by Pam Crooks
She frowned slightly.
“I have both,” he said.
“My funds can be wired to me. A simple matter. As for protecting myself?” She shrugged. “I’ll buy a gun if—if it comes to that.”
“You’ll wire your money so that your location can be traced?” A corner of his mouth lifted in a cold smile. “Given Templeton’s current opinion of you, he’d be quick to enlighten the law to your whereabouts.”
“I’ll find a way, Ross.” Frustration laced through her words. “You’ve been more than kind to me, and I shall be eternally grateful for all you’ve done, keeping me safe and everything, but, please. Leave.”
Anger flickered through him that she thought she could dismiss him so easily.
“Is that what you think? That I’ve been kind to you all this time?” He drew closer, until he stood an arm’s reach away. “Was making love to you this morning being kind? Or being scared out of my head for what the people in this town would do to you? Or Catfish or the sheriff?” He grasped her shoulders and pulled her against him. “Damned if I know what to call it, but it sure as hell isn’t that.”
He was incapable of defining the awful fear of letting her go, of what might happen once she was out of his sight. He had a deep, unshakable need to protect her any way he could, no matter the cost, because if anything happened to her…
His mouth took hers with a desperation he didn’t bother to control. Her breasts pressed into his chest, proclaiming her femininity. That she was all woman, goodhearted, soft and beautiful, not an outlaw to be despised and condemned. Her arms curled around his back, clung tight. She felt small in his arms. Vulnerable. And, by God, she inspired in him a possessiveness so keen and fierce, he shook from the power of it.
She hung on to him as if she couldn’t let go, as if she used the hunger in her kisses to tell him she didn’t want him to leave no matter what her words declared, that she needed him, her warrior in the fight against the sins of her past.
His head lifted. Her eyes opened, slow and languid, and he relished the look of her mouth, wet and swollen and ready to be kissed again.
“I’m coming with you,” he said, just in case she needed to hear it said.
“Yes,” she sighed.
They’d lost too much time already, and reluctantly, he released her. He carried her valise and followed her to the door. She took his hand, for courage maybe, strength for sure, but paused to cast one final glance around the sleeping room—the blue-flowered curtains at her window, the potted geraniums growing on the sill, her narrow bed, and simple bureau—all those things that had once made the place her home.
Then, as if she feared she’d change her mind, she turned away and hurried with him out the door.
Seeing them, a slow, satisfied smile formed on Catfish Jack’s mouth.
He kept himself tight in the shadows behind the blind man’s broom shop, the best place he could find to lie low since he’d had to leave his favorite spot by the Hungry Horse. He couldn’t see the front of the boardinghouse as well here. Not like he could there.
But he could see the back of the place just fine.
And that’s where Santana had taken Wild Red, to keep her hidden while he unhitched his horses from his buckboard rig and saddled them up right quick. Meant he was fixing to leave town with her. Didn’t want folks knowing about it, neither.
Wild Red was running scared. Paying a visit to that yellow-bellied newspaperman had done the trick, just like ol’ Catfish had known it would. All she’d had to do was tell him where she hid the Muscatine money to save herself some trouble. Now, folks were spittin’ mad about her. Got her lily-white reputation ruined, too.
His smile faded. Only thing he couldn’t figure was Santana’s part in her leaving. He was stickin’ to her like sweet on sugar, hardly letting her out of his sight and being real careful to keep her safe.
Why?
He’d know about the money, one way or the other. That’s why he’d tracked her clear to Canada all those years ago. But the way them two was acting now, like a couple of pups in a basket…
Hell, it just didn’t figure.
One thing was sure. Santana didn’t have a hankering to turn her in just yet. He’d had plenty of chances by now, what with him being friends with the sheriff and all. Besides, the jail was just a stone’s throw away from the boardinghouse. Would’ve taken him but a blink of his one good eye to throw her in.
Didn’t figure one bit.
