Jackson's Woman Read online

  Jericho was striding toward her, his black eyes flashing with high emotion.

  Instinctively, she sucked in a deep breath as the truth struck her like a heavy rock hurled into her stomach. Jericho was the sniper.

  The final irony broke her heart. Her first instinct about Jericho had been right all along. She remembered that first ride into Jerome when he’d insisted on hiding from the posse. She’d thought then that he was a killer. Now it seemed her suspicions were validated.

  “Veral My God! Are you all right?” Dropping to his knees beside her, Jericho slipped his hands beneath Hamblin’s lifeless body and gently flipped him onto his back. Her legs tingled when the heavy weight was removed.

  Jericho threw aside his black hat and lowered his head onto the deputy’s bloodied chest. He listened in silence and shook his head. “He’s gone,” Jericho whispered unnecessarily. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”

  He scrambled to his feet and reached down for her hand, pulling her to her feet. Spying the silver cuffs at her wrist, he bent over and fumbled through Hamblin’s pockets until he extracted the key. With a deft flick of his wrist, Jericho opened the cuffs, freeing her hands.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, wondering what she was supposed to be feeling. Outrage? Disgust? She only felt terribly sad.

  It all made sense. A terrible, horrific logical sense.

  Jericho must have been Rafe’s business partner. Hadn’t she known all along that Rate Wilson had no money? Of course he’d seek out a partner who could capitalize his venture—whatever it was. Something to do with mining, no doubt.

  There must have been a falling out of thieves. Jericho was a friend and frequent visitor to Verity’s home. He must have happened along right after she assaulted her stepfather and fled into the night.

  Quick to see the advantage, Jericho decided to eliminate his partner and keep the proceeds of their enterprise for himself. Why share a tasty pie when he could have the whole thing for himself? Vera knew there were no contracts, no papers tying partnerships into neat little bundles in the Old West.

  How Jericho must have laughed to himself when Verity turned to him for help. Talk about the poor little fly stepping into the tarantula’s web.

  Glancing around the clearing, Jericho hurried her across the clearing and helped her mount the jenny. How could she have been so dreadfully wrong? She’d cared for...maybe even loved this man. Obviously he’d decided he couldn’t allow her to stand trial for fear his own guilt would be exposed.

  But now that he’d killed the lawman by mistake, what were his plans for Vera?

  She had to find out, had to pretend she still believed in his innocence, had to fool him into a false sense of security in order to get him to reveal his intentions. As her aching backside once more adjusted to the saddle, she asked, “What about the deputy? We can’t just leave him lying there.”

  After securing Henry’s mount to his saddle with a sturdy rope, Jericho slipped his foot into the stirrup and climbed aboard his horse. “We don’t have a choice. When we get to Prescott I’ll send someone to recover his body. We’re like sitting ducks as long as we stay here. We have to keep moving.”

  She nodded mutely. Taking the reins of her jackass, he clucked his tongue, and they started back down the steep trail. Keep him talking, she thought. Keep him ignorant as to the extent of her knowledge. Vera repeated these words over and over to herself as they picked their way down the rock-strewn path. The only weapons she had were her wits and the shreds of her courage, and Vera instinctively knew she’d need them both before this day was over.

  They only stopped for rest once during that interminable ride. Judging from the position of the sun, Vera guessed it was midafternoon when Jericho finally drew up near a shallow stream.

  “The animals are tired,” he said. “If we don’t give them a rest we might find ourselves on foot. We should be safe enough here. At least for a while.”

  He pointed to a sharp promontory jutting out from the side of the cactus-littered mountainside. “That rock formation will keep us hidden from the view of our friend up there.”

  Her gaze followed his pointing finger. He was hinting that someone else, not him, was the sniper. Oh, how she wished she could believe him. But who else had the motive and opportunity? None of her talks with men at the saloon had uncovered information. Who else knew she was alone on this particular miserable trail with Deputy Hamblin?

