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  Only after she was fully dressed had she removed the chair that blocked the door, wondering as she slid it away where Jackson was, and why he’d been gone so long.

  With her hands grasping the rail, Catalina leaned forward. A man looked up and smiled, but his head was quickly yanked down, his wife’s fingers pinching one ear. Catalina smiled. What must they think of her, these women who lived a completely different lifestyle from her own? Now and then. In the present and the future.

  She accepted the fact that she’d traveled back in time a hundred years, and the questions that had assaulted her at first were dismissed. It made as much sense as questioning her very existence, or the existence of the soul. It was real. She was here, and the people around her weren’t dreams or ghosts; they weren’t hallucinations. They were as real as she. In fact, she was the one who didn’t belong. If she thought about it too much, she’d be as loco as Jackson accused her of being.

  She had wondered only once if she’d be able to make her way back. There was nothing for her in 1996. No family, few friends, a low-paying job. She had even less here, but the possibilities were endless.

  Catalina knew she couldn’t stay in Baxter. Even if the entire town didn’t think she was a prostitute, she was always aware of the importance of getting Jackson away from this place. If she had to drag him by that long hair of his, she’d get him away from this town as soon as possible.

  She heard the key in the lock and turned to face the door, anxious — for some inexplicable reason — to see Jackson Cady’s face.

  She leaned against the railing and stared through the open balcony door, through the blue room, to a still and solemn Jackson. It was ridiculous, but her heart beat faster just to look at him, and her mouth was suddenly dry. It had been that way almost from the first moment she’d seen him, and now that she knew what it was like to be kissed by Kid Creede … Jackson Cady …

  But he had made it clear that he had no interest in virgins. Catalina’s belief that there was one special man for her had been renewed, was stronger than ever. Had she traveled back in time to find him? Was Jackson the man she had dreamed of all her life?

  “I do believe,” he said lazily, still standing in the open doorway, “that’s the ugliest dress I’ve ever seen.”

  Catalina smiled brightly, grabbed the full skirt with both hands, and curtsied deeply. “Thank you, sir.” He couldn’t ruin her good mood with his insults.

  But her smile faded quickly when Juanita appeared behind him. The hussy placed her hand on Jackson’s arm.

  When she’d delivered the dress and breakfast earlier Juanita had been dressed. Now the harlot wore only a thin robe that gaped open almost to her navel. Her hair was mussed, her face was full of color — it didn’t take a lot of imagination to picture what had just taken place.

  “I’ll see you later?” the slut asked in a low voice that carried to the balcony quite well.

  Jackson turned his head just slightly. “Sure.” he said easily, just before Juanita raised up on her toes to kiss him. He not only allowed the harlot to kiss him, he opened his mouth as Juanita did.

  Catalina could stand no more. She turned swiftly and returned her attention to the street below. How could he! And right under her nose! She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. No corset to impede that simple act today.

  She had no claim on Jackson, she reminded herself. None at all. He had saved her … twice now … and had continued to make it clear to her that he had no use for inexperienced women. He preferred tramps like Juanita.

  Her heart skipped a beat when the door slammed shut, but she didn’t turn around. She didn’t turn around when she sensed him in the balcony doorway, or when she heard his soft step behind her.

  She didn’t even look his way when he stood beside her at the rail, but took a small step away from him.

  “It’s not that ugly,” he said contritely, and Catalina realized that the man had no idea what he’d done. So, she could add insensitivity to the growing list of his faults.

  She took a deep breath and turned to him, careful not to let her unreasonable jealousy show. “I’ve been thinking, and I have a plan.”

  He showed little interest in hearing her plan, but she continued anyway.

  “This afternoon we find the old man Goodman wants killed and warn him about what’s going on. Tomorrow morning we make a stop at the general store and stock up on supplies. Discreetly, of course. Alberta mustn’t suspect what we’re up to.”

  “We’re not up to anything, Catalina.” There was a hint of warning in his soft voice.

