Lipstick and Lead Series: The Complete Box Set With a Bonus Book

by Sylvia McDaniel

  He watched her and knew that hidden deep within her was a caring person who had been forced to learn to be tough and trust no one. And how could he blame her. First her stepfather, then the madam, then the preacher—she’d been betrayed by everyone.

  And yet, here she was taking care of one of the people who’d done her a lot of harm.

  “I’m going to earn back your trust, Hannah,” he said quietly.

  “You’re not going to be here long enough to earn back my trust. Not unless you plan on being here a thousand years because frankly, that’s how long it’s going to take to earn my respect again.”

  Chapter 3

  “Thanks for doing this,” Hannah said as Tim dismounted from his horse with her supplies at the creek’s edge.

  “Don’t thank me just yet,” he said. “The man at the mercantile kept asking me all kinds of questions about why I needed turpentine and camphor.”

  How could she risk Tim’s life, yet she’d needed the medical supplies for Jackson’s wounds and the food to restore her meager rations.

  She frowned. “What did you tell him?”

  “Told him I occasionally used the medicine on the horses in the stable. Seemed to shut him up for a while. Then he got curious as to why I was buying flour when he sees me at the diner every day.”

  “That old man is trying to cause trouble,” she said, wishing she was just like any other woman and could walk into the store and purchase what she needed.

  “Well, he’s not the worst of your problems.”

  She stopped transferring the supplies from his saddle bags to hers and glanced at him. “What’s wrong?”

  “At the saloon last night, I overheard Mrs. Hutchins tell your stepfather that if he could find a blonde girl, that would be wonderful,” the young man said, shaking his head as he watched her pack away the goods he’d brought.

  Hannah froze as fear trickled down her spine and anger soared through her. “He’s going to kidnap another girl.”

  “It would seem that way,” Tim said, handing her the last of the packages.

  “Did he leave this morning?”

  He grinned, a mischevious smile that made her wonder. “Nope, his horse developed colic. But I can’t do that forever.”

  “Did you make the horse sick?” Hannah asked, hoping he hadn’t deliberately hurt the poor animal.

  “No, I lied to Elliott.”

  “Why?”

  “I thought you might want to go after him. Catch him in the act and turn him in,” he said. “I couldn’t get out here last night. I was afraid you’d think I was an intruder and shoot me.”

  She smiled at him, but not a full-blown womanly grin. Tim had a crush on her, and she wouldn’t encourage the young man or give him false hope. Her experience with men was over. “I probably would have.”

  “So, his horse had a mild bellyache. I told him it would be better for him to leave the next morning. I thought his horse would be feeling better by then,” the boy said with a chuckle.

  Shaking her head at him, she laughed. “You can be devious.”

  Tim stuck his hands in his pockets. “It’s not right, forcing girls into being soiled doves. If you chose that life, that’s one thing, but no one should be obliged to work upstairs.”

  “Thanks, Tim,” she said softly. “I’ll be ready to follow him in the morning. Then I’ll be back.”

  The young man lowered his head and glanced at the dirt, before looking up and staring at her. “You know my mother worked at the saloon before Mrs. Hutchins bought the place. I don’t have a clue who my father was.”

  The news of Tim’s parentage wasn’t a surprise. In the little one-room schoolhouse in a small town, everyone knew everything about people.

  She shrugged. “My father was killed when I was thirteen. Then my mother made the horrible mistake of marrying Elliott.”

  He nodded. “Life isn’t easy for kids like us.”

  “No, it’s not.” She stepped back, afraid he was going to try to kiss her. “Thanks for bringing me the supplies. I better get back in there and check on the preacher man. While I’m gone, you might come out and see if he’s okay.”

  Tim shuffled his feet, his hands still in his pockets. “I wish I could go with you, but I don’t think I’d be any help. Be careful going after Elliott. You don’t want to find yourself back working at the brothel.”

  She gritted her teeth and forced a smile. “Don’t worry. There is no way I will ever return to the saloon, except to free the women who are trapped there.”

  When Hannah came into the cabin carrying her saddle bags with the pouches overflowing with supplies, Jackson lifted his head off the pillow, his body sending shooting pains ricocheting through him.

  “You didn’t go into town, did you?” he asked, fear clutching his sore middle. If the sheriff or the madam saw Hannah had returned to town, she’d disappear faster than cake at a church function.

  “No. Tim from the livery stable brought this to me,” she said, putting most of the supplies into the cabinets. The rest she packed neatly into the saddle bags.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, watching her move about efficiently.

  She turned and gazed at him, her emerald eyes not at all friendly. Even after a week of staying together in the cabin, she had warmed very little toward him. Even after he’d said “I’m sorry”. But he couldn’t blame her. If their roles had been reversed, he’d hate him as much as she did.

  “Tim told me Elliott is leaving to go after another girl in the morning. I intend to follow him,” she answered.

  Anger rushed through him, and he clenched his fists in the sheet, wishing he was strong enough to fight them again. He’d just taken a beating trying to keep a girl from prostitution; he wasn’t going to let them just find another to take her place.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head, doubting this stubborn woman would listen to him, but knowing he had to stop her. “You can’t go alone.”

