Chapter 10

"C ome in, come in."

Mrs. Ewing held open the door to her small apartment above the milliner's store and ushered Merritt and Jack inside. The seamstress had lived here for as long as Merritt had known her, while the milliner lived in one of the houses on Merritt's street.

It was almost dark and the wind had changed directions late in the afternoon, coming straight out of the north with an icy bite.

"Thank you for having us," Merritt said as she was enveloped by the warmth from the stove in one corner of the room. She loosened her scarf, aware of Jack unbuttoning his coat behind her.

"Would you like some coffee?" Mrs. Ewing asked. "Clarissa made some cinnamon cookies yesterday."

Jack hung back near the door.

I'm not fit for company .

He'd said the words with a self-deprecating smile when she'd met him at the school site and asked him to accompany her. She knew he'd been out at the site most of the day, cleaning away the rubble. He'd stomped ash off his boots to prove his point.

But she'd cajoled until he'd given in.

And when he would've stayed near the door, she slipped her hand into his and tugged him over to the sofa to sit beside her.

Mrs. Ewing bustled into the kitchenette, rattling a plate with her back turned to them.

You're wanted .

Merritt willed the words to reach Jack, though she didn't dare speak them aloud. She'd dreamed about him last night, the little boy he must've been. On his own. No family except the one he'd forged. No one to rescue him when he'd needed it.

It was incredible that he'd grown up to be a man of honor despite his beginnings. Oh, perhaps he had a propensity to keep secrets, but didn't he have reason? For so long, he'd had no one to confide in.

She could be the person he confided in.

Her reasons for wanting to marry had been self-centered. She'd wanted a family of her own.

But now she wanted to give Jack a family. To show him the unconditional love she'd received before Maisey had died.

That's why her hand curled around his where they sat on the sofa.

She caught his sideways glance as Mrs. Ewing crossed the room, a china plate in each hand. Merritt had to let go of Jack to take the treat offered to her. She murmured her thanks.

"It's you who should be thanked," Mrs. Ewing said. "Clarissa has been talking of nothing else but the pageant for weeks. You've made her Christmas by figurin' out a place to hold it after all that's happened."

Merritt let the pleasure of the compliment wash over her. Jack bit into his cookie and expressed his delight, which made the woman straighten her shoulders with pride.

"Let me show you my donation," Mrs. Ewing said as she bustled toward the bedroom door.

Merritt heard the rumble of Jack's stomach. She had plans for later in the evening and hadn't thought to plan for supper.

"Did you eat lunch?" she whispered to him.

At his shrug, she slipped him the second half of her cookie and caught the flash of warmth in his eyes just before Mrs. Ewing came back out of the room with a dove-gray dress over one arm.

Merritt balanced her plate on the sofa beside Jack and stood up to go to the woman.

"It's lovely!" she exclaimed. "Look at the lacework, Jack."

Mrs. Ewing beamed with pride as she held up one of the sleeves for Jack to see, careful to keep the hem of the dress off the ground.

"Pretty." But when Merritt looked back at him, his gaze was on her.

She flushed.

There was a matching heat in his gaze before his eyes cut away.

Within minutes, Mrs. Ewing had wrapped the dress in crisp brown paper, and Merritt and Jack were sent on their way after a flurry of thank-yous.

"Want me to hold your package?" Jack asked as they descended the last stairs onto the boardwalk. The milliner's shop was on the opposite end of town from Merritt's home, but she set a brisk pace, face turned into her scarf.

"I've got it." The dress wasn't heavy, just awkward and bulky. Mrs. Ewing hadn't wanted to wrinkle the fine fabric and had only folded it once, making it a large parcel.

"Where to?" he asked her.

"Home."

She felt rather than heard the quick inhale of breath that he seemed to hold.

Home .

Had Jack ever had one before?

"I'm sorry we can't spend the evening together," she murmured. "But there is always tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after…"

Tomorrow morning, in the preacher's parlor before the worship service, she would become Mrs. Jack Crosby. Anticipation swirled in her belly, the way it had every time the very same thought had caught her off guard today.

Jack was quiet as their boots thudded on the boardwalk, taking them past a darkened storefront. Another block, past the Happy Cowboy saloon, and they'd turn down her street.

"Will you have enough donations for the auction?" he asked.

"This dress will fetch a pretty penny," she said, hugging the dear package to her middle, though careful not to crinkle the paper. "And the Castlerocks have promised to match the total of all our donations."

She suspected it was the handiwork of her friend Penny's mother. Despite being notoriously stingy, Mr. Castlerock had a soft spot for his wife and daughter. But it didn't matter who'd made the pledge, only that it had been made. Merritt's living room was filled with donation items, like the fancy mantel clock donated by the mercantile store, a batch of ten gift certificates for supper at the café—once it was back up and running—and a fine leather saddle from the new leatherworks in town.