  She ignored that comment. “All I ask is that you take me to another town. A larger town would be nice, maybe Phoenix or Tucson.”

  “I don’t intend … ” he began.

  “I don’t intend to stay in Baxter. I’m leaving, with or without you,” she snapped.

  He turned those pale blue eyes on her, the set of his mouth was harsh. “You wouldn’t make it ten miles on your own.”

  “I can be very resourceful.”

  That got a grin out of him, which only infuriated Catalina more. “You know nothing about me.”

  “I know you’re a twenty-seven year old virgin with a tendency to get lost and to concoct wild stories along the way. I know you can flatten a man, when you’ve a mind to, and have a singular distaste for chamber pots and corsets.” He leaned his face closer to hers and cracked another smile. “I know you mumble in your sleep and dearly hate to be called Cat. I know … ”

  “Enough,” she said sharply. “Will you take me with you or not?”

  He pulled his eyes away from her and looked down to the street below. “I haven’t decided.”

  “Well, make up your frigging mind,” Catalina snapped.

  He turned his head slightly, so that he caught her eye. His long hair fell in black, chestnut-tipped waves that caught the sun. “Make up my what?”

  “Make a decision, Jackson.” Catalina turned away from him to stalk into the blue room.

  Only after she was gone did Jackson search the rooftops and windows on the opposite side of the street. Careless. He was never careless. He should have searched those areas before he’d stepped onto the balcony.

  He should’ve taken Juanita up on her offer, but in spite of himself he’d continued to see Catalina’s face. Smiling, as she had when he’d opened the door. Sparkling eyes, golden hair, anxious lips. It wasn’t enough that in his heart he knew he could never touch Catalina Lane. He still wanted her, more than he’d ever wanted anything. And, for some reason he couldn’t quite grasp, he wanted Catalina to know that he hadn’t touched Juanita.

  He wouldn’t mention it, one way or another. It was none of her concern.

  Still, he’d felt a strange kind of guilt when Catalina had seen Juanita in the doorway. She had obviously suspected the worst; her smile had faded so quickly.

  He could hear her, stomping through the room they’d shared, her booted feet banging against the floor as she took quick, angry steps. She was talking to herself again, and that wasn’t a good sign. He couldn’t make out much, other than the hotly spoken words Kid Cretin once or twice.

  There was no way he would survive a long journey in her company. She brought out the worst in him, awakened insecurities and a strange protectiveness that he didn’t understand. And didn’t want to understand.

  But he knew just as well that he couldn’t leave her in Baxter. Alberta had laid claim to her, and it would take a goodly number of miles to break that claim.

  He stopped in the doorway and watched her pace, unaware that he studied her. He’d called her dress ugly, and it was. But Catalina looked beautiful in it. Like a flower he’d seen once, growing out of a cluster of rocks on a rugged hillside. Beauty where there should be none. Her face glowed, radiance where there should be pallor.

  Catalina stopped pacing and stared at him, that damned question in her eyes. She looked to him to help her, to protect her, to give her more than any person had asked of him. Jackson was af
raid he didn’t have that to give.

  But he couldn’t refuse her. She had a hold on him that was undeniable … and he had to find a way to free himself of that hold. No one owned Kid Creede, least of all a woman.

  “All right,” he said, his voice displaying none of his emotion, cold and smooth as always. “I’ll get you out of Baxter.”

  Her smile warmed him, but he dared not show it. “Thank you, Jackson. I don’t know what I’d do without you. And the old man? We’ll warn him?”

  Jackson shook his head. “I don’t … ” he began.

  “Please,” she begged. “I won’t rest if we don’t at least warn the poor man.”

  “And if you don’t rest, I don’t suppose I’ll be able to rest either.”

  Catalina shrugged her shoulders and smiled almost sheepishly, and Jackson had his answer.

  Eight

  *

  He couldn’t have been more than five feet five inches tall, and his shock of white hair and deeply wrinkled face marked him as an old man. His clothing was clean, but as tattered as that of the miners who frequented Alberta’s, and the hat he had removed and tossed onto the seat of his wagon was merely functional, wide-brimmed and shabby. This was the rancher Harold Goodman wanted murdered?

