Authors: Johanna Lindsey
B
y the time they dropped Jed off at the undertaker the next morning, they had drawn quite a crowd, but that was to be expected, considering that Jack and Jethro were trussed up like game hens. Folks who looked like prisoners always drew notice. It never failed, actually, and was usually beneficial. This time was no different.
The sheriff was out on his porch to meet them, having become aware that a near mob was ascending on him. Whether he had been in Jack’s pay or not wasn’t relevant at this point. If he wanted to keep his job, he’d be abiding by the law, at least in this situation. And the reason was, there were many in the crowd throwing accusations, now that Jack had been dethroned, so to speak. They had been too afraid to complain previously about the threats over voting but weren’t now.
Damian even made it easier for the sheriff to switch sides by letting him know right off that Jack was being taken back to New York to stand
trial for murder. Only Jethro was being turned over to him. Elroy would still have to be arrested, but he’d be easy enough to find, since his wounds left him bedridden.
Damian had pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it for the sheriff to read. Casey’s jaw had nearly dropped when she glanced over his shoulder and saw what it was—his appointment to U.S. Deputy Marshal. Well, hell, he could at least have told her he
was
really a deputy, rather than let her draw her own conclusions. Of course, he didn’t know she hadn’t believed him.
It was still a surprise, though a nice one. And she had to allow that, with the way he dressed now, having put his fancy suits away for the time being, he made a fine-looking U.S. deputy, even if it was only for the temporary job of finding and arresting Curruthers.
They rode out of Culthers for the last time later that morning, with Jack in tow. There was time to spare to catch the eastern-bound train in Sanderson, and soon they were traveling in comfort again—Damian’s parlor car was still there waiting for them.
He had yet to come across a bank capable of transferring the funds needed to pay Casey with, so she was still traveling with him for the time being. She wished it were otherwise, because the longer she remained in his company, the more she resented that it couldn’t be permanent. So she settled for second best and
tried
to ignore him as best she could. And if he happened to catch her staring at him, well, she just pretended she was deep in thought, and where
her eyes had settled meant nothing at all.
They had to pass through Langtry again, but it was only a few hours’ stop this time, so they both agreed that the wisest course would be to simply remain in the car. Neither of them wanted to risk another unpredictable run-in with Judge Bean, for obvious reasons.
Unfortunately, the parlor car was remembered in that town, and the judge must have been short on his whiskey funds, because his bailiff came knocking on the door about twenty minutes after the train arrived. Casey seriously considered declining the
invite
to appear before the judge’s judicial bench again. She could get Old Sam off the train and be gone before the bailiff managed to round up a posse to force the issue. But she’d be abandoning Damian if she did, since he’d already disposed of his horse and Jack’s, figuring they wouldn’t be needed again. And she certainly couldn’t fit all three of them on Old Sam.
So with little choice in the matter, she ended up walking into Roy Bean’s courtroom with Damian at her side. Bean’s drinking buddies were all there. And Bean himself was giving them an ear-to-ear smile, which made Casey even more wary.
The bailiff who had fetched them took a moment to whisper something in the judge’s ear. Bean looked surprised. For whatever reason he’d demanded their presence, he now had something else to sink his teeth into.
He didn’t leave them in suspense, saying, “My bailiff tells me you’ve got a prisoner in that
fancy train car of yours. The fella you were looking for?”
Damian answered, “Yes.”
“Well, hot damn,” Bean said and then, with a grin, glanced toward his cronies, who were lined up against the bar, almost like permanent fixtures. “Looks like we’re going to have us a hanging, boys.”
Damian shook his head and tossed his appointment paper on the table for Bean to look at. “I’m afraid not. As a U.S. deputy, I have the authority to return this man to stand trial in the state that he committed his crime in.”
Bean was definitely disappointed, even sighed heavily before he allowed, “So you do. Well, that’s a shame. I would have been glad to hang him for you.”
Damian retrieved his paper and said, “Thank you, Your Honor. And if that’s all—”
“Now, hold on,” the judge interrupted. “That ain’t all, actually. You two still hitched up?”
Casey couldn’t help recalling how diligently Damian had searched for a judge to change that fact, and she replied churlishly, “Only because we haven’t found a judge between here and Sanderson—Your Honor.”
Bean was back to grinning. “They don’t call me the only law west of the Pecos for nothing, missy. Now I have to tell you that after you left town, I got to thinking I’d been a mite neglectful in your case. I did my duty as I saw it, since you were clearly traveling in sin. But I forgot to mention what I usually tell the folks I hitch up, that at any time thereafter, for another five dollars, I’d be glad to unmarry ’em if’n it don’t take.
And seeing as how you just admitted you’re looking to get unhitched, I guess I can’t do less than I’d do for other folks. So by the power invested in me, I hereby unmarry you.” His gavel banged once on the table. “That’ll be five dollars. Pay the bailiff.”
T
here was an overnight stop in the next town, as well as a larger, more affiliated bank, one that could handle the transfer of such a large amount of money. And they arrived early enough that Damian was able to secure the bank draft for Casey, which he handed to her that night at dinner in the small restaurant they found near the hotel.
