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  She slipped the green silk off, sliding her arms as quietly as possible from the sleeves. The bodice of her dress dropped to her waist, and she started working the corset. The stays were digging into her flesh. No wonder the contraption hurt her so much!

  The corset came free, and Catalina tossed it to the floor. Never again. Not even for a tiny waist would she subject herself to that. She took several deep breaths, enjoying that freedom, and then looked down at Jackson to find him staring at her.

  “You could’ve said something,” she snapped, pulling the green silk up over her chemise.

  “Good morning,” he said softly.

  “Too late.” Catalina turned her back on him. She heard him stretch and rise behind her, heard the pop and crack of joints accustomed to sleeping on hard surfaces.

  Before she could tell him that she wanted — hat she demanded — a change of clothes and a trip to the outhouse, there was a knock at the door. Alberta — she would bet her life on it — and the madam had probably been listening at the door, waiting to hear their voices.

  Jackson grabbed her shoulders and forced her to sit on the edge of the bed.

  “What do you want?” he yelled sleepily as he quickly worked the laces at her ankles and slipped the black boots off her feet.

  “I just wanted to check on you two, and make certain that everything was to your satisfaction, Kid. May I come in?”

  It was Alberta, with that false smile in her voice.

  “Give me a minute,” Jackson almost drawled, his lazy voice belying the quickness of his actions. His hands were at her thighs, and before Catalina could protest he was rolling down her black stockings. One he threw toward the door, the other he tossed so that it landed over the foot of the bed near his gunbelt.

  With his hands under her arms he jerked Catalina to her feet, and the green silk was stripped from her body in a flash, to be tossed to the floor.

  “Stop that!” Catalina whispered harshly. “What on earth are you … ”

  Jackson silenced her with a finger to his lips. He was, Catalina knew, her only ally in this world, and she obeyed his silent order.

  “Come on, Kid. Open the door.”

  “Damnation, Alberta. The sun’s barely up.”

  “I have to make certain that my Cat’s all right.”

  Catalina opened her mouth to deliver an angry reply, but Jackson’s hand clamped down over it before she could make a sound. His eyes warned her, and she sighed as Jackson lowered his hand slowly.

  A knife appeared there, recovered from a hidden sheath in one of his boots that had been dropped by the bed. It was rather plain, with a worn wooden handle and a long, narrow blade, and he handled the weapon with frightening ease.

  Jackson threw the blue coverlet at Catalina, and she wrapped herself in it as he stood over the rumpled bed and cursed. Then he held his hand over the pristine sheet and ran the sharp blade of his knife across his thumb.

  Several drops of blood fell to the sheet beneath his outstretched hand as Catalina watched, dumbfounded. She all but cowered in a corner of the room, holding the coverlet to her like a cocoon that could protect her against all this. Jackson snapped his bedding from the floor and tossed it on top of the bloodstained sheet; only then did he lift his head to look at her. He mouthed the words stay there and be quiet, and then he stomped to the door.

  The chair at the door he removed quietly, not once making so much as a whispering scrape of wood against wood. He removed both keys from the dresser, dropping one into his pocket as he inserted the other into the lock.

  “What the hell do you want?” he demanded, throwing the door open to reveal a smirking Alberta.

  Catalina didn’t move, even as Alberta’s eyes fell on her and she received a chilling smile. She didn’t know what Jackson was up to, not exactly, but he was definitely up to something.

  “Is there anything you need, Kid?” Alberta turned her attention back to Jackson.

  “Yeah,” Jackson said softly. “Breakfast. My laundry done. A decent dress for Catalina. One I can take her on the street in, if I choose to. And a tub of fresh, hot water. For Catalina.” He turned his head slowly, away from Alberta, to look at Catalina and smile. A vacant smile, but charming just the same. Part of the show. “Oh, yes.” He walked away from the door and whipped the sheets off the bed, balling them up as he returned to the door. “Clean sheets.”

  He thrust the soiled sheets into Alberta’s reluctant arms, and then he slammed the door.

