After Sundown (9 page)

Annie clutched the quilt, holding it in front of her, her cheeks burning. The drug might have numbed her senses, but she remembered vividly that she was dressed only in her camisole and knee-length pantalettes. “I’ll... I’ll go with you, peacefully,” she told him, trying to face him without flinching. “If you’d just give me a moment to—”

Before she could even finish the request, he crossed the room in two strides and scooped her up, quilt and all—though his hold on her was much more gentle than his voice. “Save the demure act for someone who buys it, lady.”

“Take it easy, McKenna—”

“Sure, Doc.” The marshal turned toward the door. “Kid gloves. I’ll let you know when visiting hours are. You can come over for tea.”

Daniel took a step forward, clenching his fists. Tension ricocheted through the air and Annie knew she had to try and stop it. Quickly. This close, she could see how tired and haggard the marshal looked—and guessed his fuse to be dangerously short. He wasn’t going to back down.

And though she was keenly aware of the hard, muscled strength of his arms, he wasn’t hurting her. “Daniel,
please
.”

For a moment longer, the two men remained in place, standing almost toe-to-toe, glaring at one another.

Then the doctor stepped aside, eyes narrowing as the lawman carried her past him. “You’re a real son of a bitch, Marshal.”

“Yeah, Doc, and believe it or not, you’re not the first person to tell me that.” The marshal held her securely against his chest as he started down the stairs. “But unlike some people around here, I have a real easy time telling the good folks apart from the bad.”

“Where are you taking her?”

“Across the street. Don’t worry,” the marshal called back. “I mean to take care of her. The sooner she heals up, the sooner we’re on our way to Missouri.”

Annie shut her eyes at that threat, and by the time she dared open them again, Lucas McKenna had carried her outside, beyond the safety of Daniel’s house, into the deserted, moonlit street.

“I have to hand it to you, Antoinette,” he said, his tone silky as he looked down at her. “You’re sharp. Already got him and half the town wrapped around your little finger, don’t you?”

Annie didn’t bother trying to argue, his eyes so cold they made her wonder if he had ice where his heart should be. “Where
are
you taking me?”

“Jail.”

The word rang with finality.

All at once, the hope she had felt earlier evaporated. Safe in Daniel’s parlor, surrounded by friends—the first real friends she’d ever known—it had been easy to believe in the simple plan they’d devised. All they needed was time, Daniel had said. Time and a little help from nature, and she would be well enough to escape and her friends would help her disappear. Nobody would get hurt. He had promised her that.

But now, alone with Lucas McKenna, five weeks suddenly seemed like a long time.

Five
minutes
suddenly seemed like a long time.

Maybe it was some strange effect of the laudanum, but even with the thick quilt wrapped around her, even through the fabric of his coat and shirt, she seemed able to feel every muscle of Lucas’s arms. And the hard, lean shape of his shoulder and chest beneath her cheek. And his hands on her arm, her thigh, as if he were touching her bare skin.

An odd, prickly warmth flowed through her. For a man with such a cold voice and frosty eyes, his body seemed awfully... hot. A fluttery sensation began in her middle—which couldn’t be from the laudanum.

Because it was the same sensation she had experienced this afternoon, when she first saw him standing in front of the saloon, watching her.

She didn’t understand, hadn’t felt this way when Daniel had carried her in his arms. Or when any other man had looked at her. Even James.

“You cold?”

“No,” Annie said quickly, caught off guard, unable to tear her gaze from his face.

“You’re shivering.”

“M-Maybe the laudanum is wearing off,” she said.

“Maybe you’re afraid.” His voice seemed to soften, almost imperceptibly. “Because you realize that whatever scheme you cooked up with your doctor friend isn’t going to be easy to pull off.”

Annie shook her head. She wasn’t afraid. For some ridiculous reason, she believed what Lucas had told Dr. Holt: that he intended to take care of her.

