Once an Outlaw

by Jill Gregory

  “No, John,” Lissa said as Armstrong suddenly took a menacing step toward Emily. She too raised her voice to speak over the whistling. “I’m the one you’re mad at. I… I never should have run away.”

  “Damn right. I been through four states looking for you. Where’ve you been?” His eyes narrowed. “Someone in that saloon said you came to town with a man. You married to him?”

  “No, no. I’m not married to anyone—”

  “Who is he then, you little slut?” Armstrong stepped toward her. “I knew you’d cheat on me! You were always a sneaking little—”

  The whistling stopped abruptly and in its place came silence. An eerie, dead silence.

  “Something’s wrong,” Armstrong muttered abruptly. His eyes darted nervously between Emily and Lissa. Sweat dripped down his temples. “Where’d that kid go? We need to get out of here,” he muttered, advancing on Lissa. Suddenly he grabbed her arm, and she cried out in pain.

  Emily leapt forward. Desperately she drove the chopping knife into his arm with all the force she could muster.

  “Run, Lissa!” she cried.

  Armstrong screamed in agony as the knife pierced his flesh and blood spurted out. As Lissa twisted free, sobbing, and lurched toward the door, Emily yanked out the knife and shoved the man backward before he could recover from the shock of being stabbed. She darted toward the door, terror driving her as she stumbled out into bright sunshine, right on Lissa’s heels.

  She froze momentarily halfway across the porch, blinking at what she saw. Nick Barclay stood ten feet from the porch, his gun leveled at the cabin, or rather at the man who had just staggered out of the cabin door, his arm bloody, his face contorted with pain and fury. Beside Nick stood Uncle Jake, his feet planted apart, his eyes grim. Pete and Lester stood on the other side of Nick, brandishing their Colt .45s.

  They were spread out in a semicircle, surrounding the front of the cabin, and on the porch was Clint. He seized Emily and thrust her behind him, and she realized he had already done the same to a startled Lissa.

  “Hold it right there, Armstrong. Drop your gun!”

  Clint’s Colt was aimed directly at Armstrong’s chest. Behind him, Lissa and Emily clutched one another.

  “Get out of my way—Sheriff !” Armstrong gasped the last word contemptuously. “That’s my woman. This is between her and me. And that little dark-haired bitch stabbed me. You see this?” He pointed toward his blood-soaked arm. “She did that. You oughta arrest her.”

  “I said drop your gun.” Clint’s voice was pure ice. Emily had never heard him sound so cold. Her heart pounded with terror for him—he was standing directly between her and Lissa and Armstrong, facing the brunt of the man’s fury.

  If Armstrong decided to shoot, Clint was at close range, right in his path …

  “You’re surrounded,” Nick growled.

  “The only way you’ll get out alive,” Uncle Jake put in, “is if you drop your gun right now. Otherwise, we’ll mow you down.”

  Emily could smell Armstrong’s panic. He stared around the semicircle of men, then looked at the lawman confronting him, his gun drawn, aimed, steady. But even as Emily watched the man’s eyes, she saw the rage take over, rob him of all rational thought.

  “I’m taking you and those bitches to hell with me then,” he bellowed at Clint and jerked the rifle up. But even as he squeezed the trigger, Clint fired—and so did the four other men.

  Emily and Lissa screamed and held each other as bullet after bullet slammed into Armstrong’s body. His bloodcurdling scream penetrated to her very soul and then quickly cut off as he toppled backward, crashing down dead right in front of the cabin door.

  For a moment the world shook and spun. Emily didn’t know when she let go of Lissa, when she was suddenly gathered in Clint’s arms. All she knew was that he was holding her close, whispering her name over and over, and slowly steadily the sickening queasy feeling passed and the ground steadied beneath her feet.

  She opened her eyes and saw that Lissa was sitting on the ground beneath the tree, with Joey cradled in her lap and Nick bending over both of them. Uncle Jake and Pete and Lester were lifting Armstrong’s body from the porch.

