Authors: Johanna Lindsey
I
t was becoming dark real fast, too fast. Jethro had lain down as suggested on one of the bare mattresses in the room—there were several pushed up against the walls. It was doubtful, however, that the pain in his hand was allowing him to sleep, though he was trying.
Jack was sitting at the only table in the one-room cabin and had taken over the task of keeping an eye on Casey, while Jed piddled around getting a fire started and opening up several of the canned goods. These he was apparently offering still cold, since he did no more than shove an open can at Jack, who ignored it for the moment.
No food was offered to Casey, but then, she was too tense to eat anything anyway, so she hardly noticed the significant slight. Why waste food on someone you had every intention of killing, after all?
She was still biding her time, though she didn’t have all that much left. She had considered removing her empty gun belt to put it
away, using that as an excuse to open her reticule and get at the gun inside. But the problem with that meant the action would have to be immediate. In other words, she’d have to bring the gun right out and start using it.
They knew, or rather thought, that she had nothing else in her bag, so there was no reason for her to rummage around in it. Yet she needed at least a few moments to check how many bullets were actually in the gun, which she foolishly hadn’t done before putting it away, and she couldn’t remember how many were left after the last time she’d used it.
If the gun was empty, she’d be getting herself killed real quick no matter what she attempted. If only one or two bullets were left, she’d have to do some serious threatening and make sure these men believed her, to keep from having to use the ammunition. But if she had at least three bullets left, which was what she was hoping was the case, then she’d have no problem if they insisted on shooting it out with her instead of surrendering. She’d be prepared for either of those possibilities.
But she needed to do something pretty fast, because she was afraid Damian was going to show up, just as they were hoping he would. And if they even suspected that he was within hearing distance, they could and would use her to bring him out in the open so they could kill him. And he could be out there already.
Even if he hadn’t seen in which direction they’d headed upon leaving town, with the little she’d shown him about tracking, he should have been able to find the cabin before dark. If he was
out there, then he was wisely waiting for full dark, which was just a matter of minutes away.
What worried her the most, however, was
what
he would do when he made his move. He didn’t have very many options, after all, and trying to parley with these fellows would be the worst of them.
The cabin had windows, but those had been boarded up at some point. And the door had one of those old wooden-plank locks, which had been lowered firmly into place and would take more than a few attempts to break through. There was no easy way to get into the cabin or to see inside it beforehand. All of which put the safest and easiest way out of this on Casey’s shoulders.
Jed was the only one she really had to worry about. Jack had a gun, but whether he was any good with it was questionable. And young Jethro wouldn’t be using his right hand for quite some time. The odds were far against his being able to use his left hand with any accuracy, so he was the last she needed to be concerned with.
Actually, now that she considered it, one bullet was all she would really need. If she got Jed out of the picture, the other two men would be manageable, at least long enough for her to retrieve Jed’s gun, which she’d already seen him reload. Besides, she didn’t want to kill Jack. If at all possible, she wanted Damian to have the satisfaction of bringing him to justice.
And she had to have at least one bullet in the gun. Damian wouldn’t have slid her a completely empty gun when she’d asked for bullets,
now would he? So there was no reason, really, to wait any longer.
Jack was even being cooperative—in a sense. He was staring right at her, but actually, he didn’t appear to be
seeing
her. His mind seemed to be elsewhere, no doubt worrying over his present predicament just as she was, so it was possible that he wouldn’t notice what she was doing until it was too late.
Casey made her move. And she didn’t bother with the removal-of-the-gun-belt plan that she had worried over. The long-strapped reticule was resting on the floor by her right hip. She simply lifted her knees so her skirt partially hid it from view and her hand inched toward it, also concealed by her skirt. In another moment she had the gun in her hand and was leaping to her feet.
Unfortunately, even with her weapon aimed right at Jed, who had immediately glanced her way with a “What the hell?” he still reached for his own weapon. She didn’t have time to waste on scrupulous morals this once. He was drawing to kill. She aimed for his heart and pulled the trigger—and felt as if her own heart had just stopped when she heard the soft click of an empty chamber.
Death. She was looking it in the face once again. And when she heard the resounding blast of Jed’s gun…but it wasn’t his gun that had made the sound that had drained all the blood from her face. It was the door crashing open, and not after several attempts as Casey had thought it would take, but in one solid heave. God love him, again she had forgotten to give
extra credit to Damian’s huge size and strength. He came in with his rifle in one hand and his finger already on the trigger.
Jed had barely turned in Damian’s direction when the rifle shot, at such close range, lifted him completely off his feet and slammed him into the wall behind him. Jethro sat up, terrified and enraged at the same time, when he saw his brother’s dead body slumped against the wall. He didn’t have a weapon handy though—hadn’t been smart enough to take one to bed with him—but Casey, being nearest to him, did—an empty gun still had some uses. She slammed it against the back of his head.
