Reese Page 4

  “I don’t recall that section in the Bible. You’re certain you were a preacher?” Sullivan moved to intercept the bottle before Nate could get his hands on it.

  Nate shrugged and pulled a flask from his pocket. “As certain as you are that your daddy was a Comanche.”

  Sullivan’s eyes narrowed, and it was Reese’s turn to step between two men. “Boys, do you think we could quit picking at one another long enough to save this little town?”

  “The quicker the better,” Jed put in. “They don’t seem too happy to see us.”

  “If you didn’t like it here, then why did you tell Miss McKendrick where to find me?”

  Jed shrugged. “She asked for help. I couldn’t tell a face like that ‘no’ any more than you could, obviously. And she does have a way about her.”

  “What kind of way?”

  “A bullheaded kind of way. Once she’s got an idea in her head, she ain’t going to give it up. I figured better us than anyone else.”

  “And when did you become an expert on women?”

  “Not all women, just women like that. I’ve got a sister exactly like her back home in Georgia.”

  Reese contemplated Jed. “You’ve never mentioned a sister before.”

  “You never asked.”

  “And I didn’t ask now.”

  Cash downed the last of his drink and smacked the glass on the table. “Could we just kill us a few banditos and get the hell out of town?”

  “Here, here.” Nate sipped his flask.

  Jed seemed somewhat embarrassed to have brought up a sister no one seemed to know about He went to stand on the other side of the room, and Reese let the subject drop. The more he knew about Miss Rourke, the worse he’d feel if Jed wound up dead. So Reese poured himself a drink and outlined his plans for Rock Creek. The bickering stopped, as it always did, once they got into the spirit of their task. When they were bored, they argued, just like brothers. And like brothers, if one was threatened, the others stood right behind him.

  The single thing the six did best was fight—together. Once upon a time it had been all they had.

  *

  Before the sun rose, Mary rolled from her bed. School started early in Rock Creek so that the children could be released just as early and help with the family businesses. Though there were ranches about the town, those folks taught their own children or brought in a tutor to do so. Rock Creek was a commerce center—or it had been until El Diablo rerouted the stage line.

  Scrubbing her face rosy with cool water and a cloth, Mary wondered when Reese would come to the school. This morning, while she taught spelling? Or perhaps this afternoon, when it was time for arithmetic?

  Glancing in the mirror to braid her hair, Mary paused. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes more blue than gray, and with her hair curling wildly about her face, she barely recognized herself. Was this the woman Reese saw when he looked at her?

  No. He saw Miss McKendrick—of the stiff spine, straight hair, and pale, thin face. That’s who she was, not this stranger in the mirror.

  But if that were so, then why did he stare at her, more often than not, as if he wanted to devour her whole? And why had she dreamed all night long of his hands on her body and his mouth against hers?

  She tossed the cloth into the basin with a curse that would have earned her a good ear boxing as a child. Old maid, she was, and old maid she’d stay. Even if, by some miracle, Reese wanted to kiss her, she wouldn’t let him.

  Rock Creek was her home—the one she’d always hoped to have. If she wasn’t going to let El Diablo run her off, she certainly wasn’t going to allow herself to be dismissed for something as simple as a kiss from a borderline outlaw. No matter how sinful he looked, no matter how delicious he might taste.

  Nevertheless, Mary dressed in her favorite green gown, which matched Reese’s eyes and made her own shine bright blue. The shade also made her hair appear more blond than brown, and the cut nipped her waist to the span of a man’s hands. Silly vanity, she told herself, but excused it with her need to control everything she could when faced with a man she knew she could not.

  The children behaved horridly all day. Mary wasn’t sure if that was because of their excitement over the men who had come to town or their teacher’s distraction with one of those men. Her gaze flicked to the door at every shift of the weathered boards that comprised the schoolhouse. From her window she had a clear view of Main Street, and she saw each of the hired guns pass by several times—except for Reese.

  Where was he?

  She finally forgot about him during a particularly harrowing moment with two of the older boys. Jackson and Franklin Sutton, twin terrors of eight, informed her that arithmetic was for anyone but them.

  “Boys, what will you do when you take over your father’s store? How will you know what to charge your customers if you don’t know how to add, subtract, multiply, and divide?”

  “We aren’t taking over Papa’s store,” Jack informed her with all the arrogance of eight going on thirty. “He says there won’t be a store to take over soon enough. Even with you hiring those bad men, Rock Creek is done for.”

  “Bad men?” Mary frowned. “They aren’t bad men. They’ve come to help us.”

  “Papa says they’ve come to rob us, most like.” Frank took up the tale. “And he says it’s all your fault for bringing them here. You’re no better than a harlot, going off on your own and paying them to come to town. He says you’re asking for it. What are you asking for, Miss McKendrick?”

  Mary studied the two boys. They were only repeating what they’d heard at home, despicable as it was. In years past, any child who spoke like that to a teacher would have been thrashed. Mary had never seen the necessity for physical violence in her classroom, and she wasn’t going to start now, even with the Sutton twins.

  Instead, she resorted to the stern voice that had served her well over the eight years she’d been teaching, “Do your sums, boys. Immediately.”

