Claudia Dain (35 page)

"Yeah, you look pretty good," he said.

She looked at him over her shoulder as she loaded in more shells. "How do you mean that?"

Damn, but she was a flirt. He sure did like that about her.

"I mean it just the way you want it," he said, picking up the empty shell casings. You just never knew when you might have to load your own shot.

"Good," she said, grinning.

She sure wasn't the skittish thing he'd found when he first came to Abilene. She was a bit more able to speak up for herself—all to the good as far as he was concerned. He knew it wouldn't go down smooth with her family, but they were wrong. A woman needed to speak up, same as a man. The world wasn't an easy ride; he wasn't going to have Anne tromped to death and have her say nothing against it.

She was going to be his wife.

It felt strange. He hadn't planned to take a wife. Did any man? Didn't seem likely. Still, he wasn't going to kick against it. He wanted her, that was sure, and he wanted to keep her safe. That about summed up the idea of marriage, as he far as he knew.

"You finish shooting those off and then you're going to break down that gun and you're going to clean it," he said.

"Yes, sir," she said, taking a breath and then slowly squeezing off a round into the target he'd set up about ten yards off. What she'd have to shoot wouldn't be any farther away than that.

"You think by being agreeable that you're going to get out of it, you're wrong," he said.

"You sure about that?" she said before turning back to the target.

"Yes, ma'am, I'm sure," he said.

She chuckled and fired off the last five rounds real fast, which was her style. The first shot was slow and then the others followed in quick succession. Not a bad habit. He'd let her keep it. If only she could fire off that first round faster. Well, with any luck, she'd never have to fire at anybody.

He laid out an old scrap of blanket on the ground and the rag he used to wipe his gun. He was kneeling and waiting for her by the time the last shot echoed off into the wide Kansas sky.

"You're ready? "she asked. "You don't need a minute...?"

"You get yourself down on this blanket. We got work to do," he said, his voice serious, his eyes not.

She laughed and shook her head at him. "You trying to scare me?"

"How'm I doing?"

"Not bad," she said. "I sure don't want to get on that blanket with you... and clean that gun."

"Well, that's too bad 'cause that's all that's happening on this blanket, Miss Ross."

"I heard you were dangerous," she said.

Yeah, she was feeling prime, sure of him, sure of herself. That was good. He'd given her that.

"I am, when crossed. You don't want to cross me, Anne. It's not pleasant."

"I think everything about you is pleasant. And dangerous."

She wasn't teasing him now and his heart jumped up to crush his voice. Damn, but she did things to him that he hadn't thought could be done. She was a helluva woman. It was worth marrying to keep Anne Ross alive.

"Much obliged, Anne. That was real nice," he said when his voice came back.

She just looked down at him, her blue eyes a match for the sky that wrapped itself around her.

"Why are you sad?" she said.

"I'm not sad."

She knelt across from him and put the gun down between them on the blanket.

"You are. There's a sadness in you, deep down."

"That's not sadness, Anne, that's aloneness."

And that was the sorry truth. He was alone. He'd been alone for his whole life.

"Funny, I've wished for a little aloneness for most of my life," she said.

"It's not funny. Not when you've got it."

"You don't know my family," she said, trying for a smile and almost making it.

"I know them, well enough anyway. They're not so bad. They just care about you, that's all."

"I can care for myself," she said.

"What about me? When you marry me, I'll care for you."

"Am I marrying you? When did I decide that?" she said, changing the tone and direction of their talk.

"Now, Anne, don't be making yourself out to be a liar," he said, sitting down on his heels. "You know right well that you'll marry me. Tomorrow. Three. The church. Any questions?"

"Yeah," she said, sitting down on the blanket. "How do I take this gun apart?"

"Smart girl," he said, showing her how to release the cylinder from the barrel.

"My hands are getting greasy."

"Too bad."

It didn't take long to show her how to clean the grease and dust off of the revolver. What took a while was getting her to remember how to put it back together again. It took her six tries.

"How long did it take you to learn to do this?" she asked.

He thought about it, thought hard, and couldn't come up with an answer.

