“I’m Prairie Dog Dave,” the drunk announced proudly, as though it had some significance.
“Is that supposed to mean something?”
Prairie Dog Dave blinked, a look of disappointment crossing his features. “You don’ know who I am?”
“Nope.” Jonah noticed a few others had taken note and were watching.
Prairie Dog looked like a child who’d just had his candy taken away. “I’m famoush round these parts,” he bragged. “Got my name by killin’ a prairie dog, shootin’ at full gallop from the saddle, at two hundred yards.” He grinned, glancing back at a group of three men sitting at a nearby table.
Nobody seemed to want to join in on this confrontation. Jonah figured this guy, Prairie Dog Dave, must be the town joke. “Congratulations,” he said.
“You a quick shot?” Prairie Dog spit in challenge.
“Quick enough. You want to get out of my way, Prairie Dog Dave?” Prairie Dog didn’t seem to notice the menacing tone in Jonah’s voice, or the glint in his eyes.
Prairie Dog swayed, and then stumbled forward a step before catching himself. “Not until you give ush a dem’stration, friend.”
Now everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing, all eyes on Jonah and Prairie Dog. “First of all, I’m not your friend,” Jonah said in a deceptively mild tone, his expression hard. “And second, if you don’t move your carcass, I’m gonna wipe the floor with it.”
Prairie Dog laughed nervously, jerking his gaze back toward the group of men sitting at the table behind him. “’S that a challenge?”
Those men must be his buddies, Jonah thought, but none of them appeared eager to intervene. “It’s a threat.” He was growing weary of the conversation.
Prairie Dog’s grin faded, his eyes narrowing. “Well, thash not very neighborly of ya, friend,” he slurred.
Deciding he’d given the man a fair number of chances to move out of the way, Jonah swung his fist, still holding the whiskey bottle in his other hand. His knuckles connected with Prairie Dog’s jaw at just the right angle, dropping him to the floor, where he lay unmoving and unconscious. Jonah looked down at him, flexing his fingers.
Nobody stirred to help. Instead, they turned back to their card games and chatter. Jonah grunted, slowly shaking his head, and then made his way up the stairs.
Feeling a sudden prickling on the back of his neck, he glanced back down into the saloon. Usually, that familiar sensation accompanied imminent danger, but when his gaze swept the area, he saw men at the tables playing poker and smoking their cigars, mugs of beer, or whiskey shots at their elbows. There were a few solitary drinkers hugging the bar, minding their own business. A gentleman in a striped shirt with fancy arm bands on both sleeves sat down at the upright and began plinking out a tune. Nothing was out of place that he could see. Even so, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to stay cautious and continued on up the stairs.
When Jonah reached the door to their room, his hand hesitated on the handle. It hadn’t occurred to him to lock her in. He’d been too angry. What if she’d taken the opportunity to escape?
He’d find her again.
She belongs to you now, an inner voice echoed.
Jonah was suddenly filled with a fierce, gut-wrenching possessiveness that made him take a step back as though a solid force had pushed him.
Where the hell had that come from?
Maybe it would be better for all involved if he were to open the door and find that she had escaped. He did just that – opened the door, that is – to find her sleeping soundly.
He released a sigh. Whether it was out of disappointment, or relief that she was still there, he didn’t want to contemplate. He set the bottle in its previous resting spot on the dresser and crossed the room to stand at the foot of the bed. He looked down at her, turned on her side, one hand resting under her cheek. She seemed peaceful…and vulnerable, her cropped curls an inky cloud against the white pillow.
He snorted. She was about as vulnerable as a coiled rattler. She’d survived for weeks on her own, leading him on a chase that had taken all his skill as a tracker to finally catch up with her.
How had she done that?
Her ability to persevere after what his brother had done to her and her cunning in eluding him for so long was impressive enough. What really had him admiring her, though, was how she’d proven herself to be strong and resilient in the face of both physical and mental hardships. There was even the hint of a sharp wit from time to time.
And she was beautiful.