Jack, however, was digging in his pocket for his gun as well. He didn’t have much choice, life in prison or taking Damian down first.
Which choice Damian would prefer Jack make, Casey wasn’t sure, but he did attempt to get Jack to halt all movement by aiming the rifle directly at his head. “It’s not pretty, what a bullet from a weapon like this can do to someone’s face,” he explained. “Of course, that someone won’t care much afterward…”
Jack decided prison might be a better option, after all. He froze completely. Casey moved over and retrieved the gun in his coat pocket, a small derringer.
They had done it, or at least Damian had done it, gotten them both out of this dilemma and without bloodshed—theirs anyway. Her first instinct was to throw herself at Damian and kiss the hell out of him, but, of course, that was out of the question. First of all, he still needed to
keep his attention on both Jack and Jethro. So she resorted to her second instinct.
“What took you so long?” she demanded in a tone about as grumpy as it could get.
He gave her only a brief, surprised glance before he answered in a sarcastic tone, nearly as surly as hers. “Nice to see you, too, Kid. Is there any rope around here to tie these two up with?”
“Probably not, but I’ve got lots of useless petticoats under this skirt that will make do.”
That was said just as caustically, yet it had the opposite effect on Damian. It made him smile. Probably because he knew she’d rather be in her jeans than in a confining dress, which she was stuck with for the time being.
She didn’t resent his humor—well, yes, she did—but she didn’t remark on it. She got busy looking for some rope instead. She didn’t find any even after locating a small shed out back that contained odds and ends, but a knife made quick work of her petticoats, and the tough cotton did serve just as well as a rope.
It was a few hours after dark by then, and Casey had no desire to spend the rest of the night in that cabin, nor was she the least bit tired. Her adrenaline was still flowing, in fact, though she couldn’t imagine why, now that they were safe. So she suggested they head back to Culthers immediately, and Damian agreed.
Jed was rolled up in a blanket and tied to the back of his horse. The other two men were left outside, fully trussed up and gagged—they weren’t going to be making any plans they could discuss together if they got left alone. They did get left alone when Damian went into
the cabin one final time to put out the fire.
Casey wasn’t sure why she followed him, but she did. And then she kind of figured out why her blood was still pumping so strongly.
“I thought you were going to die today,” Damian said when he turned and found her behind him.
“So did I,” Casey replied in a small voice.
And then he yanked her to him and was kissing her in the way she’d wanted to kiss him earlier. So he felt it, too? A need to reaffirm life after thinking more than once today that they were each not going to see another sunrise? And damn, it was a powerful need. It didn’t matter that there was blood on the floor, or that there was no sheet on the bare mattress that he lowered her to, or that Jed and Jethro had been dumped on the ground outside. For her, all that mattered was the contact with someone she cared about—and the blazing desire that sprang immediately to life and blocked out every other thought.
He didn’t undress her, there was too much urgency for that; just raised her skirt and ripped off her drawers, probably not intentionally—the thin material simply didn’t withstand his strong tug. But she didn’t even notice until later. All she noticed at the moment was the welcoming taste of him as he continued to devour her mouth with his, and the incredible pleasure as he entered her.
Such a feeling of rightness, as if she had been missing something intangible but was now whole again. And the passion flared brighter. Yet it was over too quickly. It was almost im
mediate, the swift climb and then the soaring burst of ecstasy. Yet it was more intense than before, more wildly satisfying in a different way as well. And such peace settled over her afterward.
It
was
something she had needed, apparently, and needed very badly. It was just a singular, blaring misfortune that she was afraid Damian was the only one she’d ever experience it with. Had she admitted she cared about him? Dammit all, she cared too much.
A
bright, nearly full moon allowed them a quick ride back to Culthers. It was still deep in the middle of the night when they arrived, the town silent, only a few dogs barking to note their passing. Casey was definitely feeling exhausted by then and suggested they head for the boardinghouse, where the prisoners could be tucked behind a locked door until morning, when she and Damian could decide what to do with them.
Damian nodded in agreement, but said, “There’s only one decision to make—what to do with young Paisley. Jack will be returning with me to New York to stand trial.”
She had expected as much, but then, they hadn’t spoken since leaving the cabin, had merely concentrated on getting the horses back to town without any coming up lame. They hadn’t spoken of what had happened in the cabin either, but what was there to say, really, about that? That it shouldn’t have happened, sure. That it had been beneficial, sure. That it
wasn’t going to happen again, sure. None of which could be said without embarrassing them both.
But it was safe to speak of anything else. Casey waited until they had put Jack and Paisley in Larissa’s lockable storeroom at the boardinghouse. They’d had to promise the schoolteacher a full accounting in the morning before she’d taken herself back to bed.
