Kid Calhoun

by Joan Johnston

  “The next one won’t miss,” Wat said in a perfectly calm voice.

  Anabeth came to a screeching halt. It was the voice that stopped her. The fact she was female wasn’t going to save her from the likes of Wat Rankin. He didn’t have a conscience to be bothered. And dead was dead. If she wanted a chance for the revenge she had come so far to get, she had to stay alive.

  “Well, a female with brains,” Wat said. “That is a surprise.”

  Anabeth glared at him.

  “Come here,” Wat commanded.

  Anabeth’s footsteps dragged as she returned to stand before the outlaw. She flinched when he grabbed her jaw, but met his strange yellow eyes without turning away.

  “Where’s the gold?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “She’s lyin’!” Snake said.

  Wat’s fingers tightened on her face. “Well, Kid?”

  Anabeth lowered her gaze. “I’m telling you the truth.”

  “I don’t think you are.” Wat’s hand tightened until Anabeth cried out.

  Her eyelids flickered up, revealing the hate and rage she felt toward the outlaw who was responsible for her uncle’s death. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know!”

  “Then I’ll ask you something you do know. Where’s that valley?”

  “I’ll never tell,” she retorted.

  “Oh, I think maybe with a little persuasion you might even be willing to take us there.”

  “Never!”

  Wat’s hand slipped down from Anabeth’s jaw to her throat and squeezed. She choked as she tried to draw breath, but couldn’t. Her hands grappled with his wrist, trying to pull it free. Not until things began to go black, did Wat’s grip loosen. Anabeth gasped and heaved a lifesaving breath of air.

  “I think maybe you’ll talk,” Wat said with a leering smile. “Because there are other types of persuasion, you know, if plain old violence doesn’t work.”

  Anabeth searched the faces of the other outlaws, looking for compassion, but found none. On the Mexican’s face she saw disapproval of her treatment, but also fear of Wat Rankin that far outweighed it. Teague was too dumb to think for himself. He would do what he was told. In the eyes of Whiskey and Snake she saw lust and a primitive animal excitement. It would only take a nod from Rankin to release the savages within.

  “Maybe I do know something,” Anabeth admitted at last.

  Wat smiled broadly. “I’m a reasonable man,” he said. “Let’s sit down and talk business.”

  Anabeth shuddered as Wat put an arm around her shoulder and led her back toward a camp that had been set up near the main waterhole along the trail. Stupid men, she thought. This was the first place Jake would think to come looking for her. He would come looking for her, wouldn’t he?

  Yes, he would. First, because he would be angry that she had gotten away from him. Second, because he believed she would eventually lead him to Sam Chandler’s gold. And third, because there was unfinished personal business between them that had begun when they exchanged that stunning kiss in Claire’s parlor.

  Anabeth had a feeling Jake was going to be pretty damned mad by the time he found her. Only Jake wouldn’t figure to take out his fury on a puny female. Anabeth smiled inwardly. Wat Rankin and his gang had better look out!

  Jake lay back on the pillow with an arm behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Every so often he took a drag on the cigarette Sierra had rolled and offered to him after they had finished having sex. He scratched around the pink edges of the gunshot wound on his thigh, which itched where it was healing.

  The sweat hadn’t dried on his body from the physical exertion of the act, but he felt the need for a woman again. The problem was, he didn’t want the woman lying beside him. She had satisfied the desires of his body, but not the needs of his soul.

  In the past, whenever Jake had needed a woman, he had found a willing one and taken what he wanted. Not that he hadn’t given pleasure in return. Jake wasn’t so selfish as that. This time he had sought out a woman to fulfill his need, but his body refused to be satisfied with the intense physical release he had found. It wanted something more. He wanted something more.

  Anabeth Calhoun.

  There, he had admitted it. He wanted her and only her. There was a fire in his body that sought out an answering flame. An ache in his soul that sought out an answering solace. As much as he wished it were not true, the only woman who could satisfy the burning within him was an enticing young female locked into a second-story room in a boardinghouse on the other side of town.