The back door opened, and his thoughts scattered. Santana’s kid sister came out, carrying what looked like a bag of food. Santana took the bundle and tied it to the back of one of the saddles. Then Wild Red handed him a valise, and he tied that on, too.
The valise showed she planned on being gone a spell. And the way all three were hugging and saying goodbye like they’d never see each other again, well, that pretty much confirmed it.
Wild Red climbed onto her horse, a real pretty piebald. Santana gave his sister a kiss, said something quick and climbed onto his sorrel after.
Catfish eased himself out of the shadows and sprinted toward his own mount, hitched to a shed behind the broom shop. He couldn’t shake the unease that Santana had something shady up his sleeve. The bounty hunter wouldn’t be leaving his only kin behind if he didn’t have good reason, unless—
Catfish nearly tripped.
Unless Wild Red told him where she hid the Muscatine heist and promised him a cut if he didn’t turn her in, and that’s where they were headin’ now.
To get the money.
That had to be it, and infuriated rage arced through him. He yanked the reins loose and leapt into the saddle.
Wild Red thought she could pull a fast one on him, did she? Thought she’d get back at him for blowing her secret wide open for everyone in Ida Grove to know?
She had another think coming. Ol’ Catfish wouldn’t be fooled so easy. And he’d follow her into the fires of hell to get that money.
Then kill her and Santana both when he did.
Chapter Seventeen
By sunset, Lark was exhausted.
After riding hard all day, they pulled up along the tree-lined banks of the Missouri River to rest the horses and let them drink their fill. Too tired to even dismount, she stared broodingly into the green-brown water—hundreds of miles of it, stretched out across the belly of the country. Powerful and beautiful, the river. Unstoppable by man or beast.
Unlike her own life, which had become dangerously narrow and boxed-in, and on the verge of coming to a shuddering halt.
Spending these long hours on the back of a horse proved a brutal reminder of how she’d once lived—on the run and in the elements. Reminded her, too, of how soft she’d become. How easy her life in Ida Grove had been. How civilized and respected, so why did she feel like an outlaw all over again?
As the day dragged on, she’d grown weary of looking over her shoulder for anyone in pursuit. Each snap of a twig, every sound from an unseen bird or wild animal stirred her worries up, until they ate at her from the inside out.
Her bones and muscles ached. The sun had burned her nose, and the wind tangled her hair. She felt adrift. Lost. Alone.
And yet Ross never left her side. He’d asked nothing of her but that she accept his protection and give him her trust. She’d done both.
But for how long?
Already, she’d begun to see the wrong in her decision to flee Ida Grove. The hopelessness. When would the running end?
She’d considered the consequences of her actions a hundred times over throughout the day. The alternatives, especially, but none more often than the somber reminder that gratification came with restitution. A slate wiped clean, a debt paid in full for the crime she’d committed.
But, holy hellfire, the fear of doing it.
A fear so strong, so crippling, she couldn’t help but cling to the belief that running away was the answer, after all. That it would save her from every possible alternative and its consequences, however right
and honest they might be.
Yes, she had to keep moving. As far and as long as she could. For today, certainly, toward Omaha.
It’d been Ross’s idea that they go there. A smart one, too. The city was heavily populated. Even better, it headquartered the Union Pacific Railroad. She intended to take a train west and lose herself in the vast territory beyond the Nebraska state lines.
He didn’t know she’d be going alone, of course. She knew better than to tell him. For all the trouble she’d caused him and Chat both, he was better off without her. But more than that, she feared the stubborn streak of justice that ran strong within him.
“Lark, darlin’.”
She dragged her gaze toward him. He sat on his horse beside her, his face shadowed by his Stetson. She’d always remember the way he said her name, all deep and husky and just a little rough. And whenever he added the endearment, well, he just about made her toes curl from the sound of it.
“You need to eat something.” He produced an apple from his saddle bag. “Here.”
