The Outlaw's Return

by Victoria Bylin

  She rubbed the dog’s jaw. “Where’s your home, sweetheart?”

  The dog cocked her head as if to say, Right here.

  Mary knew the feeling. When she’d come to Denver, she hadn’t known a soul until she’d found Swan’s Nest, a boardinghouse for women in need. There she’d met Adelaide Clarke, now Adie Blue, and made new friends. If someone had told her two years ago she’d be singing hymns in church, she’d have laughed at them. But that’s where she was today and where she wanted to be. A bit of a stray herself, Mary appreciated having a home.

  She rubbed the dog’s ears until Brick arrived with the water and set the bowl on the floor. As the dog lapped happily, Gertie sidled up to Mary. “Can we go now?”

  “Not yet,” she answered. “It’s our turn to clean up.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t argue, Gertie.” Mary sounded more commanding than she felt. She was ten years older than her sister, but they’d been close growing up. Disciplining Gertie didn’t come easily, especially since Mary understood the girl’s desire for excitement and fancy dresses. They’d grown up poor in a West Virginia town called Frog’s Landing. Mary had been Gertie’s age when she’d left in search of fame and fortune.

  The fortune had been fleeting, and the fame had led to a broken heart. She’d never forget seeing Jonah Taylor Quinn for the first time. She’d finished her second encore at the Abilene Theater and had stepped backstage. He’d been leaning against a wall with his boots crossed at the ankle and a look in his eyes that could only be called scandalous. She’d blushed just looking at him, but then he’d greeted her with the utmost respect. He’d invited her to a midnight supper and she’d accepted. One meal had led to another, and they’d become friends. As spring arrived in Kansas, they’d traded stories and kisses, and she’d fallen in love with him.

  Then he’d left…. She still felt the sting of that midnight parting. It’s been good, Mary. But it’s time for me to go.

  But I have to tell you something. She’d paused to gather her courage. Instead of telling him she was expecting a baby, she’d revealed her feelings. I love you, J.T.

  He’d smiled that wicked smile of his, then he’d shrugged. Love doesn’t mean a thing, sweetheart.

  She’d slapped him. Before she could say a word, he’d walked away. She couldn’t bear to think about what happened next, so she glanced at the dog. It had finished the water and looked content. “I wonder if someone’s looking for her,” she remarked to Adie.

  “I’ve never seen her before.”

  “Me neither,” Josh added.

  Adie gave Mary a knowing look. “You’re going to take her home, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe.”

  Home for Mary was an apartment over the café she owned thanks to a mortgage from the Denver National Bank. She didn’t have room for a dog, but neither could she leave the animal to fend for itself. Mary had always had a heart for strays. It didn’t matter if they had two legs or four. That inclination had caused trouble in the past, but she’d learned her lesson. She loved children and dogs and wouldn’t turn them away, but men couldn’t be trusted.

  She looked again at Gertie and Augustus. Her brother stood half-hidden in the corner, eating a piece of pie. Gertie was giving her the evil eye. In another minute, the girl would storm across the room and make a scene. Mary hated arguing with Gertie, so she turned to Adie. “I’m going to start cleaning up.”

  “I’ll do it,” Adie volunteered. “You work hard all week.”

  “So do you.”

  Adie shrugged. “I have to wait for Josh. Besides, I have a favor to ask.”

  “Sure,” Mary answered.

  “When you come to supper this afternoon, would you bring a couple of loaves of that good sourdough? If I know Josh, we’re going to have a crowd.”

  Sunday supper at Swan’s Nest had become a tradition, one that had grown from a simple meal shared by the women who lived there to a feast for anyone who showed up. Josh made a point of inviting everyone from church, and today Mary had noticed some new faces. “I’ll be glad to bring all you need,” she said to Adie.

  Her friend smiled. “While you fetch the bread, I’ll take Gertie and Augustus to Swan’s Nest.”

  “If you’re sure—”

  “I am.” Both women knew Gertie could be difficult.

  “Thanks.” If Mary left now, she could squeeze in a few chores. She had to plan next week’s menus and inventory the pantry. Absently she patted the dog’s head. When it sniffed her hand, she smiled. Stephen wiggled in his mother’s arms and made a D sound.