  No, maybe Jericho was playing mind games. Trying to keep her off stride until he could decide what to do. Since they’d left the clearing, Vera had done nothing more than think about why Jericho hadn’t gone ahead and finished her off when he’d killed Deputy Hamblin.

  She’d figured it out only a few minutes before. When the deputy’s body was found, it wouldn’t take a modern autopsy to determine he’d been killed by a rifle from a long distance. Did Jericho plan to pin this second killing on her as well? She might have been able to explain away one death, but two?

  She had little doubt that somewhere farther along the trail Jericho would pull his gun and shoot her dead. Then, he could haul her body into Prescott and announce he’d slain a wanted fugitive. Once word got around that she’d also murdered the well-liked Henry Hamblin, Jericho would be hailed as a hero.

  It was hard—nearly impossible—to believe this of a man who’d kissed her so passionately...but what if it were true? Vera’s life was at stake here—and she had no choice but to assume the worse Otherwise, the only chance she had was to stay alert and somehow outmaneuver Jericho.

  After tethering their mounts to a lacy paloverde tree, he unsheathed his heavy bowie knife and chipped away at the thin covering of ice that coated the nearby stream. Immediately, the mules lowered their lathered necks and sipped at the refreshing water.

  Stepping around to her side, Jericho reached up to help her dismount. “You’re awfully quiet.”

  As soon as her toes touched ground, she pulled away from his touch. Her traitorous senses couldn’t grasp that he was possibly a cold-blooded killer. She still tingled like a tuning fork whenever he touched her. And she hated the weakness, the debilitating loneliness that made her still want him. She reminded herself she had to be cereful. In response to his question, she crossed her arms over her chest. “I guess having a decent man murdered at my feet kind of quells any urge for casual conversation.”

  Jericho’s expressive black eyebrow soared. “You’re still angry because I didn’t come with you this morning,” he accused.

  “No, trust me, I’m not.”

  After they rested Jericho handed her a small bundle wrapped with a calico neckerchief. “What’s this?” she said.

  “Food. Got to keep up your strength but you’ll have to eat while we ride. I don’t want to give our friend too much time to sneak up on us.”

  She nodded mutely. Holding the bundle between her clenched teeth, she wrapped both hands around the pommel and stepped into Jericho’s interlaced fingers. Using every last weary fiber of her strength, she hoisted herself back into the saddle.

  Once again they set off down the steep mountain trail. She could only hope her suspicions about Jericho were unfounded. But if they were, that also meant a killer was following them.

  THE SUN WAS GOING DOWN behind the mountains. Royal purple and soft pink streaks painted the western sky in the vivid manner of a Gauguin landscape. The first star twinkled dimly on the horizon.

  Vera had passed weary, gone beyond exhaustion and felt she was near an unconscious stupor when Jericho finally turned around in his saddle. “Guess we can hole up over there for the night.”

  He pointed to a tiny tuck in the mountainside. “We’ll be protected on three sides.”

  “What about—him?” Vera hitched a thumb up the trail behind them, still hoping she was wrong to fear Jericho—and yet terrified because someone was responsible for the two deaths.

  Jericho dismounted and came alongside to help Vera down. “Only a fool would venture down that narrow trail in the d
ark. Besides, if he’s riding a jackass like most folks do in these parts, it’ll stop dead when it can’t see any longer. I reckon we’re safe enough ’til morning.”

  They led the animals to a protected clearing hidden from view by a stand of huge granite boulders. The same streambed flowed nearby. Because they were now at a much lower elevation, no covering of ice hid the crystal clear water. The animals ambled over and drank greedily.

  When they’d all had their fill of the refreshing water, she helped unsaddle them. Then Jericho scattered some grain onto the ground. “Good job, ladies,” he murmured, scratching his horse’s ear. She nickered softly in reply and went back to her search for the grain. “You deserve a treat.” He gave Vera’s jenny a good-natured smack on her sturdy rump.

