And he saw Kincaid reaching.
But it was all over before it began.
He drew his Colt before Kincaid had even cleared his holster. Two, then three red flowers blossomed on Kincaid’s white shirtfront, and he staggered, fell, the gun clattering across the floor.
Candice screamed and grabbed Jack’s arm.
A heavy silence fell over the salon.
Jack turned to her furiously. “I told you to stay back.”
“Are you all right?” she cried.
People began to shift and whisper in hushed, excited tones. Lorna came swiftly forward to kneel by Kincaid. “He’s dead,” Lorna said.
CHAPTER FIFTY
“They say Casey O’Brien just up and left this place one day last spring,” Jack said.
Seated behind Jack on the black stallion, Candice cautiously surveyed the adobe house that was one of the last in town, Just off Main Street, The door was open and swinging slowly in the breeze, half off its hinges. The rawhide windows were cracked and coming loose, hanging drunkenly. There was a corral, which was half completed. A broken bucket, a horseshoe, nails, a tin plate, and a few other items littered the dirt front yard. Candice bit her lip.
After swinging his front leg over the horn, Jack slid down, then lifted her to her feet. He immediately dropped her hand, as if avoiding contact, and Candice, although still stunned and exhausted from all that had happened in the night, was disappointed. She squinted through the dawn light and felt her heart sinking. Were they really going to live here?
“I can fix things up in no time,” Jack said.
Candice followed him inside, and her dismay increased. The floor wasn’t even packed, just loose dirt. A pallet lay in one corner, and the suspicious odors coming from within seemed to emanate from that location. One rickety table and a stool stood in front of the fireplace. The kettle hanging there was black and encrusted. A blanket lay crumbled half way between the bed and table, and a few rats scurried for cover. Candice shuddered. “Do you really think we should stay here?”
Jack lifted his gaze. “Where would you like to stay? Tucson? With the Apaches? You name it, we’ll go.”
Tears welled in her eyes. Jack was angry with her. Ever since they had made love—no, ever since she had refused to remain with him as his wife in the Apache camp, he had been cold and angry. She hated him this way. She brushed her eyes with the back of her hand.
“What’s wrong?” he asked sharply.
“Nothing.”
“You sit down, and I’ll get this place cleaned up.”
“I can help.”
“I want you to rest.”
“I’m no invalid, just pregnant—possibly two months. I can help.”
Jack gave her a quelling look. “I said stay out.”
She wanted to scream at him, but instead her voice was low and taut. “Is it always going to be this way?”
“What way?” He wasn’t even looking at her.
“What way? This way! Damn you, Jack, are you trying to punish me?” She fought tears because she wasn’t going to give him satisfaction now.
He turned to her, his face expressionless. Then he began collecting odds and ends, clearing the room. Candice clenched her fists. She wanted to pound his back, hurt him. “I’ve already been punished enough, damn you,” she said, and her voice cracked.
His shoulder stiffened, and he froze momentarily in the act of moving a rusty bucket. Candice watched him, waiting desperately for him to come to her and set things right. But he didn’t. Instead he gathered the pallet, blanket, and kettle and carried them outside. Candice sat on a stool and fought to come to grips with her overwrought emotions. Maybe he hated her.I will not cry, she vowed, blinking furiously.
Jack returned and began sweeping with water, until the floor was hard and packed and spotless. The awful moment of utter despair had passed. She was strong, she would survive this too. She began rubbing her aching back. Jack laid out fresh straw and made a new pallet with his bedroll, then ordered her to lie down and get some sleep.
“Jack?” She sat on the pallet cautiously.
