The Half-Breed's Woman Page 5

  What he should do, Jax thought, was ask Rick Thomas to hold Blocker in jail for a week. That would give him a chance to confront Callie about her true identity and figure out what to do with her.

  He didn’t mind facing Blocker. He’d looked forward to it earlier. But, he had to be more careful now. Now that he was the only protection Callie had. The only person standing between her and Wolf Blocker. The only man who could keep her safe from the power behind it all…Dunstan Treadwell.

  His thoughts turned to Blocker once more, and he flexed his fingers, remembering the satisfying blow as his fist connected with Blocker’s nose. He remembered a lot of other things, too.

  A day thirteen years past. Downstairs, he’d done what he couldn’t do that day so long ago. He was a man now, not the young boy he’d been when he’d first met the monster with the different-colored eyes. Blocker was right—Jax knew him, and the cruelty he was capable of. Thirteen years ago—half a lifetime—and it had still made his skin crawl, just to sit in the same room with him.

  It hadn’t been easy, fighting Blocker hand-to-hand. He was not smart, but he was cunning. Thirteen years ago, when they’d met the first time, Blocker had had the advantage of age and size. Jax had been a boy—David, trying to take on Goliath. For just a moment, today, he’d been back in the camp, fighting against the odds, and the despair had clenched tight in his chest with the painful memory.

  He’d been on the verge of manhood. Thirteen years old. Half a lifetime ago. But not so long ago that he would forget. As if he ever could. The smell of blood—and death. The taste of fear in his mouth. The horror of the bodies—his mother among the women, his small brother and sister among the children.

  The men had gone to steal horses from a white settlement two days away. When the white raiders rode into their own village, Jaxson, his younger brother Brendan, and their cousin, Gray Eyes, had been captured.

  The little band of outlaws was bold enough with the women and children, Jaxson thought grimly. Then, they’d had their fun with the three boys. They had started with Gray Eyes, as Jax and Brendan had watched in horrified, stunned silence. Gray Eyes, who had always been so arrogant, even with his cousins, now begged for his life, begged the men to stop torturing him with the ends of hot sticks drawn from the fire. Gray Eyes who was slowly suffocating as he hung head first, his feet tied securely to the branch of a cottonwood tree.

  In the end, he had cried. It wasn’t the way a Cherokee warrior would want to be remembered in death, but he’d been too young to die. Jaxson felt a knot form in his chest at the memory of that day. Gray Eyes had pleaded with him to do something, and Jax had never felt so helpless, tied hand and foot from where he and Brendan sat side by side. Watching. Waiting. Dreading.

  Then, it had been his turn. Jax’s mouth went dry, his palms tingling as he remembered the way the men had come at him. He’d fought like a wild animal, until they’d clubbed him into a broken heap beside his younger brother. When he’d come to, he and Brendan both were hanging beside their dead cousin. The first thing he knew was the scorching smell in his nose, his own skin burning under the hot sticks as Gray Eyes’s skin had been burned earlier.

  Jax hadn’t screamed or cried, just endured. From time to time, he heard his brother stifle a moan on a sharp intake of breath.

  Just as Jax began to lose consciousness, he thought he heard the faint sound of hoofbeats—ponies that were shod. That meant pony soldiers. The cavalry. Their captors heard it as well, hastily saddling up and grabbing their belongings, then riding up into the foothills.

  As the cavalrymen galloped into the burned-out Cherokee encampment, two of the men rode over to where the boys hung.

  “Cut ’em down, sergeant,” the lieutenant ordered curtly.

  “This one’s dead, sir.”

  “What of the others?”

  After a long moment, the sergeant answered. “They’re alive. Poor devils have sure been through it, though.” He wrinkled his nose at the nauseating odor of freshly-burned flesh. “They’re awful young,” he added, clearly disgusted at what had been done to them.

  “Hey, aren’t those Jack McCall’s boys?” a voice said from somewhere as roughened hands gently lowered Bren and Jax to the ground.

  Jax felt a cold knife blade slip between his wrists, cutting his bonds. His lips were swollen, his tongue thick with thirst. “Bren,” he muttered.

