After Sundown (13 page)

Which meant the two of them were alone.

“Yeah, I know exactly what you are.” His voice was low and husky. He ran his fingers along her jawline, slowly. “And you’re not proper, and you’re no lady.”

Annie couldn’t reply, couldn’t even
think
. Not with him stroking her that way. God help her, she
must
be what he thought: a woman without virtue. Fallen. Ruined. A respectable lady wouldn’t melt this way at the merest brush of his fingertips. Wouldn’t shiver when he looked at her like that.

Or stare at his mouth.

Or like the feel of him touching her.

He leaned down, and Annie knew then that no matter how Katja tried to convince her otherwise, she would never be a lady.

Because she didn’t protest. Didn’t even try to pull away.

“How good are you, Antoinette?” he murmured, his mouth close to hers. “I’ll bet you’re damn good. Is that how you kept my brother wrapped around your finger for three years?”

For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her.

She must be losing her mind
. He was taunting her. Tormenting her. She jerked her head away, hoping he couldn’t tell how she was trembling and breathless. Her body’s wanton reactions to his touch only proved he was right to have such a low opinion of her.

How could she respond this way to a man who despised her?
“You... you made up your mind about me before you even met me.”

“Yeah.” He straightened, looking cool and unaffected by what had just happened. He turned his back, reaching into his coat. “And it seems I was right.”

He tossed something onto the bed.

Annie flinched, stared at the object, for a moment didn’t even know what it was.

Then she gasped, dragging air into her lungs, ignoring the pain that shot through her body. The physical agony from her ribs couldn’t match the far deeper hurt in her heart. “Where did you find that?”

“You know where I found it,” he snapped, turning to pierce her with a hard stare. “Right where you hid it. With your devoted Mrs. Greer indisposed, I—”

“Invaded her home and pawed through my personal things?” She glared at him, incensed.

“Decided to search for evidence. Judges and juries are rather fond of evidence.”

Annie’s side ached and hurt as she stretched one hand toward the box—then she hesitated and got off the bed, moving away from it. Then she reached for the box again. “You had no right—”

“I have every right.”

He stopped her, his hand closing on her wrist.

Their gazes locked. He held her there for a second, his fingers so strong and hard and hot against her skin, Annie felt like she was being branded. Once more she had the unsettling sensation that he was going to pull her against him, seal his mouth over hers, and...

“Where’s the key?” he grated out.

“I don’t... have it.” Her voice was halting, wavering.

“Where’d you hide it?” He released her arm.

“That box doesn’t contain anything that would interest a jury—”

“If you want to do this the hard way, that’s fine with me.” He grabbed the box.

“No!” Though every movement wracked her, she tried to stop him. “
Don’t
—”

It was too late. He stalked over to the door of her cell—and smashed the edge of the box against the iron bars.

The wood splintered, the hinges broke, and the contents fell across the rug.

Annie shut her eyes, covering her mouth with one hand to hold back a sob.

“What...?” Lucas demanded in a tone of disbelief. “What the hell is this?”

Annie shook her head, lifting her lashes slowly, reluctantly, aching with a pain that filled her heart until she thought it would shatter like that precious little box. The contents lay strewn across the carpet, stark white against the deep red and green.

A bib, a tiny knit cap, an ivory rattle, and a lacy pair of booties.

“I told you,” she whispered. “I told you there was nothing in that box that would interest a jury.”

“I don’t understand.” He looked and sounded utterly bewildered.

“They’re just some things I bought for the baby,” she choked out, slowly walking over to them and sinking to her knees, not caring about the agony in her side. “For my baby. Just a few...” She couldn’t speak anymore.

He dropped the jagged pieces of the box onto the rug. “Where’s the goddamn gun, Antoinette? And the fifteen thousand you stole?”

“I don’t know what happened to the gun.” She ran one fingertip over the tiny knit cap, afraid to touch it, unable to resist. “I told you, it was an
accident
. I was terrified and the gun fell and I ran—”

“And the money? Are you going to tell me you took that by accident?”

“I only wanted the money for my baby. So I could raise my child somewhere safe and give him a good home, a good life...” Tears spilled over her lashes. “I spent some on a black dress and a wedding ring and...” She gestured to the baby items. “I-I saw these in a shop window, next to the stage depot in Independence, in this pretty little box, and I... wanted them. But after...”

Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I didn’t want to see them anymore.” She picked up one of the booties. “But I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away.”

He stood there. Just stood there and didn’t say another word. Like he didn’t feel anything. Like he was as cold and remote as the mountain peaks outside her barred window.