  Vera bit her lip and turned away. How could a man so soft, so tender to animals be a cold-blooded killer? It didn’t make sense. Surely she’d leapt to the wrong conclusion when Jericho had ridden into camp earlier? Oh, how badly she wanted to believe that. But she couldn’t take anything at face value. Her eyes darted around. Escape was impossible. She’d never make it on her own out here.

  They hauled their bedrolls and saddlebags back to the sheltered clearing and wordlessly laid them out side by side. The icy night wind was only somewhat banished by the three-sided shelter. Vera shivered and pulled her coat closer.

  He handed her both nearly empty canteens. “If you’ll fetch some water from the stream, I’ll see about building us a little fire. I don’t know about you but I could use a little warmth and a lot of coffee right about now.”

  She glanced sharply at the mountain trail, now barely visible in the heavy dusk. “A fire? Won’t that be like a beacon to the sniper?”

  Despite herself, she found herself half believing that someone was above them on the trail. Stalking their every move.

  Jericho’s gaze followed hers and he shrugged. “I’ll keep it small but we need the heat. My guess is he’s already settled down for the night, hoping to get the jump on us when daylight comes. And, like I said, only a fool would follow the Last Ride Road after dark.”

  Vera grimaced. They sure had a lot of colorful, if morbid, names in these parts. Dead Man’s Trail, Last Ride Road. She’d grown up watching old Roy Rogers reruns where they’d closed the show singing “Happy Trails to You.” Given a choice, she preferred Roy and Dale’s take on the Old West over reality.

  Taking the canteens from Jericho’s outstretched hand, she ambled back toward the small creek. His horse and the pair of mules were munching peacefully on a few mounds of sagebrush that had survived the cold weather. It was a peaceful almost idyllic evening and yet a cold chill of apprehension rippled through her as she dropped to her knees beside the streambed and held the first canteen under the icy water. When it filled, she screwed on the cap and dipped the second one.

  Suddenly, she became aware of an unnatural quiet. Tilting her head, she glanced behind her. The animals stood with their ears pricked, their nostrils flared. Suddenly, Jericho’s horse started pawing at the ground.

  “What’s wrong, girl?” Vera whispered.

  The jenny snorted and bucked, trying to escape her tethered reins. Hastily recapping the second canteen, Vera rose to her feet. She stepped toward the frightened animals, wondering if a snake had spooked them.

  She wished she had heavy boots like Jericho’s instead of her Nikes. Holding the canteen straps tightly in her left hand, Vera cautiously scanned the ground. Didn’t rattlers go away in cold weather?

  Jericho’s horse whinnied loudly and reared up onto her hind legs. Her flashing hooves almost struck Vera’s temple, and she backed quickly away from the frightened beast. “Easy, girl, easy. What is it?”

  Then she heard it.

  A low, snarling growl that caused the flesh to rise on her arms. Vera whirled around.

  A large golden cat, maybe five feet from head to the tip of its twitching tail, was perched on a stand of boulders not ten feet away. Its mouth was open, exposing inch-long fangs.

  “Grrreah.” The mountain lion growled again and raised up on its haunches.

  Although she’d never before seen a creature like this in its natural habitat, Vera knew beyond a doubt it was readying itself to strike. And she was its helpless prey.

  JERICHO LEANED BACK against the hardscrabble mountain slope and admired the small fire. It had been so long since he’d eaten dust on a trail ride that he’d gotten soft. A few years ago he’d thought nothing of curling into his blanket roll and snoozing through the long frosty nights.

  This fire would be a magnet if the bushwhacker was still following closely behind. Although Jericho hadn’t mentioned it to Vera, he’d kept a close eye on the trail behind them. Once or twice he’d glimpsed a dust cloud, like one a horse kicked up when it was being ridden hard.

  He hoped the killer would bide his time, knowing Jericho was aware of his presence. A patient man would wait until they were in a more vulnerable spot where he could easily pick them both off. At least, that’s how Jericho had justified building a campfire.

  He cocked his head, listening to the still night. The killer could be six feet away for all he could see in the deepening dusk. Still, the fire would warm Vera and that was reason enough to take the risk.

