The Angel and the Outlaw

by Madeline Baker

  “Sorry,” he said, still grinning.

  “Are we really going to South Pass City?” She’d always had a fondness for the place, though she’d never been there. South Pass City had been the first town in the West where women could vote and hold political office. In 1869 William Bright, a representative in the Territorial Legislature, had introduced a woman suffrage bill. It had been passed and signed by the Governor. Two months later, Esther Morris had been appointed justice of the peace, becoming the nation’s first female judge. It was a place she’d always wanted to explore.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “You’re still determined to find the Sioux, aren’t you?”

  J.T. nodded. “And from what that badge toter said, we might not have to look too far. Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.”

  It was near dusk when they made camp. Brandy was sitting beside the fire, a cup of coffee warming her hands, when she heard J.T. swear under his breath. She was about to ask him what was wrong when he made a grab for his rifle.

  “Hold it right there!”

  The voice rang out across the stillness, followed by the unmistakable sound of several rifles being cocked.

  J.T. hesitated, his hand poised over his rifle.

  “I’d rather take you in alive,” the voice remarked calmly. “But I’ll haul you in over the back of a horse if you pick up that Winchester.”

  J.T. blew out the breath he’d been holding, straightened up, and backed away from the rifle.

  “Get down on your knees and put your hands behind your back.”

  J.T. clenched his jaw, then did as he was told.

  “Ma’am, if you’d be so good as to step over this way, I’d appreciate it.”

  Brandy recognized the voice as belonging to the deputy who had stopped them earlier in the day. She glanced at J.T.. His face was dark with suppressed fury.

  “Ma’am.”

  With a sigh of resignation, she walked toward the sound of the deputy’s voice.

  As soon as she was away from J.T., five lawmen materialized out of the darkness, their rifles at the ready. One handed his weapon to the man beside him, withdrew a set of handcuffs from his back pocket, and cuffed J.T.’s hands behind his back.

  “Are you all right, ma’am?” the deputy asked, holstering his revolver.

  Brandy nodded. “Yes, fine. Why shouldn’t I be?”

  “We know who he is. We also know he isn’t married. Are you his squaw?”

  “I most certainly am not!” Brandy replied indignantly. “My name is Brandy Talavera. I teach school over in Cedar Ridge.”

  “You’re a schoolmarm?” the deputy asked skeptically.

  “Now I’ve heard everything,” remarked one of the other lawmen.

  “It happens to be the truth,” Brandy said.

  “Never heard of no ’breeds teachin’ school.”

  “That’s enough, Lockwood.” The deputy she’d met earlier in the day removed his hat. “Martin Hawkins at your service, Miss Talavera.”

  “You’re crazy, Hawkins, treatin’ that squaw like she was a lady of quality.”

  “Watch your mouth, Lockwood.”

  “She ain’t nothing but a ’breed.”

  Brandy stared at Lockwood, mortified by the contempt in his eyes, in his voice.

  “Dammit, Lockwood, I said shut up!”

  Lockwood turned away, muttering under his breath.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Hawkins said. He glanced at Brandy, then fiddled with his hat. “Don’t take this the wrong way, miss, but if you ain’t Cutter’s squaw, why are you with him?”

  “I…I’m his prisoner. He kidnapped me from Cedar Ridge.”

  “Funny thing, we’d heard he’d already been hung. Guess he must have escaped before the sentence was carried out.”

  “Yes,” Brandy said, “he captured me and used me for a hostage. That’s how he got out of town.”

  “He’s a mean one,” Hawkins said. “I’m glad I recollected who he was before it was too late.”

  “Yes,” Brandy replied distractedly. She glanced at J.T. He was standing beside the fire, his hands cuffed behind his back, his expression blank. “What will happen now?”

  “We’ll spend the night here, then ride for our camp first thing in the morning.” Hawkins smiled, his expression one of satisfaction. “It wasn’t easy, catching up to you. We never would have made it if we hadn’t left the wagon behind.”

  Brandy stood beside Hawkins, watching as the other lawmen settled in for the night.

  “What will happen to Cutter?” Brandy asked, trying to keep her concern out of her voice. It would never do for Hawkins to suspect her true feelings for J.T..

  “He’ll be sent back to Cedar Ridge and they’ll carry out the sentence imposed on him.”

