Outlaw Moon

by Charlotte Hubbard

  His menacing mustache and shoulder-length hair appealed to her ... he was a joy to watch, performing with his dog, and he looked so much more natural in denim and chambray than in high collars with neckties. In Dodge, he’d been a clean-shaven young professional hungry for success, so obsessed with the law—so driven to seek justice and truth that his sole relief from this quest was the sublime, primal release he found only in her bed. He’d told her so again and again, in a voice that quaked with rapture as he spent himself inside her.

  Ah yes, Rafferty was a lover like no other. And although she looked forward to discovering Booth Watson’s many manly attributes between here and the Canadian border, he wouldn’t have that intriguing, initialed heart tattooed on his left . . . cheek. Laughing again, Felicity stroked a similar insignia between her breasts, the mark that made her and Jack a matched pair and branded them as mates for all time.

  No, Watson wouldn’t sport such an alluring decoration on his derrière. But as she mentally undressed the detective, she looked into eyes as hazy-blue as the Colorado mountains, and splayed her fingers over a solid chest that rustled with enticing male curls, which trailed all the way down to ... well, if his other bodily proportions were any indication, Booth Watson was hung like a prize bull.

  Felicity squirmed beneath the water and was reaching down to scratch that incessant itch she got whenever she thought of him, when the latch of her door clicked.

  She sucked in her breath and froze, her heart pounding. The western lawman of her wildest dreams was here at last.

  Watson chuckled as Gideon Minnit scurried down the aisle. “Give the Countess my regards—and enjoy your dinner,” he teased over his shoulder. Felicity had made a point of inviting him to her private car with Minnit present, and ever since he confided to the showman that he didn’t intend to accept her offer, Gideon was like a man with mosquitoes in his Levi’s. He knew exactly what Mrs. Nunn wanted—and so did Minnit—and Booth was glad to get rid of both of them for a while. A man couldn’t think straight with that willowy woman making eyes at him, or with her newfound star’s constant yammering. And he had a lot of thinking to do.

  It hadn’t taken long to pick up Rafferty’s trail. As luck would have it, they arrived at the Omaha depot in time for the next train going in his direction, but that was no guarantee they’d catch him. Jack would probably remain aboard Union Pacific until he hit the Great Northern route ...yet with all the feeder lines crisscrossing Minnesota like crowsfeet on a crone’s face, the wiley outlaw could evade them forever by switching his Pullman to several shorter hauls instead of following the most direct line north. The ticket salesman recalled a mustached man in an expensive pinstriped suit—but no black and white collie or gray gelding—so Jack was adept at covering enough tracks to escape detection. He had, after all, been in hiding for more than a year.

  And then there was Amber LaBelle, who hadn’t bought a ticket and had gotten past the railyard crewmen unseen with that striking white horse. Booth gazed out the window at the passing prairie, pondering the olive-skinned fortuneteller with an admiring chuckle. She certainly took Minnit for all he was worth! And she, too, would’ve escaped notice if Miss Blanche hadn’t left a distinctive track—one front shoe had a crack in it, Gideon confirmed—and if Felicity hadn’t found the flamboyant blue outfit Amber discarded in the depot’s washroom. At the sight of his flashy clothing, Minnit’s outburst in the crowded station was another reason Watson preferred not to be seen with the effeminate little pest.

  And Booth wondered how he was faring in Felicity’s private car by now. Dammit, the woman had a way about her, even though he saw through her jaded manipulations. Such expressive green eyes . . . they tugged at him when she spoke of her past with Rafferty, and her intense desire to win him back. Watson knew there was more to this manhunt than Mrs. Nunn was telling him, but her story was all he had to go on until other information came over the wires from his partner, Scott McConnell.

  Booth removed the telegram from his shirt pocket, now that neither of his clients was nearby. Like Scott, the words were concise and cryptic, as though the young man feared the telegraphers between Dodge City and Omaha would foil the case if they knew too much.

  DON’T LEAVE TOWN—STOP—NUNN’S BACKGROUND

  CONTRADICTS HER STORY—STOP-WAIT FOR FURTHER DETAILS CONCERNING FUNERAL—STOP.