  “No. If you’re no better than a harlot, then we don’t have to listen to you. And neither does anyone else.”

  They stood. So did the rest of the class, but as they filed toward the center aisle, they bumped into one another when the Sutton twins stopped dead.

  Reese lounged in the doorway. Dressed in black once again, his Colts gleamed in the afternoon sun. How had he entered without her hearing a thing?

  His green gaze flicked to Mary, and the fury she saw there revealed he’d heard at least the last part of the exchange. When he pushed away from the door and stalked into the room, the nervous shuffling of the children warred with the thunder of Mary’s own wildly beating heart.

  “Sit,” he murmured.

  No one moved.

  “Sit, sit, sit!”

  The children scattered.

  “Is there a problem, Miss McKendrick?” He kept moving toward the front of the room, his boot heels tapping slowly, like the ticks of a clock in the depths of the night.

  She glanced at the children. All eyes had gone wide and were trained upon Reese. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  He reached the head of the room, turned, and leaned against her desk. How was it he seemed to fill the building? Neither she nor the children could look anywhere but at Reese.

  “Really? Seemed to me your charges were having a bit of a problem with today’s lesson.” He fixed his eyes on Jack. “Is that so?”

  “No, sir.”

  Reese switched his gaze to Frank. “And you?”

  “Not me, sir.”

  “Hmm. I must have been mistaken. I thought I heard the word harlot.” The children gasped. “But that couldn’t be correct, because no gentleman would use a word like that in front of a lady, now, would they?”

  No one answered.

  “Would they?” He didn’t raise his voice, but the repetition of the question rolled like thunder through the stillness in the room.

  Ten heads shook frantically. Reese’s smile was thin. “I didn’t think so.” He fli
cked a hand at the door. “Go.”

  They all ran for the door. “Stop!” Mary shouted. She did not have the ability to make everyone listen with a murmur and a glare, but her shout got through, and they did stop. “We have a reading lesson to complete before day’s end.”

  A collective groan swept the class. They all glanced at Reese. He shrugged. “Sit”

  They sat. Mary moved to the front of the room. Reese kept lounging against her desk like a great black cat. When he didn’t move, she went about her business, listening to each child read the lesson. The teaching of reading was a challenge in a room with five different grade levels, but she managed. Mary always managed.

  As she passed Reese on her way to the other side of the room, a harsh, wavering sigh made her glance at him sharply. At first, he seemed completely relaxed, until she peered closer and observed the white lines about his mouth, then heard the tap-tap of his boot. When he raised a hand to pull his hat lower, Mary could have sworn his fingers trembled. She tilted her head so she could see his face beneath the shadow of the black brim and discovered him staring at the children as if they were trolls come out of a dark forest.

  “Reese?”

  His gaze flicked to hers, and for a minute he resembled a trapped beast. “I’ll wait on your porch,” he said, and fled.

  What was the matter with him?

  *

  Reese reached the safety of Mary’s porch and sat on the bench against the wall. He’d broken out in a cold sweat at the first word from the mouth of a boy who looked too much like—

  A pain shot through his belly; Reese doubled over with a moan. The murmur of voices from the street in front of the school forced him to straighten, clamping his lips to keep the agony from spilling out. Two Rock Creek matrons stared at him as if he’d done something obscene. He nodded at them, thumbed his hat, and they hurried on their way.

  Reese stood then moved toward the door of Mary’s cabin. He could not sit on the porch, for all the world to see, and lose what was left of his mind. He needed privacy, and he needed it now.

  He tried the door, swearing when it swung open with ease. Didn’t the woman know about locks? But if she did and she’d used one, he’d be on his knees on her porch. Reese kicked the door shut behind him and fell to his knees in Mary’s front hall.

  “Just a minute,” he assured himself, pressing his hot, damp forehead to the cooler plank floor. “In a minute it will go away, and I’ll be fine.”

  Memories whirled through his mind—faces, names, the agony of the innocent, and the voices of the dead.

  “Shit!” This hadn’t happened in so long, he’d hoped it wouldn’t happen again. The others had never seen him like this, and they never would if he could help it. The men he’d collected would have no tolerance for weakness—even less than Reese did.

  How long he remained there on his knees, Reese wasn’t sure, but the voices of the children calling good-bye to Mary brought him back to himself, to the small house, to little old Rock Creek. A shudder racked his body. The shivering increased, causing every muscle and bone to ache.

  With a willpower born of his past and dredged from the depths of his self-control, Reese focused on the here and now—the rough plank beneath his cheek, the scent of linseed oil on wood, clean, quiet air that held not a hint of smoke or a trace of screams.

  *

  After Reese practically ran from the room, Mary rushed the children through the rest of their lesson, dismissing them early, even though she should have made them stay late. But she couldn’t keep her mind on their primers, and from the number of pronunciation mistakes, neither could they.

  Most days, after the children went home, Mary swept the floor and planned the next day’s lessons. Today was not most days. The floor could stay dirty, and she could teach tomorrow without a plan if she had to. What good were eight years in a classroom if she couldn’t?

