Outlaw Heart

by Samantha James

  There would be no talking with him, no reasoning or persuading, she realized. She'd once heard Dillon laughingly comment to one of the ranch hands about a man whose "brains were between his legs." She hadn't truly understood then, but the hunger in Kane's eyes had broadened her understanding rather quickly—and so had that strange hardness she'd felt pressed against the softness of her belly.

  She lowered her lashes and backed away. Kane evidently thought she was being coy. A half-smile of satisfaction curled his lips. One strap of her gown slipped down her arm. She made no effort to retrieve it. All the while she retreated, she prayed she wouldn't give herself away. Kane was not a man to toy with, and what she was about to do was unthinkable.

  When she reached the chair in the corner, she turned and presented him with her back. Her palms grew damp as she extended her hand toward the chair. She could feel his stare digging like tiny needles into her and knew he watched her still.

  And indeed Kane could scarcely take his eyes off her. He hadn't realized it until now, but her insistence on staying was a soothing balm to his ego. Lord knew he'd been feeling lower than a snake's belly lately. His eyes riveted on the tempting view she presented him. His mind began to run rampant with fantasies. First he intended to find out if those luscious breasts of hers fit his palms the way he hoped. Then he would fill his hands with that enticing little behind. So she was a virgin, eh? He wanted her to enjoy things, too, he realized. He'd make her as hot for him as he was for her, by God. He'd toy with her silken channel, stroking soft, velvet furrows and making her hot and wet. Then he would ease a finger—maybe two if she could take it—inside her. Yes, he thought. God, yes. Then later--

  He got up and walked to the window, thinking she meant to undress and willing to give her what little privacy was available. The thought of the hours to come made him shift, the swelling of his rod straining beneath his pants. A crooked little smile on his lips, he promised himself that little problem would soon be taken care of.

  "Kane."

  He turned, thinking to find her naked and eager and waiting ...

  Instead he found a revolver—his revolver—leveled at his stomach.

  "Son of a bitch."

  Even while he mouthed the curse, he was sorely tempted to laugh. This—this girl—had done what every lawman in New Mexico and half the West hadn't been able to do.

  His head had begun to ache again. For the first time, Kane wished he hadn't consumed so much of that damned rotgut. In the cobwebbed recesses of his mind, he tried to gauge the distance between them. It wasn't more than a couple of yards. If he edged forward just a little, he might be able to grab the gun ...

  "I wouldn't do that if I were you." Her voice cracked sharp as a bullet. 'Take my word for it, Kane. I know how to use this."

  The glint in her eyes carried a warning he wasn't inclined to ignore. Besides, the revolver was loaded, and drunk as he was, he could see that she handled it with an ease that spoke of long familiarity.

  "What the hell is this?" he asked hoarsely.

  Her chin lifted. "We're taking a little trip, you and I, Kane. And since I've wasted enough time as it is, I think it's time we got moving." With one hand she nudged his saddlebag from the chair, then shoved it toward him with the toe of her slipper.

  "Pick it up," she ordered.

  Kane did as she said, gritting his teeth against the pounding in his head as he bent and slowly straightened, then looped the bag over his shoulder.

  "Very good, Kane." She nodded her satisfaction. "Now open the window. We're going out that way."

  He blinked. His gaze slid reflexively toward the window, where a small overhang jutted out over the alley. From there it was perhaps ten feet to the ground below.

  He didn't move. "What the hell's wrong with going out the front door?"

  "So you can get lost in that crowd?" Her voice reflected her scorn. "Oh, no, Kane. I want you where I can see you." She gestured toward the window. "Open it," she repeated curtly. "Then get yourself outside before I decide to help you along."

  An eerie chill ran down his spine. The revolver swung back, and this time it was level with his heart. He shoved the window up, thrust his legs through, and did the same thing any other drunken idiot facing down the barrel of a gun would do.

  He jumped.

  Chapter 3

  He hurtled through the air, landing with a dull thud. His legs gave out beneath him and he sprawled forward in the dirt. He lay stunned, the breath ripped from his lungs. Blackness shrouded his vision, then began to recede. It took a moment before he realized Abigail had landed beside him.