  Catalina Lane was staring at him as though he were the one who was loco. Her coverlet had slipped a little, in her distraction, and the lace from her chemise peeked through.

  “I should’ve thought of that last night,” he muttered, turning his back on her to lock the door.

  “Should’ve thought of what?”

  Jackson turned and looked at her again, and it appeared she hadn’t moved at all. He leaned back against the door and crossed his arms over his chest. “I have a reputation to think of, you know. I can’t let it be known that I spent the night in the same room with a woman I paid a thousand dollars for … and didn’t touch her.”

  She looked thoroughly disgusted with him, and that was just fine. There was no need for her to realize that he still didn’t know what to do with her, that Alberta would be suspicious if she thought Kid Creede hadn’t gotten what he’d paid for, and if he decided to take Catalina with him …

  Stupid idea. There was no way he could stand to be on the trail with Catalina Lane and not have her. And he wouldn’t take her, not even if she asked … which she wasn’t likely to do. The virgin princess, waiting for her prince charming.

  Her eyes fell to his chest, and her mouth dropped open. Jackson looked down to see what Catalina was no doubt gaping at. His thumb continued to bleed, a trickle at most, and the blood ran down his hand to his wrist.

  “For heaven’s sake, Jackson,” she said, forgetting her anger to cross the space that separated them. “That was a dumb thing to do.”

  “She’d expect blood … ”

  “I don’t care what Alberta expects,” Catalina snapped, taking his hand in her own smaller one. Small and white and soft … and strong. She held on even as he gently tried to pull away from her.

  “We’ll have to clean it right away, and again when the hot water comes.”

  “It’s just a scratch … ”

  “It is not a scratch. It’s a cut. Really, Jackson.” She bent over his injured hand and he kept his eyes on the top of her golden head. Hair as soft as the hand that held his own, and as rich with gold as any ore. For the span of a few heartbeats he allowed her to hold his hand and enjoyed the odd warmth, the moment of rare peace. Nothing would touch him right now. Nothing ugly or mean. Death was held at bay for a while, for a few precious seconds.

  Catalina led him to the tub and plunged his hand under the cold, soapy water. She washed the thumb gently, cleansing it and drying it and then, as he sat on the edge of the bed, bandaging his thumb with a strip torn from the hem of one of Alberta’s blue curtains. The coverlet in which Catalina had wrapped herself had fallen from her shoulders to be abandoned on the floor, there by the tub, and she didn’t seem to miss the protection it had offered. She sat beside him in her chemise and drawers and gave her full attention to the cut on his thumb, a cut he wouldn’t have given a second thought.

  “There are a few details we need to discuss,” Jackson said when she finished with the bandage.

  “What kind of details?” Catalina rose and walked away from him, nervous once her chore was done.

  “Outside this room, call me Kid.”

  She turned and looked across the room to him, a question in her golden eyes. “Why?”

  “Few people know my real name, and I’d like to keep it that way. When we’re alone you can call me whatever you will.” He wouldn’t tell her that he liked the sound of his given name on her lips.

  She started to smile, but that smile faded quickly. “Jackson, you have to get out of Baxter
. I know you don’t believe me, but I really do come from 1996, and you really are supposed to die in an ambush in Baxter. I don’t know exactly when, I don’t even know if it was in 1896, but you’ve done so much for me I can’t allow you to … ”

  She ignored the hands he raised, asking her silently to cease her prattling, so he ordered it in a voice that left no room for argument. She stopped for a moment and proceeded to argue with him anyway.

  Jackson rose slowly from the edge of the bed, and the look he gave her quieted her nonsense at last. “You don’t have to try to convince me that you’re loco. I knew that was true the moment you opened your mouth. I’ve told you, I won’t touch you. Your precious virginity is safe… .”

  “Until you leave me here,” she said, pouting almost seductively.

  “I haven’t made my decision about that just yet.

  Catalina stood there in nothing but her chemise and a short pair of bloomers and stuck her tongue out at him, like a child who’d been denied her candy.