“And what did you do with the rest of the money?” he demanded.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

She lifted her head and looked him straight in the eye. “I gave it away.”

He remained frozen for a moment. Then he blinked, once. Slowly. “Gave it away,” he echoed, shaking his head. “
You
gave away almost fifteen thousand dollars.”

“After I lost the baby I didn’t
care
about the money anymore! I didn’t care what happened to the money... or... or to me.”

“And who do you
claim
has it now?” he asked sarcastically. “Mrs. Greer? Your precious Dr. Holt?”

Slowly, she stood up, facing him, still clutching the tiny bootie in her fingers. “I sent it to an orphanage in Denver that I read about in the paper. Anonymously. I wanted to...” She wiped furiously at her eyes. “It couldn’t help my child, so I wanted it to help someone’s child. A child who had nothing... and no one.”

He folded his arms. “You really expect me to believe all this, don’t you?”

“I don’t care what you believe anymore!” She turned away, every part of her ablaze with pain. “It’s
true
what they say about you in those articles.” She gestured to the box of newspaper clippings on the floor of his room. “You are ruthless. Heartless!”

“I’m surprised you know how to read.”

“So you thought I was stupid as well as a slut?”

“No, I think you’re smart, Antoinette. I think you missed your calling. You should’ve been an actress. You would’ve been a big hit on the stage. Very convincing.” His voice dropped to a low, dangerous tone. “Except that I know for a fact you’re a mur—”

“
You’re
the one who’s a murderer. A cold-blooded killer, according to those newspapers. I suppose you think it makes a difference that you wear a badge—”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read.”

“I’m
not
going by what I read. I’m judging by what I
saw
, with my own eyes.”

Their gazes met and held. Those glittering green depths smoldered, darkening.

“You were going to kill me,” she accused. “Out on that hillside when you found me. You were going to shoot me.”

“And I didn’t. So why do you believe a bunch of greedy halfwits who call themselves journalists?”

“You’ve judged
me
by reputation alone. By what people
told
you about me. People who didn’t even know me at all, who would never speak two words to me. You’ve taken everything they said as gospel truth.”

“Because they were good people,” he shot back. “Not thieves and criminals—”

“Is that how you see the whole world? Good and bad?” She couldn’t catch her breath, pressed a hand against her aching ribs. “And which category do
you
fall into, Marshal?”

He moved to her—suddenly, swiftly. Startled, she backed away. Came up against the wall. He closed in and she could see the gold flecks in his green eyes, feel the heat radiating from him.

Feel his body against hers.

“You really don’t want an answer to that,” he growled.

With that he turned on his heel and stalked out, slamming her cell door and locking it. Annie couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

Because every inch of her was tingling, burning.

As if he’d just been branded on her soul.

A
raw, biting wind tugged at Lucas’s coat, making it flap noisily as he stood on the hillside beneath a tree, near a picket fence. Raindrops spattered his hat and his face, while tumbling leaves blew past him in a wet parade of shiny yellow and brown. It had been raining for most of the past week. Gray clouds lumbered across the late afternoon sky like a ghostly herd of buffalo.

But the damp weather wasn’t the only reason for his discomfort as he stood there, one gloved hand resting on his holstered Colt, the other clenched at his side.

Stood there staring at the small pine cross. At the two words carved into it.

Baby Smith.

A muscle worked in his jaw. He wasn’t sure what he was doing here, what he hoped to accomplish. He and Antoinette hadn’t spoken much since their argument last week—but she had made one request, now that her ankle was healing up and she was able to walk more easily.

She had asked to come here, claiming that she had visited the grave every day, before he arrived in town.

He had refused, of course. It was obviously a trick. A scheme. A lie. The easier it was for her to walk, the easier it would be to try and escape. He wasn’t about to let her out of her cell, not for any reason.

So he stood there, alone, not knowing why he had ventured outside in a cold rain, why he had climbed all the way up here.

He kept hoping he would find proof of her guilt. Evidence.
Something
he could hold in front of a judge and jury to show them she was a liar, a murderer.

Instead, he kept finding proof of something else.

Even here.

Rain dripped from the brim of his hat, splashing his boots as he gazed down at the tiny grave. He couldn’t help noticing that the grass to one side was worn bare... as if someone had indeed spent a lot of time curled up on the damp ground, beside this small mound of earth. And a handful of wilted flowers was strewn nearby, scattered by the wind.

Even as he resisted, an image flashed into his head. The image that had haunted him for a week now: Antoinette crumpled on the floor of her cell, crying silent tears over a bib and a tiny hat and a rattle, a lacy bootie clutched tightly in her hand.