  It galled him that she was the first to scramble up. Her hair had fallen down around her shoulders, but other than that, she looked none the worse. He, on the other hand, felt as if he'd been run over by a stagecoach. He lumbered to his feet, dizzy and disoriented.

  It irritated him further that she'd managed to retain her hold on his gun. And sure enough, it was pointed straight at him again.

  He glared at her. "What the hell is this about?"

  "I know who you are, Kane." Her tone was cool and precise. "I know you used to ride with Stringer Sam."

  Too late she realized her mistake. She meant the words as an explanation, not a challenge. But Kane had gone utterly still, his features stripped of all expression.

  He smiled slowly. "If you're aiming to take me in to the law, I think I should warn you—I wouldn't. I'm not a wanted man in this territory, sister. I made sure of that before I came here."

  His smile was chilling, his voice deadly soft. It passed through Abby's mind that drunk or not, Kane was a dangerous man. And it wouldn't be wise to underestimate him . .. not wise at all. For the first time that evening, she knew a glimmer of true fear.

  But there was no sign of it as she raised her chin. "That's not it," she denied sharply. "Unfortunately, I happen to be in need of your services."

  There was a flash of white teeth in that dark face. "Sweetheart," he drawled, "if you remember, I was more than willing to oblige you. You didn't have to force me at gunpoint."

  Abby despised the betraying color which rose to her cheeks. Her only redemption was that her temper flared along with it. More than anything, she longed to wipe that smirk off those ruggedly defined features. The glitter in his eyes was the only thing that stopped her.

  Her lips were drawn in a mutinous line. "There's only one thing I want from you, Kane," she informed him tightly. "And that's for you to take me to Stringer Sam's hideout."

  She had startled him; she sensed it by the stunned silence which followed.

  He scowled at her. "What the hell does a woman like you want with Stringer Sam?"

  Abby took a deep breath. "Don't you know what happened last night at the jail?"

  A suggestive leer curled those harshly carved lips. "Lady," he said with soft deliberation, "Stringer Sam was the last thing on my mind last night. And I didn't set foot outside my room until well after noon today, thanks to the attentions of a fine piece of—"

  "Spare me the details!" She sent him a fulminating glance. Unfortunately, her mind had already conjured up a rather vivid picture of Kane and one of those scandalously painted ladies at the saloon, their mouths fused, limbs naked and entwined.

  She relinquished the image quickly, hating the flush that still tinged her cheeks. It angered her further when Kane's mocking smile widened.

  "While you were having your fun," she snapped, "Stringer Sam broke into the jail. He killed two deputies and a prisoner named Rowdy Roy, a man who happened to be part of his own gang."

  Kane's smile withered. He didn't know Rowdy Roy, but it chilled his blood to think of Sam that close.

  Abby went on. "You probably haven't heard of the Diamondback ranch. But it's one of the biggest spreads around—my father owns it—or he did until today! Now it's mine—mine and Dillon's." Her voice quavered slightly; somehow she managed to bring it under control. "Stringer Sam came to the ranch looking for Dillon, but he killed Pa instead
!"

  Kane stared at her. Abby was too distressed to notice that his eyes had gone vague and glassy. "Dillon/' he repeated slowly. "Who the hell is Dillon?"

  Abby blew out a sigh of sheer frustration. "Dillon MacKenzie! He has this—this vendetta against Stringer Sam. Dillon found out from Rowdy Roy where Sam's hideout is—he left last night to try to find Stringer Sam." In the back of her mind, she wondered if she were babbling. But once started, the words tumbled out in a rush, one after another. "Only Dillon didn't know Sam was anywhere near here. But now that Stringer Sam knows Dillon is headed for his hideout, he's gone after him!"

  By the time she finished, Kane's head was buzzing so that he could scarcely think. He had the feeling he was missing something, but he couldn't quite figure out what it was. The edges of his vision were blurring. It was almost more than he could handle to remain standing upright.

  'That's why I have to reach Dillon before Sam does. I'll pay you. I'll pay you enough that you won't ever have to worry about money again." She paused, peering over at him to gauge his reaction. His features were shadowed, but he wasn't saying anything. He merely regarded her with that strange unblinking stare. She decided to take his silence for concurrence.

