Maureen McKade

by A Dime Novel Hero

  Exhaustion crept up on him, and he pushed away from the counter. He stumbled slightly, but Kit didn’t try to help him. For some reason, disappointment flared within him.

  Once in his room, Jake plopped down on his bed and removed his shirt with clumsy fingers. He lay down and his eyelids fluttered shut. Even when he felt Kit remove his boots and socks, he found he didn’t have the will to open his eyes. She tucked a blanket around him.

  “I don’t want to hurt him,” he murmured. “Or you.”

  “I know, Jake.”

  Immediately before slumber overtook him, Jake realized that was a promise he couldn’t keep. When he’d bought the loan papers for the ranch, he’d sealed his fate. And theirs.

  Chapter 7

  Kit left Jake’s room and joined Freda, who had returned to her kitchen to make supper. Exhausted, Kit slumped in a ladderback chair and took a sip of the lukewarm coffee left in her mug. She grimaced and set the cup aside. “Did Patrick leave already?”

  Freda nodded. “He wanted to speak to Jameson.” She vigorously mixed dough for dumplings. “How is Jake?”

  Kit shook her head. “I don’t know. He seemed to sober up some.”

  Freda nodded, bitter experience in her expression. “Tomorrow morning, sick he will be. I will watch him so he does not hurt himself.”

  “That’s not necessary.” At the older woman’s questioning look, Kit went on. “I plan on staying with him all night. That is, if you don’t mind.”

  Freda shook her wooden spoon at the younger woman. “As long as there is no panky-hanky.”

  Kit’s face flushed with heat. “He’s drunk, Freda.” A chuckle slipped past her embarrassment. “And that’s hanky-panky.”

  “A man can still want a woman even if drunk he is.” Her stern features eased, revealing an uncharacteristic vulnerability. “This is true, I know.”

  Remembering the feel of Jake’s lean body atop hers on the boardwalk, Kit understood what she meant.

  She straightened in her chair, determined to ignore the humiliating image. “He’s not anything like I thought he’d be, Freda. The Jake Cordell in the books doesn’t drink or cuss or cavort with prostitutes, and he’s a sight more gentlemanly, too.”

  “Maybe he is not like the man in the books, but a good man he is. All he needs is a good woman and family.”

  Nervous agitation brought Kit to her feet, and she paced back and forth across the well-swept floor. “Nothing is that easy.” She paused, recalling the blond hussy on Jake’s lap. “Besides, Jake doesn’t care for me like a man cares for a woman.” She ignored the remorse that flickered deep within her. “We’re friends, that’s all.”

  “Maybe so, maybe not. You are a very pretty woman.”

  Kit shook her head. “No, he doesn’t think that way about me.” She forced a smile past her regrets. “Let me help you.”

  Despite Freda’s protests, Kit helped get supper on the table. After they’d eaten and the dishes were done, Kit filled a cup with coffee and bade Freda goodnight. Entering Jake’s room, she sat in the rocking chair next to the bed.

  Kit studied the faded bluebell wallpaper. She scrutinized a crack in the side of the maple armoire. She perused the faded block quilt. Then she imagined Jake’s muscular form beneath the blanket. Closing her eyes, Kit tried to think about something, anything, besides the man who lay on the bed. But she couldn’t ignore him any more than she could turn a deaf ear to her heart.

  “Oh, hell,” she swore softly, and indulged herself in an unhindered examination of him. She leaned forward, placing her forearms on her thighs. Sweeping her gaze across his sleep-slackened features, she yielded to the temptation of brushing aside an errant curl from his smooth brow. Her hand lingered, enjoying the sensuous feel of its silky texture. It reminded her of Johnny’s hair—which produced unwanted guilt. Perhaps Maggie had been wrong. Maybe Jake should be told he had a son.

  Kit suddenly sat back. She couldn’t allow herself to weaken. Johnny was her son; Jake had no right to him. He hadn’t raised him since he was a baby.

  Closing her eyes, she listened to the evening sounds of the town: the faint tinny tinkling of a piano, voices that grew louder, then faded as people passed by the house, and the eerie cries of two cats fighting in a nearby alley. The ceiling creaked as Freda prepared for bed in the room above.