Everyone Merritt had spoken to had thought having an auction just before the pageant was a brilliant idea. But she never would've come up with the idea if it hadn't been for Jack and his urgency to get the school rebuilt.

Everything was going according to plan.

As they walked past a square of light cast on the ground through the saloon's window, the doors swung open and several bodies pressed outside.

Jack began to speak. "I need to tell you?—"

There was an incomprehensible shout, and Merritt found herself flung completely off the boardwalk, fumbling for balance and not finding it.

She lost hold of the package, her arms flying out in front of her as the ground rushed up to meet her.

She hit hard, her knees and hands taking the brunt of the fall. She fought to catch her breath.

A raucous laugh broke out, quickly quieting as footsteps faded away into the night.

"Merritt!" Jack must've jumped off the boardwalk, because she heard the clomp of both his feet hitting the dirt lane.

"Don't step on the dress—" She scrabbled to find it in the dark, her palms burning. How far had she flung it away as she'd tried to catch herself?

"Never mind about the dress." His hands came to her shoulders and then her waist, lifting her to her feet.

He stayed close, his hands roaming her arms as if to check for injury. Was he watching over her shoulder, where the men had gone?

"Are you hurt?"

"I don't think so. My knees are scraped, but I'm all right."

He made a harsh sound in the darkness and she shivered.

"Let's get you home."

She'd never heard his voice so commanding.

"Jack, the dress!" she exclaimed when he banded his arm around her waist and would've led her away without it.

He made an angry noise and went back, carefully scooping up the package. He curled his arm about her shoulders and ushered her along the street to where they would've come off the boardwalk anyway.

He was quiet and seemed to be seething as they passed the two blocks until they reached her bungalow.

Light illuminated the lane from inside the house. In the last few moments, she'd forgotten about her company.

"Danna and my good friend Corrine are here, along with a few others."

The door opened and feminine voices emerged.

Jack held back as a woman who could only be Corrine came outside in a flurry of skirts and lace.

"She took a tumble off the boardwalk," he said quickly. "Coupla drunk men shoved right into her. Can you check her over?"

Merritt laughed a little. "I'm fine. I told you, my knees might be scraped." A pulse of pain there echoed her words.

Corrine was making sympathetic noises, but Merritt pushed the wrapped dress into her friend's hands.

"Jack!" He'd already moved a couple of steps away, but he turned back in the darkness.

She went to him, pressed in close and wound her arms around his waist.

"I'll miss you tonight."

He was curiously still. She'd thought his arms would come around her, but maybe he was conscious of Corrine still behind her.

"I'll see you at the church in the morning," she said softly.

She reached up on tiptoe, but her lips met the cool skin of his cheek.

"Goodbye."

There was a finality to his words as he slipped away into the darkness.

She let the warmth of her friends' chatter slip over her, their exclamations over her skinned palms, but her heart followed Jack into the night.

* * *

Jack only walked as far as Merritt's neighbor's house, then doubled back in the small alleyway behind the row of tidy houses.

He stood outside at the back corner of Merritt's house, in a patch of darkness between two windows. A place where her marshal friend wouldn't be able to look outside and see him if he happened to move.

He felt breathless with fear, adrenaline still pumping after the near-miss on the boardwalk outside that saloon.

He hadn't seen who'd given Merritt the push, but in the fractured second before he'd been able to react, he'd seen the flash of a face in the light thrown by the saloon door that had closed an instant later.

Morris.

Her fall had been no accident, Jack was sure of that.

He couldn't figure out why. Had Morris been trailing them? Jack had spent all afternoon out in the open at the school site, praying that Morris would seek him out. Hoping that the man could be talked down from whatever violence he wanted to do to get that money back.

Was it possible the man had followed him and Merritt down to the milliner's, then back again? It seemed too coincidental that he'd come out of the saloon at just the right moment to knock into Merritt.

There was movement in Merritt's kitchen, female voices chattering excitedly. He couldn't hear what they were saying.

For once in his life, he didn't know what cards to play. Couldn't see an obvious next move.

There's always tomorrow. And the day after…

Merritt's anticipation for the wedding tomorrow had been bright enough to light up the night, but all he felt standing beside her was coldness. And fear.

He ran a shaking hand down his face. Remembered that the town marshal was inside. She'd keep Merritt from harm, at least for a while.

Jack snuck back the way he'd come, then down the street that would take him back along the boardwalk.

He had a terrible urge to return to the work site. What if Morris had undone all the clearing Jack had done today?

He'd told himself he could make this work. He could give up his nomadic ways, could try and be a good husband to her, make a life here.

Who was he kidding?

He hadn't even been able to get the words out.

I'm not your John .

