not.”
“Whatever.”
She gave herself a moment to calm down before asking, “How far is Abilene?”
“In miles?”
“No, days.”
“Two, if we hurry.”
“That’s all?”
“‘Fraid so.”
Katherine lapsed back into silence. Two days. That was all the time she had left. She had to find a way to escape. She wasn’t ready to die yet.
And her grandfather . . . if he never heard from her then he would never know what had happened. He would die not knowing. She just had to get home.
A terrible thought came into her head then, an image of Jack dumping her belongings out on the bed. She hadn’t paid attention at the time, being a little too preoccupied with being taken for a murderer and a thief, but the picture was clear as day now.
She could see everything scattered over that pretty white bedspread, all the fun clothing she’d picked out, the petticoats and jewelry, and most importantly, the antique book of poems by Arnold. Not something she would actually read, but it made a perfect spot to hide the key.
Except now the book and the key were back at the hotel in Leavenworth.
Chapter Five
Ghost Town
D awn came quickly on the plains. One minute pink lights were on the horizon and the next the whole place was awash with the sun’s first light. Prairie grass stretched endlessly on either side of the track, and far off in the distance Katherine could see the land slowly begin to rise. The cool of the night had vanished as if on cue, replaced by the warmth of the morning sun.
It would be hot soon, she realized, very hot.
Her throat was dry and her limbs and rump ached from sitting in the same position. She was tired, too; tired of riding, tired of sitting, and just plain tired. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep. She would have given a great deal for a cup of coffee. Oh, wouldn’t it be nice if this were all a dream, and any moment she would wake up to the sound of the surf crashing against the jetty and the smell of hot coffee brewing?
The heat was beginning to become uncomfortable when they rode into a sleepy little town that seemed as though it would wake up any moment. It wasn’t until they drew close Katherine saw the broken glass in the storefronts, tufts of witch grass at the corners of everything, and layers of dust that made seeing through the windows impossible.
A wide street ran straight through town, bordered on either side by a saloon and hotel, general store, smithy’s shed, two houses, and the remains of a church. In the center of the street was a stone well, buckwheat grown up, and it was here Jack stopped. He jumped down and began lowering the bucket.
Katherine carefully swung one leg over the saddle and slid to the ground, wincing as her feet hit dirt. She had liked riding in the past. Her grandfather had horses and the two of them often rode together. But it had been years since she’d been in a saddle. After an entire night of riding straight through, her legs were stiff and cramped, and all she wanted to do was stretch and then sleep for as long as possible.
Jack brought the bucket up, and Katherine licked her lips in anticipation. But instead of offering it to her he brought it to his horse. She bit back a curse and looked away. She could make a run for it, she thought, scanning the wide street to the hazy horizon. But she put the thought away, knowing how easy it would be for him to catch her here.
Katherine shifted her weight to the other foot and watched Jack pull the bucket up a second time. This time he brought it over to her.
When she was through he took his own turn then dipped the kerchief he wore around his neck in the water and used it like a washcloth. Katherine thought of the handkerchiefs she had brought, pretty little things with lace and embroidery. They were all sitting on the bed back at the hotel—along with the book and the key. Thank you very much, Jack McCabe , she thought bitterly.
“Try the petticoat,” he said.
“What?”
“You’re wanting
“Whatever.”
She gave herself a moment to calm down before asking, “How far is Abilene?”
“In miles?”
“No, days.”
“Two, if we hurry.”
“That’s all?”
“‘Fraid so.”
Katherine lapsed back into silence. Two days. That was all the time she had left. She had to find a way to escape. She wasn’t ready to die yet.
And her grandfather . . . if he never heard from her then he would never know what had happened. He would die not knowing. She just had to get home.
A terrible thought came into her head then, an image of Jack dumping her belongings out on the bed. She hadn’t paid attention at the time, being a little too preoccupied with being taken for a murderer and a thief, but the picture was clear as day now.
She could see everything scattered over that pretty white bedspread, all the fun clothing she’d picked out, the petticoats and jewelry, and most importantly, the antique book of poems by Arnold. Not something she would actually read, but it made a perfect spot to hide the key.
Except now the book and the key were back at the hotel in Leavenworth.
Chapter Five
Ghost Town
D awn came quickly on the plains. One minute pink lights were on the horizon and the next the whole place was awash with the sun’s first light. Prairie grass stretched endlessly on either side of the track, and far off in the distance Katherine could see the land slowly begin to rise. The cool of the night had vanished as if on cue, replaced by the warmth of the morning sun.
It would be hot soon, she realized, very hot.
Her throat was dry and her limbs and rump ached from sitting in the same position. She was tired, too; tired of riding, tired of sitting, and just plain tired. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep. She would have given a great deal for a cup of coffee. Oh, wouldn’t it be nice if this were all a dream, and any moment she would wake up to the sound of the surf crashing against the jetty and the smell of hot coffee brewing?
The heat was beginning to become uncomfortable when they rode into a sleepy little town that seemed as though it would wake up any moment. It wasn’t until they drew close Katherine saw the broken glass in the storefronts, tufts of witch grass at the corners of everything, and layers of dust that made seeing through the windows impossible.
A wide street ran straight through town, bordered on either side by a saloon and hotel, general store, smithy’s shed, two houses, and the remains of a church. In the center of the street was a stone well, buckwheat grown up, and it was here Jack stopped. He jumped down and began lowering the bucket.
Katherine carefully swung one leg over the saddle and slid to the ground, wincing as her feet hit dirt. She had liked riding in the past. Her grandfather had horses and the two of them often rode together. But it had been years since she’d been in a saddle. After an entire night of riding straight through, her legs were stiff and cramped, and all she wanted to do was stretch and then sleep for as long as possible.
Jack brought the bucket up, and Katherine licked her lips in anticipation. But instead of offering it to her he brought it to his horse. She bit back a curse and looked away. She could make a run for it, she thought, scanning the wide street to the hazy horizon. But she put the thought away, knowing how easy it would be for him to catch her here.
Katherine shifted her weight to the other foot and watched Jack pull the bucket up a second time. This time he brought it over to her.
When she was through he took his own turn then dipped the kerchief he wore around his neck in the water and used it like a washcloth. Katherine thought of the handkerchiefs she had brought, pretty little things with lace and embroidery. They were all sitting on the bed back at the hotel—along with the book and the key. Thank you very much, Jack McCabe , she thought bitterly.
“Try the petticoat,” he said.
“What?”
“You’re wanting
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