“Because you have a right to know. I’m wanted by the law, Abby, and I had no right to drag you into this. When I see you safely to California, I’ll get out of your life.”
“I don’t want you out of my life.”
“You have no choice,” he said. “And neither do I. I made my choice a long time ago.”
She watched as he pulled on his clothes. Without looking at her, he began saddling the horses. She sat numbly watching him, unable to think, without the energy to move. The idyll had ended. Those days and nights of love were a lie. A pleasant diversion for him. But now, she thought, drawing the blanket around her, she had to face reality. They could have no future together. He was a man on the run.
How could she face the rigors of the trail after experiencing the joy of this place? How could she go back to being the person she’d been? She was changed. Rourke’s love had changed her.
“Get dressed, Abby.” She was startled by the tone of his voice. Looking up at his grim features, she felt a knife pierce her heart.
Mechanically she dressed and folded the blanket. Within an hour, they had packed their meager belongings behind his saddle. Stepping out into blinding sunshine, they began the tedious trek through the last snow-covered summits of the Sierra Nevadas.
* * *
By day they plodded through snow nearly waist high. At night they made camp wherever they could find shelter from the cold. A low hanging shelf of rock, lined with evergreen boughs and warmed by a fire, offered them a view of the night sky ablaze with millions of stars. They clung together, refusing to dwell on the pain of the past, or their fear of the future.
Another night they found the shell of an abandoned wagon. Their lovemaking was slow and gentle, as if they had all the time in the world. Later, while she lay in Rourke’s arms and listened to the steady sound of his breathing, she tried to imagine what it would be like if this were their wagon, and they were heading to California to make a life together. Husband and wife. Though it was only a dream, it was one she would treasure.
On their last night Rourke made a lean-to of evergreen boughs against an outcropping of rocks. Inside, the warmth from the horses and the fire made it cozy. They clung together, neither of them willing to sleep. If they could, they would make this night last forever. They said little. Words were no longer needed. All that was needed was love. They had more than enough of that for a lifetime. But time. They both knew they had just run out of that.
They watched the gray light of dawn color the eastern sky. Without a word they dressed and saddled the horses. And wordlessly they began the descent along the narrow pass that led them from the mountain.
It had taken them almost two weeks to travel a scant fifty miles. To the two weary travelers, it had been a lifetime.
* * *
“There’s your promised land, Abby.”
She sat perfectly still in the saddle, staring at the lush valley that seemed to spread out as far as the eye could see.
“California.” Why was there no joy in this?
Rourke smiled at the hushed, reverent way she spoke the word.
“I see a town.” She pointed to the buildings in the distance.
Rourke had seen it too. She saw the way his eyes narrowed slightly.
“Will you be leaving me now?”
He admired the fact that she was trying so hard to be brave. Her voice had barely trembled.
“I’ll go with you as far as the town and see you settled in before I go.”
“Where will you go?”
He shrugged. “San Francisco, maybe.”
“Why?”
“There are a lot of people there. I’m looking for a man.”
“So you can kill him?” Abby wished the words hadn’t tumbled out so quickly. But once spoken, they couldn’t be taken back. She turned her head away.
Rourke nudged his horse closer and caught her chin between his thumb and finger. Forcing her head up, he met her gaze. “Yes, Abby. So I can kill him.”
“Why? Why can’t you just let it go? Why do you have to go on killing? When does it stop?”
“When I kill him,” he said softly.
“No.” She shook her head. “Then someone will want to kill you in return. And it will never end.”
“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe it won’t end until he kills me. But I can’t stop until it’s done.” He spurred his horse forward. “Let’s get you to town.”
* * *
It wasn’t much of a town, she realized as they approached. A main street, lined with wooden buildings. A bank, a jail, a mercantile, a saloon, and beside it a hotel. On the far end of the street were the houses, one or two painted white, with fences around them. Most of them were weathered to a dull gray, with curtainless windows. But there were men and women and children, and Abby felt her spirits lifting as she saw the wagons and carts. People. They had returned to the land of the living.
They halted outside the saloon, and Rourke glanced around before dismounting.