  “Lovely,” he muttered.

  “Why don’t we leave today?” she asked impatiently. “Have you taken a job here? Quit. Leave it. They can find someone else.”

  “I’ve already turned the job down.”

  “Good. We can leave today,” she said with finality.

  Jackson shook his head. “Not just yet. Alberta will be watching us closely. Maybe in a couple of days … ”

  “You may not have a couple of days!”

  She was the most infuriating, the most insufferable, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. And she had the best pair of legs. Long and slender, but shapely.

  She caught him staring and picked up the coverlet from the floor to wrap herself once again. “What kind of job would bring Kid Cretin to Baxter, anyway?” she asked sharply, transparent in her attempt to take his mind off her great legs.

  “Harold Goodman wanted me to murder some old man so he could take his land,” Jackson said flatly, all the while slowly raising his eyes from her legs to her face.

  She looked properly shocked. “Out-and-out murder? Thank heavens you said no.”

  “He wasn’t willing to pay my price,” Jackson lied, wanting nothing more than to widen the distance between them. Catalina was naive; she wouldn’t understand or condone what he did.

  Catalina hugged the coverlet to her body and turned her eyes away from him. “Would you have done it,” she asked softly, “if Harold Goodman had offered you more money?”

  He opened his mouth to say yes, to convince her that he was no better than his reputation, but he couldn’t. The lie stuck in his throat.

  “You wouldn’t have,” she said, relief and assurance in her voice. “Are you going to warn the old man?”

  “Hell, no,” Jackson said gruffly. “This is none of my affair.”

  Catalina took a single step toward him but was smart enough to stop more than an arm’s length away. “But it is your affair,” she whispered. “Goodman’ll just hire someone else. You can find the old man and warn him today, and tonight we can sneak away from here… .”

  No.

  “Really, Jackson. You’re so stubborn.” She hadn’t given up. He could hear her own stubbornness in her voice.

  They could have argued all morning, but Juanita arrived, sleepy and yawning, bearing breakfast and a neatly folded sand-colored dress, plain and well-worn.

  “Good morning, Kid.” She greeted him with a warm smile, an invitation in her black eyes. An invitation he needed badly to accept. Staying with Catalina was surely going to kill him.

  Jackson stepped into the hallway, ordered — ordered — there by Catalina. He heard the scrape of the chair as she placed it beneath the doorknob. He should be relieved to have a few minutes of peace, a respite from the woman’s constant irritating presence.

  It was still early for the employees and the patrons of Alberta’s. The hallway was deserted, and as he made his way down the stairs to the second floor, Jackson realized how aggravating the unnatural quiet was. He had to admit, he’d been easily annoyed since finding Catalina in the desert.

  Juanita was awake. Hell, even if she’d been sound asleep, he would have knocked on her door.

  Jackson was almost certain Juanita would still be in the room she’d occupied five years ago. She’d told him more than once that she’d decorated it herself. He’d thought then that the pastels and lace didn’t suit her, but he’d kept that opinion to himself.

  That room was on the second floor at the end of the hall, and once Jackson had made up his mind he didn’t hesitate. With Juanita beneath him, he would work Catalina Lane out of his system once and for all.

  He had raised his hand to knock when he heard the forced squeak of bedsprings. And then again, and then again. For a moment he thought that perhaps Juanita had moved to another room, but then he heard her laugh. A low laugh, followed closely by a deep moan. Definitely not Juanita. Juanita’s customer.

  Jackson turned away, more frustrated than ever. Somehow he was certain it was all Catalina’s fault.

  Alberta’s saloon by morning’s light, free of cigar smoke and laughter and drunken shouts, appeared innocent enough. Tables with upturned chairs on their surface. A clean-swept floor. The smell of oil. Either Milo stayed up late to clean or he was an early riser who had already done the job.

  Jackson walked slowly down the stairs and flipped over one of the chairs. He sat with his back against the wall and propped his boots on the table where his chair had been moments earlier.