  She gingerly lowered the revolver to her side. "Your horse," she said slowly. "Is it stabled in the livery?"

  He nodded, his gaze heavy-lidded and unfocused. For the first time, Abby realized his drunken state might be a boon. Directing a fervent prayer heavenward, she grabbed Sonny's reins, then slipped an arm around Kane's waist. "We'd better get moving," she told him, her tone deliberately offhand.

  The livery was situated on the edge of town, next to the railroad station. Abby hurried as fast as she could, but their progress was awkward. Kane staggered alongside her, leaning so heavily on her shoulder that several times she nearly collapsed beneath his weight. By the time they reached the livery she was gasping and winded. But she paid no heed as she skirted the front entrance and led the way to the rear of the livery. Oddly, it was she who stumbled as they rounded the corner. Lean fingers caught at the soft flesh just below her waist. A strange little quiver shot through her. Abby felt imprint of those fingers like a fiery brand. She fleetingly wondered what it was about him that made her feel so threatened and exposed. It wasn't just that he was an outlaw. No, it was something more, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

  She jerked away, cursing both herself and Kane. "I'm not about to let anyone else see me in this disgraceful dress," she informed him stiffly. "I'll thank you to turn your back so I can change."

  He didn't. Instead he looped his thumbs in his belt, his stance none too steady. "And if I don't, what will you do? Shoot me?" Slurred though his speech was, the taunting mockery was still there.

  Abby let out a breath of sheer exasperation. "Believe me, I'm coming closer all the time. Now turn around before I decide it's not a half-bad idea after all!"

  He did, but not before those glittering eyes swept the length of her. His frankly lecherous regard riled her temper further. "Drunken imbecile," she charged hotly under her breath. "I hope you fall flat on your face!"

  She snatched the clothes she'd worn earlier from her saddlebag and stepped behind the sheltering protection of her horse. Despite the darkness, she felt her face heat up. It didn't matter that he wasn't actually looking—she was actually undressing with a man present! But not once did she relieve that broad masculine back of her accusatory stare as she jerked on her own clothing. Why, she wouldn't put it past him to bolt at the first chance that presented itself. Her lips tightened. Not that he'd get far in his present state.

  Tucking her blouse into her riding skirt, she didn't give a second glance to the scandalous red dress that lay in a heap at her feet. She'd certainly have no use for it again. She hesitated, then tucked Kane's revolver into the waistband of her skirt, concealing it beneath her vest. "All right," she muttered when she'd finished. "You can turn around now." She nodded for Kane to precede her toward the entrance.

  A youth of perhaps fifteen sauntered out, smothering a yawn. He stopped short at the sight of the pair advancing toward him. Abby summoned a smile, feeling as if her face were about to crack. "Hello, Todd." Todd Jenkins's uncle owned the livery, and Todd worked for him. He was a little dull-witted, but good with the animals. "My friend here stabled his horse yesterday. We'll be needing him now, if you don't mind."

  Todd's eyes lit up. "I know the one. Big shiny black named Midnight."

  "That's the one, son." Kane reached out and clapped the boy on the shoulder. One corner of his mouth curved up in a wicked smile. "Since I'm leaving at the lady's summons, I guess it's up to her to take care of the bill. I'll just go on back and get Midnight saddled up."

  "Sure thing, mister. He's in the last stall on the right."

  Abby's eyes tracked his weaving gait to the rear of the barn. Kane was certainly no gentleman, that was for certain! Her lips compressed. She wondered scathingly if he was always so inclined to tip the bottle. If that was the case, he'd soon learn she wouldn't stand for it.

  It didn't take long to take care of the charges. Abby began to pace restlessly, anxious to be on the way. She wasn't sure if it would be possible for them to travel the night through, but she planned to ride as long as they could. Five minutes later found her chafing and fuming. What the devil was taking Kane so long?

  Todd sensed her impatience. He sent her an uneasy glance. "I'll just go see if he needs a hand," he muttered.

  Abby followed right behind. Had Kane run out on her? There was only one entrance, so she knew his horse was still here. But what if there were a back window and he'd slipped out that way?

