Under A Prairie Moon (7 page)

She went through her nightly routine, washing off her makeup, brushing her hair, flossing her teeth, and all the while she thought of what he had told her, wondered how many men he had killed. She had never known anyone who had taken a human life.

She shivered as she crawled under the covers. Gunfighter. It always seemed kind of romantic in the movies, all those old Hollywood films about Wyatt Earp and Frank and Jesse James and Billy the Kid.

Have you killed many men?
she had asked, and he’d replied,
More than my share, I reckon.

She tried to rationalize it, tried to tell herself that times had been different then, but the fact remained, ghost or no ghost, he was a killer, and he was living in her house.

* * * * *

She started painting the library early Friday morning, the same shade of cream she had used in the living room, and all the while she thought about Dalton Crowkiller, about the questions she would ask him that night, like what it had felt like to kill a man, and why he had never married and settled down.

It didn’t take long to paint the library—one wall was mostly windows, two had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. She thought of all the books packed in boxes in the barn, along with all her knickknacks, and knew the shelves wouldn’t be empty for long.

She took a break for an early lunch, then went to work in the dining room. She would have to find a table, she thought, and maybe a hutch, one of those big, glass-fronted things, sort of like the one her grandmother’d had.

She kept waiting for Dalton to appear and when he didn’t, she wondered where he was. How did a ghost spend his days? He had said he didn’t get tired, didn’t eat, didn’t sleep. What did he do?

Dalton stood in the doorway, watching Kathy. She was wearing a pair of paint-stained blue jeans and a green t-shirt. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail that swayed back and forth as she moved. She had a nice figure, all soft and round. And she was alive, so alive. She seemed to glow, and he knew, without knowing how he knew, that it was because she had a good heart, a good soul. He had never known a woman like her. Growing up with the Lakota, he hadn’t given much thought to girls. He had been too busy learning to be a warrior. Later, in Boston, he had kept to himself. He hadn’t been an outcast, exactly. In the East, no one cared that he was a half-breed. But he had ever been aware that he was different, that his Indian blood set him apart from everyone else.

And then he had gone West, he mused with a grin. Moving from one rough town to another, he hadn’t come into contact with many “ladies”, but he’d met a lot of “soiled doves”. Young, old, new in the business or hard as nails, most of them hadn’t cared that he was a half-breed, hadn’t cared that he hired out his gun, so long as he had an itch to scratch and the cash in his pocket to pay for it.

And then he had met Lydia Conley. He lifted one hand to his throat. It seemed fitting somehow that a so-called lady would be his downfall. Lady! She had been a bigger whore than any light-skirt he had ever met.

His gaze moved over Kathy as she climbed down the ladder. Kathy, now, she was a lady through and through.

She paused at the foot of the ladder, her gaze on the doorway. “Dalton?”

How had she known he was there? He materialized before her, pleased to note she didn’t jump out of her skin this time. He gestured at the room. “Looks nice.”

She nodded. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make yourself visible.”

“I don’t know how to explain it. I just sort of think it, and it happens.”

“Can you walk through walls too?”

“Yeah, when I’ve a mind to.”

“Oh.”

He looked at her carefully. She was staring at him as if she had never seen him before. “You all right?”

“What? Oh yes. I was just trying to imagine what it would be like to be a ghost.”

“I told you. It’s boring as hell.”

“Well, I was going to clean up, and then go for a walk. Do you…do you want to come with me?”

“Best offer I’ve had in years,” he replied.

“Okay. I’ll meet you on the back porch in half an hour.”

He recognized a hint when he heard one. “Half an hour,” he said.

* * * * *

Side by side, they walked along the stream.

“This place hasn’t changed much,” Dalton mused aloud. “Not like the rest of the world.”

“I thought you couldn’t leave Saul’s Crossing?”

“I can’t, but I’ve learned about the changes through the people who have come here over the years, and from watching the news on the television.” He plucked a stick from the ground and rolled it back and forth between his fingers. “People talk about progress. They’ve replaced horses with fast automobiles. Built bigger houses. Made pictures that move and talk. But it seems to me that people are still the same.”

“I guess that’s true. Maybe people never change. Maybe the human race is destined to keep making the same mistakes over and over again.” She paused. “Would you choose the same way of life if you had it to do over again?”

“Become a hired gun, you mean?”

Kathy nodded.

“Probably. It was a good life for a man like me.”

“A man like you?”