  She gazed at him, her eyes boring a hole in the middle of his chest. “Who’s going to go with me? You, preacher man? You can hardly get out of bed.”

  “Get me a horse. I’ll go with you.”

  Shaking her head, she walked over and pulled out a pan. “I asked Tim to check on you while I’m gone. I’ll be back as soon as I catch or kill Elliott.”

  Gripping the blanket, he wanted to jump out of bed and protest, but instead, he lay there, trying to rein in the fear and hurt that threatened to control him. “Hannah, I know you think I’m ignorant, but believe me, you don’t want to kill your stepfather.”

  She turned and gave him a look that should have melted the blankets from the bed, her emerald eyes flashed with annoyance. “You don’t want to kill the men that beat you senseless?”

  “Of course I did at the time. But killing a man leaves scars. You wake up in the middle of the night and see his eyes.During the war, you think it could have been you. You wonder who they left behind.”

  Placing her hands on her hips, she glared at him. “Wheareas, I wonder if someone had rescued me from this monster if I’d still be that innocent girl. I wonder about his next victim. How can I let him ruin another girl's life? I think about what I endured, and squeezing the trigger seems easy and feels satisfying.”

  Only for a split second, then his face reappears in your brain at the oddest times. And you wonder if you hadn’t killed him, what kind of life he would have now, after the war?A young boy should never go to war. The emotional wounds left scars that ran so deep they only scabbed over and never went away.

  Quickly, he pushed the thought away. Shaking his head, he said, “It won’t change things. You’ll still have the memories, but now you’ll have blood on your hands.”

  “And you think he doesn’t? My mother would never go into a bordello, yet she died at the bottom of the stairs. He said she slipped and fell. Lucky for him there were no witnesses. Or were there? Was he trying to force my mother into working upstairs and she fought him?”

  Jackso
n watched her hands shake as she stared at him, her emerald gaze as cold as stone.

  “Elliott Potter has a lot to answer for. Not only did he gamble away his money, but my mother’s as well. You can preach all you want, but in the morning, I’m following Elliott out of town. And if I do my job right, he won’t be returning.”

  She turned away from him to the fireplace and built a small fire. They were only using the fire to cook late at night and making certain it was out before dawn. They were close enough to town they both feared someone seeing smoke coming out of the chimney during the day. But after a week of hardtack, they’d had no choice but to cook some beans and bacon.

  “So who did you kill?” she asked her back to him. He was surprised it’d taken her this long to ask.

  A shudder rippled through him as the memory of that awful day came back to him. The smell of blood everywhere, the noise of cannons, the smoke, the screams, and he wanted to vomit.

  He swallowed. “A young boy.”

  She whirled around and faced him, her body tense as she stared at him in the darkness of the cabin. Silence cloaked the small room, as she reached over and flipped the bacon in the frying pan.

  There was so much pain and suffering swirling around them. Hurt that neither one had brought on themselves; they just needed some time to heal. Time to gather strength before they returned to the battle.

  “Is there a wanted poster on you, preacher man? I need to know, since I’m a bounty hunter.”

  “No wanted poster,” he said, not offering her more information, knowing she wouldn’t ask.

  “Good, because I would turn you in and collect the ransom.”

  He laughed, glad to see the atmosphere wasn’t as charged with emotions as it had been. “I know you would, Hannah. If there’s a price on my head, I don’t have a chance. I’d have to surrender my beaten body to you.”

  She stood there with the fork in her hand and stared at him in the darkness. “Are you making fun of me?”

  “Never,” he whispered. “If you kill your stepfather, there will be bounty hunters looking for you. As far as I know, it’s still against the law to kill an innocent man.”

  For a moment, he thought she was going to take the skillet and hit him with it. Turning back to the fire, she lifted the pan from the blaze then gazed at him like he was the stupidest person she’d ever met. “Who says he’s innocent?”

  “The law, until someone files charges against him.”

  “I know that. But I’m going to file a complaint when I take him in, unless he runs from me. Then I’ll be thanking God and taking aim.”

  “What about the madam? What are you going to do with her?” he asked, shifting in the bed, trying to get off his wrapped, broken ribs.

  “Oh, she’s got no chance. I’m taking her business down. Makes no difference to me whether I take her in, or she tries to run, and I aim and fire. One less woman with a band of prostitutes.”

  Jackson knew she had every reason to feel anger, and probably here in this cabin was the best place for her to let some of that fury loose. But still, he could feel the desire for revenge radiating from her like heat from a stove, and he knew she had no idea what she was wishing for. Sure, she wanted them dead. He remembered the idealism he’d had when he’d thought about the war when he’d been so very young. But then, living with the reality was something he’d never forget.

  “What about your church? Don’t you want to get revenge?”

  “God didn’t turn his back on me. God’s people turned their backs on me,” he said, hearing the bitterness tinging his voice. “And when I tried to clear my name, my congregation didn’t want to hear the truth.”

  She slid the crisp bacon and potatoes onto two plates, grabbed a couple of forks, and headed to the table.

