Doc laughed, his belly hefting jovially. "Never thought about that when I brought his stuff back the other day. Guess we'll have to buy him some clothes, eh? The railroad'll pay for—"
Impatiently, she interrupted, "Doctor, whatever were you thinking to return his gun to him? He… he threatened me with it, after all I've done for him."
Doc scowled worriedly. "Threatened you?"
"Shh!" She looked quickly around, then lied again. "It was nothing too serious. He just wanted some fried pork chops for his dinner."
Suddenly Doc suspected just what sort of rivalry might have sprung up between two such willful people, and a telltale sparkle lit his eyes as he inquired, "And did he get them?"
She colored, fussed about pulling her glove on tighter, and stammered, "Why… I… he… yes, he did."
Doc reached into a breast pocket, found a cigar, bit off the end, and gazed off across the distance reflectively. Then he spit the cigar end into the dirt and smiled. "Pretty crafty of him, considering the gun had no bullets."
Miss Abigail felt like somebody had just opened her chemise and poured ice water inside.
"Bullets?" she snapped, her jaw so tight she could have bitten one in half just then.
"Bullets, Miss Abigail. You didn't think I'd turn his gun over to him with a cylinder full of bullets, did you?"
"I… I…" But she realized how very stupid she must appear to Doc Dougherty, admitting that she'd been duped by a felon with an empty pistol. "I had not thought the gun might be empty. I… I… should have known."
"Of course you should have. But I'm sorry he pulled it on you anyway. Sounds like you've had your trials with him. Is everything else all right?"
Miss Abigail could not, would not admit to a living soul how extremely unright everything was. She could never again face a person in this town if people found out what she had suffered at the hands of that scoundrel up at her house. She prided herself on control, good breeding, fine manners, and the town respected her for those things. She would not give them any reason to raise eyebrows at her now. Not at this late date!
"I assure you that everything is all right, Doctor Dougherty. The man has harmed me in no way whatsoever. But he is a loutish brute, crude-mannered and vain, and I have grown thoroughly sick of having him in my house. The sooner he gets out, the better. I should like it if you would sign a release immediately so that Sheriff Harris may wire the railroad authorities to come and get him."
"Sure enough! I'll do it first thing in the morning. He should be well enough to travel soon."
"Just how long do you think it will be before they come and get him?"
Doc scratched his chin. "That's hard to say, but it shouldn't be too long, and I'll be up every day. You can count on that, Miss Abigail. As soon as I see he's able to travel, we'll have him out of there and off your hands for you. Anything else I can do for you?"
"Yes. You may purchase some britches for him. If he is to be traipsing around on those crutches I insist he dress properly."
"Sure thing. I'll have 'em up there first thing."
"The earlier the better," she suggested, none too placatingly. Then with that little upward nudge of chin she wished him good day and turned toward home, angrier than she ever remembered being in her life.
To think that she'd been duped, gulled, toyed with in such a manner by that… that
dog
she'd taken in off the streets when nobody else in town would so much as throw their table scraps to him! He had victimized her not once, but
twice
… and with an empty gun yet! The thought had her positively sizzling by the time she reached the house.
Jesse heard the loud Clack! Clack! Clack! of her heels on the steps as she went noisily upstairs. A moment later she came down again, marching loudly, regularly, as if some band accompanied her parade.
The uncharacteristic noise surprised him; before church she'd been pussyfooting again. She flashed past his door, went to the kitchen, and opened the pantry door He heard her pouring something, then here she came again, still marching. Around the bedroom doorway she swished. Up to the bed she hiked, and before he could say a word, wound up, hauled off, and smacked him across the face so hard that his cheek reverberated off the headboard. The brass sang out like she'd slammed it with a ball peen hammer.
While he was still stunned senseless, she crossed calmly to the water pitcher, dumped a cupful of something into it, then held his pistol over it, using thumb and forefinger only.