  “Easy, boy,” a kind voice soothed.

  Jax opened his eyes slowly, his lashes parting slightly.

  “You speak English, don’t you?” the man asked.

  Jax tried to reply, but couldn’t. Finally, he nodded as a canteen of water was pressed to his lips, and he gratefully drank the metallic-tasting, tepid offering. Water had never tasted so good before, or since, that day.

  “Not too much, now, boy.”

  Jax nodded his understanding, and tried to sit up fully, but the man pressed him back to the ground. “You rest a bit, then we’ll talk.”

  Jax remembered how that feeling of safety had washed over him, dragging him down into a dreamless, deep sleep, and kept him whole. When he’d awakened, he and Brendan were escorted to Jack McCall’s ranch to live with their father and his family with whom, up to that point, they’d only had minimal contact.

  Jax passed a hand over his eyes. That had been so long ago, but the power of those memories was still strong. So was that feeling of safety, the moment he’d known help was there for him and Brendan. He looked down at Callie, still sleeping on his shoulder.

  It’s what she feels, he thought. That same safety.

  But why? He was puzzled. He’d expected her to be leery of him, being a lawman, and her on the lam. Somehow, though, it hadn’t worked out that way for them. As if reading his thoughts, she nestled closer into him, molding her soft curves to his hard planes.

  Jax sighed, taking as deep a breath as he could, shifting for her, then forcing himself to relax. His ribs were aching dully. He wasn’t really hurting right now. This felt—good, somehow. Right.

  Crazy. That was what he had to be, to think this way. Callie was his prisoner. She just didn’t know it yet. Blocker had almost ruined that today. A reluctant smile quirked Jax’s lips as he thought of the way Callie had looked, standing there with that smoking pepperbox in her hands, murder flashing in her eyes.

  Murder. That would seal the case against her in Washington, if anyone there ever found out. He’d have to make sure that didn’t happen. He knew it wasn’t over between Blocker and himself, anyway. Next time they fought, Jax knew he’d have to kill him. Not only for what he’d done thirteen years ago, but for what he might do to Callista Buchanan, his prisoner.

  ****

  Jax had drifted off to sleep sometime during the long afternoon. As Callie stirred beside him, he opened his eyes, looking into hers.

  She lay still a moment, as if reluctant to move away from him, yet embarrassed not to. Finally, she lifted her hand carefully from where it rested intimately on Jax’s hip. She moved over a few inches, separating their bodies, averting her eyes.

  But Jax wasn’t going to let her off the hook. He reached out and cupped her chin in his hand, raising her face to make her look at him.

  “Are you all right…Sarah?”

  She nodded, giving him a smile that seemed uncertain.

  The daylight had slipped away, and the evening was cool. Callie shivered. She’d been trying to conserve money, Jax thought, by taking one of the smallest, cheapest rooms on the end of the hall. It had no fireplace as some of the more expensive rooms had. The weather had become so cold that it would make sleep virtually impossible overnight. There was a gap around the top of the window that let in the wind.

  “I want you to do something for me,” Jax told her.

  “All-All right. What is it?”

  He smiled at her seriousness. “My room’s got a fireplace. You’ll be safer—and warmer—there. Let’s get your things and—”

  “Jax! I couldn’t do that. My reputation would be shr
edded!”

  Odd, for a murderess—or someone insane—to consider her reputation ruined for lying beside a man rather than for killing one. Jax shook his head, wondering if he should just lay his cards on the table and tell her everything. That he knew who she really was—and that her stepfather, very much alive, had sent him after her. But he wouldn’t stop there. He’d tell her all about Wolf Blocker, and what he surmised the big man’s purpose was.

  No. He would wait. If he played this game with her a little while longer, Blocker would certainly make another move. And Jax would be there to protect Callie. To kill Blocker.

  He couldn’t risk telling her everything just yet. And if he arrested her now and started back to Washington with her—

  He couldn’t do that. Now or ever. Not after the way she had tried to protect him from Blocker; not after holding her all afternoon after she’d cried herself to sleep on his shoulder.

