SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits (218 page)

With the next two nights off, Jackson wondered how he would spend his time. Since final plans were in place with the McLaurey brothers, there was nothing to do but wait for Saturday night.

After placing the last mug on the shelf, Jackson paused in his work to reach in his pocket and pull out the envelope that held the message Mr. Johnson had delivered. His eyes scanned the few words on the paper for the fifth time.

She was gone.

Jackson had been feeling increasingly anxious, tormented by the tumbling of confusing emotions—emotions carefully held in check while he worked for the man who’d murdered his father, plus the carefully repressed unfamiliar—
unwanted
—emotions that had to do with the mysterious Rose.

The message of her departure had given him a tremendous sense of relief. At least he wouldn’t have to deal with her again. He couldn’t have tolerated her interference so late in the game.

Even so, Jackson felt his body tingle when he ran his forefinger over Rose’s signature. He’d even brought the paper close to his face, hoping for a whiff of her fragrance. Catching himself in the mirror, he frowned, his expression a mask of stone. She was dangerous, and he should be glad she was gone.

If only she hadn’t known…hadn’t tried to interfere…

Jackson glanced again to the mirror behind the bar catching a glimpse of his glum expression. He smiled blandly. It was almost time. Soon he would have the satisfaction of seeing his father’s murderer dead. It was all that really mattered.

The envelope returned securely to his pocket, Jackson walked into the backroom, gathered some clothes and packed a bag. Confident that no one was close by, he retrieved the tiny 32-caliber Harrington & Richardson’s revolver from underneath a loose floor board and placed it in the specially designed pocket of his vest.

Perfect.

Even when he ran his hands over the surface of the vest, there was no indication of the gun’s existence. No one would notice it. No one would suspect him. It was a perfect plan.

Afternoon sunlight filtered through the window, casting an unwelcome cheerful glow. His quarters had been adequate for the short term, fine for his exhausted sleep after cleaning up from the usual mob of drinkers and gamblers Earp’s saloon attracted. Even so, he was glad to leave the sparse room and the cot’s thin mattress for the comfort of one of Ida’s featherbeds.

With Rose gone, at least he’d have the luxury of a couple of good night’s sleep and a hot soak before Saturday night. The painful realization came to him that it would indeed be his last chance to have the luxury.

After Saturday night, he’d either be dead, a fugitive, or in jail.

* * *

In one long series of swallows, Taylor gulped down the cool peppermint tea Ida offered. She had worked up quite a sweat getting ready. After leaving Mr. Johnson at the café, she had hurried home to Sherman House and now all her things were safely stowed in the utility room off the kitchen.

There was no trace of her anywhere in the house. Ida had retrieved the dresses and other items she’d leant her, and then suggested she put her things into a trunk that was being used to store kitchen linens.

Now all she had to do was wait.

Ida had listened suspiciously to her rather weak explanations, about how she needed Jackson to believe she had left town in order for something
else
to happen, but that she couldn’t elaborate. She had pleaded for Ida’s patience, just one last time and of course, Ida had agreed—but only after she’d promised to explain everything later.

“You’ll choke! Slow down—there’s plenty of tea for another glass as soon as you’ve emptied that one.”

The cool tea soothed her stomach, already clenched in nervous anticipation. She realized it was not going to be easy to just wait for Jackson to show up. And what if he didn’t?

Ida’s hand flew up stopping any further conversation. Unmistakably heavy footsteps sounded on the front porch and even before the door’s bell sounded, she had reached up to smooth her hair and straighten her gown. “Stay here, I’ll see who’s come in.”

Taylor placed her glass on the table. Somehow she knew it was Jackson. She could almost feel him...feel his presence in the house. Forcing herself to breathe deeply and evenly, she soundlessly rose from her chair and crept to the doorway, hoping to snatch a bit of conversation.

* * *

“Well, hello, Jackson. Where’ve you been so long? We’ve missed seein’ you.” Ida presented him with a warm smile.

Jackson looked around the room. How could he be sure she was gone?

“Well, sir, are you here for a room or bit of fun, perhaps? I’d be happy to ask any of my girls to spend some time with you...the blonde gal with the bright blue eyes was especially taken with you the last time you visited my parlor, remember?”

