Under A Prairie Moon (11 page)

When they reached the riverbank, Dalton tethered the mare to a low-hanging branch. He lifted Kathy from Taffy Girl’s back and they sat down on the thick spongy grass that grew along the edge of the stream.

“I think I’m going to like horseback riding,” Kathy remarked.

“I knew you would.” He picked up a smooth flat stone and skipped it across the water. One, two, three, four… Her arm brushed his, and her nearness seeped into him, warm as the sunlight shining overhead.

They sat there for a long time, not saying anything. Kathy tried not to stare at him, but it was impossible. She laughed, a silent laugh filled with amused bewilderment. Maybe she had lost her mind. Maybe he wasn’t really there at all. Maybe he was just a figment of her imagination. After all, he didn’t even cast a shadow. That seemed strange. If he had enough substance that she could touch him and feel his touch in return, why didn’t he have a shadow? Maybe he’d lost it, she thought, like Peter Pan.

A ghost. It just wasn’t possible. And even if it was, ghosts were supposed to appear in the middle of the night, moaning and dragging heavy chains and trying to scare people to half to death. They weren’t supposed to have impossibly broad shoulders and sexy smiles and eyes as deep and black as a midnight sky.

Impulsively, she reached out and touched his shoulder.

Dalton looked at her, a question in his eyes, and she shrugged, feeling suddenly foolish. “I can’t believe you’re real.”

“I don’t suppose I am.”

“But you’re here. You are here, aren’t you? I’m not imagining this.”

“That’s a mighty strange question to be asking me,” he said with a wry grin.

She grinned back at him. “Yeah, I suppose it is. How did you get that scar on your cheek?”

“In a knife fight.”

“With who?”

“A Crow warrior. I caught him trying to steal my horse.”

“Did you…did you kill him?”

“No.”

Kathy blew out a sigh. “Well, I guess we should be getting back. I have a lot of work to do.”

With a nod, Dalton rose smoothly to his feet. Offering her his hand, he helped her up.

“Thank you,” she murmured. Heat washed into her cheeks as he continued to hold her hand, his dark eyes fixed on her face, making her feel suddenly self-conscious. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head, his hand tightening around hers. “It just feels so good to touch you.”

“Does it?” Her voice sounded thick, as if it were mired in molasses.

Dalton nodded. His thumb made lazy circles on the back of her hand. His touch sizzled up her arm like heat lightning.

“Kathy…”

She swallowed, her gaze trapped in his. He was going to kiss her again.

Slowly, slowly, he lowered his head and brushed his lips across hers. For all that it was a gentle kiss, barely more than a whisper of touch, it reached all the way down inside her, awakening feelings she had thought buried with Wayne.

His arms went around her waist and he drew her up against him.

Kathy stiffened in his embrace, remembering the last time he had held her like this, the way he had vanished from her sight. It had frightened her, the way he had faded away to nothing.

“Just let me hold you,” he murmured. “You feel so good in my arms.”

He held her gently, one hand lightly stroking her hair. She could feel him holding back, keeping a tight rein on his emotions, as if he too feared that he might suddenly disappear.

She rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. A fragrant breeze ruffled her hair. The hum of insects and the purling of the water made a pleasant symphony. A soft sigh of contentment escaped her lips. He felt so solid, so real. And it felt right to be in his arms. Why did she feel so guilty then, as if she were betraying Wayne?

“We should go.”

He released her immediately, his gaze searching her face. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s all right. Really. I…” She couldn’t tell him the whole truth, so she told him a part of it. “I’m just afraid you’ll disappear on me again.”

Dalton looked at her for a long moment, as if judging the truthfulness of her words, and then he grunted softly. “I guess I’m not the only ghost here, am I?”

“What do you mean?” Kathy asked, though she knew perfectly well what he meant.

“Never mind.” He turned away. It was stupid, he thought, one dead man being jealous of another. Worse than stupid. It was pointless.

Wordlessly, he lifted her onto the mare’s back. Taking up the reins, he vaulted up behind her and turned Taffy Girl toward home.

Kathy woke late Monday morning after a long, restless night. With a yawn, she slipped out of bed, padded into the kitchen and put the coffee on, then, only half awake, she went into the bathroom and took a long hot shower.

Eyes closed, she rested her forehead against the tile and thought about the day before. Dalton had been silent and withdrawn on the ride back to the ranch.

I guess I’m not the only ghost here, am I.

She had known perfectly well what he meant, she just hadn’t known how to answer him. Was it her fault if she still missed her husband, if she felt guilty for enjoying another man’s company, another man’s kisses? Another man! That was rich. If only it was that simple.

Leaving the shower, she dried off, dusted herself with powder, pulled on a pair of comfy jeans, a faded t-shirt and her tennis shoes. Going into the kitchen, she poured herself a cup of coffee, added milk and sugar.

Staring out the window, she wondered where Dalton was. If he didn’t sleep, what did he do all night long? She’d have to remember to ask him.

She poured another cup of coffee, expecting him to appear any moment, and when he didn’t, she walked down to the barn, thinking to find him there.