  She was on Todd's heels all the way, fury marking every determined step. At the last stall, he swung open the gate and started to step inside. Then he stopped so abruptly Abby barreled into his back with a very unladylike grunt. She recovered quickly and stepped out from behind him.

  A horse whinnied softly, raising his long graceful neck from where he'd been munching oats to regard them with wary curiosity. He was sleek and muscled, his coat a glossy black, his eyes keen and intelligent. In a far corner of her mind, Abby knew a distant flicker of appreciation for such a prime piece of horseflesh. But the stallion didn't capture her attention for long ... With a sharp inhalation, she followed Todd's stunned gaze.

  Kane was sprawled face-down on the hay, passed out cold.

  Kane was dreaming. Of warm, feminine hands stroking over his shoulders and arms, smooth and soothing. Of long, ebony tresses teasing his chest, scented like roses and soft as velvety petals, brushing over skin that was taut and acutely sensitized. A low melodious voice poured over him like liquid honey. Breasts full and vibrantly lush pressed against him, softness melting into hardness. Snug in the arms of his dream lover, he sighed, eager to retreat into such a pleasant netherworld once again.

  But something abrasive and prickly poked at his cheek. The pungent aroma of straw—and something else, something infinitely less pleasant—assailed his nostrils. As if that weren't enough, a hand like a claw roughly grasped his shoulder. He testily batted it away like a pesky fly, his subconscious rebelling at such a rude awakening.

  The sudden movement was a mistake. He promptly discovered his entire body ached as though he'd been kicked from one end of a corral to the other. There was a blacksmith hammering away inside his brain that wouldn't go away. He tried to swallow, but his tongue felt thick and clumsy, as if a wad of cotton had been shoved in his mouth. Belatedly he recognized the source of his misery. He rolled over with a groan. Why, he hadn't been this drunk since the night he'd come home and found Lorelei . . .

  Lorelei. His woman. His wife. The only thing in his whole miserable life that had ever had any meaning. The only person on earth he had ever really loved ... and who had loved him. When he'd met her, he'd thought he could finally make something of his life. For the first time ever he'd been truly content, even happy. But then she had died ...

  She didn't just die,
a voice inside mocked. She was murdered. And that was when it all started . . .

  The pain that scored his gut was agony, fiery and burning like acid, clear to his soul.

  "Kane," sniped a voice that sounded nothing at all like the dulcet tones in his dream. "If you know what's good for you, you'll get up right now!"

  He winced. "Be a good girl, sweetheart," he mumbled. "Keep it down, all right?"

  "I am not your sweetheart, nor am I ever likely to be! And I'll thank you to stop calling me that!"

  He dragged his eyelids open, first one and then the other. A woman stood over him, looking for all the world like an enraged virago. A lantern dangled from one slim hand. Jesus! he thought incredulously. What on earth had possessed him to bring a woman to a smelly barn when there was a perfectly good bed at the hotel?

  The light from the lantern trapped him in its center. He flung back an arm and shielded his eyes from the yellow glare. Inky-dark sky was reflected in the window behind her head. "Get up?" His voice was a hoarse croak. His throat felt as if it had been stripped raw. "Cripes, what the hell for? It's not even daylight!"

  "It will be by the time we leave!"

  Abby's mood was anything but tame. She had just spent what was probably the longest night of her life. She'd tried for nearly an hour to wake Kane but he was dead to the world. Adding insult to injury was the fact that it had cost her another five-dollar gold piece before Todd agreed to let them spend the night here. By now, she was frustrated and angry, but most of all disgusted. Kane was tousled and bleary-eyed. He smelled like a brewery and needed a shave. God knew she'd expected neither a hero nor a gentleman, but she hadn't expected a drunk either.

  "We'd better get started," she said sharply. "Thanks to you, Stringer Sam is a good twelve hours ahead of us—and so is Dillon!"

  Dead silence met her pronouncement.

  Kane had risen on one elbow to stare at her. One lean hand came up to absently rub his whiskered jaw. Beneath the lock of black hair that tumbled on his forehead, his brow was furrowed in concentration ... or was it puzzlement?