  “You mean they’ll hang him?”

  “That’s what generally happens to horse thieves,” Hawkins answered coldly.

  Brandy glanced at J.T. again, wondering if he’d heard the deputy’s reply. One look told her he’d heard every word. His face was pale; a muscle throbbed in his cheek. She thought of the nightmares that had plagued him. How much worse would they be now, when he knew he’d have to face the hangman again? She kept her expression carefully neutral as one of the lawmen shackled J.T.’s feet, then tossed a blanket at him.

  A short time later, the lawmen were bedded down for the night, all but Hawkins. After bidding Brandy a goodnight, he went to sit by the fire to take the first watch.

  They left early the following morning after a quick breakfast of bacon, beans, and coffee.

  “Our camp’s about half a day’s ride back,” Hawkins said as he helped Brandy mount her horse. “You let me know if you get tired, or need to stop for…” He cleared his throat. “If you need to stop.”

  “I will, thank you,” Brandy replied. She glanced over her shoulder as she clucked to the pinto. J.T. sat astride his horse, his expression implacable, as one of the lawmen took up the bay’s reins and fell in behind Hawkins.

  The lawmen rode warily, and Brandy remembered what Hawkins had said about seeing Indian sign. No doubt J.T. would welcome a Lakota war party about now, she thought. And though she’d hate for anything to happen to Hawkins and his men, she couldn’t help but think running into a few Indians might be the answer to their predicament.

  She glanced back at J.T. from time to time, but he refused to meet her gaze.

  They reached the lawman’s camp late that afternoon. Brandy took it all in at a glance. There were three prisoners, each one shackled to a wagon wheel.

  It took only a matter of minutes for the deputies to break camp. Brandy felt a twinge of guilt as she watched J.T. climb into the back of the wagon with the other prisoners. If she’d stayed with the Crow, this never would have happened.

  Lost in thought, she was hardly aware of the passing miles. They were going to send J.T. back to Cedar Ridge to hang. Again. Occasionally, she caught sight of J.T.’s face. His eyes were dark, unfathomable.

  It was near dark when the wagon came to a halt.

  “Miss Talavera?”

  Brandy stared down at Hawkins. He was standing beside her horse, his arms raised to assist her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured absently.

  Sitting on a rock, she watched the lawmen set up camp. Moments later, each prisoner was shackled to one of the wagon wheels.

  There was little conversation as the lawmen set up camp, laying a fire, spreading their bedrolls, preparing the evening meal. It was obvious they’d done it all before, many times. Brandy sat a little apart from the men, positioning herself where she could see J.T.. He sat with his back against the wheel, his right hand shackled behind him. She noticed that he ate very little. She listened to the men as they talked about outlaws they had captured, about their wives and children and plans for the future. Gradually, the fire burned down and the men sought their bedrolls.

  Hawkins spread her blankets beside the dwindling fire and bid her goodnight.

>   A short time later, everyone had settled down for the night save for the deputy who stood guard in the shadows.

  Brandy rolled over on her stomach and stared at J.T.. He was sitting with his back against the wheel, his legs drawn up, his free arm resting across his knees. In the dim light of the moon, she could see his face. It was hard and set, like something carved in stone.

  She watched him for a long time, hoping he would look at her, acknowledge her presence in some way, but he only stared into the darkness, his thoughts obviously far away.

  She didn’t remember falling asleep, but she came awake with a start, instantly recognizing the sound that had aroused her. J.T. was moaning softly. Sitting up, she saw that he was thrashing about in his blankets. She heard him mumble, “No, not again! Gideon! Gideon, where the hell are you?”

  Brandy glanced around. The prisoners and lawmen were all snoring softly; even the guard seemed to be asleep.

  A low agonized groan reached her ears, and her heart. Unable to watch J.T.’s torment a moment longer, she hurried to his side.

  “J.T.. J.T., wake up.” She shook his shoulder lightly. “J.T..”

  He came awake with a start, his dark eyes wild.

  “It’s all right,” Brandy murmured, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “It’s just a bad dream.”

  He covered her hand with his, as though to make sure she was real. “Dammit, Brandy, I can’t go through that again,” he murmured, his voice so filled with anguish it broke her heart. “I wish they’d just shoot me and be done with it.”

