Lady Outlaws

by Lady outlaws (NCP) (lit)

  “Sadie,” Devon said, diverting Brandi’s attention. “I want you to meet my girl, Brandi.”

  “Well!” Sadie exclaimed with kindness. “A girl rigged out as a fella. I knew my big brother wasn’t one who followed any rules. A pleasure to meet you, Brandi.”

  Whirling at the comment about being Devon’s girl, she felt light headed. And Sadie was so warm and friendly Brandi immediately felt a part of a family. As long as she could avoid old Ebenezer she’d be fine. “It’s nice to meet you, too,” she said.

  “Rufus, honey,” Sadie, said smiling down to her son who hovered around her skirts. “You go fetch me more wood. We got to heat some water so yer aunt and uncle can get cleaned up.” He scampered off, beaming with pride at being able to help make company welcomed.

  Impressed as Brandi was by the child’s unhesitating obedience she was even more pleased with the title of ‘aunt’. Devon didn’t seem to be bothered either. He led the horse to the barn while Sadie ushered Brandi towards the house.

  “Have you traveled far? You must be hungry. Oh, I do hope you can visit awhile. I miss havin’ another woman to talk to.”

  “That’s up to Devon,” Brandi said cautiously. He was right, she thought. His sister was quite a talker.

  The kitchen’s low ceiling added to the stuffy atmosphere. The heat was oppressive but necessary for cooking and heating water. It was a cozy comfortable place, however. Cans, bottles, crockery lined shelves, a checkered cloth stretched over the table, delicious smells of baking emanated from the stove. Rufus lugged a stick to the stove, and then raced outside again. “He’ll be wantin’ to talk to his uncle now,” Sadie smiled. “I’ve told him stories and he’ll want to hear ‘em all again, first hand. Poor Dev. The little tike will chat his ear off.”

  “Not something he inherited from his father,” Brandi laughed, sitting on a chair by the table.

  Sadie poured them coffee. “You noticed,” she winked. “Well, Cal’s not one fer idle chit-chat, that’s fer certain. Years of bein’ a Ranger has made him direct with his opinions. I try to tell him not everyone is interested in hearin’ the truth. Or the truth as he sees it.”

  When Sadie reached for a shelf of crockery her apron pulled tight across a swollen belly. Brandi shivered. Having taken an immediate dislike to Cal she couldn’t imagine being within a hundred yards of the man let alone sharing a bed with him. There must have been a good thirty years difference in age. Although, she mused, appearances could be misleading when life was hard. There was a possibility that Cal wasn’t as old as he looked. Brandi wanted to ask about it, but she was a guest here, and as friendly as Sadie had been Brandi didn’t want to offend her.

  “Cal was a friend of our Pa’s,” Sadie offered without being asked. Hot steaming biscuits appeared on a plate and Brandi accepted with much gratitude. She had been suppressing her hunger for ages and tried not to impolitely wolf down the whole plateful. “After Pa died Cal asked me to marry him. I didn’t want to leave my brothers, but a girl has to start her own life sometime.”

  Brandi didn't think being yoked with an old man would constitute starting a life. Best keep that thought muted, though. It’d be difficult to explain the philosophy of twenty first century feminism.

  “Brothers?” Brandi said. “I thought there was just you and Devon?”

  Sadie sat down and interlocked her long fingers on the table. “Jonathan was the baby,” she sighed sadly. “If my next is a boy I’m gonna call him Jon, just like Rufus is called after our Pa. Cal lets me pick out names.”

  “How gracious of him,” Brandi said.

  “Rufus was my first and then I lost two. Near broke my heart. But we’ll keep tryin’. He wants a big family, does Cal,” Sadie said, patting her tummy. “That’s why he’s so serious about work. I tell him the horse tradin’ is enough but he insists on dabbling with numbers. I think every businessman in town has been here to ask his help with accounts. To say nothing of his shares in a few gambling parlors.” Lowering her voice she said, “Don’t tell him I told you that.”

  “No worries there,” Brandi answered.

  “Oh, here I am ramblin’ on about me. I want to know how you managed to catch such a fine fella as my big brother.”