  Jake frowned when he thought of any woman having that sort of power over him—over his happiness. Hadn’t he learned his lesson from his mother? He might want Anabeth Calhoun like hell, but that didn’t mean he had to succumb to her allure. The sooner he said good-bye to her, the better.

  He looked down and realized his body had hardened at just the thought of her, the blood pumping through his shaft, engorging it painfully.

  “Hell and the devil.”

  “You say something, Jake?”

  Jake stubbed out his cigarette in a tray on the bedside table, then sat up and began pulling on his jeans. Sierra rolled over in bed to admire the play of sinewy muscles in his back. She reached out a hand to touch him, but let it drop when he stood and moved away from her.

  Sierra sat up, letting the covers slide down to her waist, exposing a lush female figure still covered with a faint sheen of perspiration from the lovemaking just past.

  “You seem in a godawful hurry, Jake. I must be losing my touch.”

  Jake threw a wry glance over his shoulder. “Just remembered something I’ve got to do.” He pulled some bills out of his pocket without counting them.

  Before he could lay them on the bedside table Sierra said, “Save your money. The pleasure was all mine.”

  Jake met her gaze and saw the pride there—and the regret. “Thanks, Sierra. I …”

  How could he explain his desire to leave this room as quickly as possible. His urgent need to see the lithe young woman who had been the bane of his existence since the moment he had first met her. “It’s not you, Sierra. I just—”

  Sierra smiled and at the same time pulled the sheets up to conceal her body from a gaze that no longer found it the least bit tantalizing. “Don’t worry, Jake. I don’t have the kind of feelings that can be hurt anymore.”

  “Dammit, Sierra, I—”

  “She must be some kind of woman to tie you up in knots like this. Who is she?”

  “A spoiled brat! A troublemaking whelp! I don’t know why I bother with her.”

  She must be some kind of woman to tie you up in knots like this. The sentence replayed in Jake’s head. Sam had warned him he would one day meet such a woman. He hadn’t believed it. Dammit, he refused to believe it.

  “She means nothing to me,” Jake muttered.

  “Sounds like you’ve got it bad,” Sierra said.

  “I don’t need her kind of trouble.”

  “Don’t you?”

  Jake felt his groin tighten at the mere thought of doing with Anabeth what he had just done with Sierra.

  Sierra saw the blatant evidence of Jake’s desire and laughed. “Don’t try to fool yourself, Jake. You want her like a house afire.”

  “She’s just a kid,” Jake muttered.

  “Thirteen? Fourteen?”

  “Nineteen.”

  Sierra’s brows rose significantly.

  “So maybe she’s not a kid, exactly,” Jake said. “But she’s as innocent as a day-old babe.”

  “There has to be a first time for every woman.”

  “Not with me!”

  “Is she asking for forever?”

  “She isn’t asking for anything!”

  Sierra’s smile was wistful. “But she’s going to get it, isn’t she, Jake. Oh, to be young and innocent again and to have a man like you walk into my life.” She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “She’s a very lucky lady.”


  “She’s a pain in the ass.”

  Sierra laughed. “Get out of here and go see her.”

  Jake bit his lip on the insincere protest he was about to make, stomped his feet down into his boots, buttoned up his shirt, yanked on his buckskin jacket, and left without another word. He thought he heard Sierra sigh as he closed the door behind himself.

  Jake didn’t exactly hurry back to the boardinghouse, but he didn’t make any detours either. He stopped to see Eulalie in the kitchen to get the key to the upstairs room where he had left the Kid, then headed up the stairs, two at a time.

  He called to Anabeth as he unlocked the door and shoved it open—to find the room empty.

  “Kid? You in here?” His eyes quickly searched the room, but there was nowhere for her to hide. He crossed to the window and looked out—then up. There was a thread from his flannel shirt caught on the edge of the windowsill and another on the edge of the roof.

  “Damn her to hell!” Jake came down the stairs three at a time. “Eulalie!” he roared. “She’s flown the coop again!”

  Eulalie came to the kitchen door kneading a handful of bread dough. “What’s wrong?”

  “She’s gone! When did you last see her?”

  “Not since you left early this afternoon. I went by the room once and knocked, but she didn’t answer, so I figured she was asleep. You say she’s gone? I swear I didn’t let her out, Jake.”

