After Sundown (17 page)

“She’s fine. In better shape than I am,” Lucas assured her, walking over to accept a freshly poured whiskey that Fairfax held out toward him. He gingerly rested the cool glass against his jaw, wincing. “She’s over at the jail, being consoled by Travis.”

“Jail?” Miss Breckenridge regarded him blankly. “What jail?”

“Old man Dunlap’s hotel,” Holt explained as he stood up, helping his patient to his feet. “It’s a long story.”

The girl prospector didn’t wait to hear it. She picked up her hat and stood up, frowning as she looked around on the floor. “Did that bastard make off with my bowie knife?”

“I, uh, think you’ll find your knife out front in the mud, miss,” Lucas told her.

She hurried out, the spurs on her boots ringing with every step.

Lucas shook his head as he watched her go.

“Miss Lily grew up with a pickax in her hand.” The Louisiana gentleman stepped behind the bar and helped himself to a fresh bottle of bourbon, rubbing at a spot of blood on his brocade vest. “She just got in from her diggings tonight. Refuses to quit working her daddy’s claim.”

“Valentina came here to visit Lily,” Holt explained as he walked over to accept a glass of whiskey from Fairfax, “and then the drifters showed up—”

“And you tried to save the womenfolk,” Lucas asked dubiously, “without a gun?”

Holt glowered at him. “Anything broken on you?”

“No permanent damage.” Lucas glanced down at the cut on his shoulder. It hurt like hell and it was bleeding, but it would heal. He looked at the aristocrat on the other side of the bar. “I notice you don’t seem to have a scratch.”

“I am blessed with excellent instincts for self-preservation,” the young man said in that elegant drawl, extending his hand. “Morgan O’Donnell, formerly of the Baton Rouge O’Donnells.” He had blond hair, a darker mustache, and a crooked grin. “I am the Gambling Emporium half of Fairfax’s Saloon and Gambling Emporium. And the town’s most skilled purveyor of poker and blackjack.” He chuckled. “Helped by the fact that I am currently the town’s
only
purveyor of poker and blackjack. And you would be a fellow Irishman, I believe—McKenna is Irish, isn’t it, Marshal?”

“Yeah. Few generations back.”

“Then here’s to a braver man than I and a brother of the Auld Sod.” O’Donnell lifted his glass in salute. “It seems Fairfax and I owe you our thanks.” His grin widened, revealing dimples beside his mustache. “We’ve not had a decent fight in here in months.”

“Glad I could oblige,” Lucas said sourly.

Actually, it
had
felt good, he had to admit. Though his knuckles were bruised, his jaw ached, and his shoulder stung, he had needed
some
kind of physical release tonight. The brawl had filled the bill nicely. “Though if I’d known
you
were on the job,” he said dryly, glancing sideways at Holt, “I might not have come. You ever think about carrying a gun in a town like this, Doc?”

“Haven’t carried one since I was mustered out.”

Lucas turned to face him, mildly surprised. “So you were in the war. Surgeon?” That couldn’t be. He guessed Holt to be in his early thirties—which meant he couldn’t have been more than twenty when the war ended.

The doctor held his gaze for a long moment before he replied. “Sharpshooter,” he said evenly.

Lucas regarded him with disbelief. The sharpshooters had been the North’s elite corps of marksmen. They had served as specially trained advance scouts—snipers who picked off Rebel officers from a distance. “And now you refuse to carry a gun?”

“Decided I’d rather be in the business of saving lives than taking them.” Holt looked away and changed the subject. “Speaking of which, how’s Annie today?”

“Your favorite patient is just fine,” Lucas said coolly.

“Still healing up well?”

“Yeah.” Lucas downed his whiskey in one gulp.

“Good to know. Wouldn’t mind stopping by again tomorrow.”

“Any time, Doc.” Lucas’s aching fingers curled into a fist. “Though Antoinette seems to think it’s a good idea to keep us two apart as much as possible.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Holt said, his gaze fastening on Lucas’s.

“Can’t imagine,” Lucas retorted, putting his glass down on the bar a bit harder than necessary.

“Gentlemen.” Fairfax came between them, perhaps fearing more damage to his saloon. He plunked down a bottle of expensive whiskey and a box of cigars in front of Lucas. “On the house, Marshal.”