The mare stuck her head over the stall door and whinnied softly when Kathy entered the barn. Kathy smiled; then, after a moment’s hesitation, she scratched the horse between her ears.

The mare had hay and fresh water, proof that Dalton had been there earlier. So where was he now?

Leaving the barn, she went back to the house. She made the bed, drank another cup of coffee and then, with a sigh of resignation, she picked up her purse and her keys. If he didn’t want to see her, that was fine. She didn’t want to see him either.

She tried to think of everything except Dalton on the drive to town.

Hay…she hoped there was only one kind. Too bad Dalton had decided to make himself scarce; she could have used his expertise.

Boots…brown ones, she decided, not too expensive in case she didn’t like riding as much as she thought she would. Dalton’s boots were black, a little scuffed.

A hat…white would be her first choice, but that didn’t seem practical. She didn’t want black, maybe some neutral shade, like gray. If Dalton owned a hat, she was sure his would be black, and that he would look great in it.

Darn! Even when she didn’t want to think about that man, he crept into every thought.

Dalton. She didn’t want to like him, didn’t want to think about him or be fascinated by him, yet she seemed to have no control over either her emotions or her thoughts where Dalton Crowkiller was concerned. Like the words to an old song, he was always on her mind. She had never known anyone like him, not just because he was a ghost—which was a major distinction in and of itself—not because he was part Indian, not even because they had been born a hundred and twenty-five years apart, but because of what he had been. A hired killer. The mere idea was fascinating and repellant at the same time.

She pulled into the parking lot behind Norton’s Hay and Feed and switched off the engine, wondering, with a wry grin, how Dalton Crowkiller had ever talked her into buying a horse in the first place.

Taking a deep breath, she got out of the car and went into the store, which consisted of two parts—a small section in front where supplies were displayed, and a much larger section out back that held bales of hay and straw stacked one on top of the other.

There was only one clerk, and he was busy with a customer. To pass the time, Kathy walked down the closest aisle, glancing at the goods on the shelves. There were empty plastic spray bottles, brushes and metal combs and funny-looking things that resembled brushes without bristles.

She walked down the next aisle, reading the labels on cans and bottles: Neatsfoot oil. Saddle soap. Show Sheen. Repel-X. Cowboy Magic. She saw some rectangles that looked like red bricks but proved to be salt blocks.

The back wall was covered with bits, labeled with odd names like curb and snaffle and spade. She saw a display of reins, surprised to note they came in brown or black leather, or nylon in every color of the rainbow.

She saw saddles and bridles, some plain, some decorated with silver. And saddle blankets, some in solid colors, some woven in Indian designs.

“Can I help you?”

Kathy glanced over her shoulder at the clerk who had come up behind her. “I certainly hope so. I just bought a horse, and…” She shrugged. “I’ve never owned one before. How much of this stuff,” she made a broad gesture that encompassed the multitude of items on the shelves, “do I really need?”

The clerk winked at her. “Well, I could say all of it, but mainly you need a good brush, a curry comb, a hoof pick, some fly spray, a good paste wormer…”

“She has worms!” Kathy exclaimed.

“Probably.” He plucked a tube from the shelf. “This is as good as any. You need to worm her every four weeks or so, and then she needs to be tube wormed at least once a year.” He grinned. “The vet does that. Horses need shots once a year too. Influenza, encephalitis…that’s sleeping sickness, and tetanus.”

“Good grief,” Kathy muttered. “What have I gotten myself into?”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“I thought all I needed was hay. And oats.”

“What kind of hay do you want?”

“Kind?”

“We have alfalfa, oat, and Bermuda.”

“I don’t know.”

“Alfalfa then. How many bales do you want?”

Kathy shook her head. “How many do I need?”

“How many horses do you have?”

“Just one.”

“Well, it depends. Do you want it delivered?”

“Yes.”

“Well, if you order a ton, delivery is free. Anything less than that, and delivery is ten bucks.”

“A ton!”

“It’s only about sixteen bales, depending on the weight of the bales. That should last you about four months.”

Kathy blew out a sigh. “Okay, give me a ton. And some oats. And whatever else you think I need.”

The clerk chuckled. “Yes ma’am.”

She stood at the counter while he drew up her bill: sixteen bales of alfalfa hay, a sack of oats, dandy brush, curry comb, spray bottle, fly repellant, hoof pick, paste wormer, salt block, fly mask, day sheet…

“What about a saddle?”

“I’ve got one,” she assured him quickly.

The clerk nodded. “Okay. Just checking.”

She was shaking her head over the bill when she left the feed store. She dumped all of her horse’s “necessities” into the trunk, then headed down the street toward the middle of town.

“Kathy! Hey, Kathy!”

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw John Lawson hurrying toward her. “Hi, John.”

“Hi.” He smiled broadly. “What brings you to town?”

“Shopping. I bought a horse.”

“You did?”

She nodded. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” She shook her head as she took a last glance at the receipt from the feed store, then shoved it into her pocket. “Now I’m not so sure. I had no idea horses required so much stuff.”