If he wanted to hurt her, he would’ve shot her out on that hillside. Or dumped her in the middle of nowhere and left her to die. Or ignored Dr. Holt and just set out for Missouri tonight regardless of her injuries. But he hadn’t done any of those things.

And at the moment, despite his mocking words and icy glares and foul mood, he was walking slowly, and seemed to be taking care not to touch her injured ribs or jostle her much as he carried her.

Which only confused her all the more. Marshal Lucas McKenna wasn’t an easy man to figure out.

And he wouldn’t be easy to escape.

At the far end of the street, he stepped up onto the boardwalk, walking toward what looked like a hotel.

“I-I thought you said we were going to the jail—”

“This muddy excuse for a town doesn’t have one right now. This’ll have to do.”

A curved sign above the entrance had THE DUNLAP HOUSE lettered on it in fancy gold script. Annie’s heart gave a strange, doubled beat as Lucas pushed open the door and carried her over the threshold, into what might’ve once been a magnificent hotel.

A lamp had been left burning on the front desk, the light glimmering off a chandelier on the floor. The room was so big, she could hear the sound of Lucas’s boots echoing back from distant, unseen corners. He carried her past the desk and straight toward a room at the back of the hotel—which turned out to be a suite.

He snagged a lantern that had been left on a table, moving quickly through a sitting room and into a bedroom that almost looked luxurious.

Except that it had bars on the two windows: three vertical, iron bars on each one.

He put the lantern on a table and set her carefully on the bed, then arranged a few pillows against the headboard to prop up her shoulders, as if he knew how much it would hurt her to lie flat.

Then he started unwrapping the quilt from around her. Annie gasped in alarm as he pulled it aside. She tried to cover herself, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

“Stop it,” he said derisively. “Stop trying to convince me that you’re some shy, sweet, proper lady. You might have managed to fool the yokels around here, but you’re forgetting that I
know
what you really are.”

She froze, staring up at him, aware of the tension in his body as he towered over her, aware of his hands, the harsh sound of his breathing.

But when he moved, he only reached into his pocket and withdrew a key. He used it to unlock the handcuffs from around her wrists.

“Get used to having bars on your windows, Antoinette. You’ll be seeing a lot of that from now on.”

Not taking her eyes from his, Annie gingerly reached for the quilt and drew it over herself. “If... if you would just listen.” She could barely find enough breath to speak. “If you would let me tell you the truth about what hap—”

He cut her off with a movement so quick she didn’t even see it.

One minute he was standing next to the bed, the next he was caging her with his arms, his fists planted in the pillow on either side of her head.

His face was only inches from hers. “Let me tell
you
the truth, lady. Every outlaw I’ve ever tracked down has had a thousand excuses.
I didn’t mean to do it, Marshal. It was an accident. You just don’t understand. I was in a tough spot. There was no way out.”

Beneath the cold of his stare and the heat of his body, Annie couldn’t speak. Some of what he’d just said
was
what she had meant to tell him.
Except in her case, it was true
. But he wouldn’t believe it. And her attempts to explain only seemed to make him angrier.

“Everyone,” he said, breathing hard, “
everyone
gets into a tough corner at some time or other. Most people don’t try to solve their problems by blowing a hole in whoever happens to get in the way.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“Right.” He thrust himself away from her. “And every jail is full of innocent people. And you and every other outlaw behind bars has a sad story to tell. Well, I’m not buying it and I’m not crying, lady.
You
made your bed. Lie in it.” His gaze left her face, moving lower. “And while we’re on the subject of the truth...”

He took her left hand.

And slid the gold wedding ring from her finger.

Somehow, she felt even more vulnerable without it. Stripped of the last of her disguise. Naked before him. “Why does that matter to you?” she asked.

“Because it’s a lie, Antoinette. We both know what you are. My brother’s whore.” He flung the ring away with an angry snap of his arm. “My brother’s killer.”

He grabbed the lantern. “Pardon me for not leaving you a light,” he said as he stalked out, “but I thought you might take a notion to try and burn the place down. With me in it.”