"I don't know. Seems I've always been able to break down a gun."

"You mean you were doing this as a child?"

"I guess so," he said.

They were quiet awhile at that. He made her take it apart and put it back again. She did it with only three mistakes and she fixed them without his having to say a word.

"What else did you do as a child?" she said, keeping her eyes on the gun, polishing it with the rag.

"Not much. Same as most kids, I guess."

"Well, I scrubbed the floors and then got to play with a rag doll out by the kitchen coop when I was a child. You do that, too?" she said, her blue eyes twinkling.

"Nah, I missed that," he said. "I guess I learned to ride. And rope. And shoot."

"Those are man skills," she said. "What did you do as a boy?"

"A boy becomes a man. I learned what I'd need."'

She pondered that, looking out at the prairie, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Who taught you?"

"Folks."

"Your folks?"

He swallowed and watched a misshapen band of crows fly across the clouds.

"Just folks."

She didn't say much after that. Hell, he knew how it sounded, but he wasn't going to lie to her about his upbringing. Course, that didn't mean he had to spell it all out for her either. He wasn't going to do that. There was no point in dragging yourself back over stony ground when it was well behind you.

The gun was put together and she handed it to him. Her eyes looked into his, real serious, all the twinkle smashed out of her.

"We'll be getting married tomorrow. Three. The church," she said.

"I don't want you marrying me for pity," he said, standing, sticking the gun in his belt and then shoving it back at her. She had to carry it for it to do any good. He had enough guns for himself.

He wasn't going to have her like this. He wasn't doing her a good turn out of pity. He wanted her, wanted her alive and safe and breathing for as long as God decided to keep her aboveground. He wasn't going to be taken because she pitied what she couldn't understand. He was a man. That was all he had to be and he'd made it. He didn't deserve pity and he didn't want it.

She stayed at his feet, small and crouched down against the dirt of Kansas, and looked up at him. She met his eyes, smiled, and then looked away. Off and away to the far distance.

"I don't pity you, Jack."

That was the honest truth. The only one she felt sorry for was herself. She was going to marry him. Not for his kisses, she was smarter than that, and not for his looks and not even because it would make Miss Daphne howl in anger. No, she was going to marry Jack Scullard because he needed her. Jack Skull, feared and respected, was alone. In the whole wide world, he was resolutely alone. Who would have thought that Jack would need her? But he did. He purely did.

She guessed that, somehow, the need in him more than outweighed her own need to be free.

* * *

So, they were married, married in the church by a very subdued Reverend Holt, and were now enjoying a small reception in Miss Daphne's immaculate parlor. Miss Daphne hadn't wanted it, of course, but she wasn't going to air their troubles in front of the whole town for small-minded people to mutter over; no, she'd give the reception and put her brand on the wedding so that no one could say she'd failed in her familial duty. That had been her parting shot. She hadn't said a word to Anne since.

That was the first advantage to being Mrs. Scullard.

The reception was subdued. Jack was out on the porch with Sheriff Lane and Mr. Grey and Mr. Blakesley, their voices lowered in talk, their heads together. He wasn't in the parlor with her, while she tried to keep her smile in place and placate the nasty looks from her friends and neighbors. He was out there, where it was safe.

"Congratulations, Anne, on your marriage," Constance Holt said.

"Thank you," she murmured, accepting the light hug the reverend's wife pressed upon her.

"I know there's been some nervousness about this union," she said, her blue eyes kind, "but I wish you and Jack a happy marriage. It's one of the Lord's greatest blessings."

"I suppose it is," Anne said politely.

"It sure has been for me," Sue Ann Weaver cut in, edging into the conversation and raising the volume. "Being married to Rob was the best thing I ever did; why, before, I hardly could afford a new dress once a year."

"It's wonderful Rob's doing so well," Constance said.

"Oh, he's doing fine, but it's that his daddy has some money and helps us out every once in a while. That's where the new dresses come from."

Anne blushed. For Rob.

"Who's Jack's family, Anne?" Sue Ann asked. "I ain't never heard of no Skulls around here."

