At the top, he paused. “Which one’s yours?”
How dare he violate the sanctuary of her home! She smiled in defiance. “Guess.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Your bastard feeds his caged animals between three and four every day except Sunday.”
Her skin blossomed with goosebumps. “You’ve been watching us?”
“I watch over what’s mine.”
His warped possessiveness pierced her resistance. “The end of the hall.”
Preston’s upper lip curled in disgust. “As much as I abhor the thought of you and him together, I find taking you in the same bed fitting.”
Kit pressed a fist to her mouth. He shoved her, and she stumbled down the hall. Inside the bedroom, she closed her eyes against the memories of her and Jake making love.
Preston chuckled, a low, spine-chilling sound. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
His laughter brought a resurgence of desperate anger. Jerking out of his grasp, Kit dashed around him, stretching her fingers toward the doorknob. He caught her by the wrist, sending a jolt of agony up her arm, and she cried out in pain. Seeing her hand mirror on the dresser, she grabbed it and swung blindly, striking him and shattering the glass. Preston’s hissed curse told her she’d hurt him, but not enough to break his hold.
He flung her to the bed, and her head cracked against the headboard. Her eyes brimmed with involuntary tears.
Preston rubbed his ear. Blood coated his fingers. “That will cost you, Kit.”
She scrambled to a sitting position, her skull throbbing. “Not as much as it’ll cost you,” she threw back. “What do you think Jake will do to you when he finds out what you’ve done?”
Preston’s arrogance faltered a moment, then reasserted itself in his haughty expression. “I’ll tell him you were the one who instigated our meeting.”
“He won’t believe you.”
“I think he will.” He leaned close to her, and she turned her face away from the sickening odor of his breath. “The town gossip will only support my claim.” He dragged his forefinger down her cheek. “Make this easy for both of us. Believe me, you’ll enjoy it.”
She scooted frantically off the mattress, keeping the bed between herself and Preston.
“You’re only making this harder on yourself,” he snarled.
He charged around the end of the bed, and Kit jumped across the mattress to the other side in a maniacal game of tag. She dashed to the door and yanked it open, but Preston shoved his palm against it, slamming it with a thunderous crack.
His arm snaked around her neck, and he flung her across the room as if she were a rag doll. Kit’s shin struck the solid maple dresser, and she sank to her knees.
Suddenly the door creaked open, freezing the action like a tintype.
Johnny entered, concerned curiosity in his expression. “Are you okay, Ma?” She nodded, and he straightened his shoulders, like a miniature Jake readying for a battle. “What’re you doing up here, Mr. Preston?”
She had to get him away. “Go downstairs, Johnny.”
Her son held his ground, his attention on Preston. He frowned with unconcealed dislike. “My pa won’t like it that you were here.”
“Get out of here, kid.”
Johnny shook his head. “You hurt her.”
Preston grabbed the boy and shook him.
Fury surged through Kit, and she hurled her battered body against Preston. “Let him be!” She pounded his back with her fists and kicked him.
Preston swiveled his attention to Kit, releasing Johnny. He buried his fingers in her hair and yanked her head back, and she yelped in pain.
Johnny grabbed Preston’s leg and bit him above the knee.
Preston howled, trying to shake him off. He backhanded the boy, knocking him to the hall floor. Forgetting Kit, he stalked toward Johnny.
“Run!” Kit screamed.
The terror in his ma’s voice spurred Johnny into action. He scrambled to his feet as Preston’s figure loomed, and raced down the stairs, his hand skimming the railing. He hurried out to the porch, then paused, looking back. Mr. Preston hadn’t chased him.
His stomach spun with fear. He had to take care of his ma. His pa was counting on him.
Johnny sneaked back into the house, his heart pounding, tears running down his face. Entering the library, he opened a desk drawer, and his fingers closed around a wooden box. With trembling hands, Johnny withdrew it, lifted the lid, and took out the revolver. Sobbing, he loaded the weapon the way Ethan had taught him.
He hefted the Colt in both hands. He’d never fired it before, but he’d watched Ethan practice shooting. All he had to do was aim and squeeze the trigger.