Annie’s eyes adjusted quickly to the moonlight that filtered through the barred windows. She watched him carry the lantern into the sitting room, expected him to keep going, walk out and leave her in complete darkness, without even a fire for warmth.

Instead, he set the light down on a table in the sitting room. Then he took off his hat, shrugged out of his coat, and started unbuttoning his shirt.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “What are you... doing?”

“Staying right here,” he said curtly, stripping off the shirt. “I intend to keep an eye on my prisoner. Day and night.” He kicked off his boots. “Tomorrow you’ll get a nice cell door to match those windows.”

He turned to look at her. “Until you’re well enough to travel, Antoinette, you and I are going to be spending all our time together.” He stood in the doorway, clad only in his tight-fitting black trousers and his gun belt. “Close as two quills on a porcupine.”

A
t least an hour had passed since Lucas had turned down the lamp and flung himself onto his cot in the sitting room. Yet he still lay wide awake, staring at the wall, one arm behind his head. Long after his eyes had adjusted to the moonlight, he kept counting the leaves on the patterned wallpaper, down one row and up the next.

This hell-fired, jaw-cracker of a day had left him feeling like he’d been dragged behind wild horses, yet for some reason, he couldn’t sleep.

He finally had Antoinette Sutton in custody, so why didn’t he feel any peace? He had expected a sense of victory. Triumph. Or at least the usual satisfaction that came from the successful end of a long pursuit.

Instead, he felt nothing but a strange ache, right in the middle of his chest. And he didn’t even know what it was.

Hope, maybe. Hope that what he had accomplished today might bring his family some measure of comfort. Might help his sisters and Olivia and the children begin to heal.

Might allow his brother’s departed soul to rest.

I got her, James
, he thought as he lay there, looking up into the darkness.
I got her
.

A muscle worked in his cheek. His throat felt dry and tight as he tried to picture James’s face. He could summon only a blurred image from memory, like a photograph taken while the subject moved. The last time he had seen James, they had both been moving, both so busy with their work. Four years ago. Or was it five?

He tried to remember what they had said, but couldn’t recall a word.

And all at once, it hit him like a fist in the chest. The tearing sense of grief and anger and pointlessness.
This was all he had left
. Unfinished memories, blurred images, forgotten conversations. And it was all he would ever have.

Because he would never see James again.

He shut his eyes. Why had he believed that catching his brother’s killer would lessen the pain of losing him? Until tonight, he’d had a goal, a mission, a chase to keep himself from thinking or feeling.

But now it was over.

And having Antoinette in custody only made everything worse.

Because even as he lay there, with that hollow ache burning a hole through him, he couldn’t stop himself from listening to her... to every small sound she made.

Every squeak of the bed beneath her slight weight. Every movement. Every sigh.

And he couldn’t keep his gaze from drifting to the mirror. That damned, decadent mirror that Dunlap had installed so he could cavort with his bride in carnal abandon.

Lucas had wanted to take it out, but the thing was so big, the bedroom must have been built around it. And since he’d been rational at the time, he had actually thought it might help him. Had even angled his cot in the sitting room so that he could keep an eye on his prisoner, watching her in the mirror without her knowing he was watching. She couldn’t make one move without him seeing it.

Trouble was, she couldn’t make one move without him seeing it.

And he was no longer feeling the least bit rational.

Moonlight filtered through the bars on her windows, enough to illuminate the outline of her body, so slender beneath the quilt... and her hair, a dark, shimmering mass. As she shifted restlessly, he would catch a glimpse of a slim calf here, a bare thigh there, a shoulder, a wrist. It was like some slow, hypnotic, erotic dance, and he couldn’t look away. In the past hour, he had memorized most of her in the moonlight.

And imagined the rest.

With a stifled curse, he raised one arm to cover his eyes, wishing he had closed the drapes before stalking out of her cell. He couldn’t very well stalk back in and close them now.

Damn it, how could he feel
anything
, even lust, for the woman who had taken his brother’s life?