He crouched down, resting his elbows on his knees.
Baby Smith
. Her child.

And maybe, if she was telling the truth, James’s child.

Which would make this poor, lost innocent Lucas’s nephew or niece.

The thought made his heart feel strange. He took off one of his gloves and reached out to the mound of earth. It was cold. So cold and isolated, out here in the rain. He brushed away a few fallen leaves, not sure why he felt compelled to tend the little grave.

All he knew was that, despite his best efforts to deny it, he believed Antoinette on one point.

She had cared about her baby.

Miss Antoinette Sutton—daughter of a whore, mistress, thief, murderer—had truly wanted this child. Maybe even... loved this child.

He lifted his face to the leaden sky, wishing the rain could wash that certainty away. It confused the hell out of him.
She
confused the hell out of him. To think that she might actually have a heart, to hold even that one small, charitable thought about Antoinette was more than he wanted. More than he could stand.

Because it felt like a betrayal of his brother.

Lucas shut his eyes and shook his head in denial. He wiped stinging rain from his face. Yanked his glove back on. A few days ago, he’d spent an entire morning writing to every orphanage listed in the Denver paper, seeking to discredit Antoinette’s ridiculous claim that she had donated the stolen money. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t receive any replies for at least another week, mail delivery being what it was in the mountains.

He had probably wasted his time and postage. She had probably sent the money to a
bank
in Denver under an assumed name. Or maybe one of her friends was holding it for her. Or maybe...

Or maybe she was telling the truth.

Lucas stepped back from the little cross, then abruptly turned and walked toward the cemetery gate. None of this made any sense—and none of it made any difference.

Even if Antoinette
had
cared about her baby, even if she
was
telling the truth about the missing fifteen thousand, it didn’t make her any less guilty of killing James.

She had taken the life of a gentle, kind, generous man. A husband. A father.

A brother.

Lucas latched the cemetery gate behind him and headed down the hill, hunching his shoulders against the bitter wind that blew down from the north. It would be better, he decided, if he stopped looking for evidence he wouldn’t find, stopped asking questions that had no answers. Stopped driving himself crazy.

Antoinette’s fate wasn’t for him to decide. A judge and jury would put her on trial and determine her punishment.

And since she was healing quickly, it wouldn’t be long before she’d be well enough to travel. A few more days and they could leave for Missouri.

The sooner, the better.

~ ~ ~

The rain that had started out as a gentle patter earlier today had strengthened to a downpour that pounded on the hotel’s roof and splashed noisily against Annie’s windows.

The light of a candle was all that held the darkness at bay in her cell. A single candle in a tin cup. But Annie was grateful to have it, after spending ten nights surrounded by shadows and gloom. Disbelief battled a tiny spark of pleasure as she set the candleholder on the hearth, her movements slow and stiff.

The dull ache in her ribs didn’t keep her from sighing as she watched steam curl upward from the metal tub at her feet, the warm white tendrils rising on the cool air.

Her jailer, she thought with a slow, confused shake of her head, was a man she would never figure out.

For the past week, he had been cold and distant, rarely letting her out of his sight but hardly speaking to her. He came into her cell only when it was necessary to put the handcuffs on her or remove them. When she had asked if he would take her to visit her baby’s grave, he had refused in that sarcastic, mocking tone she had come to hate.

Then today, after he had gone out for a short while and returned, she had made another request and he had granted it. Without arguing, without mocking her, without even saying a word.

He had simply sent Travis to fetch a tub and enough hot water to fill it. He even allowed her a candle so she could see what she was doing as darkness fell. Apparently he believed her when she promised she wouldn’t try to burn a hole through the wall and escape using one stubby candle.

She was stunned that he would trust her even that much. After handing it to her, he had shrugged off her thanks, locked her cell and left her alone, granting her a rare moment of privacy.

And now she stood beside the tub, his unexpected kindness leaving her confused. And a bit nervous. She shivered, but told herself it was only because her room was so chilly.

The darkened hotel was silent, except for the sound of the rain. Travis had gone home for the night. Lucas was out in the main room, probably doing what he usually did to pass the time—reading the newspapers or pacing or writing letters.

Or cleaning his gun, which he did every day. As if he always had to be ready at a moment’s notice to kill someone.

Annie shivered again. For tonight, she decided, she would try not to think of Lucas McKenna and the strange, conflicting feelings he aroused in her. Instead of puzzling over the reason behind his generosity, she’d better take advantage of it before he changed his mind.