She sighed softly, rolling onto her back. The quilt dropped just enough to expose a partial view of her chest. It wasn’t very much. He’d already seen – and touched – far more than that. Even so, his groin tightened, a rush of lust filling his cock. The primitive craving to be inside her almost overpowered him, but he fought against it, ruthlessly tamping it down.
He wasn’t going to let himself succumb to his baser carnal desires. Not when the subject of this inexplicable fixation of his seemed to be directed toward the one woman he should avoid at all costs.
His gaze shifted to the extra quilt lying folded on the end of the mattress. He took one last look at her, snatched the blanket, and then moved to turn down the lamp.
He made his way in the dark, around to the other side of the bed and opened the window. It let in a flow of cool, night air that billowed the thin curtains. He spread the quilt over a square of pale-blue moonlight on the floor beneath the window and sat down to remove his boots. He unbuckled his gun belt, placing it near enough to be reached in a hurry. He then took off his flannel shirt, rolled it into a makeshift pillow and lying back, shoved it under his head.
He gazed up and out through the open window at the star-filled sky. It was a sight he was used to seeing, but now, the bright glow of a more-than-three-quarter-moon reminded him of Cade’s words: “The twelfth full moon at the end of a year’s cycle, during which we experience the irresistible urge to mate.”
God. A slow burn slithered down Jonah’s spine. Should he believe her story of a spell cast hundreds of years ago, or were they just two people experiencing a strange and inexplicable attraction to each other?
Jonah knew the Indians believed in such things. They believed in spells and magic, destiny and prophecies. Not that he’d spent much time with them. He’d had encounters with a few of the Apache tribes scattered around the area of New Mexico and Texas, but usually he tried to avoid them.
There was a lot of distrust on both sides, what with the government trying to regulate where and how the Indians should live. More often than not, the government’s interference usually led to bloodshed, the Indians being the ones to suffer the most casualties.
Jonah had experienced enough of that during the war. That had been much worse, pitting brother against brother, especially in his case. Robert had been a southern sympathizer, whereas Jonah had fought for the Union. He never could stomach the idea of slavery, so when the chance came to do his part to fight against it, he took it.
His choice had always been a point of contention between Jonah and his father. It had been assumed Jonah would manage the family business, but he’d had other plans. Robert had felt the same way and had blazed his own path. Unfortunately, it was to fight for the opposing side.
Luckily, Jonah and Robert had been assigned to regiments that had been nowhere near each other, so there’d been no opportunities for a chance meeting. Jonah had heard stories from other men, though, of meeting their brothers on the battlefield.
Closing his eyes, Jonah listened to the soft sounds of her breathing, joined intermittently by the eerie hoot of an owl in a nearby tree. He and Cade had already spent several nights sleeping in close proximity to one another. He’d grown used to the pattern of her sleep. Sometimes she tossed and turned, whimpering softly, as though troubled by nightmares. But usually, she was quiet and still, as she was now.
Jonah remembered the night he’d handcuffed her wrist to his and they’d slept side-by-side. He�
��d awakened to her clinging to him and moaning, her lips inches from his bare skin. What had she been dreaming of – him? It was irksome to admit to a certain degree of male conceit at the possibility.
That kind of thinking could be dangerous. She was beautiful, intelligent, and tough, and she tempted him beyond belief. Not because of any spell, but because of who she was. If only the circumstances were different – if Robert hadn’t assaulted her…if she hadn’t killed him.
And now he was setting aside his duty as a U.S. Marshal to escort her home, instead of to a trial. This action alone could put him in prison. He was not only violating his sworn oath, he was breaking the law by harboring a fugitive. But his blasted conscience wouldn’t allow him to feed her to the wolves for merely defending herself.
He would need to stay away from her, distance himself, and definitely keep his hands off her. The true test of his resolve would come tomorrow night with the full moon, when she will want to mate. At least that was according to her story.
CADENCE CAME AWAKE SLOWLY, opening her eyes to morning sunlight slanting through the window. Birds were chirping madly, ready to begin their busy day. She inhaled deeply, the dew-fresh air filling her with pleasant memories. A wave of melancholy swept over her, and suddenly she was homesick. She’d been gone long enough. She was ready to go home.