  Treadwell was a snake, and although Jax didn’t know all the particulars, he didn’t have to just yet. He knew enough to realize he could never send Callie back to the man, no matter what.

  Hell, maybe she really did have relatives in Amarillo. If she could stay with them, maybe Treadwell could be persuaded to leave the situation alone. Not likely.

  “Sarah,” Jax began carefully, “your reputation won’t mean squat if you wind up dead.”

  “Dead! What do you mean?”

  Jax sighed. “I’m telling you that Wolf Blocker’s not a forgiving man. He’ll be after you.” Although, God knew that was the least part of why Blocker would be after her. “You tried to kill him. He won’t forget.”

  Callie’s eyes rounded, then her expression became thoughtful. “Do you really think he’ll try to harm me here, Jax? I mean, there are people all around—”

  “That won’t matter to him. Trust me.”

  ****

  Callie didn’t reply. She did trust him. The longer they were together, the more she felt she could trust him. And that was dangerous. She didn’t want to be lulled into a sense of security that would cause her to divulge any information that could make him suspicious of who she really was. Sometimes, she wondered if he didn’t already have an idea that she wasn’t ‘Sarah Smith.’ He hesitated sometimes, just for an instant, before he spoke her name. But, could she be imagining that?

  To refuse his protection would be foolhardy—and suspicious. She had no choice. Callie sighed and rose from the bed. “I only have one bag. I guess I’m ready…whenever you are.”

  Jax pushed himself up slowly.

  “Jax—” Callie reached a hand out, but he ignored it, rising to his feet, unable to draw breath for a moment.

  He took a step, then reached into his pocket for his key. “Here,” he muttered. He held out the key, and Callie took it from him. He walked toward the door, holding himself stiffly upright.

  Callie took out her own room key, and locked her door behind them, hurrying ahead of Jax to open his room. A grimace crossed his face for an instant, but he kept moving. They entered his room, and Callie locked the door and put a chair under the knob for added security. Jax had not stopped at the bed as she’d expected, but crossed to the fireplace.

  “No!” she cried. “Lie down and let me do that.”

  “Do you…know how?” He panted shallowly from the effort he’d expended.

  “Of course I know how!” she retorted.

  He nodded. “If we’re going to have a fire tonight, it’ll have to be one of your making, I guess.” He crossed to the bed and lowered himself slowly onto the edge.

  “Wait,” Callie said. She stacked both of the fluffy pillows at the head of the bed. “Let’s prop you a little. It might make your ribs feel better. Maybe help you sleep.”

  “Thanks.” Jax lay back against the pillows carefully.

  ****

  Callie looked down at him dubiously, the question plainly written across her face.

  “I’m all right,” he reassured her quietly. The daggers at his side had eased to a pulsating throb. The concern in her chocolate eyes surprised him. He nodded toward the fireplace. “Get busy, woman,” he teased in an effort to lighten the mood. It’d been a hell of a day.

  She smiled at him, but there was still a sadness in her eyes. And that same look of worry for him that couldn’t be hidden.

  Jax wanted to comfort her, but couldn’t. He found himself in a position he’d never been in before. He was actually afraid Callie might confess everything to him. He’d seen something in her expression more than once that made him feel uneasy. He could see that she wanted—badly—to be honest with him; to confide everything.

  And that, he couldn’t allow. Now, he needed to use her to get Wolf Blocker. If she confessed, there’d be no reason to continue on to Amarillo, to pretend he had business in the Territories right now. He could dispatch Blocker easily enough. But, he wondered, if Treadwell had hired him, then hired Blocker, might he have hired someone else? If they all killed each other, no one could collect the balance of their money. And no one would be left to help—or hurt—Callie. Only Treadwell himself.

  Jax watched the girl go about laying a fire swiftly and efficiently. He would have bet money she wouldn’t know how to begin to make a fire, having been born and raised with a silver spoon in her mouth. Hadn’t they had servants to do that? Yet, she had it blazing already, chasing the chill from the room.

  The warm glow of the flames lit Callie’s face with a kind of contentment, banishing the worry for a moment. Beautiful. The thought slammed into Jax’s mind every bit as forcefully as the punch he’d taken earlier from Blocker. It wasn’t that he hadn’t noticed it before. It was the first thought he’d had when Treadwell had handed him the silver locket. But the locket was a poor likeness of her true beauty.