He blew out a deep breath. “I had no money, and no hope of making any. There was no way for me to rise above what I was in Boston, the half-breed son of a housekeeper. I could have stayed there and spent the rest of my life looking after the Worthinghams’ horses, or I could have gone to work on the docks, I suppose, but that wasn’t for me. When we left the Lakota, I had thought to go back, but living with the whites spoiled me. I got to liking soft beds and having a full belly summer and winter.”

He tossed the stick in the water and watched the current carry it away. “It was an easy life, being a hired gun. After I killed Whittaker, there were a bunch of young guns who came to try me. I killed them all, but it wasn’t murder. It was never like that. I never shot anybody in the back. And with each killing, my reputation grew, until no one dared face me. I had to do very little work for the money I was paid. A few jobs a year…” He shrugged. “In Boston, I was a half-breed nobody, but in Ellsworth or Kansas City, I was Somebody. You understand what I’m trying to say?”

“Yes, I guess so.” She hesitated a minute, then, in a rush, “How many men have you killed?”

“Do you really want to know?”

She nodded slowly.

“Nine.”

It was a lot, yet far fewer than she had expected.

He grinned at her. “You look disappointed.”

“No, no, I just thought…”

“You thought it would be more. Dozens, maybe.”

She nodded.

“Not every job involved killing. I was a payroll guard for a while. Another time I escorted a banker’s wife to San Francisco. Once I had a big rep, I rarely had to draw my gun.”

Kathy nodded again, wishing she had brought paper and pencil along. “How come I can see you so clearly? I thought ghosts were, you know, invisible or transparent.”

“I don’t know.” It was a riddle he hadn’t solved yet, her being able to see him when no one else could.

She touched his chest with her fingertip. “And you’re solid.”

“Being invisible is easier.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. Takes a lot of energy to materialize and to stay that way.”

Kathy shook her head. It was amazing, just amazing.

“You don’t believe me?”

“No, I believe you. I was just wondering why I can see you, and no one else ever has, except for…never mind.”

“Except for Lydia.”

Her name sounded like a curse, the way he said it. That quick, the easy camaraderie between them was gone. “Dalton, I’m sorry.”

“Forget it.” Suddenly restless, Dalton walked away from her. Lydia. He hoped she was burning in the deepest, hottest part of hell.

John Lawson arrived with her furniture shortly after noon on Saturday. Dressed in a short-sleeved Western shirt, faded blue jeans, scuffed boots and a tan Stetson, he looked as though he had just stepped off the cover of a western magazine. In addition to her furniture, he brought her a bouquet of bright yellow daisies.

“Welcome to Saul’s Crossing,” he said, offering her the flowers with a flourish and a smile.

“Thank you.” She glanced past his shoulder to where a tall, beefy young man clad in black jeans and a sleeveless black t-shirt stood leaning against the back of the truck. “I see you brought help.”

“Yeah, that’s Sonny. Actually, I’m here to help him. He could probably carry all this stuff in on his own without breaking a sweat.”

Kathy checked out the other man’s brawny arms and smiled. “I think you’re right.”

It didn’t take the two men long to unload the truck. Kathy stood in the kitchen doorway, out of the way, while they carried things in. Once, feeling a brush of cool air, she glanced over her shoulder, but if Dalton was there, she couldn’t see him.

“Well,” John said. He took off his hat, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “That’s everything.”

“Nice meeting you, ma’am,” Sonny said.

“You too. Can I offer you something to drink? A Coke, or some ice water?”

“A glass of cold water would be welcome,” Sonny said.

“We’ll wait out on the porch,” Lawson added.

Kathy went into the kitchen and filled two tall glasses with ice water, then carried them outside.

Sonny took his and drained it in one long swallow. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then handed her the glass. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said politely, and ambled down the stairs. Kathy watched him slide into the passenger side of the trunk. Lawson had been right. All that work, and Sonny wasn’t even breathing hard.

“Well, I guess we’d better be going,” John remarked. “We’ve got another delivery to make.” He smiled at her as he handed her his empty glass.

“Thanks for everything,” Kathy said.

“Glad to do it.” John descended one step, then turned to face her. “Any chance you’ll be coming into town again soon?”

“I would imagine. I’ve still got a lot of rooms to furnish.”

“Any chance you’d go out with me next Saturday night? Say dinner and a movie? I…oh…” His voice trailed off, and Kathy saw him staring at her wedding ring. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were married.”