  Carefully, he slid from the bed. When his feet touched the ground, his vision spun crazily. He gripped the blanket around his privates with one hand and held onto the bed with the other. In a minute, the world quit shifting, and he took a step toward the table.

  For the last two days, he’d lay in bed willing his body to heal, knowing his time was limited before they were found. He wanted to ride, and that started with this first step.

  Turning around with his plate in her hand, she stopped. “What are you doing? You should stay in bed.”

  “No, I need to get stronger. Especially, if I’m going with you tomorrow.”

  “You’re not. You would only slow me down.”

  “Come on, it’s Elliott. How fast do you think he’s going to ride? He’ll be lucky to make it halfway to Dyersville tomorrow.”

  “Maybe so, but you need to stay here and rest.”

  He paused as he walked very carefully from the bed to the table. He sank into the chair, making certain the blanket was still wrapped around him. Sure, she’d seen him naked, but that time he’d been hurt. Now he was bruised and achy and weaker than a newborn baby, but he still had some male dignity. Some pride still flowing in his veins that demanded he become stronger.

  “I’m going to get better,” he said, as the pain of that short walk radiated through him like he’d walked on hot coals. Even with the binding around his ribs, he was often short of breath.

  Picking up his fork, he took a bite of the bacon and potatoes. After the hardtack he’d eaten for days, this tasted delicious. “This is good.”

  “Thanks,” she said, focused on her food. “Why did your congregation turn their back on you?”

  He stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth, realizing she had no idea about what had happened to him or what he’d done trying to change what he’d seen going on in town. She’d been gone when he was gathering his flock to fight the evil in their community. “I was caught with a prostitute.”

  She turned and gazed at him, but he couldn’t see her eyes in the darkness. They still were not using a lantern, afraid someone would see the glow and wonder who was living in the shack.

  He could tell his words shocked her, and it rankled him that just like his congregation she would believe he’d use one of the women for his own needs. The last time he’d lay with a woman was long before he’d become a minister. “It’s not like it sounds. I did not have sex with that woman.”

  “Sure, you didn’t. I can’t tell you how many men from your fine church I serviced on Saturday night, and then they went with their wife to listen to your sermon on Sunday morning. It just proves you’re like all of them. I was beginning to think maybe you were different.”

  He reached out and grabbed her chin, pulling it so she had to look at him. “I am different. I wasn’t having sex with that girl. I was trying to save her, since I didn’t save you.”

  Jackson lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness. He knew it was nearly morning, but since he’d been in bed every day, he was having more and more trouble sleeping all night. And when he wasn’t dozing, his mind was busy thinking about what he could have done different. How could he get his congregation back, and did he really want to continue being a preacher?

  Like the spinning of a wheel, his mind went in a thousand different directions, never lingering in one place for long. He loved his job. It wasn’t the preaching so much as the interaction with people. Helping them when they were down, when they were sick, or when they just needed encouragement. His job as the leader of that small church was not to scream and tell them they were evil. Oh no, they knew they were sinners. His job was to hopefully show them a path that would help them lead a better life where they could spend eternity with their Lord and Saviour.

  At first he’d tried to ignore the saloon and whorehouse in town. After all, people always found a way to get what they need. But after he’d turned away Hannah and learned the truth, he knew he could no longer let that blight sit there on the horizon. In order to get rid of the situation, he had to clean up the town.

  And so he’d begun the ugly task of trying to rid an outlaw town of a crooked sheriff and a ruthless madam. Only, they’d won the first round. But now
, he was more determined than ever to sweep the streets clean, and he’d call in the Calvary or the Texas Rangers if he had to.

  A moan came from the floor, and he listened more intently. From being in such close proximity with her this past week, he knew Hannah often cried in her sleep. It was like when she lay dreaming, her guard was down, and sometimes she would weep or mumble.

  “No,” she called out, her words clear and distinctive this time. “Mother, no, no. You can’t leave me.”

  The sound of her cries ripped at his heart. If only he hadn’t been so stupid when she’d asked for his help. If only he’d believed her. He would have done his best to get her out of town, just like how he’d done for Melissa.

  She thrashed around in the blankets. This dream was the worst one yet.

  “Stop,” she screamed, and he couldn’t take it any longer.

  He crawled out of bed, wrapping the blanket around him. He leaned down beside her on the floor and realized how cold it was down here. It was a wonder she’d hadn’t become ill.

  Gently, he touched her on the shoulder. “Hannah, wake up. It’s only a dream.”

  She sobbed softly in her sleep, and his heart wrenched at the sound. Pushing a lock of hair away from her face, he stroked her cheek, feeling the soft skin while he cooed gently trying to wake her. The woman was beautiful, but she was a mess. On the outside, she was strong and tough as nails, but inside her soul was bruised and battered.

  “Hannah, wake up. Everything’s okay.”

  Suddenly, her body went stiff, and he knew she was awake.

  She pushed his hand away from her face. “Don’t touch me. Stay away from me.”

  “I was only trying to rouse you. You were having a bad dream.”

  Her chest rose and fell in rapid short breaths like she’d been running a mile. He didn’t dare tell her it had happened on more than one occasion. She yanked her blanket up to her neck.