Once an Outlaw

by Jill Gregory

  Emily handed over the box and spoke levelly “I won’t keep you, Mrs. Mangley. I know you and Carla leave for Denver tomorrow and you both must be very busy.”

  “Indeed we are.” The woman sniffed. “Kindly wait a moment and I’ll fetch your money.”

  Well, what did you expect—to be invited inside, asked to join the Mangleys in a cup of tea? Emily thought to herself as she waited on the large spacious porch for Agnes Mangley’s return.

  It had been four days since the box lunch social, and obviously Mrs. Mangley had not forgotten that Clint Barclay had bid on Emily Spoon’s box and her own Carla had been forced to dine with none other than Emily’s notorious cousin.

  She wasn’t taking it well at all, Emily reflected. If only the woman knew how much Emily wished she’d never met Clint Barclay, that he’d never bought her box lunch, never caught her outside in the moonlight the next night, never made wild sweet love to her in the hayloft.

  If only Rufus Doily had bought my box lunch instead, Emily reflected glumly.

  But it was too late now. She and Clint Barclay had made love to each other in the hayloft two nights ago—and she hadn’t heard a word from him since.

  Don’t think about it. Emily had been trying to push the memories of that night away ever since she’d returned to the cabin. But she couldn’t, because the memory of all that had happened between her and Clint was written upon her heart. Engraved upon her soul.

  And she wanted to see him—heaven help her, to kiss him, to touch him, to make love to him—all over again.

  But she wouldn’t see him. She wouldn’t set foot near that awful jail and his little cramped office that seemed too tiny for the towering lawman who worked there. If he wanted to see her, he would have to come to the ranch. She wasn’t about to go chasing after him like… like Carla Mangley and Berty Miller and the rest of the women he kept dodging like blazes.

  “Here. Thank you kindly and good day.”

  Agnes thrust the money at her and slammed the door before Emily could even reply.

  She turned away and walked up the tree-shaded path leading from the house, then started up the street toward the center of town, but she paused as someone called her name.

  “Miss Spoon! I mean … Emily! H-hello!”

  Carla Mangley jumped from the seat of a swing slung between two trees at the rear of her house and ran toward her. “H-how are you? You came to call? I didn’t know …”

  Emily stared at her. Carla Mangley had never made much of an effort to speak to her before—except to discuss what kind of trim or sleeves she wanted in her dress. Now the girl was staring at her as if she were her long-lost friend.

  “I delivered the dresses,” Emily explained, hoping she didn’t look as puzzled as she felt. “I know you and your mother wanted them for your trip to Denver. You’ll be pleased with them, I hope.”

  “Oh, yes. The dresses.” The girl nodded. “I forgot. It doesn’t matter, really,” she shrugged, “there won’t really be anyone at the Governor’s Dinner—anyone that matters,” she added, flushing. “Just my Uncle Frank and Mr. Sleech, his mine foreman, and some congressmen, and the governor.”

  “Do you mean it doesn’t matter because Clint Barclay won’t be there?” Emily asked directly, but to her surprise, Carla’s eyes widened and she shook her head, sending her blonde curls dancing.

  “Sheriff Barclay? Oh, no, that’s not what I meant at all. I was thinking of…”

  Her voice trailed off.

  Confused, Emily wasn’t sure what to say. She nearly tripped over a stone in the road when Carla said casually, “Did… did your cousin drive to town with you … by any chance?”

  “Lester?” Astonishment filled her. “Why … no, my brother Pete drove into town with me. Lester is working on our barn today.”

  “He is? How … how splendid of him,” the girl breathed.

  Splendid? Lester? Emily drew in a deep breath, more bewildered than ever.

  “You and … Lester … enjoyed the box lunch social last week?” she offered tentatively.

  Stealing a glance at Carla, she saw a deep orchid blush steal into the girl’s cheeks. “Yes. Yes, we did. I mean, I did. I hope Lester felt the same. Did he … mention anything to you about it?”

  “None of the men in my family has mentioned much of anything to me lately.” Emily spoke grimly. It was the truth.