  And Clint was gazing down at her, worry furrowing his brow.

  “It’s over, Emily. It’s all over. Are you all right?”

  “I was so scared.” She clung to him, holding on as if she would never let him go.

  “You had good reason.” His mouth tightened. “Good thing Joey remembered that whistle I taught him.”

  “A very good thing,” she murmured, resting her head against his chest. “Clint, I thought…”

  “I’d never have let him shoot you, sweetheart. No way.”

  “No, I thought he was going to shoot you,” she whispered.

  Clint stroked her back. His lips pressed a kiss to her forehead. This precious woman who felt so right in his arms, whose courage never failed to surprise him—she’d been frightened for him. Powerful emotions surged through him and he closed his eyes, thanking God she was safe, thanking God that she loved him.

  “No way in hell, Emily,” he told her hoarsely. “No way in hell I’d have let anything come between us. Sure as hell not a piece of scum like Armstrong.” His arms tightened as she shuddered. “Especially not the day before our wedding. I got a honeymoon to look forward to—or have you forgotten?”

  Oh, Lord. She had forgotten. She’d forgotten everything, her dinner preparations, the stage arriving with Clint’s family, even that tomorrow was her wedding day. But as it all came back with a rush, she held tight to this man who was always there when she needed him, this man who had claimed her heart despite every obstacle fate had put in their way.

  “A honeymoon,” she whispered. “How could I forget?” She gave a shaky laugh, then touched a hand to his face. “I can hardly wait.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  She laughed again then as the shock began to fade and relief inched in, relief and the dazed realization that all the danger was past—Lissa and Joey would be safe. Armstrong would never torment them again, they wouldn’t have to hide or live in fear. And now there was only the future—for her friend, and for herself and Clint—a bright, loving future, their new life together.

  “Hold me a little longer,” she whispered, and snuggled against him. “Please.”

  “My pleasure.” Clint pulled her close, so close she could feel the warmth and strength of his beating heart. So close that she tingled and love surged through her, banishing the fear and horror of what had happened on this porch, blotting out everything but this man and the way he made her feel.

  “I’ll hold you forever, Emily. If you’ll let me. Vows or no vows, honeymoon or no honeymoon, you’re mine. I’ll never let you go.”

  “That’s good,” she whispered, smiling up at him as the sun sailed into an orange-gold sky. “Because I’m right where I want to be. Now—and always.”

  Clint kissed her gently, not caring who was there, who saw, not caring that a man had died on this porch only a short time ago. Nothing could mar this place, this moment, this love he had for this woman. Nothing else mattered, except that they were together, that the future would belong to them both, side by side.

  “Always,” he whispered back. “I like the sound of that.”

  “So do I, Clint.” She smiled into his eyes and lifted up on tiptoe to kiss him again. Her heart was so full she thought she would burst. “So do I.”

  One Month Later

  HE HOT SUMMER SUN BLAZED overhead as Emily climbed up the hill to the pretty crest of land where her husband was trimming lumber for their new log house. The spot was only a quarter of a mile from the little cabin where her family still lived, and it was deep in the heart of the land that comprised the Teacup Ranch. The creek ran behind it, jumping with frogs, but Emily’s gaze was not fixed on the creek, or on the lovely sweep of meadow surrounding the new house, nor the graceful aspens that would stand like sentinels around the fine large house C
lint had planned. Her gaze was centered on the man who worked shirtless in the hot sun, the muscles of his chest and arms glistening with sweat, his dark hair tumbling over his brow.

  Her husband.

  As it always did when she saw him, her heart lifted with happiness. And as if sensing her presence, Clint paused in his work, turned his head in her direction, and a grin lit his face as she ran the rest of the way into his arms.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Mrs. Barclay,” he said after he’d taken the wicker basket from her and kissed her thoroughly.

  “So are you, Mr. Barclay.”