On the way up the stairs to their respective beds, Casey finally told him, “I didn’t get around to mentioning it, but Jack definitely isn’t Henry.”
That, of course, stopped Damian cold. “You’re saying this isn’t over yet?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that. You’ve got the right man; it just wasn’t Henry to begin with. The way Jack told it, Henry died in a fight they had,
accidentally,
though Jack didn’t have much remorse over it. Jack had gone back to New York to visit his family, and with Henry dying, he decided to make it a profitable trip by assuming Henry’s identity and his job—just long enough to steal that money from your company.”
“But why kill my father if all he is is a thief?” Damian demanded.
“I guess your father knew Henry better than most. Jack said he was starting to notice that Henry was acting—well, strange, you could call it. Jack didn’t do such a good job of pretending, I guess. Your father was starting to ask questions. His suspicions were becoming obvious to Jack. You can figure out the rest.”
“So if my father hadn’t noticed anything
wrong with Jack’s performance, he’d still be alive?”
“That’s the gist of it. Jack wanted Henry to take the full blame for the theft, and, of course, Henry would never be found because he was already dead and disposed of. And Jack, unknown to anyone except his aunt, wouldn’t be the one anyone looked for. It was a foul, though logical, plan, if you think about it. But Jack got worried there at the end that your father, already suspicious, might question his aunt and find out that Henry had a twin, one who had recently been in the city. That would have been all it took to point the finger at the true culprit.”
Damian sighed. “So now I could wish that my father hadn’t been quite so discerning.”
“You could, but there’s no point, is there? It happened, and now you have the man responsible for it. Justice will at least be served.”
“Yes, small consolation, but better than none at all,” Damian replied.
Casey nodded and continued up the stairs. But once at her door, she decided to bring up a different subject, and spoke in a somewhat disgruntled tone. “By the way, the next time you toss me an empty gun, how about letting me know that it’s empty? I came within seconds of dying because I shot Jed without a bullet to back it up.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, his face reddening. “You know handguns aren’t my area of expertise. I never even thought to check to see if the gun was empty or not. You asked for bullets. Those you got, a whole boxful. I figured you might like to have an extra gun handy, is all.”
She blushed, after that explanation, which put the fault back in her corner. She could have taken an extra moment in the restaurant to load the darn thing.
“It doesn’t matter now.” And then she admitted, “But your timing was excellent, if you didn’t notice. You saved my life in that cabin, Damian. Thank you for that.”
“Now that’s the last thing you have to thank me for,” he replied with a half smile.
But then he was suddenly staring at her with that piercing look of his that could make her so flustered inside. She probably ought to mention to him that she had—feelings—for him, if he hadn’t already figured that out. She just couldn’t see what difference it would make, though. He still wouldn’t want to stay married to her. He still wouldn’t want someone like her for his wife. And she was going to get choked up if she continued to think about it.
So with a quick “G’night,” she entered her room and closed the door, then stumbled in the dark toward the bed and fell on it. Tears had already sprung to her eyes.
There was very little left to do, to finish up the job she’d been hired for. Actually, her part of it was done. As soon as she was paid, she’d have no reason not to tell Damian good-bye. And that thought was tearing her up inside something fierce.
Out in the hall, Damian stared at the closed door for a long moment, debating whether to knock and get Casey back out there. He even raised his hand halfway, then slowly lowered it.
Again, she was acting as if they hadn’t made love, hadn’t shared that intense intimacy. She avoided meeting his eyes. Was she that ashamed of what they’d done? Or was it more that she was just ashamed that she’d shared intimacy with him in particular?
That idea hadn’t occurred to him before, but he was well aware she found him lacking in all the traits she apparently admired in a man.
Tenderfoot
was what she called him in the purest derogatory sense. But Casey lived in a land that still lived in the past. There was very little difference in a Western town today from one that existed fifty years ago. Whereas the cities in the East were growing by leaps and bounds, as they should be with a new century right around the corner. Was he supposed to ignore progress that made life easier, just because she did?
Why did he even wonder about it? They would be parting soon. She was eager to go home and prove herself to her father. She’d shown in every way possible that she felt the intimacy they had shared was a mistake. Not once had she given him any encouragement to press the issue.
Damian sighed and returned to his own room. It was just as well, he supposed. He couldn’t imagine Casey presiding over a business dinner with him—which his wife would be expected to do—without laying a six-shooter on the table. He couldn’t picture her running his rather large household. He
could
certainly see her in his bed for the rest of his life, but where would she insist on that bed being located? In some obscure Western town? Independent little darling that
she was, she’d probably want to support him as well.
No, it was just as well that they’d be parting. He only wished he could stop feeling so damned miserable about it.