  “She went out the window.”

  “Where would she go?”

  Jake was afraid he knew the answer to that question. It made his gut tighten with fear for the imp of Satan who had tied him up in knots—and threatened to steal both his heart and his soul.

  He stopped long enough to pick up his saddlebags and say good-bye to Eulalie.

  “You leaving already?”

  “I have to find her. Don’t know when I’ll be back.”

  “Take care of yourself, Jake.” She grinned and said, “Bring her back when you can stay longer.”

  Jake gave the old woman a quick hug, mindful of the yeasty dough in her hands, and hurried out the back door.

  Whatever doubts Jake might have had as to whether Anabeth had left Santa Fe were settled when he got to the livery and found her dun missing. It took him a while to find the mustang’s tracks outside of town, but once he did, he kicked his buckskin into a lope. Shortly thereafter, Dog joined him.

  When Jake reached the spot where Anabeth had been taken by the outlaws, he deciphered the signs as though Anabeth had left a letter behind to tell him what had happened. Jake didn’t like what he read. It left him feeling cold inside, with a need to kill.

  The gang had waited here. Anabeth had come off the dun and hit the ground in a heap. He looked for blood, but thanked God when he didn’t find any. She had tried to run but had turned around and come back. The gang had camped by the waterhole and eaten a meal. After the heat of the day, they had headed south, back the way Jake and Anabeth had come.

  She’s taking them to the valley.

  Jake saw Dog freeze. The beast’s nose pointed toward the hill above Jake. Without stopping to think, Jake dropped and rolled. It was all that saved him from the bullet that went winging by him. Reflex took over, and Jake drew his gun and fired before another second passed, pinning the bushwhacker down long enough for Jake to run for cover.

  It didn’t take much guessing for Jake to figure out that the man who had been waiting for him with a rifle was one of the Calhoun Gang. The question was, how had the outlaws known Jake would be coming after Anabeth? Had she been forced to tell them about him? Or had she volunteered the information? Neither possibility pleased Jake. The big question now was how badly they wanted him dead.

  He was going to have to move if he wanted to get out of here alive. But any movement was bound to draw another shot from the outlaw hidden in the rocks above him. He might be able to wait out the bushwhacker and escape in the dark, but every minute he delayed reaching Anabeth Calhoun was another minute she had to face the outlaw gang alone.

  Jake was all too aware what her fate would be once the outlaws had the gold they sought. Or what it was liable to be if Anabeth refused to give them what they wanted. Either way, she needed him. He had no choice except to escape from the trap they had set for him.

  The bushwhacker would be expecting him to sit tight. He wouldn’t be looking for Jake to take the kind of chance that might cost him his life. Which, of course, was exactly what Jake intended to do.

  He holstered his gun and began the climb that would take him to his quarry. Jake was rewarded when he reached the top of the bluff by the sight of the outlaw laid out on his belly, his Winchester balanced on a rock overlooking the terrain below. He was drinking from a pint glass bottle.

  “Hello, there.”

  It was all the warning the outlaw got, but it was enough to bring him around to face Jake.

  Whiskey lay frozen for a moment. The pint of rotgut whiskey occupied one hand. His other hand held a rifle that had his finger curled around the trigger.

  He had been drinking almost constantly since the Kid had left with the rest of the gang. Before they rode away she had looked him right in the eye and said, “You’re a drunken son of a bitch, Whiskey. Too drunk to defend yourself against an armed man. Even one you’re planning to bushwhack. So you just sit there with your bottle and wait. Because that Texas Ranger is coming to kill you.

  “At least you’ll have more time to make peace with your Maker than you gave Booth. Good-bye, Whiskey. You’re a dead man. We won’t be seeing each other again.”

  Whiskey was remembering what she had said. And seeing it all come true. He had missed his first shot, and somehow the Ranger had managed to sneak up on him. His heart was pounding. Sweat was streaming down his back. Damned if his hands weren’t trembling! And he had to pee.

  The glass bottle shattered on rock, making a sound as explosive as the two gunshots that followed. Jake’s hand was steady and his aim was true. Whiskey’s shot went wild.