And before the water got cold. She moved to the windows, as quickly as her injured side would allow, and closed the heavy velvet drapes. Then she picked up a cotton towel and a bar of herbal soap from her washstand—more gifts from Rebecca—and returned to the tub.

Her gaze on the steamy water, she set the soap and towel on a nearby armchair and started unbuttoning her blouse, until she happened to glance up and catch her reflection in the mirror that almost filled the wall on one side of the room.

She stopped, frowning. Whoever the original owner of this place had been, he must’ve been quite impressed with himself. Most people didn’t need anything bigger than a cheval glass to check their reflection.

Annie went to her bed, gingerly, and picked up a blanket, hanging it between the mantel and one of the bedposts, tying it securely in place with some yarn from her crocheting.

Lucas might come back into the sitting room, and she wasn’t taking any chances. It was bad enough having him see her when she was fully dressed. Every time he regarded her in that bold, direct way of his, every time their eyes met, she felt strangely breathless, hot, tingly all over. The idea of him looking at her when she wasn’t wearing any...

No, no, no
. Upset by the fluttery sensation in her middle, she stepped behind the blanket and finished unbuttoning her blouse. She had to get these unsettling, unwanted thoughts under control.

Hadn’t she learned her lesson? Learned that her mama had been right?
Men can’t be trusted
, Mama had always said.
They’re only interested in one thing
. And they weren’t capable of caring or gentleness or loyalty or love. Not really, not for long.

Not when it counted.

Annie hadn’t believed any of that when she was young, naïve, dreamy-eyed. And her foolishness had cost her everything she held dear.

But never again. She would never let herself be any man’s fool again. Not ever.

Her fingers seemed to fumble with every button as she slipped out of her skirt and petticoat. She placed the garments on the chair, then gave one last, uneasy glance over her shoulder before she removed her camisole. After thinking a moment, she unfastened her bandage, too, and carefully unwrapped it. Her ribs had been feeling much better, and she didn’t want the bandage to become a soggy mess. She dropped it on the floor, slipped off her pantalettes.

Then at last she stepped into the tub. Slowly, she lowered herself down, sighing at the touch of the hot water against her bare skin, her bruised side. Even though there was only a foot of water in the dented tin bath, it felt almost luxurious after a week of making do with splashing herself at her washbasin.

The tub was just long enough that she could fit fairly comfortably, if she kept her knees up. She let herself go limp, resting her head against the edge, letting the heat soothe her body and her nerves.

After a few minutes, she hardly even noticed the throbbing ache in her ribs. They were healing well, Daniel had said a couple of days ago, when he came to examine her injuries. He had visited her twice this week, while making his rounds of patients. Fortunately, he and Lucas had been civil toward each other so far—but the air between them crackled with so much tension, she still feared they might come to blows.

Daniel had privately told her she might be ready to travel sooner than he’d expected—maybe in another two or three weeks, rather than four.

With that in mind, he had come up with an escape plan.

Apparently the lock on her cell was something called a fifteen-pin cylinder lock—which meant that to get past it, they would either need a master thief who had a great deal of time, or a skeleton key. Eventually, Eminence being the kind of place it was, Daniel had said, he might be able to come up with one or the other.

But there was still the problem of her being handcuffed to the bed whenever Lucas left the hotel. What they really needed, Daniel had decided, was a
copy
of the keys to the door and the handcuffs.

If one of them could get their hands on those keys for a minute, they could use some wax—a block of wax about the size of a thin bar of soap—to make impressions of each. Then they could have copies made.

And while Lucas was out one day, her friends could simply set Annie free.

Unfortunately, she had pointed out, there was one rather large problem: Lucas didn’t keep the keys on a ring or hang them on a hook somewhere. He always kept them in a pocket of his trousers.

Those snug black trousers that molded tightly to his lean body...

Annie opened her eyes and sat up, sloshing water over the side of the tub.
Why
did her thoughts keep wandering in that direction? She was blushing furiously, felt all jumbled up and breathless.

She splashed her face. Maybe she had a fever. Or maybe being locked up was starting to play tricks on her nerves and her mind. She had heard stories of people who went crazy from being imprisoned.

Somehow, she thought desperately, this escape plan had to work. And soon.

With a frustrated sigh, she leaned forward in the tub and reached toward the chair, carefully pressing one hand to her side, her teeth catching her lower lip at the discomfort. She scooped up the soap and dropped it in her bath, then rubbed it between her hands until it lathered.

The fresh scent of meadow herbs filled the darkened room. As Annie scrubbed at her skin and worked the soap through her hair, she vowed that somehow, she must find a way to repay her friends for all their kindness—and for taking risks to save her.