My Heart's Desire (21 page)

"Rennie," Jarret said quietly. "Put down the gun. There's nothing to be gained by killing Dee."

Backed against the wall, Rennie held her stance. The derringer was aimed at Dee's heart.

"Get her away from me, Sullivan!" Dee yelled. "You want your reward, don't you?"

"Forget it, Dee. I got it last night, and you were good to me dead or alive. I don't give a damn what happens to you." He turned his attention back to Rennie. "You're not thinking, Rennie. If you kill Dee, you'll take her place in the cell. Jay Mac himself won't be able to get you out."

Rennie lowered the gun, pivoted on one foot, and stared at Jarret, her mouth flattened in disgust. "You have completely spoiled my concentration," she said. She glanced at Dee, and her smile was rich with insincerity. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Kelly, did I frighten you?" She opened the chamber of the derringer and showed it was empty. "Then it was worth the time making your acquaintance."

Ignoring Dee's outraged cry at the trick she was played, ignoring the biscuits, basket, and Bible, Rennie swept her skirts to one side and blithely walked down the hallway past Jarret's stormy countenance, past the sergeant's slack jaw and bulging eyes, and past the two beat cops as they reentered the building.

Jarret caught up with her as she was crossing Jones Street in search of a hack. "I rode here on one of your horses."

Rennie kept walking. Her heart was hammering with the residual rush of her adventure. "So?"

"I'll take you back."

She stopped long enough to give him a patently horrified look. "I'm not riding the same horse as you. That's not done here."

He grabbed her elbow and drew her up short. "You are the most maddening person, male or female, I've met in my entire life!" He realized he was shouting and lowered his voice so that she had to strain to hear him. "You just waltzed into a police station, leveled a derringer at Dee Kelly, and now you're worried what people may say if we share a horse?"

"I thought we had already established that where I go I walk. I don't waltz." She smiled.

He stared at her. "You're just so full of yourself, aren't you? I've seen cats lickin' stolen cream off their whiskers that weren't half so pleased with themselves as you."

If anything, her smile became broader. She just couldn't seem to help herself.

Neither could Jarret. His hand snaked from her elbow to the small of her back, and he hauled her flush to his body. Bending his head, his mouth slanted across hers. Hard.

There was only a hint of resistance before Rennie gave herself up to the touch and taste of him. Her arms circled his neck, and she felt herself raised on tiptoe. His mouth moved over hers hungrily, and she reciprocated in kind, oblivious to the small crowd that had surrounded them. She pressed herself against him, her eyes closed, her lips warmly searching. She breathed in his heady male scent, the leather duster, the lingering fragrance of his shaving cream.

The kiss was sweet and tart. The kiss was pure Rennie. Jarret wanted all of her and knew he could have none of her.

Not on Jones Street. Not anywhere.

He set her away from him as the gathered crowd applauded lightly. Rennie took refuge in the absurdity of her situation, brazening it out by making an elaborate curtsy to her admirers. Her composure shattered as she recognized one face among many.

Jarret felt her stiffen beside him. He glared at the gathering and then cut a path through them, Rennie in tow, when they failed to disperse. "What's wrong?" he asked. "There's no color in your face."

What was there to be gained, she wondered, by telling Jarret the truth? She had seen one of Hollis's good friends in the crowd. Not only was James Taddy a friend, but he had served as one of the ushers at St. Gregory's. He had recognized her and he had recognized Jarret, and Hollis would hear of it before she made it uptown.

"Rennie?" Jarret said, prompting her as she drifted away.

She fought for a smile that would ease his mind but could find little humor in what had just happened. "You mean what's wrong besides the fact that I've made a public spectacle of myself?" she asked. "I'd say that about sums it up, Mr. Sullivan. I'm generally not at the center of some public stunt. That's the sort of thing we like to leave to Skye. She excels at it."

"Then, you've done credit to her tradition," Jarret said dryly. He could still taste her on his lips and feel the outline of her body against him. Beside him, she was no longer giving him the slightest encouragement. He raised his hand as a hack turned the corner from Lafayette. The hansom cab stopped, and Rennie climbed aboard, this time eschewing Jarret's help. He looked at her oddly, but she avoided his eyes. Jarret knew then that he had completely overstepped his bounds and overstayed his welcome.

During the hour, he made arrangements to leave New York.

* * *

The station was crowded and noisy. Most of the benches were taken by women with wide skirts and trunks the size of small armoires. Husbands stood directly behind their wives, stoic in the face of boredom, their eyes darting occasionally to an unaccompanied female. Their interest waned in direct proportion to the number of bags, valises, and trunks the porters pushed behind her.

Jarret found it fascinating. He leaned against a pillar, resting on his good shoulder, his lone valise at his feet. His sweat-banded felt hat was out of place among the derbies and bonnets, his leather duster not at all fashionable among the tailored jackets and capes. He smiled ruefully as he considered he would be out of place until he reached Kansas City, perhaps even as far as Denver. Thanks to men like Jay Mac laying rails down wherever there was an open space, train travel simply moved people from one civilized settlement to the next, and the settlements were very nearly all the same.

Jarret suspected there were a lot of people in the station now who would disagree with him, but it didn't change his mind. He was hungry for the sight of the plains and the wild, challenging beauty of the Rockies. He missed dipping his hands in cold mountain streams and slaking his thirst with crystal clear water. He missed drinking coffee as thick as ink, playing cards in a quiet saloon, and laughing at a ribald joke told by a bawdy woman.

He was glad to be going back. More or less. There was at least one thing he would miss about New York.