"The name is Scullard," Anne said, "and my husband isn't from around here; he's from Texas."

"Speaking of folks not being around," Jane Rivers joined in, "where's Bill Tucker been hiding himself? I haven't seen him in days and he was always one to come in every day or so to buy a little of this or that."

"I haven't seen him either, so I can't help you," Sue Ann added happily. "Seems he made himself scarce when Anne up and picked Jack Skull for her man. Must have broke his heart."

"Yes, I would think it did," Jane said with casual condemnation. "That man sure was taken with you, Anne. I'm sure he thought—"

"We all thought," Sue Ann pushed in.

"—that you two would—"

"But they didn't," Constance Holt said. "Anne's made her choice. I'm sure she's content with it. Congratulations again, Anne. All my very best to you and your husband," she said just before she went across the room to talk with Nell.

Leaving Anne alone with two very disapproving people.

"I heard from Everett Winslow that Bill was real upset over your picking Jack over him," Jane said.

"I guess he was," Anne said.

"And I heard that Jack threatened to kill him," Sue Ann said somewhat gleefully. "Maybe that's why Bill's not been around; maybe he's running for his life."

"And who could blame him?" Jane said. "He's no gun-slinger."

It was said scathingly. Anne flinched. Jack had worn his guns, minus the ammunition belts, to their wedding. He wore them now. He was most definitely dressed as a gun-slinger.

"What happened, Anne?" Sue Ann asked, edging closer, making Anne slosh her tea over the rim of her cup. "Did Jack really say he wanted to kill Bill?"

"No, not really."

Maybe if she wore guns, people like Sue Ann would walk a little more softly around her.

"But sort of?" Sue Ann asked, her eyes alight with morbid interest.

"No, it really wasn't anything like that."

"Well, what was it like? Did he say he would kill him or not?"

"Well, he said he would if—"

"I knew it! I knew that man had killing in him!"

She definitely needed to get a gun.

"But it was only if—"

"Oh, there's always some reason for that kind of man. But they'll kill; it's what they do, isn't it?"

Something small but deadly looking, with a real fat barrel.

"He is a bounty hunter," Jane said stiffly.

"And I've never made a secret of it," Jack said from the edge of the room.

Anne breathed a sigh of escape. Jack would take over now; he'd manage all this confrontation and accusation better than she could. He
was
wearing all the guns in the family at the moment.

"Why should you?" Grey said, coming in from the porch with Blakes on his heels. "It's honest work."

"And lawful," Blakes said.

Jane Rivers just sniffed and nodded to Anne before putting down her cup and saucer; she made her good-byes to the ladies of the house and left. Yes, wearing a gun sure made a difference in how a person was treated. Sue Ann stood openmouthed in fascination. The three men who stood before her looked nothing like her husband Rob. There wasn't an ounce of farmer in the three of them together. Before she could say anything, Rob came up and took her elbow and walked her clean out of that house.

"I don't mean to break up your wedding party, Mrs. Scullard," Grey said with a smile, "but me and Blakes have got to get on."

"Oh, I'm so sorry you have to leave so soon." She smiled. "When will you be coming back?"

"Well, that depends," Grey said, looking down at his boots. "We're hunting a man and won't be back till he's found."

That statement put a heavy lid on her party. Folks just started disappearing out the door until only the reverend and his wife, the sheriff, and the doc were left. And her family, they stayed in the room and stared right at her. Would carrying a gun have any effect on her family? Probably not, as they knew she'd never shoot one of them. Which was too bad.

"Oh?" the doc asked. "Who?"

"Bill Tucker," Grey answered. "Can't help wondering where he is."

"And what he's doing," Blakes added.

"I'm certain that he's engaged in nothing more than his own business," Miss Daphne said stiffly.

"Then he won't mind us looking in on him," Grey said smoothly.

"I'm sure that a man of Mr. Tucker's character only wants a chance to be alone just now. What with all that's happened in the last few days," she replied, looking right at Anne.

Anne wanted to crawl under the stairs and curl into a ball. Or buy a gun. Or leave Abilene. Maybe all three.