Tiptoeing up the steps, he paused in front of the bedroom door. His hands shook from the weight of the gun. Sweat mixed with tears rolled down his cheeks. Then his mother’s muffled scream shattered his hesitation. He threw open the door and lifted the revolver, using every ounce of his strength and resolve.
He spied his mother lying on the bed, Mr. Preston sitting on top of her. Her shirt was torn, and she was crying.
“Stop it!” Johnny screamed.
Preston glanced at him over his shoulder and laughed. “Put the gun away, kid. You won’t shoot me.”
His ma tried to get away from Preston, and the man lifted a hand to her.
Gritting his teeth, Johnny aimed the gun at Mr. Preston’s back and squeezed the trigger.
Chapter 19
The explosion registered in Kit’s mind a split second before Preston fell forward on her chest. Reacting without thought, she shoved him off her and scrambled from the bed. She stared at his still body, trying to comprehend what had happened. Blood oozed from a wound high on his right shoulder.
She shifted her gaze to the doorway and spotted Johnny on the floor, a revolver beside him. Realization struck like a physical blow. Johnny had shot Preston.
“Dear God,” she whispered.
Charlie and Ethan appeared behind her son, and Kit closed her eyes in relief. Ethan knelt down beside Johnny, and his bewildered gaze found Kit. “What the hell happened?”
She hurried to Johnny’s side and wrapped her arms around her son. Hugging his shuddering body close, Kit replied in a shaky voice, “P-Preston attacked m-me.”
Ethan spewed a string of curses, and Charlie’s fingers rolled into ham-sized fists. Charlie strode to the motionless figure on the bed, then he gazed at Kit in alarm. “He was shot in the back.”
Kit stared at the dark man, and comprehension seemed to stagger him. He looked at Johnny, empathy brimming in his eyes.
Charlie turned back to Preston. “The son-of-a-bitch is still alive.”
“I can fix that,” Ethan growled.
“No,” Kit said. Clinging to her sobbing son, she said in a low voice, “We can’t let him die. Get the wagon, Ethan. I’ll take him to the doctor’s office.”
The half-breed stared at her for a moment as if he were going to argue, then he glanced at Johnny and nodded.
After Ethan had gone, Kit looked over at Charlie, bent over Preston’s still figure. “How bad is it?”
“Looks like the slug’s still in him.”
“We need to stop the bleeding.”
Charlie nodded. “I’ll take care of it. You get Johnny out of here.”
Grateful for her friend’s help, she led Johnny away from the bloody sight and steered him to his room. She lifted him onto his bed and knelt on the floor facing him.
“You did a very brave thing,” she began softly.
Johnny scrubbed his damp eyes with his fists. “Pa told me to take care of you.”
Kit’s heart leaped into her throat, and she had to wait a moment to answer. “Your pa would be very proud of you, but you can’t tell him that you shot Mr. Preston.”
His dark brows drew together. “Why not?”
Kit took hold of his tiny hands, hands that had just held a gun and shot a man. Moisture burned her eyes. “We’ll tell everyone I did it.
”
Fear skittered across his tearstained face. “You’ll go to jail, and I won’t ever see you again.”
She forced a reassuring smile. “They won’t put me in jail for shooting someone who was trying to hurt me.”
She shivered with remembered terror, then choked the fear back. She had to remain strong for Johnny. She had to protect her son. “This’ll be our secret. Yours, mine, Charlie’s, and Ethan’s, okay?”
Worry shadowed Johnny’s features. “Won’t Pa be mad?”
He’d be furious, Kit thought. Regret stabbed her. No, if Jake found out, there was no telling what he might do. And she couldn’t risk the whole town turning against her son for protecting his mother. “Not if he doesn’t find out.”
Johnny nibbled his lower lip and nodded.
Kit embraced him, drawing him close. “I love you, sweetheart, and I’m very, very proud of you.”
He looped his thin arms around her neck and hugged her tightly. “I love you, too, Ma.”
Reluctantly, she released him and studied the swelling around his right eye. A week ago, she wouldn’t have believed Preston capable of such violence.