  “Thunderstruck, I suppose,” Brandi said. Thunder and lightning and being catapulted through the decades to fate’s twisted whisper, to be exact, she mused.

  “I’m so glad Dev’s found a wife. I never believed anyone would take his fancy,” she said, the brightness returning to her face.

  “Oh, we’re not actually…”

  A graveled voice in the doorway interrupted them. Cal stood with his arms full of wood. “I’m meeting with Joshua Rumford later and I want my good shirt mended.” He threw the wood near the stove and poured a cup of coffee.

  A basket of sewing sat in the corner, a white shirt folded meticulously on top. “I’m nearly done,” Sadie answered.

  “Nearly don’t mean done,” he scowled. “You ain’t got time to be squawkin’ when there are chores to finish, so get off yer rump.”

  Brandi’s blood boiled. She stiffened and concentrated on keeping her lips sealed. How could any woman in her right mind tolerate such treatment? Getting to know Sadie would have to wait. Right now she couldn’t stand being in the same room with Cal.

  As Brandi waded through chickens in the barnyard, she reviewed in her mind the passages of history books she had devoured about the Texas Rangers. They were a special group of lawmen, ones who relished the chase of the proverbial bad guy in order to protect the frontier at a time when lawlessness was epidemic. They’d have to be tough to fulfill such a duty. And Brandi had often romanticized how wonderfully dashing they’d be in person. Never did she dream she’d actually meet one in the flesh. Now that she had, her previous romantic estimation was shattered. There was nothing attractive about Cal. However, that staunch attribute likely kept him and several pioneer families alive. Regardless, she wanted as little to do with him as possible.

  By the time she reached the barn she was smiling to herself. “I could certainly rewrite a few lines in those history books,” she muttered.

  Blinking in the dull light inside the barn she was welcomed by a mixture of sweet smells: hay and horses and saddle leather. There was also the distinct odor of manure but even that added to the ambience.

  A wooden ladder nailed to the wall was the only access to the second floor. A pitchfork rested in a great mound of hay. Beneath this was an open space, which led to stalls, none of which were occupied. A buggy sat in one corner. Brandi was instantly drawn to take a closer look. She had seen them in museums, frayed and worn but this was new. Her heart beat double time, reminding her that this was an exhilarating adventure, despite meeting Texas’s most unsavory son. Running her fingertips over the side she made a note to ask Devon to take her for a ride sometime.

  Devon. He must he here somewhere. She turned to check out smaller stall-like rooms off to the side. The first two were empty except for hoes and rakes and shovels and an assortment of horse harnesses. The third caused her to stop short.

  A pan of wash water sat on a wooden crate, a crude bar of yellowish-brown soap nearby. The bed, strewn with what look liked a straw mattress, was covered by a frayed quilt. Devon was stretched out, eyes shielded by his forearm. His shirt lay crumpled on the floor where he had dropped it before washing. His bare chest was a tangle of blond hair, some of which hinted strands of red. But the line of hair ended where a ruddy purple scar began. Cloaked all down his left side, from under his raised arm to beneath his belt, was the crinkled blotched skin that could only have been formed by a brutal burn. Brandi’s heart throbbed with sympathy, as though he was in pain that very moment, and she rushed to the bed.

  “Devon,” she said softly. “Oh, Devon, what happened?”

  Devon woke with a start and angrily pushed her away. He took one corner of the quilt and folded as much of it as possible over his scarred torso. Blinking in the dazed confusion of waking, he pressed th
e heel of one hand into a wrinkled forehead. For a brief moment she thought he was going to weep, but he shook himself fully awake, capturing the grief as quickly as it had surfaced.

  “Brandi,” he said without looking her in the eye. “I…” His voice trailed. He sat upright but was still making an attempt to cover the blemish that encompassed one side of his body.

  Brandi swallowed a dry lump that threatened to stick in her throat, and gently slid beside him. She pressed her palm against his neck and slowly he found the courage to meet her gaze. His cheeks were flushed. Obviously this secret was too painful to share and he hadn’t wanted her to discover the scar this way. Brandi had to let him know the mark meant nothing. It was everything inside that she adored.