"Never again will you threaten me with this distasteful object you once called a gun," she said, all eloquent and self-righteous, before releasing the gun with a plop! into the water. "Neither
with
nor
without
bullets!" Still too surprised to move, he heard burbles from within the pitcher as water gurgled its way into the barrel. When it finally struck him what she'd done, he leaped from the bed and hobbled to the pitcher He was about to plunge his hand in after the gun when she coolly advised, "I wouldn't try dunking for it unless you want your hand dissolved, too, by the lye." She had retreated a safe distance.
He hopped around, swinging awkwardly to face her, but jostling the table in the process. "You daughter of a snake! Get that gun out of there or I'll dump the whole thing on the floor, I swear!"
"My tabletop!" she exclaimed, as the lye water puddled on the varnish. She lurched a few steps toward it, but stopped uncertainly.
"Get it out!" he roared. They glowered at each other, his jaws grinding, her mouth pinched and quivering.
Like feral animals they poised, wary, tensile, cautious. In a scarcely controlled fit, from between clenched teeth he spoke, punctuating his words with grand, empty gaps: "Get… it… out!"
And she knew she'd better get it out.
With a toss of shoulders and thrusting out of ribs, she carried the pitcher away, out the back screen door He heard it slam, then the slosh as she emptied the whole mess into the yard. She came running back with a rag to wipe off her precious tabletop. While she dabbed at it, Jesse collapsed into the rocker, burying his face in his hands, muttering disgustedly, "What did you do a goddamn thing like that for?"
In a voice oozing sarcasm, she began, "Your foray into the prolix is truly impressive—"
"Just don't start in on me with your three-dollar words," he barked, "because we both know mat every damn time you do it, it's because you're running scared! I'll say anything I want, any way I want to!"
"So will I! You may have thought you bested me last night, but Miss Abigail McKenzie shall not be bested, do you hear!" She scrubbed at the tabletop with violent motions. "I take you into my house—
You! A common train robber!—and keep your rotting hulk alive, and for what! To be criticized for my cooking, my language, my manners, even the flowers I grow in my garden! To be pawed and degraded in repayment for my care!"
"Care?" He laughed harshly. "You never cared about anything in your entire, dismal life! Your blood is as cold as a frog's. And just like a frog, you live on your lonely lily pad, jumping in and hiding whenever anything resembling life comes anywhere near you! So you found out the gun wasn't loaded, huh? And that's why you marched in here and smacked me clear into next week, then dropped my gun into lye? Is it?"
"Yes!" she screeched, whirling on him, tears seeping to her eyes now.
"Like hell it is
Miss
Abigail McKenzie! The reason you did it is because you knew that gun wasn't even pointed at you anymore when you turned to jelly beneath me, isn't it? Because what you felt last night had absolutely nothing to do with a gun. You've lived your whole life in this godforsaken old maid's house, scared to death to show any emotion whatever until I came along. Me! A common train robber! A man your warped sense of decency has told you to beware of since the first minute I was hauled in here. Only you can't admit to yourself that you're human, that you could be lit up by the likes of me, that you could lie there on that bed and find that bare skin can be something less than sordid, in spite of who it's touching, in spite of what you've forced yourself to believe all these years. You've also learned that a little fight now and then can be pretty invigorating, not to mention downright sexually stimulating. Only it's not supposed to be, is it? Since I've been here you've experienced every emotion that's been forbidden to you your entire life. And the truth is, you blame me because you like them all and you don't think you're supposed to."
"Lies!" she argued. "You lie to defend yourself when you know that what you did last night was low and cruel and immoral!"
"Low? Cruel? Immoral?" Again he laughed harshly. "Why, if you had any sense, Abbie, you'd be thanking me for showing you last night that there's hope for you after all. The way you've been pussyfooting your life away with your clean white gloves and your fastidiously clean thoughts, I'm surprised you didn't ask the congregation to stone you as a martyr this morning. Admit it, Abbie. You're sore because you enjoyed rolling around on that bed with me last night!"
"Stop it! Stop it!" she shrieked. Then she whirled and threw the lye-soaked rag at him. It landed across his lower face, a sodden end cloying like a rat's tail around his jaw and neck. Instantly his skin began to burn and his eyes grew wide. He clawed at the rag wildly as she realized, horrified, what she'd done. The next moment she was reacting as her life had programmed her to react, grabbing a dry towel from the washstand, lunging to wrap his face. Their hands worked together frantically to dry his skin before any damage was done. He saw her eyes widen with fear, telling him she knew she'd gone one step too far.