She considered the fruit, held in his palm. Chat’s thoughtfulness. His, too. “Thank you.”
She refrained from telling him she wasn’t hungry. He’d insist she eat anyway. She polished the apple against her thigh, and the red skin gleamed, but she didn’t take a bite.
“Take a drink, too,” he said.
He held out his canteen, the cap already unscrewed and hanging from its chain. It wasn’t easy meeting his glance, given her plan to escape him once they reached Omaha. He was an intuitive man, uncannily shrewd, and she kept her lashes lowered.
The water tasted cold and refreshing. The dust from their ride had parched her throat more than she realized, and she took several long swallows before handing the flask back.
“It’s going to be dark soon. We have to keep moving,” he said and drank, too.
“Yes.” She perused the sky and the sun sagging closer toward the horizon. A longing to stay right where she was warred inside her.
“We’ll get a room as soon as we get to Omaha.” Saddle leather creaked as he returned his canteen to its place. “You’ll feel better after a hot bath.”
She closed her mind to the appeal of sharing a room, a bed, with him. And spending the night warm and safe in his arms.
He tucked an unlit cigarette into the corner of his mouth. “I’m going to wire Sheriff Sternberg when we get there.”
The image of sleeping with him shattered. Alarm took its place. “Why?”
“We left town in one hell of a hurry. Someone needs to know our whereabouts in case we run into trouble.”
“Sternberg is the last person who should know where I am.”
“I know you think so.” He made a grim sweep of the cottonwoods and willow trees around them. “But Catfish is tailing us, for sure. He isn’t going to let you get away. He wants the Muscatine money too much. When he catches up with us and tries to force you to tell him where it is, I want him arrested.” Ross’s expression turned hard. “Unless I kill him first.”
Lark’s resolve to escape wobbled. Oh, God. He’d do it. He’d kill Catfish just like he’d killed Jo-Jo if that’s what it took to defend her.
She didn’t want Ross killing anyone ever again.
The sick feeling of hopelessness edged back.
“Then we shouldn’t be just sitting here, waiting for him to find us,” she said. “We shouldn’t even stop in Omaha. We should keep running—”
She nearly gagged on her own words.
At what she’d become.
“Holy hellfire. Listen to me.” She drew in a bitter breath. “Have you ever heard anyone who sounded more pathetic? Or more desperate?”
He took the cigarette out of his mouth. “Desperate, yes,” he said slowly. “Reckon circumstances warrant—”
Something inside her snapped. “Damn the circumstances, Ross! What good will it do to run away? What kind of life is that, for either of us? And yes, you’re right. Catfish Jack is sure to be tailing us. We’re only prolonging the inevitable before he gets to me, aren’t we?” She fought the overwhelming urge to burst into tears. “This is all so ridiculous!”
Ross’s brow arched. “Ridiculous? To want to save your life?”
She didn’t even try to make him understand.
“Once Catfish finds me, and the sheriff arrests him, or you kill him—it doesn’t matter which—then your revenge against him is done, isn’t it? An eye for an eye, so to speak.”
Ross’s jaw tautened. “He’s been dodging the law for years. He’s got crimes to pay for.”
“What about me?” she asked.
He took so long to answer that Lark figured the answer on her own.
“Are you just going to let me go, Santana?” she asked, calmer now that her blood had all but gone cold.
“Lark.” Ross sighed heavily.
“You’re not, are you?”
He lifted his hat, raked his fingers through his hair, squinted into the setting sun.
Still, he said nothing.
“There’s something about the Muscatine heist that’s eating at you.” The dread built inside her, higher and higher. But she had to know the truth. “After all these years, you still want justice done against me. Why?”
He looked at her then. Square in the eye.
“You took Santana money that night, Lark,” he said, his voice quiet, devoid of emotion. “Every dime my father ever saved in his life was in that treasury. You and your gang stole it all.”
Her world tilted. The apple rolled to the ground. “Oh, my God.”