Looking around, she saw no sign of Jonah, except for his bedroll sitting by the door and the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the dresser. Apparently he hadn’t put himself in a drunken stupor last night. Her gaze swept the room, searching for her clothes. She was about to slide out of bed to go find them when the door opened and Jonah walked in, closing the door behind him.
He carried a small bundle wrapped in brown paper, a dark brown hat nestled in the crook of his arm. “I bought these for you,” he said gruffly. “Thought you might want clean clothes. I also thought it would be best if you continued your getup as a boy.”
Cadence’s breath hitched. Jonah was such a handsome man. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his muscled thighs straining against the tight-fitting denims. The light blue flannel shirt, tucked into his trousers showed off a trim waist and narrow hips where his gun belt rode low. The color of his shirt also accentuated his bronzed skin and dark hair, setting off his silver-gray eyes. Those eyes held her attention as he waited for a response.
“Thank you,” she said, her mouth suddenly gone dry. She licked her lips and noticed how it drew his gaze there.
Jonah cleared his throat. “I’ll just leave these here and go get the horses.” He walked over to a chair, his spurs jingling with each step, and set the bundle down, dropping the hat on top. “Oh, and make sure you wrap your…ah…use that binding.”
He turned on his heel, practically sprinting for the door, bending to grab the bedroll. It gave her a view of his well-shaped behind. He straightened, snatching the whiskey bottle. As he walked out, he spoke over his shoulder, “I’ll meet you out front in twenty minutes.”
Cadence suppressed her smile until she was staring at the closed door. Jonah Kincaid, the unflappable U.S. Marshal, had obviously been uncomfortable. She’d never seen him behave with anything other than competence, confidence, and a hefty dose of male arrogance. It made him seem less flawless, and more…human, endearing him to her more than ever.
She climbed out of bed, padding in bare feet over to the chair where he’d set the bundle. Picking up the hat, she plopped it on her head and tore open the paper wrapping. Inside was a pair of tan corduroys and a pale yellow cotton shirt. Underneath those was a pair of thick socks, and white short-pants. She chuckled at the image of Jonah picking these items out for her. She also appreciated the irony of the fact that he had offered to buy her a hat when they reached town.
She dressed quickly, carefully wrapping the binding around her chest. Even though it had been cut by Jonah, she was able to repair the damage. She slipped her arms through the sleeves of the shirt, buttoning it up the front, and then pulled on her boots. She’d found them neatly placed beneath the chair. She then washed her face and hands, having discovered the pitcher of fresh water Jonah must have brought up while she’d been sleeping.
After taking a quick look around to make sure she hadn’t missed anything, Cadence left the room to go meet Jonah. It was still early yet, so the only person she saw on her way through the saloon was the bartender, Cyrus. He was swiping a rag across the top of the bar. Without breaking his rhythm, he looked up as she passed. She dipped her head, hoping the wide-brimmed hat would hide most of her face, and tucked her hands in her pockets.
Cyrus didn’t say a word to her. She breathed a sigh of relief as she pushed her shoulder through the swinging doors, stepping out onto the wood-planked walkway. She continued down the two short steps and rammed straight into a wall. Of course walls don’t jiggle slightly, and they sure as heck don’t reach out and grab a person either.
Before she could step back, she was roughly turned, a hand clamping over her mouth. A thick arm caught her around the waist. She was lifted and dragged around the corner of the saloon. Her hat fell off as she struggled, thankfully forgotten by her abductor. It could serve as a useful clue.
“I got you now, boy,” a voice hissed in her ear. “And yer gonna show me where that treasure is.”
Ned Furley.
Nine
OF ALL THE rotten luck, she had to get herself snatched up by fat, cowardly Ned Furley! Where was Jonah? A sudden stab of fear shot through Cadence. Furley had already killed Mamma Reba. Could he have somehow overtaken Jonah? As impossible as that idea seemed, stranger things have happened.