“While you see about a room, I’ll have a drink. Then we’ll find a place where we can buy a real meal.”
It warmed him to see Abby’s smile.
He accompanied her to the hotel. After talking to the man at the desk, Abby followed him upstairs.
Rourke waited until they disappeared up the stairs, then made his way next door to the saloon. After studying the faces in the bar, Rourke took a seat against the back wall and ordered a whiskey. He drank it quickly, enjoying the rush of heat as the fiery liquid settled low in his stomach. Pouring a second drink, he sipped it slowly. When a cluster of men walked in and gathered around the bar, he set down the nearly full glass and studied each one. Satisfied that he didn’t recognize any of them, he picked up the glass and finished his drink.
When Abby entered the saloon, Rourke saw the men turn and watch her. It wasn’t just her beauty they were staring at, it was the way she looked in her ragged clothes. The thin fabric of his shirt strained against her rounded breasts. Her tiny waist was emphasized by the rope holding up the heavy blue pants. Unbound, her hair spilled around her shoulders like a silken cloud. Realizing for the first time how she looked to others, Rourke cursed himself.
“Wait until you see the room, Rourke,” Abby exclaimed when she reached the table. “It’s a big room overlooking the town. And there’s a real bed.” She sighed.
“Come on.” Rourke stood, hating the way the men were watching her. “We’ll find a place to eat.”
If she was surprised at his abruptness, she didn’t show it. Taking his arm, she said, “The owner of the hotel told me they serve supper every day. It smelled wonderful. He also said there’s a new lady in town who does sewing. But I’ll have to find work first so I can afford to have a dress made. He said he knows of only one place that would hire me, but he didn’t say what it was.”
“I’ll just bet he does,” Rourke said through clenched teeth. Leading her through the doors of the saloon, he failed to notice the man standing alone at the far end of the bar. But the man watched him with keen interest.
Rourke turned toward the hotel. “Let’s get that meal.”
“Why are you so angry?” she asked as they took a seat in the hotel dining room.
“I am not angry.”
“Then why are you scowling at me?”
“I am not scowling.”
She touched a finger to the little furrow between his eyes. “That’s a funny-looking smile.”
“I just don’t think you should go around dressed like that.”
The hotel owner’s wife ladled hot beef and gravy on each plate, then set a plate of warm bread on the table. When she walked away, Abby asked, “Like what?”
“Like that.” He leaned across the table and hissed, “Wearing my old shirt and Union pants. You can practically see through them they’re so old and faded.”
“It’s all I have,” she said logically.
“I know it, dammit, but you can’t walk around town dressed like that.”
“And I don’t have any money to pay a dressmaker.”
“I do.” He handed her a wad of money. When she refused to take it, he dropped it on the table in front of her.
She eyed him suspiciously. “Where did you get the money?”
“I earned it,” he said through clenched teeth. “Go on. Take it. I didn’t steal it. I’m not a thief.”
“I didn’t say you were. Why are you giving it to me?”
“Because I want you to look as good as the other women of the town.”
“You’re ashamed of me.” She pushed away from the table just as the lady returned with cups of coffee.
Both Abby and Rourke fell silent until the lady returned to the kitchen.
“I am not ashamed of you. But I want you to take this money.”
“So you won’t feel guilty when you leave me?”
Rourke flinched. Pushing back his chair, he said gravely, “Yes. I want you to take my money so I won’t feel so rotten when I ride out of town. I want you to be dressed like a lady so every man in this town won’t think you’re cheap and desperate.”
“Well you can take your damned money and …”
As they glanced toward the door, several men entered. One of them was wearing a badge.
“Is your name Daniel Rourke?” the man with the badge asked.
With a feeling of shock, Abby saw Rourke’s hand go toward his gun. The sheriff took a step closer and pressed his gun against Rourke’s chest.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you. The men behind me have orders to shoot you if you resist arrest. Now answer me.”
“I’m Rourke.”
Taking the gun from Rourke’s holster, the sheriff said, “Daniel Rourke, you’re under arrest for shooting down a band of men in Arizona Territory a year ago. Since Judge Feeny will be in town tomorrow, you’ll stand trial immediately for your crime.”