He was a no-good coward. One who'd brought trouble to her door.

He was walking in front of the dance hall when two man-sized shadows separated from the building, jumping toward him.

Jack's stomach plunged as he recognized Morris's hat, though he couldn't make out the man's face in the darkness.

Jack reached for his gun, his anger at what had happened to Merritt spurring him on?—

But Morris didn't wait. He slugged Jack in the stomach. Pain splintered through his insides and he doubled over.

Morris wasn't done yet. He followed with a fist to Jack's right cheek, making him see stars.

The memory of Merritt thrown to the ground, her tiny gasp of pain, shivered through Jack's mind.

He roared, throwing himself at Morris. He landed a punch to the man's face, heard a satisfying crunch.

But he hadn't counted on being outnumbered and took an elbow to the mouth from somewhere beside him.

Jack tasted the coppery tang of blood, felt warmth slide down his chin. His arm was wrenched behind him and then trapped there as Morris leaned into Jack's shoulders and pinned him against the door. He had a good thirty pounds on Jack, and suddenly, Jack couldn't breathe.

The second man hovered behind Morris, his eyes narrowed. It was Burns. Jack's worlds collided as the man smirked a twisted smile.

"Henshaw wants his five hundred bucks back, you cheater." Morris breathed the words into Jack's face, his breath foul with stale cigar smoke. He reeked of whiskey.

"It was two hundred," Jack gasped with what little air he had left. "And it's gone."

He tried to get in a punch at Morris's midsection, but the other man was too close, and Jack had no leverage.

Jack's hand slipped toward the revolver in his belt.

"Watch him," Burns growled.

Morris knocked Jack's hand away.

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing with the little schoolmarm," Morris said, "but I want the money."

Jack struggled harder, even as his breath locked in his chest made dark spots dance at the edges of his vision. "It's gone," he repeated.

"You got twenty-four hours to get it back," Morris said. He shoved against Jack's windpipe and then released him slightly. "Otherwise, your pretty schoolmarm is the one who gets roughed up."

He shoved Jack, knocking him into the doorknob. The door gave way—maybe it had already been open—and Jack couldn't gain his balance, as lightheaded as he was. He fell, knocking his hip, and a sharp pain shot through his elbow as he hit the ground. His hat flew off, landing somewhere in the darkness.

He struggled for breath as the two sets of footsteps faded away. Every inhale burned.

What was he going to do? They'd threatened Merritt, and Jack couldn't get that money back.

He'd won it fair and square. No cheating involved.

But a hired gun like Morris wouldn't care about that. He'd take out the declared debt in flesh.

And Jack couldn't let that happen.

He pushed up to his knees, his entire side aching. He wrapped one arm around it, was close enough to one of the tables to drag himself to his feet with the other.

The clouds must've parted. Moonlight streamed in the open doorway, and Jack glimpsed the jagged tears through the three backdrops he and the children had so painstakingly painted.

They were shredded, as if they'd been slashed with a knife.

There would be no repairing them. No replacing them, not with the pageant on Monday.

Morris had threatened to hurt Merritt physically, but this was enough to ruin the pageant—and her career.

Jack felt sick. Coldness seeped through his skin, but inside he felt like he was burning up.

He'd done this. Not directly, but Merritt would suffer because of him.

He collected his hat and fled the room, pulling the door closed behind him—little good that it would do. Was the town really so secure that no one thought to lock this door?

Jack felt the cold wind cut through him and realized his coat was open. Numbness stole over him, and it wasn't until he heard the distant train whistle that he realized what he needed to do.

He found himself on the platform minutes later. Another whistle, this one closer.

He hadn't checked the train schedule in days, but if memory served, there was a quick late-night stop. He had fifty cents in his pocket. Enough for a ticket. Didn't matter the destination.

The platform was deserted, the cold wind buffeting him.

He mashed his hat further down on his head. Touching the brim reminded him of Merritt, of those moments when she'd given him the hat. The way she'd looked at him.

Like he mattered, her eyes shining like he was some prince.

If he left, surely Morris would follow him.

Unless…would Jack's leaving make Merritt more of a target?

The thought of putting her in deeper danger tore him apart from the inside out. The wound on his face pulsed with pain, but it was nothing compared to the thought of that thug getting his hands on her.

She had Danna to protect her. They were close friends.

I can help you . The marshal's words rang through his head. But Danna had an entire town to protect.

I'm coming to know you . Merritt's words from yesterday ripped through him, and he leaned against the side of the station for support as the train chugged into place with a last squeal of brakes and a hiss of steam.

She didn't know him. Not really. He'd kept his true self from her. She didn't even know his name.

She might think she cared about him, but it was only an illusion. It wasn't real.

Leaving was for the best. It was the only thing he could do to try and keep her safe.

Wasn't it?