  Whose funeral? Douglas Nunn’s or Bitsy’s? Booth shook his head, wishing he knew more. Since Rafferty’s train had departed only two hours before this one, he’d followed his gut instead of Scott’s instructions—had wired his partner to send more complete information in care of the main stations along Minnesota’s western border. Locating witnesses, lawmen, and pertinent facts from a murder case more than a year old could take days, and by then Jack Rafferty would be in Canada, beyond his legal reach.

  So Booth had hurried his two clients aboard just as the train was departing, and he now had a chance to sleep somewhere besides the ground while he let the facts about this case clarify themselves in his mind.

  He knew that Rafferty would be a hard man to catch, just as he realized his two clients would slow him down more than Amber would detain Jack.

  He knew Felicity Nunn’s story had some gaps, and that he’d never have her full cooperation until he allowed himself to be alone with her.

  Booth also knew that no matter how hard he concentrated on this case, his thoughts would keep fluttering to his comely client like butterflies to a colorful flower. Bodily, he was in this second-class seat, but inside his head he’d accepted Mrs. Nunn’s invitation . . . was relaxing in her luxurious private Pullman . . . neither of them was wearing anything, and food was the furthest thing from his mind as he spread her lovingly across the table to partake of—

  Damn that Gideon! he thought as he shook the arousing illusion from his mind. Not only was Minnit too silly to satisfy a beauty like Felicity, he was too damn small. Everywhere it counted.

  Booth shifted in his seat, disgusted with the way this case was going.

  Gideon leaned back against the door of the luxuriously-furnished private car and struggled for control. The draperies and chairs, and the comforter folded down over the foot of the bed, were of velvet—mauves and purples—and the paneled walls glimmered with brass finishings and inlays of burled walnut. He’d never entered a house this elegant, much less a railroad car, and when the seductive sound of splashing bathwater came from behind the Japanese screen to his right, Minnit nearly passed out with excitement.

  “Booth, honey,” Felicity purred at him, “I’m nearly finished. You can either wait there or ... you can join me. A cozy soak would loosen you up. After sleeping on the ground for so long, you know.”

  Sweat popped out on his forehead. Gideon knew he’d have to answer her, just as he knew his voice would crack like an adolescent’s no matter what witty remark he came out with. After his thoughts danced around each other for a moment, he began undressing. He wasn’t the guest Mrs. Nunn was expecting, but how could she turn him away? If she was brazen enough to leave a note on her door that said “knock, then enter,” why, any porter or conductor that happened along could be taking advantage of such an opportunity right now!

  Stepping from his puddle of clothes, he felt strong, masculine urges surging through him and was pleased to see that Hercules had risen proudly to the occasion. Felicity Nunn was about to thank God she’d been born a woman! Gideon paused by the edge of the folding screen, gazing ravenously at her disheveled hair and delicate shoulders that were pink from her steaming bath. And when she saw him, her face did indeed register the appropriate awe and amazement.

  “I—Gideon!” she squeaked.

  She’d learned to mask any ridicule or revulsion when a man bared himself, so Felicity fastened her eyes on his face while gathering her thoughts. Maybe Booth was testing her. Perhaps the burly detective was listening for her reaction on the other side of the screen, and this was only a joke to—

  “I’m here for you, darlin’,” the
willowy blond chirped. “Watson wasn’t up to coming. For a smart man, he can sure be a dummy.”

  Gideon Minnit’s ego was the only full-sized thing about him, and even as she felt her desire ebbing, Felicity realized she’d have to humor him—after a fashion, anyway—or this pesky half-pint would pout and wheedle her for the rest of the trip. Better to send Minnit away satisfied . . . he’d undoubtedly brag about his conquest, thereby showing Watson what he’d missed ... so Booth would be hungrier for her next time.

  “Gideon, you’re such an animal,” she rasped. “Let me at you. Let me gnaw that bone ’til you howl like a coyote.”