  Jackson scowled — no surprise — as they advanced on Doc Booker. The old man was apparently unaware of their approach as he prepared to climb into the seat of a rough buckboard hitched to two horses that could only be called nags.

  Catalina tried to hurry, no easy feat in the long, hot dress she wore. Jackson had learned, rather quickly, who Doc Booker was, and that he always came to town on Sunday for church services. They had to speak to the man now, or else make the long trip to his ranch.

  If Jackson was right, and Alberta was indeed watching them closely, that could prove to be difficult.

  Doc Booker started, literally jumped, when he noticed they were nearly upon him. The man pressed his back to the buckboard, and his eyes grew wide with fear as he riveted them on Jackson. It was an understandable fear, one Catalina had briefly shared.

  Then the fear faded, and a sad acceptance stole over Doc Booker’s face.

  “Kid Creede,” he said, a trace of an accent much like Grandma Lane’s in his gravelly voice, marking him a Southerner. “I reckon I know why you’re here.”

  Jackson didn’t ease the man’s fears, as Catalina thought he should have, but continued to stride forward. She took quick steps to keep up with him. Why didn’t he say something?

  “The Goodman boy wants my little ranch awful bad, but he’s too chicken to do the dirty work himself.” There was slowly growing anger in the old man’s voice. “But then, that’s how you make your livin’, isn’t it Kid? Doin’ other folks’ dirty work for them. I hope you’re gettin’ paid plenty for this deed.”

  All fear was gone now, and the man faced Jackson with defiance in his eyes, looking up as the gunman came closer. Doc Booker had no weapon that Catalina could see, and still he faced the infamous Kid Creede without any sign of his earlier panic.

  Jackson stopped just short of running over the old man. “So you know?” he asked quietly.

  “Of course I know,” the old man spat. “Why do you think he had to bring you in? Do I look so fearsome that none other than the great Kid Creede can manage to do me in? Some of Harold’s ranch hands are old cronies of mine, just like his pa was. If he coulda got one of them to do the job for him, he wouldn’t need you, now would he? I have a few friends left in this territory, and they let me know what’s what.”

  Jackson looked Doc Booker up and down, and then looked past the short man into the buckboard. “And you still travel unarmed?”

  “I’ll not shoot any man, not even a soulless bastard like you, Kid.”

  Catalina saw the fingers of Jackson’s right hand twitch at that insult, and she stepped forward.

  “We came to warn you,” she said calmly, trying to catch Doc Booker’s eyes. Still the two men stared at one another. “Ja … the Kid turned down the job, and he wanted to make certain you knew you were in danger before we leave town. Certainly Harold Goodman will hire someone else, but it should take a while.”

  Doc Booker pulled his eyes away from Jackson and stared at Catalina. They were of the same height, and stood almost nose to nose. “You must be Alberta’s new gal. Cat, is it?” There was no welcoming softness in his voice, but the same condemnation she had seen in the faces of the people of Baxter as she and Jackson walked the street.

  “My name is Catalina,” she said tersely, “and I am not Alberta’s gal.”

  “Let’s go.” Jackson grabbed her arm and pulled her away. “Are you happy now?”

  Catalina took a quick look over her shoulder and found Doc Booker watching their retreat with a puzzled expression on his face. There was no longer anger or fear there, but confusion and even a bit of softness. Perhaps he’d expected to die when he’d seen Jackson approaching, and now he watched them walk away.

  “Did you have to tell him we were leaving town?” Jackson’s question was whispered, even though there was no one nearby to overhear their conversation.

  “Who’s he going to tell?”

  Jackson shook his head slightly and sighed. A rather disgusted sigh, Catalina decided.

  There were few people out on a Sunday afternoon. Those who were on the street cast sideways glances at the couple who argued quietly as they hurried down the boardwalk. Catalina could almost smile: the gunfighter and the prostitute. She would have to be more careful in the next town. Appearances were so very important, social skills everything.