  While he waited for her to return with the coffee water, he unholstered his sidearm and double-checked that it was fully loaded. He couldn’t be too prepared not with Vera’s life on the line.

  Thinking of Vera caused him to wonder what was taking her so long. He raised his head and squinted into the near darkness in the direction she’d taken. Couldn’t take that long to fill a couple of canteens.

  He frowned, wondering if he should go check on her.

  Opening the burlap sack of coffee, he measured the grounds into the coffeepot What if something had happened to her?

  There’d been no gunshot, and it was unlikely the bushwhacker could pass by their shelter without making enough noise for Jericho to notice. Still, she’d been gone a while.

  He stood up and took a couple tentative steps toward the creek. Maybe he should wait a few more minutes. He’d hate to go barging up if she was...tending to personal business.

  Wracked with indecision, Jericho scratched his head and busied himself pulling out their food supplies in preparation for fixing their dinner. He hunkered down and cut a chunk of fat off a thick slab of beefsteak. Using it like butter, he seasoned the cast iron skillet.

  He reached for the sack of cornmeal, but realized he couldn’t even mix the batter until she returned with the drinking water.

  Wiping his hands on the seat of his black trousers, he strode a few feet toward the streambed. “Vera? Everything all right?”

  The whispery evening wind picked up his voice and misted it across the open clearing. She didn’t answer; all he could hear was the agitated shuffling of their animals. His horse whinnied, a sharp cry of fear. Something—or someone—had spooked her bad. Why hadn’t Vera called for him?

  Jericho dropped the sack of commeal and sprinted toward the creek, drawing his Colt as he ran. “Vera!”

  He rounded the tall outcrop of granite boulders and spied Vera standing stock-still a few feet from Buckshot. Even in the near darkness, he could see the whites of her eyes, widened in stark terror.

  Swinging his- gun arm around the clearing, he stopped dead when he spotted the mountain lion.

  “Grrrowww!” The enraged feline snarled at the new interloper. Its golden haunches inched higher and Jericho knew it was ready to pounce. Vera stood directly below the provoked creature, within easy striking range of its slashing claws and ripping incisors.

  His heart in his throat, Jericho raised the revolver and fired three quick bursts into the night sky.

  The powerful cat jolted onto its pads and bolted away from the clearing, disappearing into a crevice between a pair of huge granite rocks.

  If Jericho had been ten seconds later he might have been too late to save Vera’s life. The realization zapped the str
ength from his muscles and he sank to the ground in a spent heap.

  After a moment the quaking stopped and he rose unsteadily to his feet. Taking the two short steps to her side, he wrapped both arms around her slender shoulders and held on for dear life. “Keeping you alive is turning into a full-time occupation,” he whispered against the sweet flesh of her cheek.

  She sagged against him, her hand patting his shoulder and upper back as if confirming for herself that he was all in one piece. “I thought you were a goner,” she murmured. “And you saved my life.”

  He pulled back and laughed. Holding her precious face between his palms, he slowly shook his head. “Of course I saved you. Did you really think I’d let a mountain lion have you, sugar? And nothing’s going to happen to me. But if you don’t stop aggravating the local wildlife, I’m not too sure you’re going to end the week in a single piece.”

  She laughed, even though his words were too close to the terrible truth to be funny. Jericho knew her laughter was a release of tension, letting go of the fear for a few short minutes.

  Anxious to keep the mood lighthearted, he glanced at the canteens dangling from her fingers. “I suppose you spilled the water?”

  Raising the heavy jugs to eye level, she grinned. “No way. I didn’t lose a drop.”

  He took them from her grasp and draped an arm around her waist. “Then let’s see about fixing some grub. A man’s got to keep his strength up if he’s going to consort with you.”

  “Consort? Doesn’t that mean to, uh, cohabitate, or, um—?”

  He pulled her closer. “That’s exactly what it means,” he confirmed.

  Vera didn’t say another word until they reached the camp. The small fire was burning low so he added a few more mesquite branches and poured half a canteen of water into the coffeepot and set it on the flames.