  Callie turned to Jax, as if she felt his gaze. He didn’t look away. Somehow, watching her now, Callie didn’t seem so young. She was no girl. She was a woman. A beautiful, intelligent one, at that.

  She needs to be married. Needs some man coming home to her every night, walking in the door and seeing her just as she was now, kneeling before the fire, the flames lighting her features. Some man to be good to her, someone who’d give her plenty of babies and no heartache. Someone who’d chase the shadows out of her eyes and put the light of warmth and laughter there instead.

  “Jax?” Callie stood up slowly and came to sit on the other side of the bed.

  “Hmm?” he answered absently. He looked up at her, but he couldn’t seem to get back to the present. He realized, with a jolt, that he had been picturing himself as the man who came through the door to find Callie—his wife—on her knees beside the hearth. He swore under his breath.

  “You’re hurting, aren’t you?”

  “Uh—a little. It’s not too bad,” he lied.

  Callie gave him a skeptical look. Sobering, she asked, “Jax, what did that man—Blocker—what did he mean about—about your friend?”

  “He—wasn’t my friend. He was my cousin. But Blocker didn’t know that.” Jax’s voice hardened.

  He didn’t want to tell her. Didn’t want to talk about it, or think about it. But maybe, if she realized what kind of man they were dealing with, it would make her fearful enough to be cautious.

  Reticent at first, Jax began to relate what had happened on that fateful day thirteen years earlier. The longer he talked, the freer his speech became, until he finally had told every last piece of the story, sparing no detail.

  ****

  Callie had turned to face him, sitting in a most unladylike way on the bed, her dress draped fully over her legs, which were crossed Indian style. She didn’t care. Jax wouldn’t care either. He hadn’t even noticed, she thought, he’d been so engrossed in telling her about Blocker. He hadn’t noticed when she’d reached out and taken his hand, either. He’d only held it firmly and continued on with the story.

  When he was done, they were both silent for a few minutes. Callie saw in her mind the images Jax had conjured for her, knowing how h
ard it had been for him to talk to her—or anyone else—about it. Now, she could truly understand that wanting to kill another person was sometimes justified. She’d wondered about herself, what she had done. At night, as she lay alone in the darkness, she’d felt solitary. But now that she knew she wasn’t the only one, she wanted to weep with relief.

  Ever since she’d plunged those scissors into her stepfather’s chest, she’d been filled with self-doubt. Perhaps she should have just slipped off into the darkness one night without killing Treadwell. She could’ve just run away. Then she wouldn’t have his murder on her soul. But she had been so angry, and so afraid.

  No. She knew running away wouldn’t have been enough. Sometimes, a person was so evil there was no solution other than stopping them—permanently. She had done that with Treadwell. Jax had been unable to do that for himself when he’d been so abused by Blocker as a young boy. How was it he hadn’t recognized Blocker the minute he’d seen him? A man that evil? There was no way Jaxson couldn’t have known.

  Callie looked up at him quickly. “You knew who he was, didn’t you, Jax?” Her voice carried a surety.

  “Yeah. I knew. I’d never forget him, that’s for sure.”

  “You were so—calm.”

  He grinned wryly. “Not for long.”

  “But at first. I thought you really didn’t know him.” She hesitated, moistening her lips. “You said he was asking about me? I certainly don’t know him,” Callie went on, puzzled.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Jax told her offhandedly. “He might’ve just picked up your name somewhere—heard someone say it. You’ll be leaving tomorrow anyhow. I’ll see that you get to Amarillo safe.”

  Callie looked up again, meeting Jax’s dark eyes. “Then, you’re going to find him and kill him.” There was no question, only a statement of pure fact.

  “That’s right.” If he doesn’t find us first.

  Chapter 6

  Callie awoke in the night to the sound of muttered cursing. Jax’s side of the bed groaned, then so did he, as he moved again. Callie wished she could turn to him, offer what she could to ease the pain for him. But what could she do?