That was it, then. She’d been paid, and they were no longer married. They were still traveling in the same direction, but they didn’t have to do it together. Casey could just as easily wait for the next train or ride out on her own. She couldn’t see prolonging her misery, now that she didn’t have to. And misery it was.
She stared at Damian across the table in that little restaurant and felt like her heart was breaking, while he was perusing the menu, unaware of her turmoil. He’d been moody since the “divorce,” but she could understand that. He’d wanted it, yet it still went against the grain, having it forced on him in the same manner the marriage had been forced on him.
Ornery judges like Bean who toyed with people’s lives just for self-serving, monetary reasons ought to be outlawed, and hopefully, they were a dying breed. But the folks who got toyed with had no recourse in the meantime—except to get on with their lives.
Casey was going to do exactly that. She wasn’t going to say good-bye, either. Crying in front of Damian was out of the question, and that was what she was afraid she’d do if she had to actually say the words that would sever their relationship for good. He expected to see her on the train in the morning. She wouldn’t see him again after tonight.
They were staying in the same hotel—she hadn’t even bothered to look for a boardinghouse. The walk back to it was excruciating, though. He spoke of mundane things. She didn’t say anything at all, the knot in her throat too tight for words.
But after opening the door to her room, she turned to gaze at him one last time, noting little things for her memory to savor: the slight stubble on his checks, the firm lips that could be extremely soft at times, the fact that he’d let his hair get longer than he preferred, and that his pale gray eyes were as intense as ever.
It was too much to resist, one last contact. It was meant as a kiss good-bye, no more than that. But it turned into something quite different.
When she reached up, he must have read more into it than she’d intended, seeing it as an overture on her part. He gathered her close and wouldn’t let go. And that, too, was too much for
her to resist. How could it hurt, after all, to say good-bye to him in this way? And how much more special it was, for her knowing it was the last time.
He must have felt the same. Even though he expected to see her again, he must have realized this would be their last shared intimacy. He was all the more careful for it, all the more tender.
He picked her up and carried her to the bed, cradled in his arms. He was very slow in undressing her, too distracted in kissing each area that he bared. Her shoulders, her neck, even her fingers received special attention. There was no urgency, just a poignant tenderness in his kisses as well as the caresses that followed.
Casey wasn’t hesitant, either, in her own caresses. The sounds she wrung from him were encouraging, and there was so much of him to explore. His muscles rippled beneath her fingers. She found his soft spots. She marveled at what was so hard. She was emboldened further, leaving no part of him untouched. Even that strong male length of him felt the daring of her fingertips, as well as the strength of a firm grasp.
Contrasts, so obvious and yet so amazing, the different textures, the things that set them apart. Nevertheless, what pleasured him pleasured her. In that there was no difference, just the wonder that it was so.
His body was so fascinating. Even the smell of him was intoxicating to her senses. And the taste—she wasn’t sparing in her kisses. By setting the pace of lazy, sensual exploration, he was allowing her the time to do all that she had previously only fantasized about doing.
But pleasure like that had its limits. Their blood slowly heated. Skin that had reveled in a soft caress was soon too sensitive to receive more. Brief fluttering became constant churning. Every nerve was pulsing vibrantly. And when she thought she couldn’t bear it anymore, he finally pulled her into the curve of his nakedness and that velvet hardness filled her.
His gaze locked with hers, nearly as erotic as the thickness of him inside her. And then his thrusts began, a slow withdrawal, a swift surge forward, a heated kiss in the interim, only to repeat the cycle. It was so exquisite, his lovemaking, so consuming.
Soon that wave of pure sensation arrived, which lifted her into the realm of ecstasy, exploding on her senses in a pulsating crescendo, draining her to repletion. That he experienced his own climax in that same moment filled her heart with joy.
She held him close to her. She somehow held back her tears. For that short time, he was hers. They would go their separate ways, but she would never forget him—nor would she ever stop loving him. But she would try, she really would, to put the pain aside; and hopefully, she could one day look back on this time without regrets, and simply remember it as a cherished part of her life.
C
ourtney was on the west range of the ranch when she sighted Chandos riding toward her. She immediately dug her heels into her mount and raced toward him, praying that this time he was home for good.
The past seven months had been difficult for her, not just because Casey was gone and not just because she had taken over many of the responsibilities of running the K.C. while Chandos had been away, but simply because she hated being parted from her husband like this.
She reached him, and just managed to get out, “Well, hell, it’s about damn time,” before she threw herself out of her saddle and into his open arms.
She heard him chuckle before his mouth fastened on hers for a searing, it’s-been-too-long sort of kiss. By the time she leaned back enough to feast her eyes on him, she was breathless. And he was grinning. That was the thing she noticed most, not the shaggy beard or the hair that had grown so long he was braiding it. That
grin—and the lively sparkle in his light blue eyes.
He’d changed; he was more like the old Chandos. She’d seen it the few times he’d come home in the past seven months, and it was even more pronounced now. The anger was gone. Life was back in his eyes. As much as she had hated having both her daughter and her husband away, she could thank Casey for this change in him.
