“When I’ve killed you, I’m going to have the woman, and the gold.” His hand slapped the butt of his gun. The.44 was aimed heart-high. He was fast.
The sound of a gunshot exploded, ripping through the still morning air. Sarah watched in horror as Donley stumbled, forward, then back. A red stain spread across his shirt and his leather vest before he fell by the stone hearth and lay still.
Jake stood in the doorway, his face expressionless, his mind calm and cold. He’d never once felt the rush some men spoke of that came from killing. To him it was neither power nor curse. It was survival.
“Oh, God.” Pressed back against the wall, Sarah stared. Lafitte leaped out of her limp arms to crouch, growling, by Donley’s gun hand. Her vision grayed, wavered, then snapped back when Jake gripped her arms.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No, I-”
“Get outside.”
Hysteria bubbled up in her throat. A man was dead, lying dead on her floor, and the one holding her looked like a stranger. “Jake-” “Get outside,” he repeated, doing his best to shield her from the man he’d killed. “Go on into the shed or down to the stream.” When she only continued to stare, he pulled her to the door and shoved her out. “Do what I tell you.”
“What-what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to take him into town.”
Giving in to weakness, she leaned on the rail, dragging in gulps of the hot, dusty air as though it were water. “What will they do to you? You killed him.” “Barker’ll take me at my word. Or he’ll hang me.” “No, but-” Nausea was churning now, coating her skin with a thin, clammy sweat. “He wanted to kill you. He came looking for you.”
“That’s right.” He took both her arms again because he wanted her to look at him, really look. “And tomorrow, next week, next month, there’ll be someone else who comes looking for me. I got fast hands, Sarah, and somebody’s always going to want to prove they got faster. One day they’ll be right.”
“You can change. It can change. It has to.” She struggled out of his hold, only to throw her arms around him. “You can’t want to live this way.”
“What I want and what is have always been two different things.” He pushed her away. “I care about you.” It was easy to mean it, hard to say it. “That’s why I’m telling you to walk away.”
He’d just killed a man in front of her eyes. And killed him coldly. Even through her horror she’d seen that. But it hadn’t left him untouched. What she saw now was the frustration and anger of a man caught in a trap. He needed someone to offer him a way out, or at least the hope of one. If she could do nothing else, she could give him hope.
“No.” She stepped forward to frame his face with her hands. “I can’t. I won’t.”
Her hands were trembling. Cold and trembling, he thought as he reached for them. “You’re a damn fool.”
“Yes. I’m quite sure you’re right. But I love you.” He couldn’t have begun to tell her what it did to him inside when she said that. When he looked into her eyes and saw that she meant it. He pulled her against him for a rough, hungry kiss. “Go away from the house. I don’t want you here when I bring him out.”
She nodded, took a long breath and stepped back. The sickness had passed, though the raw feeling inside remained. “Once I was sure there was only right and wrong, and that to kill another person was the greatest wrong. But there isn’t only right and wrong, Jake. What you did, what you had to do, kept you alive. There’s nothing more important to me than that.” She paused and touched his hand. “Come back.”
He watched her, as he had watched her once before, start up the rise to her father’s grave. When she was gone, he went back inside.
Two days passed, and Sarah tried to follow her daily routine and not to wonder why Jake hadn’t ridden back to her. It seemed everyone else had paid her a visit, but not Jake. Barker had come out and, in his usual take-your-time way, questioned her about Burt Donley. It seemed no more than a token investigation to Sarah. Barker, either because he was lazy or because he was a shrewd judge of character, had taken Jake at his word.
The story had spread quickly. Soon after Barker, Liza and Johnny had driven up to hear the details and eat oatmeal cookies. Before she had left, Liza had chased Johnny outside to pester Lucius so that she could spend an hour talking about Will and her upcoming wedding. She was to have a new dress, and she had already ordered the pink silk and the pattern from Santa Fe.
The following morning, the sound of a rider approaching had Sarah rushing out of the chicken coop, eggs banging dangerously against each other in the basket she carried. She struggled to mask her disappointment when she saw Samuel Carlson.
“Sarah.” He dismounted quickly, and would have taken her hand, but she used both to grip the handle of the basket. “I’ve been worried about you.”
“There’s no need.” She smiled as he tied-his horse at the rail.
“I was shocked to learn that Donley and Redman had drawn guns right here in your house. It’s a miracle you weren’t injured.”
“I’m sure I would have been if Jake hadn’t come back when he did. Donley was…very threatening.” “I feel responsible.”
“You?” She stopped in front of the house.
“Why?”
“Donley worked for me. I knew what kind of man he was.” There was a grimness around his eyes and mouth as he spoke. “I can’t say I had any trouble with him until Redman came back to town.”
“It was Donley who sought Jake out, Samuel.” Her voice sharpened with the need to defend him. “It was he who deliberately provoked a fight. I was there.” “Of course.” He laid a soothing hand on her arm. Manners prevented him from stepping inside the house without an invitation. He was shrewd enough to see that something had changed, and that he wouldn’t get one. “I detest the fact that you were forced to witness a killing, and in your own home. It must distress you to stay here now.”
“No.” She glanced over her shoulder. It had been difficult, the first time she had gone inside afterward.
There were still traces of dried blood in the dirt, the sight of which had given Johnny ghoulish pleasure.
But it was her home. “I’m not as frail as that.”
“You’re a strong woman, Sarah, but a sensitive one.
I’m concerned about you.”
“It’s kind of you to be. Your friendship is a great comfort to me.”
“Sarah.” He touched a gentle hand to her cheek. “You must realize that I want to be much more than your friend.”
“I know.” Regret was in her eyes, in her voice.
“It’s not possible, Samuel. I’m sorry.”
She saw the anger mar his face, and was surprised by the depth of it before he brought it under control again. “It’s Redman, isn’t it?”
She felt it would be dishonorable, and insulting, to lie to him. “Yes.”
“I thought you were more sensible, Sarah. You’re an intelligent, gently bred woman. You must understand that Redman is a dangerous man, a man without scruples. He lives by violence. It’s part of him.” She smiled a little. “He describes himself the same way. I believe you’re both wrong.”
“He’ll only hurt you.”
“Perhaps, but I can’t change my feelings. Nor do I wish to.” Regret had her reaching out to touch his arm. “I’m sorry, Samuel.”
“I have faith that in time you’ll get over this infatuation. I can be patient.”
“Samuel, I don’t-”
“Don’t distress yourself.” He patted her hand.
“Along with patience, I have confidence. You were meant to belong to me, Sarah.” He stepped back to untie his horse. Inside, he was boiling with rage. He wanted this woman, and what belonged to her-and he intended to have them, one way or the other. When he turned to stand beside his mount with his reins in his hands, his face was touched only with affection and concern. “This doesn’t change the fact that I worry about you, living out here all alone.” “I’m not alone. I have Lucius.”