Caught in his own musings, Jarret didn't understand that the commotion nearing him was
about
him until he was surrounded. He gave a cursory glance to all three men and continued to lean casually against the platform pillar. "Can I help you, gentlemen?" he asked quietly.

James Taddy didn't speak to Jarret, but to his companions. "It's him, all right. Do you recognize him?"

When Taddy's friends were slow to answer, Jarret spoke. "It's all right, fellas. I recognize all of you. Miss Dennehy's wedding. The three of you were standing up for Hollis Banks."

"See?" Taddy said. "He admits it. Now ask him about this morning on Jones Street."

Jarret's face didn't register any surprise, but he felt Taddy's words as a blow to his midsection. There was no longer any doubt about what Rennie had seen. One glimpse of Hollis's friend in the crowd reminded her of all she was risking with that kiss. Jarret's glance slid over the trio, assessing the danger.

The one who did the talking was a bully, brawny in a way that suggested he did not have to be a good fighter because most people were intimidated by his size. His blond-haired friend was slight but probably agile, and the darker, dapper companion was heavy-footed. Under normal circumstances Jarret would have been wary of them but not greatly concerned. His bum shoulder changed the circumstances.

Rennie should have told him what she'd seen. At least then he would have been alert to the possibility of trouble. He was staring straight at them, but he knew Hollis Banks had just caught him on the blind side.

"What can I do for you fellas?" he asked.

James Taddy traded looks with his friends. The slightest nod of his head gave Jarret all the warning he was going to get.

Jarret ducked the first blow that the blond shot in his direction. The blond's fist connected with the pillar, and he howled in pain. Heavy-foot was more fortunate, and Jarret less so. A hammering fist caught Jarret under the jaw and sent him reeling backward. A second blow from Taddy spun him around. Before he could throw a counterpunch the blond danced in and unerringly found Jarret's injured shoulder. The sharp jab made Jarret nauseous with pain. He slumped, trying to protect his shoulder and reach for his gun. The pain arced across his shoulder and back and down his arm. It never reached his wrist. His fingers were numb.

Fear gripped him. He blocked a punch to his face with his left arm, but that made him vulnerable to the blow at his midriff. Taddy's brawn dropped Jarret to his knees. Heavyfoot kicked him squarely on his injured shoulder. This time the pain was so great that Jarret slumped sideways.

As he struggled to remain conscious he was vaguely aware of whistles blowing in the background and people scurrying along the platform. He thought it must be the train coming in and cursed his luck for missing it. His three attackers swam in and out of focus.

"Come on," Taddy said. "That's the cops. There will be hell to pay if our families find out about this."

The blond was bent over Jarret's valise, rifling the contents. "In a minute. Hollis said to get the money if we could." His fingers curled around a piece of paper. He pulled it out and saw he was holding a draft for five hundred dollars. He glanced at the signature. He swore softly. "Look at this! It's the reward money for Mrs. Kelly!"

Impatient, Taddy bent over Jarret and patted down his pockets. He found Jay Mac's personal draft for ten thousand dollars in Jarret's vest. "Here's what Hollis wants," he said. "Let's go. We're attracting too much attention."

The blond straightened, curled the reward check around his finger and deposited it in his pocket. He grinned down at Jarret. "Seems like there should be a reward out on you. You can't go around stealing another man's woman." He plunged the pointed toe of his shoe sharply into Jarret's groin.

When the police arrived Jarret was unconscious and the assailants had fled.

Chapter 6

January 1877

Jolene Cartwright rolled lazily out of bed. The plank floor was cold beneath her feet. "Should get a rug," she mumbled to herself, curling her toes. She reached for her stockings lying over the arm of the nearby rocker and padded quickly to the window seat on tiptoe to put them on. She sat down and glanced back at the sprawled figure on the bed. No amount of movement or talking to herself was likely to wake him up. Jarret Sullivan was sleeping off the dregs of a sloppy two-day drunk.

Jolene slipped on one silk black stocking, then the other, smoothing each over the finely curved length of her calf. She secured them with powder blue garters just above her knees, then adjusted the belt of her robe and arranged the collar so that her cleavage was visible. "Not that it matters," she grumbled, darting a look at the bed again. "He's more interested in my bed than my breasts."

"I'm awake, Jolene," Jarret muttered wearily. His head throbbed, and his brief attempt to open his eyes blinded him. He pulled the pillow over his head.

"No kind of awake from what I'm seeing," she said sharply. Jolene leaned toward her dresser and snatched her hairbrush from the top. She rapped it several times against the windowsill just to annoy Jarret before she dragged it through her hair. The harsh snores rising from the bed told her all she needed to know about being ignored. She raised the brush, tempted to throw it, and then thought better of it. The covers had slipped over Jarret's thighs, baring his backside.

Jolene took a good, long look at Jarret's taut flanks. "How's a woman supposed to stay mad at a man with bottom cheeks like that?" She began brushing her chestnut hair again, with lazy grace this time, and let her gaze wander away from her bed to the street below her window.

Echo Falls didn't stray much from the pattern of most western towns. Its wide thoroughfare was named Main Street and every sort of common business was set on either side. There was a barbershop and bathhouse where a miner could get a shave and a soak for two bits. Soap was a penny extra. The mercantile sold a variety of goods from candy and calico to pick shovels and treasure maps. The druggist kept jars of medicines along the rear wall of his store but made most of his money on liniment and hair tonic. Both brands, peculiar to Echo Falls, had more alcohol than a straight shot of whiskey from either Bender's or Bolyard's saloon. That was because Nick Bender and Georgie Bolyard never served any liquor that hadn't been cut with spring water.