It had been a good, healing time for him, doing something he considered useful, something he was good at, rather than the monotonous running of the ranch, which he found quite boring at times since Fletcher’s death. At least when his father was alive, there had been a reason for him to excel at ranching, to show up the old man, to do it better than he. But that motivation died when Fletcher did.
“Can I hope that this isn’t going to be just another brief visit?” she asked.
It hadn’t taken Chandos very long to find Casey after she’d left that night so long ago. Courtney had expected that would be the end of it, that he’d be bringing her straight home. But that wasn’t what he’d done at all. His guilt, over causing her to leave in the first place, had prompted him to let her prove whatever it was she’d gone off to prove. He’d merely “watched over her” while she did it.
“It’s over, Cateyes,” he replied with a brief sigh. “Casey came in on the noon train today. Now, whether she gets to the ranch before dark is the question. She’s been dragging her feet like she’s on her way to her execution.”
“That’s understandable. She’s probably dreading facing you.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think it’s that. If anything, she should be looking forward to crowing about what she’s accomplished. But the few times I got a good look at her since she started heading home, she seemed—I don’t know, like she’s in mourning.”
“Did something happen recently that you didn’t mention in your telegrams and letters?”
“Yes, a lot of things, but nothing that I can figure would have affected her so much. She finished that last job she took on, parted company with the tenderfoot who hired her—unless coming close to death has made her realize she took on more’n she could chew.”
“Close to death? Close to death! When the devil did
that
happen? You were supposed to be assuring that she was never in any real danger.”
He smiled at his wife wryly. “I wasn’t able to be there every single time she had a mind to draw that gun of hers. She did manage to lose me occasionally, leading me a ragged chase to catch up to her again.”
“When, exactly, did she come close to death?” Courtney demanded. “And how?”
“The last job she took on was a bit more dangerous than I figured it would be. The Easterner hired her to find someone named Curruthers. I learned that much by questioning the same folks she questioned. Curruthers was an Easterner as well, which is what misled me.”
“He was more dangerous than you figured?”
“No, actually, he was harmless enough himself, but had surrounded himself with hired fast
guns who weren’t. By the time I caught up with Casey after she found the fellow—she pulled a fast one on me in Sanderson, taking off in the middle of the night without leaving a trail—she was involved in a damned showdown.”
“What?!”
He grinned. “Settle down, Cateyes. She won it hands down, and it’s damned funny, thinking about it now, though it sure wasn’t at the time, of course, with all those bullets flying. In fact, that was the end of it for me. I was going to drag her home just as soon as the dust settled.”
“And what, pray tell, was funny about our daughter participating in a damned shoot-out?” she asked tightly, not about to settle down as suggested.
“Well, if you can picture what I saw, her standing there in the middle of the street in what looked like a peaceful little town, wearing one of the fancier dresses she’s ever worn, with her gun belt strapped to her hips over the lace—”
“You find
that
funny?”
“So will you when you stop glaring at me—and recall that she’s safe and sound and just about home.”
Courtney sniffed indignantly, but wasn’t quite glaring at him anymore. “Very well, I might find it funny—when I’m a hundred and ten. Now tell me why you didn’t drag her home at that point.”
He frowned, remembering. “Because my fool horse went lame on me.”
“But you were there in the same town she was,” Courtney reminded him, frowning as well. “So what’s your horse got to do with it?”
“Because those bastards she was up against never intended it to be a fair fight. I got into it at that point, giving her enough cover to get off the street, which she did. The tenderfoot showed up at that point, too—they’d apparently gotten separated somehow, after leaving Sanderson. But anyway, the bullets were flying from both sides of the street, only when they stopped, I wasn’t quick enough to realize that both sides had taken off out the back of the buildings. They met up again in the town stable, and whatever happened there, they managed to end up riding out of town with Casey in tow.”
Courtney sighed. “Okay, I can see where your horse going lame would have made it difficult to put an end to it right then.”
“It was worse than that,” he said with another frown. “I set out after her immediately. So did Rutledge, and he was ahead of me.”
“The Easterner?”
Chandos nodded. “The trail headed south on the road to Sanderson, but that was just to throw off any pursuers. I found where they left the road to head west and even finally spotted them. Rutledge hadn’t figured that out yet, so wound up behind me.”
“But then your horse went lame?”
He nodded, sighing. “I was going to waylay Rutledge and take his horse. Didn’t think the tenderfoot could do Casey much good if he caught up to them. But that damned fellow flew by me, too far away for me to stop him. Don’t think he even saw me, he was so hell-bent on catching up to Curruthers. And I was a good five miles from town by then. By the time I got
another horse and headed after them, they were already returning to town with prisoners in tow.”
“
He
rescued her?”
Chandos snorted. “I doubt it. She probably had everything in hand by the time he found her, though I’d dearly like to know how she managed it. One of those owlhoots was dead, the other two trussed up like turkeys ready for the oven.”
“So ask her what happened when she gets home,” Courtney suggested. “Or do you still intend to let her think you never found her?”
Chandos shrugged. “Don’t know. Let’s wait and see what she has to say for herself first. But it’s over, Cateyes. At least I’m sure of that. And maybe you can figure out why she’s not as happy as we figured she’d be when she got around to coming home.”