“Maybe we can go riding together sometime.”

“Do you have a horse?”

“Not anymore, but I can rent one from Norton. What do you say?”

“Sounds like fun. But not until I’ve had a few lessons.”

“Have you had lunch?”

“No.”

“If you’re hungry, I’m buying.”

Kathy smiled. “If you’re buying, I’m hungry.”

Dalton stood against the hitch rail in front of the barber shop, scowling as he watched John Lawson smile at Kathy. A sharp stab of jealousy rose up within him as he watched Lawson take Kathy by the arm and lead her across the street. They were laughing companionably as they entered a small cafe.

Damn! He hated seeing her with another man, hated thinking about her with another man. It was wrong, it was impossible, but when he looked at her, he wanted her. Wanted her in the most primal way a man could want a woman. Though he had only known her for a short time, he thought of her as his. He wanted to be with her, protect her, provide for her. He didn’t want her smiling up at Lawson or any other man.

He swore again, bemused by the whole situation. A ghost lusting after a flesh-and-blood woman. It would be funny if it didn’t hurt so damn bad.

He hadn’t been to Saul’s Crossing in more years than he could remember but he hardly noticed the changes as he crossed the street and entered the cafe. Determined to torture himself, he stood near their booth, watching the two of them together, listening to the husky sound of Kathy’s laughter, noting the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled, the blush that stained her cheeks when Lawson told her how pretty she was.

He itched to lean across the table and bury his fist in Lawson’s face, to drag Kathy into his arms and kiss her until he had wiped the memory of Lawson and every other man she had ever known from her mind.

Damn, damn, damn! He had been a fool to follow her to town. Turning on his heel, he stormed out of the restaurant.

Kathy’s head jerked up as she felt a rush of cool air.

“Is something wrong?” John asked.

“What?” Kathy drew her gaze from the front of the cafe. She could have sworn she had seen Dalton there a moment ago. “No, nothing.”

“How about some dessert? Molly makes a great blueberry pie.”

“Not this time. I’ve got some more shopping to do.”

“We’re still on for this weekend, right?”

“Right.”

“Good.” John put enough money on the table to cover the check, then stood up and offered Kathy his hand. “I’m glad I ran into you.”

“Me too.”

“I’ll pick you up Saturday, about six?”

“Okay.”

“Wanna walk me home?”

Kathy smiled. “Sure, cowboy.”

Hand in hand, they walked across the street to the furniture store.

“Thanks for lunch,” Kathy said.

“Thanks for keeping me company. I usually eat alone. This was much better.” He hesitated a moment, then brushed a kiss across her cheek. “See you Saturday.”

“Saturday,” Kathy repeated.

Turning away, she walked down the street toward a shop that sold Western wear. As she opened the door, she felt a brush of cool air against her cheek. She whirled around, her gaze searching the sidewalk.

“Dalton?” she whispered. “Dalton, are you here?”

Shaking her head, she stepped inside the store and made her way toward the shoe department. She took a seat, told the clerk she wanted to see some moderately priced cowboy boots and sat back in her chair.

After trying on six different pairs, she bought the first ones she had tried on, a pair of brown Justin boots with a low heel.

Tucking the box under her arm, she crossed the store and began trying on hats, surprised to find that they came in every imaginable color—red, green, black, white, gray, purple, beige—and a wide variety of styles: flat brims, wide brims, straw, felt. Hat bands also came in a wide variety, some decorated with silver, others with feathers, some just plain.

She had narrowed it down to two—a pearl gray with a plain black band and a dark beige with a braided leather hat band—when she felt a brush of cool air at her back.

“The gray one.”

A shiver of excitement raced down her spine at the sound of his voice. “Dalton.” She glanced over her shoulder, unaccountably pleased to see him standing behind her.

“The gray one,” he said again.

“You think so?” She brushed a lock of hair from her forehead, settled the hat on her head, then turned to study herself in the mirror. She wasn’t surprised to see that Dalton cast no reflection.

“It looks good,” he said quietly. “I wish I could buy it for you.”

His voice floated over her, soft, caressing, as intimate as a kiss.

“I’ll take this one,” Kathy told the saleslady.

“Very good, ma’am.”

She followed the clerk to the cash register and paid for the hat.

“Thank you, ma’am, come again.”

“Thank you,” Kathy murmured, and left the store, acutely conscious of Dalton at her elbow.

He didn’t say a word as he followed her to the parking lot. His silence made her strangely uncomfortable.

She put her packages in the trunk, unlocked the car door and slid behind the wheel. She felt a whisper of cool air as Dalton settled in the passenger seat. He was angry with her. She could feel it rolling off him in waves.

She pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto the highway, determined not to say anything until he did.

It was a long, quiet ride back to the ranch.

She parked near the barn, opened the trunk and picked up the sack that held all the horse stuff she’d bought.

Dalton stood near Taffy Girl’s stall, watching Kathy while she put everything away.

“Did you have a good time?” he asked at last, and there was no mistaking the underlying note of jealousy in his voice.