  “Dog,” Adie prodded.

  “Da!”

  Mary felt a stab of longing for the child she’d lost. She loved children, but she had no desire to marry. After what J.T. had done, she’d never trust a man again.

  Absently rocking the one-year-old, Adie turned to her. “Are you going to take the dog?”

  Mary looked down at her. “What do you say, girl? Would you like to come home with me?” She didn’t have a lot of space, but she had plenty of scraps.

  The dog tipped its head.

  “Let’s go,” Mary said to her.

  As she crossed the room to speak to Gertie and Augustus, the dog followed her. Gertie fussed about going to Swan’s Nest, but she didn’t pitch a fit. Neither did Augustus, though Mary would have welcomed a tantrum in place of a nod. After waving goodbye to several members of the congregation, she left the saloon with the dog at her side.

  She didn’t immediately notice the man leaning against the saloon wall. It was the smell of whiskey that got her attention, then the rasp of a stifled curse. Expecting a cowboy with Saturday-night regrets, she turned to offer the man Christian charity and a slice of pie. Instead of a stranger, she saw J. T. Quinn. And instead of charity, she felt something else altogether.

  Chapter Two

  J.T. was thinner than she recalled and harder because of the leanness, a sign he’d been living on jerky and bad coffee. His brown hair had gold streaks from the summer sun, and his blue eyes still pierced whatever they saw. She felt the sharpness of his gaze and remembered…. She’d once loved this man, and she’d hated him when he’d left.

  With the changes in her life, she couldn’t give in to bitterness. She knew how it felt to be forgiven, and she had a duty to forgive others. She’d treat J.T. the way she’d treat a stranger, except he wasn’t a stranger. She knew how he liked his coffee, and she’d seen the scars on his body from bullets and knives. None of those memories mattered. This man posed a risk to her reputation. If her friends saw him, they’d ask nosy questions.

  She had to make him leave before someone else left the church. She gave him a curt nod. “Hello, J.T.”

  He tipped his hat. “Hello, Mary.”

  Unnerved by his husky drawl, she fought to steady her voice. “This is quite a surprise.”

  “Yeah.” He eyed the batwing doors. “For me, too.”

  Was he surprised to see her or surprised to see her leaving a church service? Mary didn’t know what to think. Why would he seek her out after all this time? On the other hand, what were the odds he’d visit Brick’s Saloon on a Sunday morning by chance? One in a million, she decided. Josh’s little church was unusual and well-known. Any saloon keeper in Denver could have told him she sang here on Sunday morning.

  That meant he’d come to see her, but why? No one stirred up memories—both good and bad—like this handsome, hard-edged man. Ten minutes ago Mary had been singing “Fairest Lord Jesus” from the depths of her heart. Looking at J.T., she couldn’t remember a single word.

  Help me, Lord.

  With the dog at her feet, she spoke as if nothing were amiss. “The saloon’s not open. I was here for—”

  “Church,” he said. “I know.”

  “How—”

  “I heard you singing.” He glanced at the mutt at her side. “So did my dog.”

  “Your dog?”

  “Yeah.” He looked sheepish, as if he’d admitted something
embarrassing. She supposed he had. A man like J.T. traveled with the clothes on his back and his guns. He’d carry bullets before he’d pack an extra can of beans, yet here he stood looking at a dog as if it were his only friend.

  When he held out his hand, the dog licked his fingers. “You crazy thing,” he murmured.

  At the sight of such tenderness, Mary’s forgot to breathe. In Kansas she’d seen J.T. beat the daylights out of a man who’d disrespected her. He’d worked as a hired gun to ranchers wanting to chase off rustlers, and he didn’t think twice about it. He was hard, tough and mean, except with her. Then he’d been as soft as butter, tender in the way of a man who knew a woman’s need for love while denying his own.

