to keep me here. Not really.”
“Don’t I?”
“I’m not running away. Please understand that. I’ll be right—”
“—where Catfish can get you.”
She pushed a mass of curls behind her ear in frustration. “What would you have me do? Stay with you forever?”
He strode closer, his gaze fierce upon her. “If I thought you could, yes.”
She blinked. “That’s impossible. You know it is.”
“I don’t have the perfect answer, but I’ve been thinking on one.”
“Hide like a frightened rabbit, only to be shot like one when either of us least expects it, perhaps?” she taunted, brow raised.
How could he think it’d be any other way if she stayed? Jo-Jo was proof of how underhanded Catfish Jack could be. Believing she could outwit the outlaw time and time again was the thinking of a fool.
Better to come out of hiding. Meet him head-on and wide open if he came after her. Catfish had far more at stake than she did, with his list of crimes gone unpunished. She, at least, had atoned for hers.
Except for one…
Ross halted at the mattress’s edge. How fierce he was, looking down at her. How intense. And strangely desperate.
“We can leave,” he said. “I’ll take you someplace. Anywhere you want to go.”
In stunned confusion, she stared up at him. “Leave Ida Grove? With you?”
“We can head to Colorado. Or Arizona. California, maybe.”
Her breath quickened. Abandon her job? Her life in this peaceful little town she’d grown to love? Who would care for Chat? Or Ross’s thriving furniture-building business?
“No,” she said firmly. “No.”
He reached an arm toward her, but she eluded his grasp, sliding off the bed from the opposite side.
“Just until Catfish is caught,” Ross said, watching her.
“Absolutely not.” She shook her head for emphasis, and endured the first stirring of panic. Never had she seen Ross this determined. This driven to have matters done his way. “I can’t.”
“Sternberg has a posse organized. They’re ready to ride. Now that he knows Catfish is close, they’ll comb through every square inch of dirt around to find him.”
“They can do that with me here.”
“I won’t let you be their bait.”
A nasty word, bait. She folded her arms and shivered. “I’m willing, if it helps. I’ll do anything to see him caught.”
“So will I.” Ross took a slow step toward her.
“He’s eluded posses for years. What makes you think Sternberg’s will find him?”
“Catfish is stone broke. He admitted as much to Eb Sumner when he asked to bunk in the back of the Hungry Horse. He needs you as his bankroll to get him out of the country.” He paused. “Sternberg and his men will find him. I’ll protect you until they do.”
“By whisking me away halfway across the country?”
“Yes.” He kept moving toward her, slow. Sure. “It’s the safest way to keep you alive.”
“The sheriff doesn’t know I’m with you. He’ll wonder why you’ve up and left. Just like he’s wondering about me now. He’ll do some digging. Wouldn’t be long before he started putting two and two together.” A new thought intruded into her logic. “He wanted you on the posse, too, didn’t he?”
Ross halted. “Yes.”
“But you told him no.”
“Asking me to ride with the posse was a waste of his breath. He knew it. I’d hung up my guns before ever coming to Ida Grove.”
“You’re wearing them for me, though.”
His gaze, dark and dangerous, glittered over her.
“Yes,” he rumbled.
Hot emotion chafed her throat. She angled her head away, hiding it from him.
These damned feelings he kept stirring up inside her. They softened her too much, gave her an unfamiliar troublesome ache that burned deep in her belly.
He’d put the ache in her heart, too, with his soul-destroying kisses and dark, smoldering looks. Kept it there, whenever he held her in his strong arms. And he fired it up by making her believe he wanted to keep her safe—because she wanted to be safe more than anything.
Anything.
But she had to be strong. Focused. She’d survived her entire life by making her own decisions. She couldn’t let Ross make decisions for her now, no matter how honorable they appeared to be.
A sudden memory of the Muscatine heist cooled the ache like a dousing of mountain river water.
Of course, Ross wanted her safe. He intended to hold her accountable for the crime.
That hadn’t changed. It wouldn’t, either. Catfish was just an irritating diversion to keep him from getting the job done.
Lark’s shoulders squared, and she turned toward Ross. He stood unexpectedly close in front of her, so close she could smell the saddle leather on him.
She couldn’t help taking a quick step backward. The man stole the very air she needed to breathe. Took the space she needed to keep her resolve, too.
“Lark,” he said, a slight frown tugging at his dark brows.
She suspected he recognized the shift in her thoughts, and she moved back another step to bolster her will. The heel of her foot bumped a wooden chair, and the clink of the leg iron’s chain links reminded her they were there, heaped on the seat.
How she despised them. The wall stopped her from going farther. Before she could slink past Ross from the side, his arms bracketed her head, caging her in front of him.
“Lark,” he said, insistent.
She tilted her chin up. A lock of thick hair had fallen over his eye patch, and it was all she could do keep from reaching up and smoothing it away.
“I know what’s going on in that stubborn brain of yours,” he ground out.
Did he truly know the war she battled? The one she must win at all costs?
“Then you know what I intend to do,” she said.
His jaw lowered to her temple.
The shadowed bristle of a night’s growth of beard scraped against her hair. The tension shimmered in him. The frustration.
“I can’t let you go back to the bank. It’ll destroy you. Why can’t you see that?” he murmured roughly.
She focused on the sun-bronzed column of his throat. The urge to close her eyes, to savor his warmth, his nearness, ran strong within her. She had to concentrate. Had to convince him she saw everything with appalling clarity.
“I refuse to sit out here and wait for Catfish Jack to find me. He’ll kill me if—”
She bit her lip. …if I don’t tell him where the money is.
“Let Sternberg take care of him,” Ross said. His head lifted, and he gently knuckled her chin up. “Let me take you somewhere safe until he does.”
Her resolve cracked, just a little. Lark hastily shored it up again. She met his gaze without wavering.
“No,” she said.
The thunder returned in his expression, and he pushed away from the wall with an oath. He unbuttoned his shirt with short, savage movements. Yanked the hem free from the waistband of his Levi’s the same way.
“Then I’m going with you,” he snapped. He hurled the shirt toward a hamper in the corner.
“To the bank?” she asked, taken aback.
He swung toward her. “Yes. So I can keep watch over you.”
Her mind struggled to comprehend just how he would manage it. And failed. She had duties to perform, customers to attend to. Did he intend to watch her the whole day through?
Surely not.
“From the minute the place opens in the morning—” he jabbed a finger at her, showing her he meant every word “—until it closes up in the afternoon, I’m going to be there.”
An image of him standing guard, looking imposing and dangerous and ready to shoot Catfish Jack down the minute he showed up—if he showed up—positively mortified her. He’d be like a glaring beacon to the townspeople, illuminating her troubles with Catfish Jack.
She moved toward him. “That’s ridiculous, Ross. And completely unnecessary.”