  How would she support herself? What skills did she have that would aid her in the nineteenth century? As a housewife, her skills were all but nonexistent. So much had changed in a hundred years. What about business? There were few opportunities for women, but certainly in a larger city, with the knowledge she had … she brushed those worries from her mind. She would think of something.

  Jackson stopped abruptly and yanked Catalina back into the shadows as she stepped past him.

  “Over there,” he whispered.

  Catalina tried to follow his line of vision, but she saw nothing. “What?”

  “There by the livery.”

  Catalina looked across the street and down several buildings. A man stood just inside a dark doorway. She wouldn’t have seen him if Jackson hadn’t told her just where to look.

  Jackson turned her to face him and tilted his head down. Those pale blue eyes were cold and hard. “That’s Alberta’s bartender, Milo, watching my horse.”

  “How can you tell?” Catalina whispered. She’d seen no more than a figure darkening the doorway; but then, she didn’t have her glasses.

  “Milo is the biggest man in town, and there’s no mistaking that bushy head of his. He didn’t follow us to meet Doc Booker. I would have known.”

  Catalina had no doubt that was true. “So, he’s making certain we don’t leave?” She remembered Milo well, the burly bartender who had held her down so she could be trussed to a wall.

  “He knows we can’t leave Baxter on foot.” Jackson leaned down, placing his nose almost on hers. “Dammit, Catalina, how the hell am I going to get you out of here?”

  There was a tightness in her chest that had nothing to do with Jackson’s closeness. What if he left her here? What if Alberta made it too difficult for him to take her? Would he ride away without a word?

  “I won’t leave you,” he whispered, though the words seemed torn from him against his will. He’d recognized her terror and attempted to ease it, though his responsibility for her was as reluctant as ever.

  “Promise me,” she whispered.

  “I don’t make promises.”

  “Promise me,” Catalina repeated, her fear of being left alone at Alberta’s making her heart beat fast and her breath catch in her chest.

  “I don’t … ” Jackson began, and then he hesitated. “I’ve never … Kid Creede’s word isn’t worth a plug nickel.”

&nb
sp; Catalina smiled. She saw the uncertainty in his eyes, the softening of his hard lips.

  “But Jackson Cady’s word is as good as gold.”

  Jackson pulled his face away from hers, took her arm roughly, and practically pulled her toward Alberta’s. Her statement had only made him angry, angrier than she’d ever seen him. His cool control was gone.

  They hadn’t gone far when that control came back. His step slowed and his grip on her arm eased. Still, he didn’t look at her, but guided her at a slower pace.

  “We’ll have to pretend we’re getting along right well,” he said softly.

  “We have to pretend? I thought we were … ”

  Jackson’s glare silenced her. “Alberta needs to think I’m getting my money’s worth, that you’re deciding you like your new job.”

  Could she ever hope to fool someone like Alberta? She’d been told, more than once, that she’d make a lousy poker player. Deception was not her game.

  “She won’t think I’m earning my way if you continue to see Juanita.” Catalina tried to keep the jealousy out of her voice, but it wasn’t easy.

  “That’s none of your business.”

  Catalina stopped in the middle of the boardwalk and yanked back the arm Jackson grasped. He spun on her, a warning on his face that she chose to ignore.

  “How do you think it looks?” Catalina whispered harshly, though there was no one close by to hear her, “when you spend the night with me and then go to that … that tramp first thing in the morning? It’s humiliating, that’s what it is.”

  “Juanita and I are very old friends… .”

  “Hah!” Catalina scoffed. “She’s a whore. God only knows how many men have screwed her.”

  Her voice had risen as she spoke, and she heard a loud gasp from a woman who was walking down the boardwalk, hidden from her view by Jackson. Great; how many laws of society had she broken in those two sentences?

  The woman — Catalina thought it might have been the same woman who had snubbed her as she rode into town — stepped off the boardwalk and into the street to avoid passing Catalina too closely.