He relaxed a little at Ida’s playful banter, and she hadn’t even mentioned Rose.
She must be gone.

“Well, Jackson, what’ll it be?” Ida smiled, her arms crossed against her chest.

“Maybe next time, Ida. Is the corner room available for the next two nights?”

Ida nodded her reply. “Would you like me to bring you an early dinner tray later?”

“That would be splendid, Ida. After a long, hot soak in the tub, I know I’ll be famished. You are too kind to me.”

For a long moment, Ida looked back at Jackson. “You look tired, Jackson. Everything all right with you?”

Jackson forced a grin. “Just a little tired and hungry.” Certainly a true statement, though bone-weary would have been more accurate.

“Well, then...follow me, m’lord.” Ida laughed good-naturedly as she spun around.

Jackson shifted his bag and obediently followed Ida up the front stairs.

* * *

Ida walked into the kitchen shaking her head, muttering to herself. She didn’t care for the unmistakable feeling of tension and turmoil that was building, especially something out of her control. She’d felt it from Taylor during their scurry to move her things, and she felt it now from Jackson. He just wasn’t his normal self. Something was very, very wrong.

“Looks like we secured your things just in time, eh?” Ida joined Rose at the table. “I’m going to have Maylee prepare a dinner tray to take to Jackson’s room. I wouldn’t suppose you would like to take it to him, now, would you?”

Ida watched as a faint light twinkled in the languid depths of Rose’s green eyes. Just as quickly, though, they lost their glint of promise. What was going on between these two?

“If I knock, Ida, he’ll just leave and then I’ll never—”

Ida grinned and pulled a key from her pocket and placed it on the table between them. “Already thought of that. You can just go on in. He’ll think it’s me bringing the tray. Just wait until he’s started his bath, take in the tray, lock the door behind you and hide the key. Simple.”

* * *

Having already freshened up while Ida went to the Gas Lamp Quarter Hotel for the dinner tray, Taylor passed the time pacing in the parlor. Ida had insisted that Taylor change her clothes, and had brought her a scoop-necked, pink cotton dress that hugged her slim torso and flared demurely at her hipline. Instead of attaching the fall of curled locks, though, Taylor had simply fluffed her hair, and feathered a few wispy curls towards her cheeks.

After all, this was business. She wasn’t there to entice or seduce. She was there to convince.

At last Ida returned from Maylee’s kitchen with an enormous food tray, and as she passed the parlor Taylor followed her into the kitchen.

She peeked under the embroidered cotton dish towel that covered the tray to find a platter of roast beef, several baking powder biscuits, two bowls of grated carrots and cabbage, and two large squares of Maylee’s apple spice cake. Eating utensils were neatly rolled up in two yellow-and-white checkered cloth napkins atop two plates.

With one eyebrow raised, Taylor glanced at Ida. Obviously it was not simply a tray for Jackson.

“Well, Maylee insisted that you’d probably end up staying with Jackson and you would be hungry too. I agreed, so go on up and straighten whatever it is that you have to straighten out.” Ida placed the heavy tray in Taylor’s arms, and held the door open for her.

Taylor took a deep breath and began to climb the stairs.

“And I was right about the dress, too.” Ida whispered. “You look lovely. Good luck, dear.”

“Thanks,” Taylor whispered back. “I’m afraid I’ll need it.”

Forever Rose: Chapter Twenty-Four

After Ida had let him into his room, Jackson had leaned wearily against the door for a few moments. The only odd thing had been that she’d forgotten the key and that she’d find it and bring it to him later, along with his dinner tray.

Alone and inside the four walls he had come to know so well, he felt instantly calm and safe. The world outside was unimportant, at least for the next two nights. He would allow himself to enjoy the comfort of the room and all it offered. It was a sanctuary, a safe haven from the harsh reality of the impending completion of his plan.

Breathing deeply, Jackson filled his lungs with the floral scent of the room. Roses of every color from Ida’s garden filled vases in the room. He counted them—ten large vases bursting with blooms.

Roses everywhere, but the mysterious
Rose
was gone.