  She left everything where it sat and stepped outside. Reese wasn’t on the porch as he’d promised, and for a moment her heart seemed to stop. Whatever had made him go pale as a pillowcase might have made him bolt too. She’d still have five men, but she was afraid those five without Reese would be worse than El Diablo in the end.

  Mary ran across the small bit of brown grass and dirt separating the school from her cabin and burst through the front door. The place was as silent today as it was every day when she came home after school. But regardless of how lonely she felt here, this was her place. She’d never had one before.

  “Reese?” she called, mortified when her voice shook.

  “Here.”

  If she hadn’t been listening with all her heart and soul, Mary wouldn’t have heard the single, soft word from the next room. Her shoulders sagged in relief. She took her time shutting the door then drew a few deep breaths before she joined him.

  He appeared as ridiculous in her parlor as he had sitting on the green couch at the hotel. Standing at the front window, he peered through a small crack in the drapes. He’d rolled a cigarette and held it in his fingers as if to smoke. But no flame reddened the tip, and the thin white band only served to emphasize how dark, how sizable, his hands were—those hands that she’d imagined all over her, all night long.

  Mary cleared her throat, and Reese started as if he hadn’t known she was there, which was absurd, since he’d called her in here. She wished she could see his face, discover what was the matter, so she moved closer. But when he glanced at her, she could see nothing past the shadow of his hat.

  “Would you remove your hat in the house?”

  Her voice sounded prim, even a mite snippy, but Reese yanked his hat from his head and, with a single flick of his wrist, sailed it onto a chair. “Better?”

  “Thank you.”

  She could see his eyes now, but despite her agreement to his question, she didn’t feel better. Those eyes were still as green as her favorite dress, but they’d gone as cool as moss and as hard as stone.

  The two of them stared at each other, and the house that had always seemed too big for one old maid suddenly seemed too small for the same old maid and the man in black. Perhaps because Mary had never been alone with a man in her life. What did one do?

  “You wanted to see me?” He rolled the cigarette between his fingers, the movement slow, soothing, seductive. Mary couldn’t take her eyes from those nimble fingers that smoothed around and around the nub of his cigarette. “Miss McKendrick?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Was there something you wanted from me?”

  She forced her gaze from those hands to his face, and the lines about his mouth reminded her of why she’d run from the schoolroom without finishing out the day. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Me? Nothing.”

  He placed the cigarette in the pocket of his black vest, too polite even to ask if he could smoke in her house. How had a Southern gentleman become whatever he was? Outlaw? Mercenary? Leader of a gang with guns to hire?

  He presented her with his back and stared at the fading light. A storm was coming, and from the way the sky had darkened, it was coming fast.

  “I think you’re lying, Reese. Something about the children bothered you. You want to tell me what it was?”

  “No.”

  He didn’t sound angry or sad or frightened. He sounded as if he’d refused a second glass of punch at the Autumn Harvest Ball. Drawn closer against her will, close enough that her skirt brushed his leg and she could see that he was still trembling, Mary wanted to touch him, but she didn’t know how.

  Thunder crashed, still in the distance, but not for long. He started, shook his head, and gave a chuckle of self-derision.

  “You don’t like storms?” she asked.

  He lifted one shoulder, then slowly lowered it, raised his hand, shoved his hair from his eyes, then rubbed his palm along the back of his neck as if it ached.

  “The noise.” His voice was so low that she had to lean closer to hear, and her breasts brushed his back.

  He spun aro
und. Her hands came up to brace herself against his chest, but he grabbed her wrists before she could touch him and held them away from him.

  “I told you not to touch me.” The eyes that had been cold went hotter than the approaching lightning.

  She licked dry lips. “I’m not touching you; you’re touching me.”

  “Well,” he drawled in the voice that had haunted her nights since the first time she’d seen him, half-naked in Dallas. “That’s different, then.”

  He yanked her into his arms, and as the thunder drifted closer, grew louder, he kissed her. Heat in her belly, fire in her breast, the man was a danger to all she’d been taught was right and true.

  First kisses should be gentle, sweet embraces between couples yet children. If there had ever been gentleness in Reese, it was gone, and Mary couldn’t say she was sorry. She wasn’t a child, and neither was he.

  He was a hard man. Harder still were his hands on her shoulders, his mouth on hers. At first, she just let him kiss her, not knowing what else to do. If this was not just her first kiss but her only kiss, she did not want it to end too soon. Then his tongue ran along the seam of her lips, and the sensation made her gasp, a sound of both shock and desire awakening.

  He tasted of desperation, a flavor she knew well—the salt of tears, the tang of fright. Her hands, which he’d released, hung at her sides, clenching, unclenching, wanting something but afraid to grasp anything.

  The line she walked between need and dread was a fine one. A single step to either side and she would be lost. So she kissed him back as best she could, but she touched him not at all.

  The nimble fingers that had rolled the cigarette unrolled her hair from its pins before she knew what he was about. Then he filled his hands with the curling mass and held on tight as thunder rolled into town, at war with the toll of the church bell.

  Chapter 4

  Reese was lost—in her, in himself, in them. He’d made the memories go away by sheer force of will, but the thunder had brought them back, and when she came near enough to touch, he’d lost his leash on the demon inside.