“Let’s go downstairs and put a damp cloth on that eye for you. Looks like you’re going to have a shiner, young man.” She kept her voice light to counter the anger churning within her.
Johnny hopped down from the bed and took her hand. She kept herself between him and the doorway to her bedroom and led him down to the kitchen.
As she wet a cloth with cold well water, she heard footsteps on the stairs. In another minute, she heard more coming down. Knowing Charlie and Ethan were carrying Preston out, she kept a light-hearted conversation going with Johnny. She talked about Salty and Pepper, and Jasper. And Jake.
If only Jake had been home, none of this would have happened. Kit knew it was unfair to blame him for Preston’s actions, but she couldn’t help herself. If Jake truly loved her as he claimed, he wouldn’t have left them.
Charlie entered the kitchen, followed closely by Ethan. The brawny man glanced at Kit, then Johnny. “Quite a shiner you got there, Johnny.”
“Mr. Preston done it,” the boy replied, then glanced guiltily at Kit.
“It’s all right, sweetheart. You can tell them the truth.”
“Ethan, why don’t you take Johnny to the front room and play a game of checkers?” Charlie suggested.
Johnny clung to Kit. “No, I want to stay with Ma.”
Gently, Kit loosened his frantic grip from her. “It’s all right, sweetheart. Mr. Preston can’t hurt us anymore. Besides, Ethan and Charlie are here now. They won’t let anything bad happen.”
Fresh tears filled Johnny’s eyes, and Kit’s throat constricted.
Ethan led him out of the kitchen, and Johnny kept his frightened gaze on Kit until he was gone.
“You’d best get yourself cleaned up before you go into town,” Charlie said.
She glanced down at her ruined shirt and noticed for the first time that her chemise had been torn, too, exposing a patch of pale skin between her breasts. Kit pulled the sides of her shirt together, and the shakes caught her off-guard. Her whole body quaked. Ragged sobs escaped her throat, and tears ran unheeded down her cheeks.
Charlie wrapped his arms around her and she stepped into his comforting embrace.
“He was going to rape me,” she managed to get out.
His muscles tensed, but he only smoothed Kit’s hair in a comforting motion. “If I’da known what kind of man Preston was, I wouldn’t have let him out of my sight.”
“He had everyone fooled with his city manners.” She hiccuped. “Especially me. I can’t believe I thought he was my friend.” She drew out of his arms. “Nobody can know that it was Johnny who shot Preston in the back.” Her stomach fisted. “I’m going to say I did it.”
Charlie stared at her in shock, then shook his head vehemently. “I ain’t gonna let you do that. I’ll tell them I did it.”
“Once it’s out that he was backshot, you’d be strung up without a trial. Same as Ethan.”
“But—”
Kit squeezed his hand. “No, I won’t take that chance.”
“You figure on hidin’ it from Jake, too?” he asked, his tone disapproving.
Kit swallowed her remorse. “I have to. Jake’s a lawyer. He’d feel obligated to tell the truth. He’ll get the same story as everyone else. Preston attacked me, and hit Johnny, then I shot the snake.”
He shook his head. “Tell him the truth. He’s your husband.”
“No. I can’t risk having him labeled a backshooter for the rest of his life.” She searched for understanding in Charlie’s eyes. “Johnny wouldn’t be punished by the court, but folks would call him a coward and worse as he grows older. I have to protect my son.”
“He’s Jake’s son, too.”
She hesitated, and said quietly, “That’s another reason I have to do this.” She turned toward the door. “I have to go change and get Preston to the doctor.”
“I packed the wound to stop the bleedin’.” He reached behind him, withdrew the revolver from his waistband, and handed it to Kit. “Here.”
She took it with trembling hands, recognizing it as the one she kept in her desk drawer: Judge Cordell’s Colt revolver. “Thanks.”
“I’ll ride with you into town,” Charlie said.
“No. I don’t want you or Ethan anywhere near Chaney for a little while.”
Kit went to the library, and placed the unloaded gun back in its box. She noticed a packet of envelopes lying on the desk beside the box and tossed them in the drawer with the weapon.