  Once again Minnit felt lightheaded, but he quickly approached the bathtub. Before he could say “take me” she was grasping his hips, pulling him toward her rosebud mouth to make good on her command.

  It took even less time and effort than she thought it would. Felicity laughed low in her throat when he stumbled backwards out of her grasp, his whimpers more like a kitten’s than a tomcat’s. “Go eat your dinner while it’s still warm,” she ordered. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Minnit was too stunned to protest. He hadn’t had the chance to touch anything other than a few wisps of straw-blond hair that curled damply about her face—hadn’t seen anything below her bubble-covered chest: But the finality in her voice warned him not to press his luck if he wanted to take further liberties later. Damn, she was fast! And he’d be silly to argue away a free meal.

  When she heard the rustling of his clothes, Felicity allowed herself to shudder. The water had grown cold and her skin was getting wrinkly; she would probably regret not sending him away with his little tail between his legs. But if her small, hurried favor would make him brag to Booth, it was worth the few distasteful moments it cost to sap Minnit of rational thought.

  Felicity stood slowly and dried herself. From the other side of the screen she heard a dome clattering onto the table top, and then the scraping of tines on china. No doubt he would’ve devoured her as quickly as he was forking down the partridge and baby potatoes she’d ordered to impress Booth . . . Gideon was a greedy little goat, and he’d behave the same way in bed. Not like Jack, who’d lavished compliments and affection upon her. Not like Booth . . . surely he was as wonderful between the sheets, naked, as he was in her wild, wanton mind!

  Wrapping herself in her red satin dressing gown, she stepped out into the main room just as her uninvited guest pulled a partridge bone from between his teeth with a contented sigh. Felicity donned a demure smile and sidled up beside him.

  “This should remain our little secret, you know,” she cooed. “If Watson suspects anything, he might become jealous, or distracted, and then—”

  “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, sugar lips,” Gideon replied with a flutelike chuckle. “His loss, honey. But you and I, we know how to play this game. Ole Booth won’t even get a chance to score any points.”

  Satisfied that Minnit’s conceit would serve her well, Felicity walked toward the large bay window set off by a pair of overstuffed chairs. The sky had clouded over, and the dismal autumn day matched her mood perfectly. Rain began to splat against the glass, and she wished Gideon Minnit would leave so she could pour herself a drink without having to offer him one.

  “Better eat, darlin’. Don’t want you to be weak-kneed for any reason but me, when you’ve ordered us such a fine meal.”

  She closed her eyes against a retort and then turned to face him. Gideon was smoothing his goatee, terribly proud and self-satisfied. The little braggart was obviously expecting these favors for the rest of the trip!

  “I’ll eat later.”

  Minnit grinned. “Yeah, we mortals can only enjoy our pleasures one at a time, can’t we? You’re a fine woman, Felicity. A real sport.”

  She winced at his word choice and turned back to the window. Perhaps if she ignored him for a few more moments, he’d take the hint and—

  “Why, Gideon, I believe that’s your white horse out there! And surely the woman riding it is—”

  He was beside her before she finished her sentence. Because the train was highballing along the track, he only caught a glimpse of a slumped figure beneath a rain-soaked cloak, but her angel-white mount had to be his!

  “Miss Blanche!” he cried, pressing his face desperately to the splotched window. “Miss Blanche, I—we have to stop this train! I can’t wait until the next station, or I’ll never—”

  The door slammed behind the frantic little man and Felicity smiled. No telling where Rafferty was, or why Amber LaBelle was slogging along in the rain alone, but what a perfect sense of timing that fortuneteller had!

  Pouring some brandy from a decanter, she visualized Watson’s reaction to the babbling idiot who’d be halfway to the locomotive by now. Her detective would be taking charge of the situation in his quietly powerful way, his mouth pressed into a line beneath his lush mustache. His dusky blue eyes would miss nothing—which meant she should be ready to ride the moment the train squealed to a stop. He’d see her in a more competent, credible light that way.

  It took a lot of work, anticipating her hero’s moves and moods, but Felicity knew in her heart that Booth Watson would be worth it.