  She’d questioned Uncle Jake about where he’d gone the night she’d seen him ride off and he’d refused to give her a satisfactory answer.

  “Took a ride, Emily girl. No law against it.” Those had been his exact words. And when Emily had demanded to know if he was going back to his old ways, he had looked her right in the eye. “I made you a promise on your Aunt Ida’s grave, girl. Did you forget that?”

  “No, but there are things I don’t understand… like the night of the storm, when you said you spent the night in a cave …”

  “You think too much, Emily. You’re fretting yourself to death over nothing.” There had been an unexpected harshness in his voice. “You just tend to your business and stay out of mine.”

  “But, Uncle Jake—”

  He’d stalked away from her without another word.

  Pete had been just as closemouthed about his apparent interest in Florry Brown. And when she’d tried to tell him her concerns about their uncle, he’d echoed Jake’s words.

  “You just mind your own business, Emily. Leave Uncle Jake be.”

  And Lester hadn’t discussed the box lunch social with her at all—he hadn’t even mentioned a word to her about Clint Barclay bidding on her box. So she had no idea if he’d enjoyed the time he’d spent with Carla. But obviously Carla had not disliked his company nearly as much as she—and her mother—had expected.

  “I’m glad you’re not upset that Sheriff Barclay missed out on bidding on your box,” she ventured, fascinated by the discussion as Carla fell into step with her as she headed back to town.

  “No, not at all. At first I was disappointed, because Mama so wants…” She stopped and took a deep breath. “To tell you the truth, Emily,” she said in a rush, “Sheriff Barclay terrifies me.”

  “Terrifies you? Why in the world should he terrify you?” Emily gaped at her.

  “He just does.” Carla turned to face her and lifted her hands helplessly. “He’s so … so imposing, I guess I’d have to say. I get all tongue-tied around him, and can’t think of a thing to say. I always feel that he thinks I’m stupid… and foolish.” Her voice quavered. “I’ve let Mama down something awful by not getting Sheriff Barclay to like me. To fall in love with me, really,” she finished miserably. “Mama just has her heart set on me marrying him, but I never wanted … that is …” She broke off.

  “Mama gets notions,” Carla said at last, sighing, as if that explained everything.

  Amazed, Emily could only gaze at her in wonder. “Do you mean … you really don’t want to marry Sheriff Barclay?”

  “I usually try to want what Mama wants,” the girl replied softly. “It’s easier that way. But… to tell you the truth, I want to marry a man who loves me, and I don’t think Clint Barclay ever would.”

  They reached the edge of town, and both women stepped up onto the boardwalk, out of the path of a wagon rumbling down the street.

  “I see,” Emily murmured, wondering frantically where all this was leading.

  And then she found out.

  “I thought I might run into Lester before leaving for Denver tomorrow … but I guess I won’t…” She bit her lip. “Would you … give him a message for me?”

  “Of course.” Emily murmured the words automatically, stunned as she noticed the shy blush staining Carla Mangley’s cheeks.

  “He … he asked me at the box lunch social when I might be returning from Denver. I wasn’t sure … but I do believe we’ll be taking the stage home next Tuesday. Perhaps …” She took another deep breath. “Perhaps he’d like to call sometime after that? I’d… I’d welcome a visit,” she fini
shed quickly, her eyes flashing defiantly. “And I don’t care what Mama says! You’ll tell him?”

  “Yes.” Emily felt dazed. “I’ll tell him.”

  Carla squeezed her hand, her eyes shining with gratitude. “Thank you. Oh, thank you. Good day, Emily.”

  In amazement, Emily watched her hurry off.

  The notion of Carla Mangley actually inviting Lester to come courting her filled her with such astonishment that Emily forgot about her own problems for the moment and even forgot where she was headed. Lost in thought, she bumped into Doc Calvin, murmured an apology, and continued walking, distracted, until she suddenly found herself directly in front of the last place she wanted to be.

  The jailhouse.

  The door was closed, the windows shuttered.

  There was no sign of Clint Barclay.

  She put a hand to the doorknob, then quickly dropped it as if it had burned her flesh. Walk away before he opens this door and finds you standing here like a pathetic fool, she ordered herself—and spun around so quickly toward Doily’s Mercantile that she collided with Nettie Phillips.