“He was a master carpenter in Muscatine,” Ross went on. “Had a small cabinetry shop going, but he faced bankruptcy when he couldn’t keep up the payments. And with no sign of that money or the Reno gang, he drank himself into an early death.”
The anguish rolled through her in waves, so thick and heavy Lark pressed her fist to her mouth to keep from choking on it. How he must have hated her back then. He probably still did, deep down.
“My mother had passed on a few years previous. About then, I tracked you and Frank to the Turf Club. After Catfish shot me and you went to prison, I came back, sold what was left of my father’s assets and moved to Ida Grove with Chat.”
She hugged herself against the pain, her body hunched and miserable in the saddle. The devastation from what she’d done, of all she was responsible for, was almost more than she could bear.
“You helped steal an entire community’s money, Lark.”
“Yes,” she whispered and closed her eyes tight against an avalanche of ugly guilt.
“I’m figuring folks are entitled to get back what’s theirs,” he finished.
They were, of course. For five long years, she’d kept the knowledge suppressed inside her. Now, the truth of his words seared through her like a branding iron to cowhide, leaving her raw and aching.
How could she have been so selfish? So utterly close-minded to the consequences? She’d never even been to Muscatine, Iowa, before that wintry night. Neither had John or Frank. The citizens, victims of the gang’s cold-blooded greed, had done nothing to deserve getting their life’s savings taken from them.
If only she knew then what she knew now. She’d change everything about what happened that night. Spare all those people their loss and heartache. Spare herself her own.
But she couldn’t. No one could. Not now or ever.
It was much too late.
“I’m sorry for what I’ve done to you and your family.” She fought hard to get the words out. It seemed useless to say them, but she had to. “I don’t deserve forgiveness, so I won’t even ask, but please know how very sorry I am.”
“Telling me where you hid the money will go a long way in proving it,” Ross said.
The fear kicked inside her again. She teetered on the edge of succumbing to its power.
“I’ll go to prison if I do,” she said hoarsely.
“I’ll do everything I can to keep you out. I swear I will.”
He nudged his horse closer, his arm extended toward her, as if he needed to console her. Himself, too. But she jerked back, so abruptly the piebald flinched. If she allowed Ross to touch her, even in comfort, even with both of them sitting their mounts, she’d lose her ability to reason.
Instead, her lip curled with renewed bitterness. “Keep me out of prison? It’s impossible. So please save your breath and don’t even pretend it’s not.”
Thunder brewed in his expression. “You think this isn’t tearing me up inside, too?”
“That sounds very gallant, doesn’t it? But the truth is, I’ve done a terrible thing. I must deal with the consequences myself.”
“I’m not letting you go through it alone.”
“Yes, you are.” She grasped the reins, turned her horse before Ross could grab the bridle to stop her. “I need some time away from you. I have to think.”
“Damn it, Lark!” he said.
She flinched at the vehemence in his tone and dug her heels into the piebald’s ribs, her need to run surging strong within her. But too quick, Ross angled his sorrel in front of her, leaving the riverbank as her only means of escape.
“Please, Ross.” The piebald shied, and Lark did all she could do to keep her seat. A sob of frustration pushed into her throat. “Let me go.”
“You need time to think?” He leaned forward, caught the chin strap, held on with an iron-fast grip. “Fine. I’ll give you time. But you’ll have it with me right beside you.”
The tears spilled then. At his loyalty or his stubbornness, she couldn’t be sure. “I don’t want you with me anymore. Do you hear? Get away from me. Just let me go!”
“You’re not going anywhere just yet, Wild Red,” a voice boomed.
Lark’s breath jerked. It took her only a split moment to realize the command hadn’t come from Ross, but instead, somewhere beyond her range of vision.
Searching, she twisted in the saddle. Ross did, too, and spat out an oath.
Sheriff Sternberg had arrived, surrounded by his entire posse, and Lark knew, then, her time had just run out.