“I’m a widow,” Kathy replied, wondering if the words would ever get any easier to say.

“Oh. I’m sorry. How…I mean, was it sudden?

“A traffic accident. Almost a year ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m divorced myself. Listen, it’s been awhile since I asked a woman on a date. I don’t know how long, that is…” He cleared his throat. “Maybe it’s too soon, but…” He looked up at her, obviously flustered. “Is it too soon for you to be dating?”

Kathy hesitated a moment. She hadn’t gone out with anyone since Wayne passed away. It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse, and then she shook her head. Maybe it was time to rejoin the land of the living. “I’d love to go out with you.”

“What time shall I pick you up?”

“Why don’t I meet you in town? I’d planned to drive in anyway.”

Lawson smiled, revealing a dimple in his left cheek. “Great. Why don’t you meet me at the store at six-thirty?”

“All right.”

“See you then.” Whistling softly, John descended the stairs. He slid behind the wheel and gave her a wave and a smile, then pulled out of the yard.

A date. Kathy rested her elbows on the porch rail, her chin cradled in her hands, her toe tapping nervously. She had a date.

“So that’s John Lawson.”

He hardly startled her at all this time, she thought. No doubt she was getting used to having him creep up on her. “Yes.”

“And you’re going out with him.”

Kathy straightened up, wondering why she felt guilty. “Yes I am.”

Dalton grunted softly. He didn’t like the idea of her being with another man, but it wasn’t his place to say so.

“Well,” Kathy said, “I guess I’d better get busy.”

He followed her into the house, stood in the living room, his shoulder braced against one wall, while she flipped on the radio, then moved into the middle of the room to survey her new furniture, her brow furrowed in thought.

When she started to push the sofa across the floor, he went to help her.

“Thanks.” She glanced up, her gaze meeting his. “You don’t have to do this.”

He shrugged. “It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.”

She nodded, acutely aware of the tension that hummed between them. He was the most male male she had ever known. He radiated more raw sexual appeal than any living man she had ever met. There was no denying the attraction she felt for him, or the fact that he stirred feelings within her that she had never thought to feel again. She wiped a hand over her forehead. When he looked at her through those deep black eyes, excitement bubbled up inside her like, making her feel young again, desirable.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. On the radio, Johnny Mathis was singing… “Chances are you’ll think that I’m in love with you…”

As though rooted to the spot, she watched Dalton walk toward her until he was close. Too close.

She licked lips gone suddenly dry.

“Dance with me?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

She blinked up at him, startled. Of all the things he might have said, this was the most unexpected. “What?”

“Dance with me. I won’t step on your toes, I promise.”

She was sorely tempted to laugh. The idea of waltzing around the living room with a gunfighter seemed ludicrous somehow, but a moment later she was in his arms. Her heart was pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it. She searched her mind for something to say to break the tension that flowed hot and sweet between them, but nothing came to mind, and she was aware of nothing but the intensity of his eyes and the welcome prison of his arm around her.

“Where did…” She cleared her throat. “Where did you learn to dance?”

“Boston. My mother taught me.”

She nodded, unable to think of a response.

He held her for several moments after the music ended.

Kathy took a deep breath, certain she would never be the same again. Taking a step back, she ran a hand through her hair. Every nerve ending in her body was humming with desire.

Crossing the room, she switched off the radio.

“Let’s try the sofa over there, against that wall,” she said in her most businesslike tone of voice.

Dalton nodded. He never should have asked her to dance, he mused ruefully, but it had been the only way he could think of to get her in his arms.

An hour later, she had the living room arranged to her satisfaction. Standing in the middle of the floor, one finger tapping her chin, she made a slow circle, thinking of what else she needed…a picture over the sofa…something Western, horses, or maybe a sunset. A tall plant for the corner, a lamp for the end table. She would put the entertainment center there, between the two front windows.

Dalton stood to one side, watching her. It annoyed the hell out of him that he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her, that she filled his every thought. Dancing with her had been a mistake. Now that he knew how good she felt, he ached to hold her again, to run his hands over her skin, to watch her eyes grow dark with passion. Damn.

“Okay, ready to tackle the bedroom?” Kathy asked, and then could have bitten her tongue. Being in the bedroom with him didn’t seem like such a good idea, but the words had been said and there was no graceful way to take them back.

Dalton nodded, glad for the distraction, and then wondered why he thought being in a bedroom with Kathy would change the direction of his all-too-lustful thoughts.