  “Goodness, dear, be careful!” the woman chided.

  “I’m so sorry,” Emily gasped.

  “Looking for Clint Barclay, are you?” Nettie grinned knowingly at her. “How very interesting. I don’t mean to be nosy, Emily, but frankly, everyone in town is talking.”

  “They are?” Emily’s heart sank.

  “Yes, indeedy. There was quite a stir when he bid on your box lunch. Some mighty pretty noses were out of joint—but as I told Margaret that very afternoon, may the best gal win.”

  “Nettie! I assure you, I’m not trying to win anything, least of all Clint Barclay—”

  “No?” Nettie peered at her even more intently. “Are you certain about that?”

  “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.” The words came out even more vehemently than Emily had intended. But they only caused Nettie to tilt her head to one side and smile.

  “Hmmm.”

  It was the shortest sentence she’d ever heard from Nettie Phillips. Suddenly Emily couldn’t bear Nettie’s piercing gaze one moment longer.

  “Excuse me, Nettie, I’m on my way to Doily’s Mercantile—”

  “He’s gone, in case you’re wondering,” Nettie called out as Emily began to hurry off.

  She swung back. “Rufus Doily is gone?”

  “No. Clint Barclay,” the woman replied, her grin widening. She jerked a thumb toward the jaihouse door. “Denver, I think. Been gone these past few days.”

  Emily struggled to hide her disappointment.

  “Don’t have any notion when he’ll be back, in case you’re wondering,” the woman added.

  “It’s no concern of mine, Nettie.” Emily spoke airily.

  “Course it isn’t,” the woman agreed, and then gave a cackle of laughter. “Come along, honey, I’m on my way to Doily’s as well. Thought I’d bake a rhubarb pie tonight—and I’m fresh out of rhubarb. Nothing quite so fine on a warm spring night as a rhubarb pie, that’s what my Lucas always used to say.”

  Emily was relieved when Nettie began going on about which of her various boarders fancied her cooking the most, and how Mr. Taylor had spilled gravy all over the dining room carpet and she’d been at her wit’s end to scour the stains out.

  Emily didn’t want to talk about Clint Barclay anymore—not with Carla Mangley, not with Nettie Phillips, not with anyone. She wanted to forget she’d ever met him. Unfortunately, her own mind kept whirling with thoughts of him. She was wondering why he’d gone to Denver, what he was doing there, and when he would be back.

  But even these thoughts were at last driven from her mind when Rufus Doily, after filling her order for dried apples, coffee, and beans, told her he had a letter for her.

  “From San Francisco, California,” he announced, and scurried down the counter to the neat piles of mail he’d sorted earlier that day.

  Emily’s spirits lifted when she saw the thin, graceful script on the envelope. The letter was from Lissa!

  She tore open the envelope and began to read, oblivious of Rufus Doily’s stare and Nettie Phillips’s keen gaze.

  Dearest Emily.

  I’ve arrived safely in San Francisco and have been staying in the home of my grandparents. They’ve been only too happy to set aside the feud that separated them from my father for so many years, and we are now a family again. They want me to come live with them here and to bring Joey. I’ll be coming for him the last week in June and can scarcely wait to see my darling little boy again. How can I ever thank you? Please keep him safe until I arrive, Emily. I know you will. My grandfather is sending an armed escort with me—a man he trusts. I finally do believe that all will be well.

  Thank you, my dearest, kindest friend. I will be with you soon.

  Your grateful friend, Lissa.

  “Good news, honey?” Nettie inquired.

  “Wonderful news.” Emily’s eyes shone. “My friend is well, and she’s coming for Joey. Oh, he’ll be so happy!” For the first time in days, Emily’s heart lifted. She couldn’t wait to get home and tell Joey that his mother would be with him soon.

  “You’ll miss the boy, I reckon,” Nettie commented.

  “Very much.” Emily nodded, a pang going through her. The cabin wouldn’t be the same without Joey. She’d miss his noisy card games with Uncle Jake, the way he called her Em-ly, his soft, fervent hugs when she tucked him in at night.