  They spread the blanket she’d brought on the grass near the pile of lumber that would soon be their new home, and Emily set out plates and sandwiches and sugar cookies and a jug of lemonade. After the meal they lay in each other’s arms, gazing at the jewel-blue sky and talking of the future they would have in the house Clint was building for them.

  Their wedding had gone off without a hitch—Emily had felt as if she were not even walking, but floating down the aisle in the gown of white satin trimmed in palest pink lace, and she’d scarcely remembered to murmur I do, so captivated was she at the stunned and love-struck expression on her groom’s handsome face.

  Uncle Jake had given her away—Pete and Lester had not frowned at Clint even once—and Wade Barclay and Caitlin, in addition to Nick, had welcomed her with genuine warmth into the Barclay family.

  The honeymoon had been even better, and by the time they returned from San Francisco and their visit to Cloud Ranch, Emily had discovered that she was even more in love with Clint than she’d been before. He’d immediately started work on their own separate house, and with Jake and the boys coming to help him whenever they could spare the time, he hoped it would be ready before winter set in.

  Emily was busy too—Lester and Carla had set a Thanksgiving wedding date and she was making Carla an elaborate ivory velvet gown that was to be studded with sequins and boasted a graceful satin train.

  It looked like Pete and Florry might be making an announcement soon too—but they weren’t the only other couple around whom Cupid seemed to hover. Uncle Jake had been spending a great deal of time at Nettie Phillips’s boardinghouse.

  At the rate I’m going, Emily thought as she lay dreaming in Clint’s arms beneath the shade of a tree, I’ll spend my whole career sewing nothing but wedding gowns for the women of Lonesome …

  “I have something for you.” Clint’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Matter of fact, I was going to give it to you tonight at supper… I sort of forgot about it for a while …”

  His voice trailed away and he looked a bit sheepish.

  Mystified, Emily sat up and watched as he went to his saddlebag and took out an envelope, then removed a document.

  He studied her face as she accepted the paper from him and scanned it.

  “But this … this can’t be!” she exclaimed in confusion.

  “It is. It’s the real deed to the Teacup Ranch—what used to be the Sutter place.”

  “But Uncle Jake has the deed—he showed it to you!”

  Clint shook his head. “Before old Henry Sutter gave up trying to make a go of the ranch and took off for Leadville to try his luck at finding a big silver strike, he needed money for supplies—and to keep him going until he made his fortune. So … he sold the place. To me.”

  Emily’s eyes widened. “To … you?”

  “Yep. I’d been thinking on and off for a while about getting myself a place that was my own, away from the jail. I was getting tired of living in those two little rooms over the office. Toyed with the idea of doing some ranching on the side, hiring on a deputy or two to keep an eye on things in town when I wasn’t there. So I bought the place, partly as a favor to Sutter, partly for myself. I figured I could always sell the land later if I decided to move on.” He smiled ruefully at her. “But once I bought it, I never did get around to doing anything with it. And then … you came along.”

  “But… I don’t understand, Clint. If Henry Sutter sold it to you, how did Uncle Jake get that deed?”

  “It was a forgery—a fake,” Clint said grimly. “I guess when that big silver strike never happened, and Sutter ran out of money, he got desperate. He needed a quick way to get cash—and he somehow found a way to make up some fake deeds to the land. Your uncle wasn’t the first to get taken in. A gambler named Ike Johnson showed up last year to survey ‘his ranch.’ Had a deed just like the one your uncle has. I set Johnson straight and he was mighty disgusted—said Sutter had put the deed up for collateral in a poker game and then lost it. Johnson thought he had a legitimate claim to the place.”

  “That’s what happened with Uncle Jake too!” Stunned, Emily sank down again upon the blanket. “He won it from Henry Sutter in a poker game after he was released from prison. He said it was fate, said Aunt Ida must’ve helped him win, so he could have a stake to a fresh start—for all of us.”

  “Maybe in a way she did,” Clint said quietly. Silence fell as Clint stuffed the deed back into the envelope and the wind ruffled the leaves on the aspens.