  But then he’d left her. She’d forgiven him for leaving, but that didn’t mean she’d forgotten the coldness of the parting. J. T. Quinn couldn’t be trusted, not with her heart and not with knowledge of the baby. He’d disrespected her. She refused to allow him to disrespect a child that had never been born. In Abilene he’d left her in the middle of a conversation. Today she wanted answers. Why are you here? What do you want? Any minute people would start leaving church. Since Gertie and Augustus were with Adie, the café would be empty. She thought of yesterday’s stew in the icebox. J.T. looked hungry, and so did his dog. She’d never been good at turning away strays.

  “I own a restaurant,” she said. “You look like you could use a meal.”

  “No, thanks.”

  He sounded confident, but he had the air of a boy trying to be tough. Her heart softened more than she wanted to admit. “Are you sure?”

  “No, thanks, Mary. I just…” He shook his head, but the gesture didn’t answer her questions.

  A terrible foreboding took root in her belly. Had he heard the talk in Abilene? Did he know about the baby but not the miscarriage? She couldn’t stand the thought of the scandal finding her again, nor did she want to open old wounds. Trying to appear casual, she tipped her head. “What brings you to Denver?”

  “It’s not important.”

  She didn’t believe him. Whatever his reason for being at Brick’s, he’d made an effort to find her. She felt cheated by the lie, just as she’d felt cheated in Abilene. “If it wasn’t important, you’d answer the question.”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  When he smirked, she saw the man who’d left her pregnant and disgraced. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you, J.T.?”

  His eyes were even bluer than she recalled, and his cheekbones more chiseled. The sun, high and bright, lit up his unshaven jaw and turned his whiskers into gold spikes. The man was untouchable, unreachable.

  “That’s right,” he finally said. “I haven’t changed a bit.”

  “I have.” She lowered her voice. “What happened between us in Abilene is in the past. I’d appreciate it if you’d respect my privacy.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “You won’t see me again.”

  His surrender shocked her to the core. She wanted to know why he’d given in so easily, but she couldn’t risk lingering outside the church and being seen. To protect her reputation, she’d have to live with yet another unanswered question. With her head high, she stepped off the boardwalk. To her consternation, the dog followed her. In the middle of the empty street, she stopped and turned back to J.T. “Call your dog.”

  His jaw tightened. “Come on, dog.”

  Mary scowled at him. “You named her Dog? No wonder she’s not obeying you!”

  “That’s not her name,” he muttered.

  “Then what is it?”

  He looked straight at her. “Her name is Fancy Girl.”

  Air rushed into Mary’s lungs. Fancy Girl had been his name for her. He’d called her his Fancy Girl, because she’d liked to dress up for the stage. She’d enjoyed the makeup and the flamboyant dresses, particularly the costumes that had freed her from the dullness of Frog’s Landing. “You named her after me?”

  “Yeah.”

  She should have been insulted. The fool man had named a dog after her! Yet she knew it hadn’t been an insult. He loved his dog. A long time ago, even though he hadn’t said the words, Mary had thought he’d loved her. She’d been mistaken. J.T. didn’t love anyone. “It’s been nice seeing you,” she said in a courteous tone. “But I have to get home.”

  “I understand.”

  She doubted it. He didn’t know her at all anymore. Reaching down, she rubbed the scar between the dog’s ears. “Goodbye, Fancy Girl.”

  After a final scratch, she continued across the street. When the dog tagged along, J.T.’s voice boomed behind her. “Fancy Girl! Get over here!”

  Hearing her old name in J.T.’s baritone stopped Mary in her tracks, but Fancy Girl ignored him. Mary rather enjoyed the dog’s rebellion. People usually did what J.T. ordered. Occasionally they did it with a gun aimed at them, but mostly they obeyed because he spoke with authority. He wasn’t in charge now.

  As he called the dog a second time, a man came out of the church, looked long and hard at J.T., and went on his way. Any minute the congregation would be in the street and he’d be a spectacle in his black clothing. Needing to persuade him, Mary flashed a smile. “I promised Fancy Girl a plate of scraps. It looks like she’s holding me to it.”

  His eyes twinkled. “She’s a smart dog.”

  “Would you like to come with us?”

  He snorted. “For scraps?”