He angrily reminded himself that she was a born seductress, a prostitute’s daughter, no doubt well-versed in the ways of stirring desire in a man. She was probably doing this to him on purpose.

He heard her moving again, restlessly, heard the sheets caressing her skin.

“Would you go to sleep?” he shouted into the darkness.

She went silent and still.

“Sorry,” she said after a moment, “if I’m disturbing you.”

Her voice was soft, but not the least bit seductive. In fact, it held a note of sarcasm.

Lucas tried to get his breathing under control. “Not at all,” he bit out. “I imagine a guilty conscience makes it tough to get much rest.”

“I haven’t been sleeping well since...”

She didn’t finish.

“Since what?” He wasn’t sure why he was asking, why it should matter to him.

When she spoke again, her sarcasm had vanished. “You don’t care about the truth,” she said, sounding as tired as he felt.

“
Your
version of the truth? No, I don’t. You’d say anything if you thought it’d keep you out of jail. Maybe
do
anything, too.” Lucas sat up on the edge of his cot, the air cool against the bare skin of his chest. “Is that how you got the good doctor feeling all mush-brained over you? I’ll bet your mama taught you a lot of tricks—”

“I am
not
my mother. I was
never
a whore.”

For the first time, he detected a hint of steel beneath that delicate, feminine surface.

“You shared a man’s bed for money,” he said coldly.

“Because it was better than...”

Again she didn’t finish.

He watched her in the mirror, saw her bury her face in the pillow. “Better than what, Antoinette?”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t move.

After a long while, he thought she might’ve finally gone to sleep. Or decided to ignore him. He muttered a curse and lay back down. What did it matter whether she answered him or not?

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” she said quietly, “since I lost the baby.”

He froze, startled by her words, by such an unexpected answer to the question he had asked before.
Of course
. How could he have forgotten about her miscarriage? That was why she hadn’t been able to...

Annoyed, he chastised himself for being so easily drawn into her web. His gaze fastened on the mirror. “God Almighty, you want me to believe you care about everything and every
one
, don’t you? If your baby mattered to you so much, you wouldn’t have risked taking stagecoaches over the worst back roads in the West—”

“I didn’t
know
—”

“Did you even know who the father was?”

“
James
was the father of my baby.” Her voice rose sharply. “And I wanted that child with all my heart.”

Her heart? Lucas felt like he was going to be sick. “Now I know you’re lying,
lady
—because if the child you were carrying was my brother’s, he would’ve taken care of you. Both of you. My brother
loved
children. You should have seen the way his daughter and son cried at his funeral—”

“Don’t—”

“A nine-year-old girl and a thirteen-year-old boy.” He shot the words at her like bullets. “Sobbing for their daddy—”

“Please,
don’t
—”

“Two innocent children who’ll have to grow up without a father because of you. And you want me to believe you have a heart?”

“Stop it,” she pleaded, “stop it!”

Lucas thought it must be a trick of the moonlight, or some flaw in the mirror, because he swore he saw tears in her eyes.

Bright, silvery tears that slid down her cheek and into the dark tangle of her hair.

Tears of remorse for what she had done? Of sorrow for James’s children?

He would’ve called them crocodile tears, just part of her act, meant to make him believe her story that it had all been an accident.

Except that he was fairly sure she had no idea he was watching her.

“I know what I did,” she whispered brokenly, lifting trembling hands to her face. “God forgive me,
I know what I did
.”

Lucas stared at her, unable to speak as he watched her cry—so quietly it seemed she was trying to keep him from hearing, so hard that her slender body shook beneath the quilt.

Then he turned his back.

He wasn’t going to do this. Wasn’t going to look at her anymore, or talk to her—not when the two of them were alone together in the night. It felt too intimate.

He couldn’t let Antoinette Sutton seduce him with her wiles, or wring pity from him with her tears.

“God will have to forgive you, lady,” he said, his voice flat and cold. “Because I never will.”