  Kit’s eyelids fluttered open, her gaze once again settling on the dim oval of Jake’s face. Even with three days of whisker growth, he appeared as vulnerable as a child, without any trace of the cynicism she’d witnessed in the saloon. What kind of demons chased him? What did he hope to escape from when he lost himself in a bottle of whiskey?

  And where did her hero go?

  Kit wasn’t sure what woke her, but when she opened her eyes the evening had changed to night and the town had grown silent. The lamp she’d lit earlier was still burning, though it was turned low. When she glanced at Jake, she realized what had awakened her. He muttered unintelligible words and moved about restlessly.

  She leaned forward and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Shh, it’s okay, Jake.” His motions became more violent and Kit moved to the side of the bed. “Jake, wake up. Jake!”

  “No!” he shouted, then sat bolt upright, his face drenched with perspiration.

  “It was only a dream, Jake,” Kit reassured.

  Awareness filtered into his sleep-rumpled features. “Kit?”

  She breathed a sigh of relief as she let go of him. “That’s right. Are you awake now?”

  Jake blinked. “I think so.” He laid a hand on the side of his head and another on his stomach. “What did you put in that coffee?”

  “Don’t blame the coffee,” Kit said.

  She poured some water from the chipped china pitcher into the matching bowl, and wet the corner of a towel. She sat on the bed beside Jake, sponging his face like she’d done for Johnny when he’d been sick with influenza.

  “Would you like a drink of water?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  She returned a moment later with a glass and helped Jake sit up to swallow the contents. Gently she eased him back on the pillow.

  “Any better?” Kit asked.

  “Yeah.” He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. “What’re you doing here? I thought you went home.”

  She busied herself with smoothing imaginary wrinkles on the quilt. “I decided to stay and make sure you didn’t do anything stupid.”

  Jake’s smile appeared more of a grimace. “You don’t have a lot of faith in me.”

  Kit lifted her gaze to his lantern-lit face. “You haven’t given me much reason.”

  A self-effacing grin tugged at the corners of his dry lips. “I guess you’ve got a point, lady. Am I going to live?”

  “Unfortunately for you, you are. Why don’t you go back to sleep? It’s the middle of the night.”

  He shivered. “If I’m going to have another nightmare, I’d rather stay awake.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Jake closed his eyes a moment, as if summoning his courage. “Did you know I was almost killed back when I first started hunting Frank Ross?”

  Kit’s stomach churned as she shook her head.

  “He shot me. I thought I was going to die.”

  “What happened?”

  A few beads of sweat appeared on Jake’s forehead. “Ross had left a trail a tinhorn could’ve followed, and I got cocky. Only problem was, he was smarter’n me, and he’d set a trap.” He rubbed away the perspiration with a trembling hand. “My father would’ve seen it, but I was too sure of myself. I went down with a bullet in my side, figured I was a goner. But before Ross could finish me off, this family came by in their wagon, and they got me to a doctor. If those farmers hadn’t shown up when they did, I would’ve died.”

  “Is that what your nightmare was about?”

  “Partly.” He took a deep breath. “In my dream I was lying on a rough wood floor, and splinters were jabbing me. But all I could f
eel was this burning in my gut. I looked down and saw this bright red seeping through my fingers and down my side. It gathered in a puddle on the floor, and the sun that shone through one of the dirty windows made it glitter like a ruby.”

  He paused, as if living through the nightmare. “I started to shiver and I closed my eyes. There was this long black tunnel, like the kind a train goes through in the mountains, but it had a light at the other end. I walked toward it and there was my father. I called out to him, but another voice answered.”

  “Maggie’s?” Kit asked softly.

  He shook his head, then pierced her with an intense gaze. “It was you. You told me I couldn’t go yet.”

  A cold hand fisted in Kit’s stomach. “What happened then?”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I just wanted the pain to go away, but you wouldn’t let me go. You said I had too much to do yet.”

  Although shaken by what he’d told her, Kit managed a reassuring smile. “I’m sure it was just brought on by everything that you’ve been through. When Johnny has nightmares, I sit with him to keep the monsters away while he sleeps.”