Jackson closed his eyes, and instantly his mind recreated a blurred image of her in the garden wearing her red silk robe. A few seconds passed, and the image faded to black.

“Damn,” he cursed softly. If things had gone differently, she might have shared the room with him, making his last two days as a free man much more pleasurable.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and his gaze was drawn to the room’s large tub that sat in the far corner. A bath was what he needed. Placing his bag on the floor near the carved mahogany wardrobe, Jackson began methodically to undress.

He took the tiny revolver from the inside pocket of his vest and placed it on a low table next to the wardrobe. Then he hung his shirt and vest on the brass hooks inside, and sat down to remove his boots. On the stove, water was ready and waiting for the bath he craved, and he hurriedly removed the rest of his clothing.

Jackson filled the tub with about six inches of water, mixing hot with cold. When he was finally satisfied with the temperature, he climbed in. He noticed the room’s previous occupants had left a dozen or so small candles on several end tables that bordered the tub on one side. Also, a crystal clear bowl held a single perfect blossom, floating in water. A perfect, blood-red rose.

Jackson stared at the rose for a long moment before he began the task of scrupulously washing the grime from his body. The water darkened as he rinsed the soap away. With the plug pulled, he stood and watched the water drain away. He wanted a soak, but not in soiled water.

Air-dried and clean, Jackson stepped from the tub and repeated the ritual of mixing hot water from the stove and cold water from the sink pump. This time he filled the tub close to the rim.

As Jackson was ready to step into the steaming tub, a cobalt blue bottle on the nightstand by the bed caught his eye. He walked over to the table, then removed the cork. The subtle fragrance of roses drifted to his nostrils. More roses…always roses.

He tipped the bottle to capture some liquid on his fingertip. It was rose-scented oil. Impulsively, he poured some into the bathwater, then placed the bottle on one of the tables by the tub and climbed in.

Hotter this time, the water soothed his jangled nerves quickly. The comforting fragrance of the room filled every breath and he soon found himself dozing, his neck resting on the rim of the tub.

In his relaxed haze, Jackson recognized the sound of footsteps in the hall that stopped at his door.

“It’s open, Ida,” he murmured, eyes still closed.

* * *

The door opened without a sound as Taylor entered Jackson’s room, the heavy food tray balanced precariously on one arm, the key to the lock clenched between her lips. She saw Jackson in the tub, thankfully positioned so he was facing away from the door.

“Just put the tray on the table, would you?”

“Mm-hmmm,” Taylor mumbled at the moment the key turned in the lock of the door. She waited for any reaction to the clicking sound. Nothing.

Glancing around the room, Taylor searched for a hiding place for the key, and at last settled on the large Boston fern sitting on a table next to the door. She pushed the key into the soil of the plant.
There, that’s done
.

Quietly, Taylor walked to the small dining table by the window and deposited the tray. Her stomach tightened in anticipation of Jackson’s first sight of her. He’d been so angry when they’d argued at the beach, and she honestly wondered if she should be afraid of him.

“Thanks, Ida,” Jackson whispered.

His voice sounded very relaxed, almost drugged—probably  from the steaming hot water. She breathed deeply in an effort to calm her pounding heart. The air in the room was humid and filled with the almost overwhelming scent of flowers.

It was a beautiful room—the large brass bed was the focal point, practically in the center of the room. It was heaped with fluffy pillows and covered with a hand-stitched quilt of intertwining pastel-colored circles; a traditional wedding ring design. Lace curtains hung at the six tall windows that overlooked the garden. They fluttered in the early evening breeze, delivering rose-scented perfume from the garden below.

As her gaze nervously roamed the room, a glimmer caught her attention. Next to the wardrobe on a low table was a tiny, silver revolver, glistening in the last rays of sunlight let in by the random flutter of the curtains. She hadn’t noticed it when she’d entered the room, but could see it clearly from her position by the table.

Walking slowly toward the wardrobe, Taylor watched the back of Jackson’s head, waiting for any sign of movement and wondering what the heck she’d do if she turned around.

When she reached the wardrobe, she leaned slowly toward the gun. It seemed so small for a murder weapon.