Half an hour later, Kit drove the team of horses down the dusk-lit road. Preston had lost a lot of blood, but his unconscious groans told her he was still alive. Torn between wanting him to die and wanting him to live, Kit struggled with her conscience. She’d never wished for a man’s death before, and the savagery of her thoughts frightened her.
She thought of the novels she’d written glorifying Jake’s gunfights. Despite the men being outlaws, she had cheapened the lives and deaths of human beings. And made Jake a hero without remorse. Her vision blurred, and Kit removed her spectacles to rub her eyes. Replacing them, she thought of the final dime novel she’d been trying to write. She now knew how to conclude the legend.
Chaney came into sight, and she guided the horses to the doctor’s building. She glanced up at Jake’s office, blanketed in darkness, and once again wished he’d been home. Dashing aside the useless musings, she hopped to the hard-packed earth and rushed into Dr. Lewis’s office.
“The fire station’s down the street,” Dr. Lewis growled from his desk.
Kit blinked, at first bewildered. “I’ve got a badly wounded man in the back of my wagon.”
He came to his feet with a scowl. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
“I—” Kit shook her head. There was no use arguing with him; she’d never win. “He’s been shot.”
Dr. Lewis rushed past her, surprising Kit with his agility. He looked into the wagon bed. “Looks like the newspaperman.”
“It is,” she affirmed. “I did it.”
“Didn’t agree with one of his editorials?”
Despite the gravity of the situation, Kit smiled. “Not exactly.”
The doctor shanghaied a couple men out of the crowd who’d gathered around the wagon and had them carry Preston into the examination room.
“You get queasy with blood?” Lewis demanded.
Kit shook her head. “No.”
“Good. I need a nurse.”
“But—”
“I got no time for shilly-shallying. Get in here.”
Kit accepted the inevitable with a sigh and rolled up her sleeves.
For the next hour, she helped Lewis remove the bullet from Preston’s shoulder. Tying off the bandage, she glanced at the doctor. “Will he live?”
“I look like God to you?”
Flustered, Kit shook her head. “Well, no.” S
he attempted another approach. “In your medical opinion, will he be all right?”
“Bullet didn’t do any real damage. He’ll be fit as a fiddle in a few weeks.”
Kit nearly collapsed with relief.
Dr. Lewis wiped his hands dry. “Preston do that to you?”
She noticed his attention on her neck, and she covered the painful bruise self-consciously. “Yes.”
His eyes gleamed with anger. “Preston got what he deserved. In my day, a man who attacked a woman would’ve been strung up without a trial.” His shrewd gaze remained on her. “Want to tell me who really shot him?”
Startled, she glanced down, and picked up the bloody cloths littering the floor. “I told you, I did.”
“How do you shoot a man in the back when he’s attacking you?”
“I got away from him and grabbed a gun and shot him. Simple as that,” Kit stated, her voice unnaturally loud. “Am I done here?”
He nodded.
Kit watched the doctor gather his tools, then went into the front office. She stopped short at the sight of Mayor Walters, Bertie Wellensiek, and Patrick. The Irishman’s usually pleasant expression was absent, and Kit’s palms grew moist.
“Is that David Preston back there?” Patrick asked without preamble.
Kit nodded, but didn’t offer more.
“Arrest her,” Bertie said in a shrewish voice.
Patrick leveled a quelling gaze at the reverend’s wife. “I want to hear Kit’s side.”
Kit recognized the Irishman’s struggle to control his temper. Quaking inside, she prayed for courage to keep to her story. “David came out to the ranch. He said he knew Jake was out of town and wanted to make sure I was all right.”
Bertie narrowed her darting little pig eyes. “Mr. Preston is a gentleman.”
“I hate to shatter your image of the wonderful Mr. Preston, but he’s no gentleman,” Kit stated shakily. “He attacked me. Fortunately, I was able to get away from him and grab a gun. Then I shot him.” She paused. “Dr. Lewis said he’ll be fine in a few weeks.”
“You shot him in the back, Miss Thornton,” the mayor commented.
She pinned him with a glare. “I had reason enough. And it’s Mrs. Cordell.”
Maureen McKade Page 30