  “But it’s all for the best,” she told Nettie. “He’ll be with his mother, where he belongs.”

  “Could be you’ll have children of your own some day soon. Of course you’ll want a husband first,” the woman added with a grin.

  Emily’s throat tightened. More hints about Clint Barclay. Nettie had no idea how far off the mark she was. She had no idea that Uncle Jake might be breaking the law once more—and that Clint Barclay would enforce that law until his very last breath.

  Neither did she know how deeply averse Clint Barclay was to marriage. He didn’t want to marry her—he didn’t want to marry anyone. He’d had plenty of chances to make a declaration of love—he’d never once said the word, or even hinted at it.

  What he felt for her was lust, pure and simple. Yes, he’d been tender, he’d made her feel beautiful and desirable and as special as a rose in winter—but then he’d turned away from her, stayed away from her, and left town. Without a word.

  He would never be her husband. She would never awaken by his side in the mornings, be swept away by midnight kisses, or cradle his baby in her arms.

  A hollow ache more painful than anything she’d ever known began to throb deep inside her.

  Good Lord. She loved him. She loved Clint Barclay.

  Emily felt almost dizzy with shock at the supreme idiocy of her own foolish heart.

  Somehow she managed to speak calmly, bidding good day to Nettie and Rufus Doily, despite the wrenching sadness crashing through her.

  She found Pete lounging against the wagon, his hat pulled low over his eyes. Hearing her footsteps, he pushed back his hat, then his eyes narrowed as he saw her face.

  “What’s wrong, Em?” he demanded.

  “I just want… to leave this town. Please, let’s just go home.”

  “Okay, Sis. Calm down.” He set her parcels in the wagon, helped her onto the seat, then sprang up beside her.

  “You want to tell me what’s eating you?” he asked quietly, studying her with worried eyes.

  “I’m anxious to get started on supper. And … there’s a letter here—it’s from Lissa. I need to tell Joey about it.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.” If there were one thing in the world Emily knew she couldn’t explain to Pete, it was her feelings for Clint Barclay.

  She threw one last, fleeting look at the closed-up jail-house across the street from the hotel and wished she could as easily lock, shutter, and close her heart.

  MILY KNELT BESIDE THE TALL C
OTtonwood tree as the school bell rang and straightened the collar of Joey’s freshly washed plaid shirt. “Don’t forget that you’re going home with Bobby after school today to see his new kittens,” she reminded him as he started to pull away to join the other children streaming into the schoolhouse.

  “And Mrs. Smith asked if you wanted to stay to supper. Her husband offered to bring you back home afterward if you’d like.”

  Joey’s eyes sparkled. “Yes, please! I want to play with the kittens as long as I can. Bobby said that the littlest one has a stripe down its back!”

  “Remember to be gentle with them.” Emily gave the boy a hug. “And don’t forget to thank Mrs. Smith for supper.”

  “When I come home, you’ll help me get ready for the spelling bee, won’t you, Em-ly?”

  “You can be sure I will,” she assured him. “Go on with you now, you don’t want Miss Crayden to mark you tardy.”

  “I sure don’t!”

  He gave her one last squeeze and wheeled away, trotting for the schoolhouse door. But he stopped just as suddenly and spun around. “How many days till Mama comes?”

  “Nine more days, Joey.”

  He grinned so widely it appeared his small face would crack. “Whoopee! Bye, Em-ly!”

  She watched as he dashed inside just as Miss Crayden was about to close the door. Emily smiled after him before turning the wagon toward home, filled with gratitude at the way Joey had blossomed over the past weeks. He certainly loved Forlorn Valley—especially the Smith children, as well as his other friends at school, and the little cabin on Teacup Ranch. And ever since she’d shown him Lissa’s letter and explained that his mother was coming for him, the last sign of his former burdens had seemed to lift from his shoulders.

  All had been quiet this past week since she’d received Lissa’s letter. Uncle Jake and Lester had nearly finished the repairs to the barn and Pete had been out line riding every day. Margaret Smith had stopped by one afternoon with some muslin for a new Sunday dress, and she’d brought news from town.