O’Donnell gave Fairfax a wounded look before shifting his attention to Lucas. “I
knew
this Brit partner of mine was hiding another bottle of O’Neil somewhere. What do you say, Marshal?” He whipped out a deck of cards from the pocket of his vest, fanning them out and folding them up in a nimble, one-handed maneuver. “How about we break open that bottle of lovely liquid gold, play poker ’til dawn, and sing a few Irish ballads? I know every verse to ‘Oh, Danny Boy.’ ” He winked. “Including a few my da taught me that my ma never knew about, God rest their souls.”

Lucas shook his head, one corner of his mouth curving upward. “No thanks.” The scent of cigars was tempting, and he hadn’t tasted five-dollars-a-glass whiskey in years. But he wasn’t here to play games. Or make friends. He needed to get back to his prisoner. “Can’t stick around.”

“Marshal.” Fairfax nudged the gifts toward him. “We are in desperate need of a man of your skills in Eminence, and the town council’s offer of a job stands. After tonight, I’m certain I could persuade Hazelgreen and Gottfried to vote for a larger salary. You’re worth eighty a week, ninety—”

“Sorry, Fairfax. Not interested. This was a one-time-only exception. And there’s no charge.” Lucas handed back his empty glass, and waved away the bottle and the cigars. “Sorry about the hole in the wall,” he said as he turned to leave. “Oh, and there’s a few pieces of iron out by your hitching post you might want to gather up before morning. Might scare customers away.” He headed toward the swinging doors. “Good night, gents.”

“McKenna?”

It was Holt’s voice. Lucas swung around, bracing himself to be grilled further about Antoinette. “Yeah?”

The doctor nodded toward the table where he had been pinned. “Thanks.”

Holt said it with genuine gratitude... even though it looked like he was saying it through clenched teeth.

Lucas arched one eyebrow. This night had been full of surprises. “Forget it, Doc. Believe it or not,” he said as he pushed open one of the swinging doors, “you’re not the only one in the business of saving lives.”

~ ~ ~

The fire still burned brightly on Annie’s hearth when she heard the hotel’s front door open. She sat up straighter on the bed, her bandaged ribs throbbing at the sudden movement, her heart skipping a beat.

Then she heard those familiar footsteps. And Lucas’s voice.

And she released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. As she sank back against the pillows, wincing at the pain, she frowned. The feeling rushing through her was
not
relief, she told herself adamantly.

Lucas McKenna was her jailer. A man who wanted her sent to prison for the rest of her life. A man who hated her. All the awful things he’d said to her tonight had made that abundantly clear. He considered her a whore and a heartless murderer, and he would never forgive her for either one.

She didn’t
care
what he thought of her. And she didn’t care what happened to him.

Never mind that when she’d heard gunfire coming from the direction of Fairfax’s saloon, the sound had almost made her heart stop.

Her frown deepened. It was the
townsfolk
she’d been concerned about. And Daniel. Valentina had explained to Annie and Travis about the drifters, and how the doctor had tried to save her. Then Valentina’s friend Lily Breckenridge had related a few more details when she arrived a while later—though the introductions had been awkward through the cell door, with Annie sitting there handcuffed to the bed, wrapped only in a blanket.

When Lucas had left in such a hurry, she hadn’t had the chance to put on any clothes. He had just scooped her up, blanket and all, put her on the bed, and handcuffed her before he rushed out, ordering Travis to stay behind with her.

At the moment, she could hear him talking to Travis, who sounded like he was falling all over himself thanking Lucas. Valentina and her friend had already left. After a few minutes, Lucas apparently managed to extricate himself from the boy and escort him out the hotel’s front door. Which he closed firmly.

Annie heard a weary sigh as Lucas walked toward their suite. A moment later, he appeared in the sitting room, carrying a lantern.

She could make out blood on his shoulder, on his clothes. And a dark bruise on his jaw. “Are you all right?” she gasped, the question spilling out before she even finished the thought.

“Fit as a fiddle,” he said sarcastically as he unlocked her door and came inside.

He didn’t look fit. He looked terrible, bruised and bleeding, his shirt ripped, his trousers covered with dirt and splatters of mud. “I-I heard gunshots.”

He set the lantern on a table. “Were you worried about me, Antoinette?” he asked dubiously, arching one black brow.

“No.” She scowled at him. “I was... “ She couldn’t figure out
what
she was feeling. “I was worried about Valentina.”