  “Who’s taking care of Johnny?” Jake suddenly asked.

  “Charlie and Ethan,” she replied, and lifted her chin. “They’re like family.”

  Jake’s silent examination disconcerted her. “I told you, a person’s skin color never did make much difference to me.”

  Kit nodded ruefully. “You’ve already proved that.” She paused, drew in a deep breath, and said, “I’m sorry, Jake.”

  “For what?”

  “For getting mad at you. Since Ethan wouldn’t press charges, it wasn’t your fault those two men couldn’t be charged.”

  Jake touched her hand. “I wish I could’ve done something, Kit, but real life isn’t like those stories. Sometimes the law isn’t on the side of justice.”

  His feathery strokes were turning her insides as soft as melted butter. “That’s a strange thing for a lawyer to say.”

  “Maybe so, but it’s true more times than not.” His bloodshot gaze pierced her, and his finger ceased its unsettling caresses. “Someday you’ll know exactly what I mean.”

  Unease rippled through her. Kit already knew that the law and justice were not one and the same, but there seemed to be a deeper meaning to Jake’s words.

  “Go back to sleep. I’ll be here if you have another nightmare,” she said softly.

  His eyes closed, and Kit pulled the blankets up around his broad shoulders. Standing over him, she laid her palm against his whiskered cheek, enjoying the foreign, soft-bristled texture. “I’ve never known anyone quite like you, Jake,” she whispered.

  She lowered herself into the nearby chair and began rocking. A quiet creak accompanied each backward motion.

  “I never noticed how comforting the sound of a rocking chair can be,” Jake remarked in a low voice.

  Surprised he was still awake, Kit paused a moment, then continued her rhythmic back-and-forth motions. “Did your mother ever rock you when you were a child?”

  The sound of his husky voice broke the long silence. “I remember one time when I was younger than Johnny, Pa was gone and there was a bad thunderstorm. I remember being scared, then hearing my mother’s voice, soft and gentle, and she put me in her lap while she sat in the rocking chair in front of the fireplace.”

  “When did she go back East?”

  He shifted below the pile of blankets. “A long time ago.”

  “Why’d you get drunk, Jake?”

  She could see his eyes open in the moon’s slanted light.

  “Because I wanted to.”

  His flippant reply startled Kit. Hurt by his offhand-edness, she snapped, “I think you were only feeling sorry for yourself. Well, Mr. Cordell, I’ll have you know life is not a bed of roses for anyone. But the rest of us don’t hide in a whiskey bottle and wallow in self-pity. We make the best of what we have. I suggest you do the same.”

  She stalked out of the room, then leaned against the wall in the hallway, trembling from her outburst.

  A touch on her shoulder startled her, and she peeled her hands away from her face to find the man in her thoughts standing directly in front of her. With his dark hair mussed and his feet bare, Jake hadn’t taken the time to pull on a shirt. Curly black hair covered his chest and tapered down to his flat stomach to disappear beneath his waistband. In spite of his appearance, or because of it, languid heat flowed through her limbs.

  “Are you all right, Kit?” Jake’s voice was low, intimate in the darkened hallway.

  “Fine.” Kit focused on a spot on the wallpaper behind him. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper. Especially with the way you’re feeling.”

  Jake gazed intently at her, searching for a sign of—what? With a deliberate motion, he raised his hand and touched her peach velvet cheek. Her eyes widened behind her spectacles. Expectation displaced her surprise, and she leaned into the palm of his hand.

  Using his thumb, Jake traced light whorls on Kit’s cheek, and she wrapped a hand around his wrist. He didn’t know if she wanted him to stop or continue; he chose the latter.

  “You’re right, Kit. I was feeling sorry for myself, and I couldn’t just get on Zeus and ride away this time,” Jake confessed in a low voice. “You’ve got everything I ever wanted—a home and a son—and you get to do what you love, raise horses. I envy you, Kit.”

  Her eyes widened behind her lenses. Abruptly she moved away from him. “I’ve envied you nearly all my life, Jake.”