  “Devon,” she whispered. Leaning closer she ran her fingers through his wet hair. “You introduced me as your girl. Did you mean it?”

  He nodded. “I didn’t reckon you’d wanna be though, if you done seen what…”

  Brandi pressed a finger to his lips, and shook her head slightly. Relief flooded through his expression and with a small moan his mouth was instantly on hers.

  There was a sensual fierceness in his kiss, one that sent a fever erupting straight through her body. Her breast heaved as she reacted by lunging into strong arms, running her hands through his hair, and digging fingers into the smooth, silken skin of each shoulder. His tongue penetrated deeper, a promise of the ecstasy his body could offer if she opened to him completely. And she would. Gladly.

  “Make love to me,” she whispered, lips wet from the kiss. The time was right. She knew it. They were alone, the barrier of suspicion and doubt between them had crumbled into nothingness, and they were entwined in a heated embrace.

  A vein in his neck pulsated rapidly as he struggled to control labored breath. He nibbled gently on her bottom lip, his hand slowly inching its way to the curve of her breast. Kisses fluttered over her throat, leaving small pools of wet heat as his tongue trailed down to her collarbone. Slowly he was inching the dusty shirt off the curve of her shoulder. A whiskered chin tickled the exposed top of her breast.

  “Oh, darling,” she cooed, pushing her lips into a think strand of blond hair. The intimacy of such a wet sensual kiss was burning passion out of control. She ached to feel her flesh against his, and was just in the process of wiggling free of the shirt when a movement by the door caught her attention.

  Brandi clamped each arm as tightly as she could around Devon’s neck. “We have company,” she whispered directly in his ear.

  Devon flinched up with such severity that Rufus, embarrassed and pale, took a wide step backwards. “Pa told me to come get you,” he said, his thin voice shaking.

  The noise of grinding teeth turned out to be Brandi’s. “That man is a pain in the…” She reconsidered finishing the comment, seeing that Rufus still waited, following his orders to the letter.

  “Go tell yer Pa I’ll be right there,” Devon said, reaching for his dirty shirt. The boy ran off, likely relieved to be freed from the situation.

  “So,” Brandi scoffed. “When Mr. Almighty shouts everybody jumps to attention?”

  “Must be important.”

  This wasn’t much of an apology or an excuse and Brandi couldn’t believe that Devon would abandon their intimacy so quickly for the sake of a crusty old man’s demand. “More important than me?” she demanded, then instantly regretted it. She sounded like a spoiled child crying for attention. That wasn’t her intention. What she wanted was to convey the hurt she was fighting.

  The answer was more than sobering. “Yes,” Devon said. “He is.”

  “Then I’ll go with you.” If she was going to compete with this Cal she wanted a fair footing.

  “No. We got important things to discuss. You go see Sadie and help her with chores.”

  This was too much. Incensed by the suggestion that she was capable merely of menial jobs but torn by the desire to please Devon, especially now that their relationship was rocketing into a new phase, she relented. “Only if you promise to tell me later what you talked about. I am your partner as well.”

  “He likely just wants to have a chat.”

  “And share a couple of rib-tickling jokes. Right. Spin me another one.”

  Devon chuckled. Then a veil of seriousness returned. “I got to talk to him, darlin’. He knows I’m in trouble.”

  “Then he knows more than I do,” Brandi answered. “When are you going to make me a part of your life?”

  He brushed curled knuckles over her cheeks, leaning to inhale a quick kiss. “You got to be patient, Brandi-girl,” he whispered, lips against hers.

  Anything, Brandi thought, melting within his embrace. She watched from the barn door as he strode across the yard to one of the smaller outbuildings. As much as she disliked Cal, Devon obviously respected him and valued his opinion. That had to be the reason he was so quick to jump when summoned.

  He knows I’m in trouble.

  What trouble? Who were these men chasing Devon? Why? And who was Victor Trilby? A lost brother, an evil scar, secrets, hints, allegations. It was a jumbled mass of confusion she couldn’t sort out.

  “Well,” she mumbled checking the yard for anything other than free-range animals, “I think maybe the time has come for me to do a bit of detective work”

  With caution she stole across the yard to eavesdrop on this all-important chat.