Lawson and Sonny had put the bed frame together before they left, so all Kathy had to do was decide where she wanted it. Finally, she decided to put it catty-corner, with a nightstand on each side, and the dresser against the only wall without a door or a window.

Dalton stood in the doorway while she made the bed, his gaze lingering on her shapely fanny as she smoothed the sheets. Muttering an oath, he forced himself to admire the room instead. He didn’t know much about decorating, but the room looked good, feminine without being frilly. The dark-blue carpet, the blue print spread, the pale blue walls…it looked nice, homey. His gaze rested on the double bed, imagining her there, imagining himself there, lying beside her, holding her in his arms. Damn and double damn!

“Well, that’s everything,” Kathy said. “Do you have anything planned for…” She broke off, blushing self-consciously.

“No,” he replied with a wry grin. “I don’t have anything planned. What’s on your mind?”

“I thought maybe we’d do some more work on that book.”

“Sure, if you want.”

“I’ll have to unpack my computer,” Kathy mused as they left the bedroom.

“Computer?” He’d heard the word before but had never seen one.

“It’s like a typewriter.”

He grunted softly.

She sat down at the kitchen table, and he took his usual seat across from her.

“Let’s see, where did we leave off?” She thumbed through her notes, hoping she would be able to read them when she had time to transcribe them. “Why don’t you tell me what it was like, living with the Lakota.”

Dalton tipped his chair back, his expression thoughtful. “It was a good life. Hard at times, but good. The Lakota were an honorable people.”

He stared past her, looking out the kitchen window. They were gone now, his parents, all the people he had grown up with. Dead and gone. He knew, from overhearing people talk and from watching television, that times had changed. People didn’t ride horses anymore. Cowboys and gunfighters had gone the way of the Pony Express and high button shoes. He had been shocked the first time he had seen a woman in shorts. Not that he hadn’t liked it. She’d been a pretty red-haired girl with gray eyes and a dimple in her chin, one of the people who had rented the house from time to time. In his day, a man had been lucky to see a woman’s ankles; now women ran around practically naked, showing off their legs and just about everything else.

He looked at Kathy, wondering if she ever wore shorts.

“Dalton?”

“What? Oh yeah.”

For the next two hours, he told her about growing up with the Lakota, how his whole family—mother, father, grandparents, aunts, uncles—had all had a hand in raising him, how he had learned to ride and track and hunt, how he had learned to live off the land. He told her about his first horse raid against the Crow, and the first time he killed a man.

“That’s something you never forget,” he said. “The heat of battle, the blood singing in your veins, your heart pounding in your ears when it’s over because you know it could just as easily have been you lying there in the dirt.”

“What about all the other men you killed later, in gunfights? Do you remember them too?”

“Every one.” He saw their faces in his dreams sometimes, shadow faces that haunted him as he drifted through time and space, caught between this world and the next.

“Have you ever been shot?”

“Oh yeah, couple times.” He lifted his hand to the scar near his hairline. “Shooter by the name of Lonnie Dwyer almost got lucky over in Bodie. I’ve got a nasty scar on my back too.”

“Someone shot you in the back?”

He nodded. “Some low-down coward name of Rudy Phillips.”

“Did you…?”

“Damn straight!”

“Bodie? Isn’t that in California?”

“Yeah. It was a hell of a town in my day.”

“It’s a ghost town now.”

He laughed softly. “Figures.”

“What was it like, when you were there?”

“Loud and dangerous. There were thirty mines in operation back then, and thirty-five saloons, as I recall.” He laughed softly. “And sixty brothels.”

“Sixty?”

“Yeah. The saloons and the brothels were open round the clock. Hardly a day went by that there wasn’t a killing in one or the other. I recollect hearing someone say the town had a man for breakfast every day. Town had three breweries. They worked round the clock too.”

Kathy shook her head, unable to imagine such a place. Sixty brothels open round the clock. She did some quick mental arithmetic….if a girl worked an eight-hour day….three girls per day times sixty….one hundred and eighty girls times however many girls worked in each saloon…say ten girls for every saloon….eighteen hundred working girls…could that be right?

“How long did you stay there?”

“Couple months. Some prospector hired me to watch his back to and from his mine and while he played cards. He should have hired me to keep an eye on him when he was flat on his back.”

“What do you mean?”

“Saloon girl claimed he refused to pay her for services rendered and stuck a knife in his ribs. He died the next day, and I hightailed it out of there the day after.”