  Jake sensed the sadness in her words. “I’m not some perfect made-up hero, Kit. And I can’t change who I am.”

  “I know that now. You should get back to bed. You’re white as a sheet.”

  They returned to the room, and Jake fell on the mattress and closed his eyes, his dark lashes shadowed against his pale cheek. The moon’s silvery rays glinted across his bare skin, revealing a puckered scar on his side. A mark of the violent life he’d led, the life she’d foolishly glorified.

  Kit squeezed his hand reassuringly, and he clung to her.

  “You won’t leave me, will you?” Jake asked in a low, raw voice.

  His vulnerability undermined her defenses, clogging her throat with emotion. “No.”

  A sigh escaped his lips, but he didn’t release her. Keeping her fingers curled around his, Kit pulled the chair closer to the bed with her free hand. She sat down, still imprisoned by his grasp. A few minutes later, the steady rise and fall of Jake’s chest told Kit he finally slept.

  Jake awoke a few hours after sunrise and looked around, disoriented, his head pounding. Pressing a hand to his temple, he turned to find Kit curled up in the rocking chair, a blanket wrapped around her. He thought it had all been a dream—waking in the middle of the night and talking to Kit, and nearly losing himself in her compassionate eyes. And asking her to stay with him. She had done so, and not for any gain on her part, but because she was his friend and she trusted him.

  He swallowed, not liking the taste of deception. The hell of it was, he wanted her friendship—yet he couldn’t have both the ranch and Kit.

  As if sensing his gaze upon her, Kit awakened. He studied her sleep-tousled expression and smiled affectionately. “Morning.”

  “Good morning,” she said quietly. “I see you survived.”

  “Barely.” He rubbed his brow. “I’m getting too damn old for this.”

  A hint of a smile graced her face. “I hope that means you’re swearing off liquor.”

  “I’d swear to anything right now if it meant my head would stop feeling like a stomping ground for a herd of buffalo.”

  Disappointment sent her smile scurrying away.

  “Don’t worry,” Jake went on. “I don’t plan on repeating that episode.”

  Kit appeared relieved. “Good. You need to get on with your life, Jake. Get your law practice going. And if you have some spare time, Johnny would like to have you continue his riding lessons.” She paused
. “He likes you a lot, Jake.”

  “I never had much use for kids before. I used to think they should be locked away until they were grown up.” His smile faded. “But I like Johnny, and I don’t want to disappoint him.”

  Gratitude glowed in Kit’s eyes. “You won’t. I’ll get you something to eat. You’re going to need some strong coffee, too.”

  “You’ve done more than enough, Kit. Why don’t you go on home?”

  “Because you were there when I needed you. The least I can do is be here for you.”

  He studied her a moment, noting the gentle tilt of her chin, the upswept brows, and the compassion brimming in her eyes behind the round lenses.

  His groin tightened with awakening desire. What he wanted was her, but he couldn’t speak the words aloud. Not after what she’d done for him. He couldn’t make love to her, then forget about her as he’d done with all the other women in his checkered past. Or worse, use her and then take away her beloved ranch. Even he wasn’t that lowdown.

  “You don’t owe me anything,” he said.

  “Maybe, maybe not, but I plan on staying until you’re up on your own two feet.”

  If he’d had any morals, he’d have told her to run as far away from him as she could. But her concern for his welfare was as intoxicating as a bottle of twenty-year-old scotch whiskey. He’d never had anybody worry about him before.

  “Are you up to eating in the dining room, or should I bring you a tray?” she asked.

  “I can eat at the table, but I need a bath first.”

  She wrinkled her nose impishly. “Good idea. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Kit strode out the door.

  An hour later, Jake entered the kitchen. The smell of fried ham and baking bread plunged his stomach into a rapid descent. He choked back the nausea and took the coffee cup Kit offered him.

  His square-tipped fingers brushed Kit’s hand, and she fought the urge to prolong the contact. Noticing his clean-shaven jaw, she caught a whiff of soap. His damp hair glistened like a blackbird’s wing, and the dark strands were tamed back from his forehead.

  He actually resembled the hero she’d written about for the past five years.