Furley chuckled. “I hid and I watched that stupid lawman come out and head for the stables, so I stayed where I was, bidin’ my time.”
Cadence breathed a mental sigh of relief for Jonah.
Furley laughed again. “And not twenty minutes later, here you come and walked right into me!” His laughter faded “Hey, how come you ain’t handcuffed or nothin’?” He obviously didn’t expect her to answer since his hand still covered her mouth. Instead, he said, “It don’t matter, anyway. I got you and we’re goin’ back to Devil’s Spur.”
They were situated between the saloon and another building, hidden in the morning shadows. Furley dragged her further back until they reached a waiting horse. She could hear him panting from the exertion, his breaths hitting the back of her neck.
“Aw, shoot!” he exclaimed and continued his one-sided conversation, “I can’t make you walk all the way back, so I s’pose you’ll have to ride with me.”
Cadence felt the hard barrel of a gun poke her in the ribs. “You hold still and no hollerin’, or I’ll shoot ya.” He jabbed the gun into her side again, tightening his hold on her. “You hear me?”
Cadence jerked her head in a nod, feeling that familiar, extremely unwelcome zing sizzle along her nerves. Oh, Lord! Tonight was the full moon. This had to be the most absurd predicament she’d gotten herself into. She had to stifle the hysterical laughter bubbling up in her throat.
She quickly changed her mind as to who was the last man on earth she would wish to bind herself to.
Ned Furley was a coward and a killer, but he was also a none-too-bright nincompoop. She fought to keep her panic at bay, secure in the knowledge that somewhere between here and Devil’s Spur, Furley was bound to make a mistake. And when he did, she’d make her escape.
Did Furley actually believe a U.S. Marshal would let him make off with his prisoner? She had no doubts Jonah would be on their trail as soon as he discovered her missing. Would he read the signs of her struggle, or assume she’d seen her chance for escape and had taken it?
Something had changed when he’d found out she was a woman – something significant that had nothing to do with the spell. She’d thought it odd that he hadn’t bothered to keep a closer eye on her, let alone the fact that he hadn’t put the handcuffs back on. Instead, he’d bought her clothes, and then left the room as though he trusted her.
The question remained a
s to whether she wanted him to catch up with her, or if she should find her way back to New Orleans without him. But first, she had to get away from Furley. There was no way in this lifetime, or any other, for that matter, she would want the man to touch her intimately. At least he still thought she was a boy.
“Get on the horse,” he ordered. “I got this here gun, so no funny business.”
Apparently, he was too dumb to realize that if he shot her, she couldn’t take him to the treasure, which she knew nothing about, but she couldn’t take the chance. She attempted to climb up, putting her foot in the stirrup, but as usual, had trouble getting into the saddle.
With a grumble, Furley gave her a push. “We ain’t got all day,” he snapped, and then climbed up behind her. His heavy bulk forced her crotch painfully against the saddle horn, his fleshy belly pressing into her back.
He turned the horse and they trotted out of the alley, coming out behind the saloon. As soon as they reached open ground, he kicked the horse into a gallop. She had to grab hold of the animal’s mane to keep from falling off, but at least it put some space between their bodies.
JONAH STARED AT the hat lying on the ground by the steps of the saloon. When he’d returned with the horses, there’d been no sign of Cade. Just the hat. The very one he’d bought for her not two hours ago. He narrowed his eyes, carefully scanning the area, scrutinizing the ground at his feet.
He crouched, picked up the hat and brushed it off, resting it on his knee. Looking down, he examined the dirt where the hat had lain. There were two sets of footprints. One was small, the other much bigger. There’d been a scuffle. His gaze followed the trail of two distinct drag marks that abruptly disappeared, leaving only the larger footprints leading around the corner of the saloon. He stood, his narrowed gaze locked on the shadowed space between the saloon and the building next to it.
There was no reason to go back and check the room. He knew what had happened. Someone had taken her. A black rage roiled in his gut, pushing against his chest from the inside, his breaths blowing in and out through his nose like a hard-ridden horse’s.
Twelfth Moon Page 9