  “No!” she exclaimed softly. “Don’t even think such a thing.”

  “Why? You don’t need me. Seems you’ve made quite a conquest with Hawkins.”

  “Is that what’s bothering you, why you refused to look at me all day? Because you think I’ve been flirting with Hawkins?”

  “Haven’t you?”

  “Of course not! I just thought we’d have a better chance of getting away if he thought there was nothing between us.”

  J.T. snorted softly. “Barring a miracle, I don’t have a chance in hell of getting out of this with a whole skin.”

  “Then I’ll pray for a miracle.”

  Unable to help himself, J.T. brushed his knuckles over the curve of her cheek. He wasn’t going back to Cedar Ridge. Tomorrow or the next day, whenever the opportunity presented itself, he’d make a break for it. If he was lucky, they’d kill him. A bullet, at least, would be merciful.

  “J.T…” She shook her head, as if she knew what he was thinking.

  She was the most beautiful woman he had ever known. Like a rose washed in the rain and kissed by the sunlight, she smelled clean and fresh. Her eyes were damp with unshed tears. The sight made his heart ache. No one had ever cried for him. His gaze moved to her lips. Warm. Soft. Inviting. Surely even a man of his ilk deserved one last kiss.

  Leaning forward, he cupped her head with his free hand, then pressed his lips to hers. She moaned softly as her eyelids fluttered down, and then she was kissing him back, her lips parting in silent invitation, her hands curving over his shoulders.

  She was honey and fire and wishes that would never come true. His fingers threaded through her hair to lightly massage her nape. He felt her hands tighten on his shoulders, heard the soft sounds of pleasure that rose in her throat as she scooted closer to him. His tongue traced the outline of her mouth, slid along the damp satin of her lower lip. He wrapped his arm around her and drew her closer, his hand skimming her back, her shoulder, the curve of her breast. It was the sweetest torture he’d ever known. Time and place were forgotten as Brandy’s hands drifted down his arms, then slid under his shirt to explore his chest.

  “Brandy.”

  Her eyelids fluttered open and she gazed up at him. Her eyes were as gray as storm clouds, turbulent with desire. “Kiss me, J.T.,” she murmured breathlessly. “Kiss me again, and don’t ever stop.”

  He bent his head toward her, his only thought to do as she’d asked when he heard a muffled footstep. Mouthing a curse, he jerked his arm from around her waist.

  Brandy stared at him, confused by the sudden belligerent expression on his face, and then she heard it, too, footsteps approaching from the far side of the wagon.

  Quick as a wink, she ran for her bedroll and scooted under the covers.

  “What’s going on? I thought I heard a noise.”

  J.T. looked up at Deputy Hawkins. “I didn’t hear anything.”

  Hawkins glanced over at Brandy, his gaze lingering a little too long as far as J.T. was concerned. “Why’d you kidnap Miss Talavera?”

  “I don’t see as how that’s any of your business,” J.T. replied flatly.

  “Maybe, maybe not, but when we reach Rawlins, I intend to make her my business.”

  J.T. clenched his fists as he fought down the urge to tell Martin Hawkins to go to hell. It might not be wise to let any of the lawmen know just how deeply he cared for Brandy.

  It wasn’t something J.T. wanted to admit to himself, either.

  * * * * *

  Brandy rode alongside Deputy Hawkins, only half listening as he told her about the house he was planning to build in Rawlins.

  It was a wild, hard town now, he remarked, a jumping-off place for the stage coaches and wagon trains bound for the gold fields to the northwest. But it was home, and he felt the place was bound to settle down sooner or later.

  Brandy nodded, her attention focused on the wagon rumbling along ahead of them. Through the swirling dust, she could see J.T. sitting on the hard plank bench beside one of the other prisoners, his shackled hands dangling between his knees, his head bowed, his jaw roughened by the beginnings of a beard. He looked thoroughly discouraged, but who could blame him?

  He glanced up then, his gaze meeting hers, his eyes dark, empty of hope.

  Her lips formed his name, though she did not speak it aloud.

  Abruptly, she realized that Hawkins had said something and she had no idea what it was.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “what was that you said?”

  “I said I’d see about getting you some decent clothes when we get to Rawlins.”

  “Oh. Thank you.”

  “Is there any chance that you might stay a while?”