  It had finally happened; he was cracking. Losing his mind, along with the control that had kept him alive this long. There was no other explanation for his behavior. Why did he feel responsible for a lunatic who accepted a job in a whorehouse and then refused to do her job? Why did he feel obligated to stay away from her, when he should stalk up those stairs right now and demand what he had paid for?

  And why in hell did he want her so bad?

  Jackson lit a cigar and tried his best to forget that Catalina was, at this moment, sitting naked in a tub of water in his room. His room.

  He finished his cigar, thinking about Catalina’s legs. He sat there for a while longer, thinking a bit more. Not just about her legs. Strangely enough, he could close his eyes and see her as clear as day. He fingered the blue bandage on his thumb, remembering the swell of the breasts he had watched as she’d carefully doctored the scratch. No one, that he could recall, had ever cared much for his welfare. The only doctoring he’d ever received had been either paid for, delivered by another of his own kind, or forced at the end of his Colts. He couldn’t remember ever seeing a concerned frown like the one Catalina had shown him.

  He had waited long enough, Jackson decided as he all but jumped to his feet. Surely Catalina had finished with her bath by now. He climbed the stairs slowly, still fingering the bandage on his thumb, frowning in spite of himself.

  The door opened as he reached the second-floor landing, and he instinctively turned his head. The door to Juanita’s room was open, and she stuck out her head and smiled at him. A hand snaked through the opening, and she crooked a finger at him.

  Jackson turned away from the stairs and toward Juanita.

  “I thought I heard you in the hall earlier,” she whispered as he neared the door.

  Through the crack in the door, Jackson could see her sleeping customer, facedown on the bed. Pale tousled hair, paler butt. A red silk vest had been carefully hung over the back of a chair, and dark trousers were neatly folded on the seat of that chair. That gambler, Lucky, slept soundly on Juanita’s squeaky bed.

  Juanita was wearing nothing but a red silk robe, thin enough for him to see every curve of her body. Her face was flushed, her hair loose and tumbled around her face and shoulders, and with her smile she offered him what she had just given Lucky.

  “Were you looking for me?” she asked after a short silence.

  Jackson fingered the blue bandage unconsciously. “Yeah, but you were busy.”

  Juanita slipp
ed through the door and closed it slowly behind her. “There’s an empty room upstairs,” she offered. “It’s not very fancy, but it has a bed.” To emphasize her suggestion, she pressed her body against his.

  Her face was flushed, anxious, her lips parted invitingly. She rubbed her leg against his, and her robe fell open. Juanita offered herself openly, without reservation.

  And he didn’t want her.

  She had just come from another man. And, in spite of himself. Jackson could see Catalina’s smile. Hell, he felt like she was watching him.

  “Maybe later,” he said, stepping back and away from Juanita.

  She followed him, her smile fading just a little. “Why not now?”

  Jackson turned, but he could hear her right behind him, and then he felt her hand on his arm as she followed him up the stairs to the third floor.

  At the top of the stairs Juanita turned left and tried to pull Jackson with her. Jackson turned right, and Juanita didn’t let go. She clung to him, even as he inserted his key into the lock.

  Catalina stood on the balcony and watched the slow, irregular parade of churchgoers beneath her. She’d finally gotten her trip to the outhouse, having refused Jackson’s offer of a chamber pot. A chamber pot! How disgusting. The outhouse seemed almost civilized in comparison.

  She’d also had a long hot bath, after ordering Jackson from the room. He’d left her alone, locking the door and taking both keys with him. Catalina followed his example of the previous night and placed that same chair under the doorknob while she’d bathed. She had no doubt that Jackson would’ve been able to get past that, if he’d wished, but it wouldn’t have been easy.

  Amazing, what a luxury a hot bath and a change of clothes had been. The tan dress Juanita had provided for her was a little too big, and prim as any lady’s. Long sleeves fell just past her wrist, and the plain round collar was quite modest. The full skirt touched the floor when she walked across it. At least she didn’t look like a hooker anymore.