  “Scraps for her. Pot roast for you.” She tried to sound businesslike. “I really do own a restaurant.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “The best in town. It’s called Mary’s Café.” She raised her chin. “It’s mine, and I’m proud of it.”

  “You should be.” Still he didn’t move.

  “Come on.” She aimed her chin down the street. “Your dog won’t take no for an answer.”

  A smile tipped on the corners of his mouth. “Sounds like you won’t, either.” Looking pleased, he stepped off the boardwalk and strode to her side. With Fancy Girl between them, they headed to the café with Mary hoping they hadn’t been seen.

  J.T. smelled like dirt and mistakes, and he knew it. Apparently so did Mary. Her nose wrinkled as he stepped to her side, so he widened the gap between them. Fancy Girl smelled better than he did. He didn’t understand why his dog had taken such a strong liking to Mary, but he felt the same urge to follow her home.

  As they walked down the boardwalk, she made small talk about the weather. J.T. responded in kind, but his mind wasn’t on the July heat. He couldn’t think about anything except the changes in Mary. She still had a saucy attitude, but the lines around her mouth had softened into an easy smile and her brown eyes had a sheen of happiness. She wore her hair differently, too. The curls were still honey-blond, but she’d tamed them into a simple twist. Her dress, a demure lilac, could have belonged to a schoolmarm.

  Six months ago, he’d have mocked her plain dress and the prim hairstyle. He’d have teased her into being his Fancy Girl again, maybe into his bed.

  Not now.

  Not today. He thought back to how he’d left her and he had to wonder… What would have happened if he’d stayed with her? Would they be running a saloon with Mary singing and J.T. pouring drinks? He could resist the temptation to drink if it meant proving himself to Mary. His other worry—being called out by an old enemy, someone like Griff Lassen—would never leave, but time would ease the threat. Today, though, everything had changed. Mary didn’t need him at all. With no reason to stay, he decided to buy supplies and ride west. Whether or not those supplies would include whiskey, he couldn’t say.

  With Fancy Girl in front of them, he kept pace with Mary as she turned down a side street. In the distance he heard the blast of a train whistle. They were near the depot, a good spot for business from hungry travelers. She indicated a storefront between a tailor and a telegraphy office. It was painted butter-yellow and had green trim. A sign read Mary’s Café.

  “This is it.” She unlocked the door and pushed
it open.

  Stepping inside, he saw cream-colored walls, tables set with red-checked linens and an assortment of chairs that didn’t match but somehow went together. Every surface sparkled, even the floor. A man could relax in a place like this. Apparently so could a dog. Fancy Girl ambled to a corner near an unlit potbelly stove, circled three times and curled into a ball.

  J.T. took off his hat and hung it on a hook by the door. “You’ve got a nice place.”

  “Thank you.” She raised her chin. “I’ve worked hard to get it started.”

  In her eyes he saw the old Mary, the one who’d fight for what she wanted. He also saw bluish circles fanning down her cheeks. She was still beautiful, but he’d never seen her look so weary.

  How hard did she have to work? Did anyone help her with the cooking and the washing up? The woman he’d known in Kansas hadn’t been the least bit inclined to kitchen chores. Thanks to J.T.’s faro winnings, they’d ordered lavishly at the Abilene Hotel and he’d bought her pretty things for the fun of it. She’d grown up poor, and he’d liked surprising her. He wondered how she’d gotten the money to open a restaurant. Was she beholden to the bank? Or maybe she had a business partner, a man with money. The thought made him scowl.

  She’d clam up if he quizzed her, so he beat around the bush. “How’s business?”

  “Good.” She indicated a table by a wall decorated with paintings of mountains. “Have a seat. I need to light the stove.”

  Instead of sitting, he followed her into the kitchen. In the crowded space he saw two massive iron stoves, a row of high tables against the back wall, three baker’s racks full of pies and bread, and cooking utensils hanging from rods suspended from the ceiling. Basins were leaning against the back wall, clean and ready for the next load of dirty dishes.

  J.T. saw the pride Mary took in her business, but he also saw hours of drudgery. In Abilene she’d slept until noon, even later sometimes. Judging by the aroma, she’d baked the bread before church.