  “I don’t know,” Brandy replied. She glanced at J.T. again. “I’m anxious to get back home.”

  “Of course, but…” He smiled at her, a faint flush creeping into his cheeks. “I’d be obliged to have a chance to get to know you better, Miss Talavera.”

  Brandy dragged her gaze from J.T.’s face and stared at the lawman. He was a handsome young man, with light brown hair and dark blue eyes. There was a dimple in his left cheek that gave him an oddly boyish look when he smiled.

  “Deputy Hawkins, I don’t know what to say. Naturally, I’m flattered by your interest.”

  “I didn’t mean to presume…”

  “It’s all right, Deputy Hawkins.”

  “Please, call me Martin.”

  “And you must call me Brandy.”

  He smiled at her again. He smiled readily, openly, she thought, whereas J.T. rarely smiled. Ah, but when he did, it was like seeing the sun after a violent storm.

  Hawkins engaged Brandy in idle conversation throughout the day. The wagon made a lunch stop at noon, and then they were riding again. Brandy yearned for a chance to talk to J.T., but Hawkins was ever at her side, inquiring if she needed to rest, if she wanted a drink of water, when all she wanted was be alone with J.T., to assure him that, somehow, everything would be all right.

  Chapter Twelve

  They made camp at dusk. J.T. felt his whole body tense as one of the lawmen turned the key in the lock, opened the wagon door and ordered the prisoners out.

  He sat where he was told, let them shackle his right hand to the wagon wheel, ate the bacon and beans they served him. And every act of obedience fueled his anger even as he told himself it was necessary—necessary to be submissive, to let them think he was resigned to his fate.
/>   Later, the lawmen took the prisoners out into the dark one by one so they could relieve themselves, and then the prisoners were handcuffed to the wagon’s wheels for the night.

  They took J.T. last. He stared into the darkness, quietly cursing the shackles that rattled with his every move. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see the two guards standing a few yards away, their heads together as they shared a cigarette. The temptation to run was strong within him, but now wasn’t the time, he decided, not with two armed lawmen watching his every move, and four more standing near the fire. He wanted his freedom or a quick death. He didn’t want to be wounded. And he sure as hell wouldn’t get far on foot.

  J.T. swore under his breath when one of the deputies—Lockwood, he thought the man’s name was—ordered him back to camp. Moments later, his right wrist was shackled to one of the wagon wheels. A wave of humiliation washed over him when he saw Brandy watching him. He’d seen the compassion in her eyes earlier in the day, knew she was feeling sorry for him. He didn’t want her pity, didn’t want her to see him like this, chained up like a damn dog. Jaw rigid, he stared into the flames. But try as he might, he couldn’t ignore her presence across the way.

  He was equally aware of the fact that Deputy Martin Hawkins could hardly keep his eyes off her. The man hadn’t been more than an arm’s length away from Brandy all day. The knowledge that Hawkins could talk to her, touch her, ride at her side, gnawed at J.T.’s guts.

  He looked up just as Hawkins sat down beside Brandy and offered her a cup of coffee. He didn’t miss the easy smile that passed between them.

  He told himself he had no reason to be jealous. They had shared a few kisses, nothing more. The fact that she had tended his wounds and soothed him when the bad dreams came didn’t mean a thing. No doubt she would have done as much for any other man, especially if she believed that man to be her only way back to her own time. And yet he couldn’t ignore the fires of jealousy that raged in his heart every time she looked at Hawkins. Hands clenched into painful fists, he stared at her, hating her, wanting her. Needing her.

  Brandy drew her gaze from J.T. as Hawkins sat down beside her. Somehow, she had to find a way to help J.T. escape. At the moment, the only thing she could think of was to pretend she was glad she’d been rescued. As long as they thought she was happy to be out of J.T.’s clutches, they probably wouldn’t watch her too closely. With luck, she might be able to get hold of a gun. She didn’t let herself think beyond that, didn’t dwell on the violence that was likely to erupt once J.T. was armed. Brandy smiled at Hawkins as he handed her a plate of bacon and beans. Of all the lawmen, he treated her with the most respect. The other men looked at her with obvious disdain. They thought of her as nothing more than a squaw, good for one thing, and one thing only. The thought filled her with quiet fury even as she tried to tell herself it didn’t matter what they thought.