“How did you know me?” Rourke asked.
“A good citizen saw you in the saloon and recognized you from your poster. Fellow by the name of Flint Barrows.”
The cluster of men parted and Abby and Rourke found themselves face-to-face with her old tormentor.
“Yes sir,” Flint said nervously. “That’s the man.”
Abby glanced at Rourke’s face and saw the repressed fury in his eyes. It was the first time she realized just how dangerous he could be. If he could, she had no doubt Rourke would kill Flint with his bare hands.
As Rourke lunged forward, three men grabbed him, pinning his arms stiffly at his sides.
“And this little lady’s father asked me to look out for her. It was Rourke here who sullied her, so to speak,” Barrows said, his eyes glittering.
“That’s a lie,” Abby shouted.
“And look at her now,” Flint continued.
The men turned to study Abby.
“He’s turned her into his harlot. No lady would allow herself to be seen like this.”
Despite the men holding him, Rourke managed to break free long enough to grab the front of Flint’s shirt and pull him close. Three men lunged and pinned his hands behind him. With his face just inches from Flint’s, Rourke hissed, “You keep looking over your shoulder, Barrows. If there’s any way on this earth to get free, I’ll kill you for this.”
While Abby watched in horror, the men dragged Rourke back while the sheriff pressed a gun to his temple.
“Move along, Rourke,” the sheriff said.
As if in a daze, Abby watched the group of men follow Rourke and the sheriff out the door.
Behind their backs, Flint shouted, “And don’t you worry about Miss Abby Market, Rourke. I’ll see that she’s well taken care of.”
“I’ll take care of myself.” Seeing the gleam in his eye, she snatched up the money from the table and rushed after the sheriff and his men. At the jail, she waited until Rourke was placed in a cell. Then, turning to the sheriff, she said, “May I visit with Rourke for a few minutes?”
The older man shrugged. He’d seen so many refugees from wagon trains passing through his town. Only the strong survived. And this young woman, though frightened and confused, displayed a rare inner strength.
“I’ll give you five minutes, miss. No more.”
She stood on one side of the bars. Rourke stood on the other.
“I want you to ride out of here,” he said softly so the others wouldn’t hear. “Take the money I gave you, and the horses, and ride. You can sell my horse in another town. It’ll give you a stake.”
“And what will you do for a horse?”
He gave a dry laugh. “When the trial is over, I won’t be needing a horse.”
Abby’s heart stopped beating. Her features were ashen. “You think they’ll hang you?”
“You can count on it. It will be the most exciting thing this little town has seen in years.”
“Rourke.” She grabbed his fingers through the bars, and the sheriff began walking toward them. Instantly she dropped her hands to her sides. “I can’t leave you. There has to be a way to save you.”
“You listen to me, Abby.” His voice was hard. “Flint Barrows won’t rest until he sees us both dead. I don’t mind dying. I’ve been half dead for years. But I can’t stand knowing he’s out there waiting to hurt you. You know what he has in mind. You know what he’s already tried before. Now you get on your horse and ride out of here. And don’t ever look back.”
Don’t look back. The words echoed in Abby’s mind. Hadn’t she promised herself she would never again look back, only forward?
“Time’s up, miss,” the sheriff said, walking closer.
Rourke studied Abby’s grim features and wondered if she had listened to a single word he’d said.
She gave him one last glance, then turned and walked from the room.
Behind her, Rourke gripped the bars until his knuckles were white. Why had he spoiled their last hour together with that silly, useless argument over clothes? Why hadn’t he told her the only thing that mattered? That he loved her. More than life itself.
Chapter Thirty
Rourke had been right about one thing. This trial was the most excitement this little town had seen in years. The courthouse was packed to the rafters with the good citizens, eager for the spectacle of a tough territorial judge and a cold-blooded killer.
Abby pushed her way through the crowd and took a seat on a wooden bench in the front row. Still dressed in Rourke’s old shirt and Union pants, she caused heads to turn. She was oblivious to the curious stares. She had eyes only for the man who was led, handcuffed, into the room.