Free West of Paradise by Marcy Hatch

reached the well.
    Jack took up the pail. “Come on, better to get it over with.”
    By the time they got back inside they were both dripping wet. Katherine was soaked through, her clothes clinging to her, heavy and clammy against her skin. Her petticoats drooped, making a puddle at her feet, and her feet sat in wet stockings in damp boots that made a squishy sound with every step.
    “Better get your valise,” Jack said, pointing and grabbing one of the saddlebags from the floor.
    In the kitchen Katherine set the bucket on the table along with the valise and pulled out dry clothing. She glanced at Jack.
    “I don’t suppose you’d leave the room,” she said.
    “I don’t suppose I would,” he agreed.
    “Well, at least untie me,” she said. “I can’t very well change with my hands tied.”
    Jack eyed her with distrust.
    “I promise I won’t try anything. You can tie me back up as soon as I’m through.”
    He hesitated, but she gave him her very best good-girl look and he did as she asked.
    “Thank you,” she said, turning away from him.
    For a moment she closed her eyes, gathering her courage and telling herself to forget modesty, false or otherwise. He had already seen her half-naked once and there was no help for it if she wanted to be dry.
    With as much dignity as she could muster she stripped off the black gown and tossed it on the floor. It was torn in three places now, completely ruined—thanks to Jack—but she was actually glad to be rid of it. Black had never been her color. She removed the petticoats, laying one across the table and ripping the second into strips to wash with. It was already torn and she was sure one petticoat would amply fill the skirt. The boots came next and then the stockings, which she wrung out and laid over the stove to dry.
    She tried not to think of him standing behind her, no doubt watching her every move, but it was impossible not to be aware of his presence. At least he isn’t saying anything , she thought, wiping away the dust from her neck and shoulders, wincing as she did. She couldn’t see the cut, but it stung and she knew it was bleeding again.
    “I have some whiskey,” Jack offered.
    Katherine half turned toward him. “Excuse me?”
    “Whiskey,” Jack repeated. “You might want to put some on that so it doesn’t get infected.”
    “I will probably be dead before it does,” Katherine reminded him, returning to her toilette. She unbuttoned the chemise and washed herself as best she could without stripping completely, pulling up the gathered leggings of the drawers and remembering how nice it used to be to have a shower.
    Once she was through she stepped into a dry petticoat, pulling the lace tight. A blue cotton skirt came next, followed by a white muslin blouse with short sleeves and a dainty collar. It was pretty but she couldn’t help but think of the gowns sitting on her bed at the hotel. She straightened and smoothed the wrinkles from the skirt before taking up the brush and pulling it through her tangled hair. She supposed she should be grateful he’d thought to bring that.
    When she turned to face Jack she found he’d done his own washing up and had donned a clean shirt and bandana. Had he shaved he might have been almost handsome, but as it was he still looked more outlaw than lawman. Bounty hunter indeed , she thought.
    “Are you hungry?” Jack asked.
    “Yes, I suppose I am,” Katherine admitted, realizing she had not eaten since the night before. Her stomach had been rumbling since morning but she’d ignored it, not daring to ask him for food and not even sure he had any. She swallowed an angry sigh.
    He would be watchful now, much more careful. There would be no more opportunities to escape. Her only chance would be to convince a jury of her innocence. She almost laughed. Why would anyone believe her when there would be eyewitnesses and a poster to prove her guilt? She might not be Alanna McLeod but she was close, closer than she liked