"You…" she choked out, scrubbing at his skin harder than she had at the tabletop. "You laugh at all I do for you and de… deride me for everything that is your fault. Never once since you've been here have you ap… appreciated a single thing I've done for you. Instead, you criticize and berate and slander Well, if I'm so cold-blooded and straight-laced and undesirable, why did you start what you did on that bed last night? Why?" Stricken, on the verge of breaking down, she met his eyes nevertheless. "Do you think that I don't know the reason you turned me loose? Do you think I'm so naive that I couldn't tell you ended up in self-defeat by liking it yourself?" Her hands had fallen still on the towel, which trailed away behind his shoulders. It covered his mouth, but his moustache appeared blacker than ever, contrasted against its whiteness. They faced each other now in silent standoff. His black eyes bored into hers, which dropped to his bronze chest. Her hands fluttered from the towel as her eyes had from his relentless, knowing gaze.
She suddenly wished she could reclaim her words. In slowest motion his swarthy fingers pulled the towel free from his mouth. His words, when at last they came, were the most fearsome yet, for they were spoken in a hushed, confused voice.
"And what if I did, Abbie? What if I did?"
Stricken anew, she felt her nerves gathering into wary knots, the skin at the back of her neck prickle, while confusion sluiced through her. He was a player of games, a law breaker, her enemy. He could not be trusted. Still she looked up at his disconcerting train robber's eyes and they skewered her to the spot as no gun ever could. He neither smiled nor frowned, but looked at her with an expression of intense sincerity.
"I did not ask for it," she managed in a choked whisper.
"Neither did I," he said low.
Quickly she turned from him, asking, "Is your skin burned?" But his strong hand came out to stay her in a firm grip just above her elbow.
"Did you really want to burn me?" he asked, studying the taut cords of her neck as she arched sharply away from him and swallowed.
"I… no… I don't know what I wanted." Her voice was timorous and uncertain. "I don't know how to survive around you. You make me so angry when I don't want to be. I want…" But she sighed to a halt, unable to finish. All she wanted was peace, not this hammering heart, this threatening desire for a person like him.
"You make me angry too," he said most gently, squeezing the flesh beneath his sinewed fingers.
He watched the profile of her right breast lift as she drew in a great, shuddering breath. He saw her eyelashes drift down upon her pinkened cheek.
"Let my arm go," she begged shakily. "I don't want to be touched by you."
"I think you're too late, Abbie," he said. "I think you already are." He shook her arm gently. "Hey, look at me."
When she wouldn't, he gripped her narrow shoulders and forced her to face him. She studied the floor at his feet while his hands burned a trail down her limp arms to her elbows and on to her wrists. He took her hands loosely in his while she fought the compulsion to raise her gaze to those dark, dark eyes.
"It's Sunday, Abbie. Should we just be friends for one day and see how it works?"
"I'd…" She swallowed. Her heart clamored in her throat and she braved raising her eyes as far as his chin. He had shaved while she was gone, and he smelled of soap. His moustache was thick and black, but she would not raise her eyes farther. Suddenly he sighed and dropped back down into the rocker again, still holding her hands, doing something soft and wonderful to the backs of them, rubbing them slowly with his thumbs, from cuff to knuckle, while she stood in confusion, telling herself to pull her hands free from his, yet absorbing the very niceness of the touch, so different from how he'd ever touched her before. This was gentle, tender in a way she would have sworn this man could never be. She stared at their joined hands and knew fully what he was doing, but she let him go about it.
Slowly he turned a palm to his mouth, and his eyes closed as warm lips and soft moustache grew lost in it. Her fingers lay curled beneath his chin and she stood like a statue feeling the touch of a magic wand, suddenly imbued with life-giving current while his kiss lingered in her cupped hand. Then his hand stole up to her waist and he tugged her toward his lap.
"No, don't—not again," she begged even as he eased her down expertly.
"Why not?" he whispered as strong hands closed over her shoulders and turned her inexorably toward his chest.