Free West of Paradise by Marcy Hatch Page A

to think.
    Jack handed her a piece of beef jerky and Katherine ate it without a word. It was salty and bordered on unpleasant. Jack offered her a second piece, but she shook her head.
    “Whiskey?” Jack asked, holding up the flask once more. “To drink.”
    “Sure, why not.” Maybe she could get drunk—if he’d let her. At least she wouldn’t think about food, or anything else.
    Jack took down one of the cups from the shelf and handed it to her. Katherine carefully wiped it out with a corner of her skirt before holding it out to him. He poured her a generous serving and she took a large gulp, closing her eyes as it burned all the way down to the pit of her stomach. She tipped the cup back again and felt the familiar warmth creep over her. She opened her eyes to find Jack watching her with raised eyebrows.
    “Drink much?” he asked.
    “I have been known to,” Katherine answered. “When the occasion calls for it.”
    “And this does?”
    “Definitely,” she said, holding her cup out again.
    Jack shrugged and filled it.
    “Do you drink much?” she asked.
    “Occasionally, but this will not be one of those times.”
    “No, of course not,” she said. “You need to stay sober so you can watch me.”
    “Exactly.”
    “Then I might as well get drunk,” Katherine said.
    “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Jack said.
    “It’s an excellent idea,” Katherine said. “There’s nothing else to do unless you’ve devised some sort of entertainment. And if I’m drunk you won’t have to worry about me escaping.”
    “I’m not worried,” Jack said.
    “Of course you are,” Katherine said. “But if I’m drunk you can worry less. Oh, come on, Jack, what’s it going to hurt?”
    “Fine, get drunk if that’s how you want to spend your time,” Jack said, handing her the flask. “But if you start blubbering or anything I’ll hog tie you and gag you and throw you in a corner. And you better not complain if you wake up hung over.”
    “I never blubber when I’m drunk,” Katherine said, taking the flask. “And I seldom get hangovers.”
    “Yeah, we’ll see,” Jack said.

Chapter Six
Will Cushing
    W ill Cushing was playing cards and losing badly when he got word. He knew at that moment his luck had changed. To prove the point he bluffed his way through the hand and won the pile. It wasn’t much but to Will it was an omen of good fortune, and God knew he needed it.
    Until two years ago, he’d considered himself pretty lucky. He’d managed to keep ahead of the long arm of the law and was in possession of what he considered a small fortune. With careful planning, and Alanna’s help, he figured the two of them could live a decent life somewhere south of the border. But then he’d woken up one morning to find her gone along with every cent they’d stolen.
    That’s when Will’s luck had turned. He rode out a few times after with men he knew, but it was as if he’d been jinxed. Every job they pulled went wrong one way or the other, and the last time out he’d nearly gotten himself killed. He had a distinctive limp now and a ball of lead in his leg that hurt most of the time, reminding him at every step of Alanna. But he could still walk and he could still ride and he could damn well still shoot.
    He looked at the scruffy kid in the doorway who had interrupted the game and felt the old hate rise up within him. The mere mention of her name was enough to make him see red.
    “All right, boy,” he said. “Tell me again.”
    The boy took a deep breath.
    “My pa heard it,” he said in a shaky voice that wasn’t much past puberty. “He was in Abilene an’ someone said they’d caught her. Alanna McLeod that is. An’ someone else asked Marshall Harris if it was true, cos he was sittin’ right there an’ he said it was.”
    “An’ who’s yer pa?”
    “Calvin Turner.”
    Will nodded. He remembered riding with Cal. Not a bad guy. Gave it up in favor of a farm and a family. “Where’d