“The gunshots came after Valentina was already over here, safe.” He observed her with a curious expression. “And if I had gotten myself killed tonight, you’d be free right now. Don’t tell me you didn’t think of that.”

Annie stared at him, blinking in surprise. Though he would never believe it, she
hadn’t
thought of that. It hadn’t crossed her mind for a second. She hadn’t been thinking about herself, or escape.

The truth was, from the moment he ran out of this hotel with his gun drawn until the moment he came back just now, she’d had only one thought.

Him.

An unsettling sensation fluttered through her as she admitted that to herself.

He walked toward her, digging the key to the handcuffs out of his pocket, and she glanced away. “Valentina told me what you did,” she said quietly, “how you saved her from that brute who was going to...” She looked up at him. “It was good of you to help when they needed you.”

He shrugged his uninjured shoulder. “No more than any lawman would’ve done.”

He was being modest again. As he leaned down to unfasten the manacles, she studied his bruised, rugged profile. Lucas had to be the most confusing man she’d ever met. He was famous in the West, practically a legend, yet he was never arrogant about his reputation or his skills.

He was a loner, yet he stood ready to help when someone needed him.

Even her. He had even helped her tonight when he didn’t have to.

It didn’t make sense.
He
didn’t make sense.

But she realized that what the newspapers and penny dreadfuls reported about him was true, at least part of it: Marshal Lucas McKenna really
was
a hero, no question about it. He had risked his life tonight—and gotten hurt—to save people he barely knew.

As he dropped the manacles on the floor and straightened, their eyes met and held for a moment. Annie was startled by the feeling she saw swirling in his gaze. It wasn’t anger, or hatred, but something she hadn’t seen before... and couldn’t name.

And it lasted only an instant. “Dr. Holt sends his regards.” His voice was cool, even.

Annie glanced at the jagged cut on his shoulder. “He didn’t
do
that—”

“No.” Lucas’s mouth curved, as if in amusement. “He was a bystander. Mostly.”

“Is he all right?”

He slid the key back into his pocket, turning away. “Your precious doctor is just fine.”

“Why do you keep calling him that? Daniel is my friend. He’s like a brother to me.” When Lucas glanced back at her she nodded toward the jagged cut. “How
did
that happen?”

“Broken bottle.” He turned to leave, picking up the lantern. “It’s nothing.”

“It could be something if it gets infected. You should at least look after it. Take the bandages.” Annie slid off the side of the bed nearest the chaise, realizing a bit belatedly that she had to keep the blanket wrapped around her. She was still wearing only her camisole and pantalettes underneath.

She grabbed the roll of bandages off the chaise and turned to toss it to him—only to find that he had come around the foot of the bed to meet her. She bumped right into him. The bandages tumbled from her hand, unraveling across the floor. He caught her elbow to steady her.

And both of them froze. The lantern swung in his other hand, making light and shadows dance around them. She could feel heat radiating from his body. Caught the faint scent of whiskey on his breath. Saw the gold-flecked, green depths of his eyes turn dark. That fluttery, ticklish sensation returned to her stomach.

And suddenly he drew her closer and lowered his head and kissed her.

Annie made a startled little sound in the back of her throat as his mouth covered hers. He let go of her elbow, his hand shifting to the nape of her neck. She grabbed his arms, her fingers closing around the taut, corded muscles beneath the rough wool of his shirt. And she wasn’t sure if she meant to push him away or keep herself from falling.

But she was already falling, tumbling into a bottomless pool of heat and hunger as his lips moved over hers. He tasted of whiskey, fiery and intoxicating. Her heart was beating strangely. It was a startling kiss.

That became a deep, slow, bone-melting kiss.

He angled his head and molded his mouth to hers, his fingers tangling in her hair. The lantern hit the floor with a thump and she wasn’t sure if he had set it down or dropped it. The sound in her throat became a soft moan. Her knees went weak. She no longer had the strength to stand, leaned into him, her breasts pillowed against the hard muscles of his chest.

He groaned, deepening the kiss, his bearded jaw abrading her skin. The thrust of his tongue against hers, hot and demanding, sent her senses spinning. Sparks skittered through her. Lucas’s kiss was passionate and intense, beyond anything she had ever experienced—and her own response shocked her. She kissed him back. Welcomed the hungry pressure of his mouth. The rough velvet of his tongue. Her hands came up to his face, her palms moving over his stubbled cheeks, her fingers sliding into his hair. She could feel her heart pounding hard and fast against his.