  “Damn that Kid Calhoun,” Whiskey muttered as his eyes closed on a star-filled sky. “Damn that Kid for calling me a dead man.”

  Jake kept his gun steady on the outlaw as he approached him, waiting to see if the bushwhacker would reach for the rifle that had fallen a short distance away from him.

  “What’s your name?” Jake asked.

  “They call me Whiskey.”

  Jake caught a whiff of the dark liquid that had spilled over a nearby rock—and the reek of a body that oozed alcohol from the pores—and didn’t have to ask why. Jake probably owed his life to the fact the man’s aim had been spoiled by the liquor he had drunk.

  “Where have they taken the Kid?” Jake asked.

  “Kid’s not a kid, he’s a girl,” Whiskey said.

  Jake’s gritted his teeth. So Anabeth’s luck had finally run out, and the gang knew she was female. Every second counted now. “Where did they go?”

  “To find the gold,” Whiskey replied. “The Kid said you would come after her. And kill me. Shouldna had that last drink, I s’pose. I’m gonna die, ain’t I?”

  Jake checked the hole in Whiskey’s chest, which was bubbling as his lungs filled with blood. “Looks that way.”

  “At least the Kid’ll get what’s comin’ to her,” he said.

  Jake stiffened. “What about the Kid?”

  “Gonna kill her, sure.”

  Jake felt his skin get up and crawl all over him. “Not until they find the gold, though.” He said it to convince himself that Anabeth was safe, even though he feared she was in deadly peril.

  Whiskey’s lips formed a macabre grin. Blood streamed from the side of his mouth. “I’m gonna die. But so is she.”

  A hissing sigh escaped between the outlaw’s teeth, and his eyes began to glaze over. Jake shuddered as he reached over to lower the outlaw’s eyelids. There was nothing he could do about the ghastly smile that remained on the outlaw’s lips.

  Jake didn’t take the time to bury the man. He doubted t
here would be much left of the carcass when the scavengers were done with it. He hadn’t any sympathy to spare for the bushwhacker. His every sense was focused on how to get to Anabeth Calhoun in time to prevent her death or debauchery—or both.

  The outlaws hadn’t bothered to hide their trail, most likely because they had expected Whiskey’s ambush to get rid of Jake if he followed them. It was the middle of the night when Jake finally caught up to the men he was following.

  They had made camp in the shelter of some rocks. He looked first to find out where the Kid was sleeping. She lay close to the light of the fire. He wasn’t surprised that they had tied her up, but he wasn’t happy to see the rope that ran from her hands up under Wat Rankin’s blanket. Not that he could blame the man. He didn’t trust the Kid farther than he could throw her himself.

  It wasn’t going to be easy stealing her out of there without somebody getting shot. Jake rubbed the bristle on his chin. He might have to follow them for a while and try to take her from them on the trail.

  As Jake was contemplating, he saw Anabeth begin to move. It was soon clear that the rope which bound her to Wat Rankin was no longer attached at her end.

  Jake held his breath, waiting to see if she would escape on her own. Run, Kid! Run!

  But she didn’t run. As silently, as stealthily as any Apache she headed straight for Wat Rankin.

  Jake cursed silently as Anabeth slowly inched the outlaw’s gun from the holster that hung from the horn of the saddle he was using for a pillow.

  Hurry up, Kid. Get your butt out of there!

  She was holding the gun on Rankin now. He could see her trembling even from where he lay hidden. He watched her aim the gun at the sleeping outlaw’s heart. But she didn’t cock the gun. And she didn’t shoot.

  You’re running out of time, Kid.

  The outlaw had begun to turn restlessly on his pallet, forcing the Kid to take a step backward—where she snapped a twig.

  The noise was loud in the soundless night. Rankin awakened instantly and reached for a gun that wasn’t there on the way to his feet.

  Shoot! Dammit, shoot the gun! But Jake shouted it in his head. The Kid never heard him.

  Anabeth was frozen, staring into the eyes of the man who had shot her uncle in the back. She wanted desperately to pull the trigger. But she couldn’t.