  “So … all this time … you’ve owned Teacup Ranch?” Dazed, she spoke half to herself. “You made Uncle Jake show you the deed, but you … you never told us … you could have thrown us off at any time.”

  Clint dropped down beside her on the blanket, then took Emily’s hand and tugged her up and across his chest, his other arm sliding around her waist. “Guess I wanted you to stick around.”

  “I can’t imagine why.” Lying atop him, gazing down at that hard, sensuous mouth, seeing the way he looked at her, as if looking deep inside her mind and soul, Emily felt a powerful rush of love and gratitude—for this man and for the path that had led them to each other.

  “Don’t tell Jake—or Pete or Lester, for that matter.” His hand smoothed back her wind-ruffled hair, then twined gently through the thick blue-black curls. “No reason they need to know. I’m giving you the deed, Emily, I want you to keep it—it’s a belated wedding present,” he said with his lightning grin.

  “But, Clint—”

  “There’s more than enough land here to share. And besides, we’re all family now.”

  Family. She liked the sound of that.

  “I guess we are,” Emily murmured. “More so than you know,” she added softly as Clint began to unbutton her white shirtwaist.

  “What does that mean, Mrs. Barclay?”

  A smile played around the corners of her mouth as she stroked her fingers across the crisp black hair of his chest, felt those sun-baked muscles clench and burn beneath her touch. She liked the feel of his hard body beneath her, the warmth of him, as they lay in the shade and the hot, peaceful afternoon lazed around them. “It means I have something to give you today too.”

  His eyes gleamed at her, making her pulse race. “I hope it’s what I think it is,” he chuckled. He had her blouse off before Emily even realized it, and then made her squeal as he rolled her over so that she lay beneath him. Grinning, he lost no time going to work at the fastenings of her skirt.

  “Actually—wait a minute, you brute—it’s here—in the pocket of my skirt—” Laughing, pushing his hands away, she managed to tug out what she sought from deep inside the pocket and held it up before his eyes.

  “What do you think?”

  Clint stared at the tiny yellow knit booties she dangled in her hand. Too stunned to speak, he dragged his gaze from the booties to the exquisite glowing face of the woman he loved.

  “I think … you’re trying … to tell me …” He broke off and swallowed hard, staring down at her. She was watching him, her beautiful silver eyes filled with hope—and with happiness—and with just a trace of uncertainty as she tried to read his expression.

  “Emily, are you … sure?”

  “Quite sure, my darling,” she whispered. “I saw Doc Calvin in town yesterday and—”

  Clint gave a whoop and then swooped down and kissed her, a long, deep, melting kiss that banished
all the uncertainty from her eyes, and from her heart.

  “Guess that means you’re happy about it,” she gasped when she could speak again.

  “Happy?” Clint’s grin told her all she needed to know. “Happy doesn’t begin to cover it.”

  “Well, then, maybe this will,” Emily murmured saucily, and with her eyes glowing into his, she pulled him down to her, down upon her. Their lips met, tasted, clung. As she kissed him long and lovingly and tightened her arms around his neck, she felt the familiar heat flare in her as their bodies pressed together. A heat hotter than the sun, fueled by passion, joy, and love.

  Love.

  Love for this man who had changed her life, won her heart, and joined his soul to hers. Love for the home they would have, the children they would nurture, the days and nights they would spend in each other’s arms.

  Together on the hill where their new home would stand, where their children would laugh and play, where they would build a future as golden as this day, Emily and Clint let the joy and the passion fill them as they celebrated the most precious gift of all—the gift of love.

  USA Today-bestseller Jill Gregory is the award-winning author of seventeen historical romances. Her novels have been translated and published in Japan, Russia, Norway, Taiwan, Sweden, and Italy. Jill grew up in Chicago and received her bachelor of arts degree in English from the University of Illinois. She has a college-age daughter and currently resides in Michigan with her husband.

  Jill invites her readers to visit her Web site at http://members.aol.com/jillygreg.

  Published by

  Dell Publishing

  a division of

  Random House, Inc.