~ ~ ~

Sleep, Lucas thought, shutting his eyes against the sunlight streaming in his window, was a wonderful thing. Maybe the best thing God had ever invented. Better than a morning spent trout fishing in a Montana river. Better than a thick steak and a beer at the end of a long day’s ride.

Or maybe it only seemed that way because he hadn’t been able to
get
any sleep.

He had lain awake the entire night. Thinking. About her.

The stiffness in his muscles made him groan as he sat up. When his feet hit the plush carpet on the floor, he slouched over and rested his elbows on his knees, blinking the dry, parched feeling from his eyes. He glanced toward the mirror.

His prisoner was sleeping peacefully.

He scowled in her direction. No woman had ever robbed him of a night’s rest before. And he had known his share of women over the years.

Beautiful women with kind hearts and tender hands, the kind most men
would
lose sleep over. Women who had helped him forget, for a moment, all the sunburned miles he rode and the guns aimed in his direction. That was all he ever asked of women, all he ever wanted—moments. An hour or two of physical bliss now and then.

If there was one thing he had never done, would never do, it was let himself get all fool-headed over a female. That sort of thing never turned out well, for either the man or the woman. Just look at poor Dunlap, abandoned by his pretty young bride.

Or James and Olivia, who had seemed so perfectly suited when they married.

Lucas shook his head, running a hand through his disheveled hair. Since he was awake, he might as well get up. Travis had said he’d be back this morning. And Lucas had plans for the day.

He had to return to the burned-down jail and get the cell door he had picked out last night, then install it between Antoinette’s room and the sitting room, since he couldn’t watch her every minute of every day. After that, he meant to keep busy. Explore the rest of the hotel. Round up a more comfortable bed, if one could be found. Maybe even get himself a shave, he thought, rubbing at his bearded jaw. And a bath and some clean clothes.

But the first thing he wanted, he thought as he stood, his stomach growling, was to secure himself some food. And some coffee. And some wood for the potbellied stove in the corner of his room. The temperature had dropped so low, he could practically see his breath.

He grabbed his gun belt from the floor beside his cot and buckled it on over his trousers, then pulled his .45 from beneath his pillow and holstered it, stepping toward the open doorway that led into Antoinette’s cell.

She lay huddled beneath the quilt, which was pulled up to her nose. She must be freezing—especially since he’d left her in there all night with no fire on the hearth and no clothes but her underthings.

Guilt gnawed at him for a second, but he forced it away. If Antoinette was suffering, it was her own damn fault. She was the one who had broken the law, not him.

And she’d better get used to hardship. The Missouri prison cell that would be her future home would be a lot less cushy than this one. A lot less.

Grumbling under his breath, he turned and picked up the woolen blankets he had kicked off during the night. Then he moved into her cell with silent, barefoot steps and draped the blankets over her. Carefully, so as not to wake her.

Purely out of concern for her health, he told himself adamantly. If anything happened to her, Holt and the others would take pleasure in having him brought up on charges in front of a judge.

For a moment, he lingered there, looking down at her. His plans for the day had included asking Miss Sutton a few questions. Starting with where she had hidden the murder weapon and the fifteen thousand dollars she had stolen from James’s safe. But his interrogation would have to wait. She was exhausted, and hurt, and she needed rest.

So that she could get well enough to travel, he thought as he turned on his heel and went out. That was his only concern.

He had no sooner picked up his shirt from where he had dropped it on the floor last night than he heard a commotion at the hotel’s entrance. His hand on his Colt, he stepped to the door of the sitting room.

And found himself facing a gaggle of females—three of them, two full-grown and one younger, all carrying baskets and bundles. The aromas of fresh biscuits and fried apples and bacon wafted in with them, making Lucas’s mouth water as the three swept toward him. Their leader was the woman who had been wearing a purple ostrich-feather hat yesterday.

Today she wore a peach-colored dress, a blue hat festooned with ribbons, and a mutinous expression. “We’ve come to see Annie,” she declared.