  * * * *

  The walk across the barnyard didn’t give Devon much time to collect his thoughts. The few minutes of passion with Brandi had left him drunk and burning for more of her sweet embrace. Now, however, he had to be sober, very sober when talking to Cal. Cal was a sly old fox who was infamous for manipulating conversations, eking out confessions when there was nothing to confess, and finding long-buried truths. And once the words tumbled out, Cal sat as judge and jury. Many an outlaw passed into eternity while Coyote Cal MacCullen stood and watched.

  Devon’s outlaw ways, regardless of the honor behind the motive, wouldn’t bode well with a once proud Texas Ranger. A bullet that shattered one hip had forced an early retirement, but he had been a Ranger too long to shut off the need to uphold the law. He kept his ear to the ground and all his so-called business contacts and political associates were more than willing to find good grace by sharing gossip. All Cal had to do was stand quietly and wait, and from fear and foreboding tongues would waggle. Limited movement meant nothing to Coyote Cal. He was forced to be stationary so the world came to him instead.

  It had been almost a year since Devon had visited with Sadie. He had no idea what, if anything, Cal had been told. He was soon to find out.

  Without looking up from an opened ledger on a table Cal puffed on a pipe. “If what I’m hearin’ is true,” he said, “Sadie’s about to lose another brother. To a noose.” He lifted bullet eyes without raising his chin. It sent a shiver through Devon’s spine.

  “Yer informants could be mistaken.”

  “Don’t be smart with me, boy,” Cal snarled. “By God, if I was still rangering I’d hang you myself, relation or not.”

  Devon swallowed hard, peering at the hat he held respectfully in his hand. He didn’t doubt the truth behind Cal’s threat. But if he were still rangering, Devon wouldn’t have sought refuge here.

  “You shot down three men,” Cal accused. “Shot ‘em in the back from what I heard. Cold-blooded murder. Nothin’ less.”

  “They had it comin’,” Devon spit back. “You know damn well they were under orders from Trilby to burn our place down and Jon still inside. What chance did he have? So killin’ those three worthless animals can hardly be called murder.”

  “Not how the court would see it. Jon being inside was an accident.”

  “Damn the court,” Devon shouted, stabbing his finger in the air at Cal. “And damn you if that’s what you believe.”

  “Sit down,” Cal snapped. When Devon wavered Cal softened slightly. “Please.”

  A bottle of whiskey and two glasses appeared from u
nder the table. Cal poured them both a drink. Then he leaned back in the chair and puffed his pipe, waiting, as was his style, for his company to bleed out his guts, something Devon wasn’t about to do.

  “Trilby’s a powerful man, you know that,” Cal said eventually. “I’d not be surprised to see him governor someday.”

  Devon blew a sardonic puff from flared nostrils. “Not if I find him first.”

  “You ain’t gonna get anywhere near him,” Cal said. “He’ll just hold up yer capture and public execution as another glossy reason to get elected. Give it up, boy. Or you will die.”

  “He paying you, too, Cal? You sucking water outta the same political trough?”

  “Yer letting yer tongue get too loose,” Cal said. But he avoided answering the question.

  “Birds of a feather,” Devon quipped.

  Cal’s wide forehead lifted. “Ain’t that the truth? You still riding with Vasquez?”

  “He’s a good friend.”

  “He’s a murdering Mexican, just like his father. I shoulda hung both those boys on the same branch with their old man and done the world a favor.”

  “There’s no talkin’ to you,” Devon said, standing to leave.

  “I ain’t gonna turn on you, boy, so sit down. You came here fer a reason and I’m interested in hearin’ it.” Smoke swirled around his white beard. As ostentatious as he was there was something about him that promised loyalty and protection--as long as he agreed with your motives--and Devon had always been drawn to the man’s level-headed logic.

  “I coulda died in that fire as well, if Romy hadn’t shown up to pull me out. I don’t care what you say about him, he’s my friend and I owe him my life.”

  Puff went the balls of smoke. “Go on,” Cal said, his teeth clamped on the pipe.