  Chapter 13

  Amber shivered as much from dread as from the heavy, sodden chill of the cloak that was clinging to her. Was that really Gideon Minnit’s shocked face pressed to the window of the passing train, or had she been hallucinating? Either way, she had to shake off the numbness this downpour had brought on. She had no food, she had no idea where she was, and if she didn’t find shelter soon, she’d catch pneumonia just like Mama had—

  Enough of this! You’re not going to die out here, unless you let this weak-kneed way of thinking pull you under!

  Clucking to Miss Blanche, Amber scanned her bleak surroundings from beneath her drooping, dripping hood. She was intensely aware that on these plains, which were dotted with occasional groves of trees and nothing else, she was easy prey for anything—or anyone—that came along. Born and raised in New Orleans, she could deal with irate landlords and surly shopkeepers, could negotiate rat-infested alleyways where cutthroats lurked in the shadows, without a qualm. But out here, with only the patter of the rain and Blanche’s halting footfalls to break the unrelenting silence, she felt hopelessly alone. Terrified.

  Her lifeline back to civilization was the set of parallel iron lines she’d been following since the conductors ushered her off the train, and now she doubted the wisdom of continuing alongside it. The tracks led to a station, of course—and Gideon would be waiting for her there, to reclaim his horse and his diamonds and whatever else he felt like taking as penance for her escape. Amber envisioned his rage as he greeted her, recalled the way he quivered like a frustrated French poodle until his anger spewed out in that high-pitched whine she’d come to hate. She’d once seen him take after a hung-over roustabout with a bullwhip, for some petty oversight as the tents were being loaded onto his show train, so how could the coming confrontation hold any less fury for her? By the time he disembarked at the next station, he’d have conjured up plenty of suitable punishments!

  Yet, as fierce as Gideon Minnit’s wrath could be, Amber thought it might provide a welcome relief from wandering cold and hungry and alone in the Minnesota wilderness as darkness was falling with the rain.

  And if you believe THAT, then believe Jack Rqfferty will come galloping over the horizon to save you!

  Amber winced. Rafferty, too, had reason to resent her, and during these past hours of plodding along she’d realized how her brazen behavior would’ve led any man to believe she was a loose woman. Mama had taught her that her feminine attributes might someday mean the difference between starvation and survival, might raise her from the dregs of society to a life of acceptability—wealth and prominence, even—if she caught the right man’s eye ... a talent Mama had capitalized on, until her benefactor died in an extremely compromising position.

  So now the winks and smiles and throaty
little jokes that came so naturally, and had earned her a palm reader’s tent with Gideon Midnight’s Authentic Wild West Extravaganza, seemed like the means to an end she hadn’t wanted at all. She liked Jack—if that was the emotion defined by an incessant, fever-pitch thrumming of her senses when he was near her—and she’d never dreamed that playing out her natural desire for him would lead to such a disastrous encounter in his bed. But she understood his disappointment . . . even if she felt like he’d hacked her to pieces with a dull knife when he laughed at her naiveté.

  But that won’t happen again, will it? her conscience challenged. Now that you know why men chase after women—and how women are reduced to fools because of it—you won’t fall victim to Rafferty or Gideon or any other man ever again.

  Such a wise, sophisticated outlook seemed easy to maintain out here where Miss Blanche was her only company. Yet it sounded like such a lonely . . . empty fate for a young woman who’d spent her life making men smile, with Mama’s blessing.

  Forget Mama! Her tactics mean nothing now that you’re running away from—

  How can you deny the very woman who gave you life? The one who sacrificed herself so you’d have food and a home and—

  Amber shook her warring thoughts from her head and urged Blanche into a faster trot. Alone for only a few hours, and already she was going crazy! Desperation would drive her straight into Gideon’s skinny arms if she didn’t force herself to think coherently. It was almost dark and she needed food and shelter. The closest hope for those necessities was the nearest railroad station—which might still be miles away—and she knew damn well Minnit would be waiting for her there, warm and dry, grinning victoriously.

  Almost unconsciously she reined her horse away from the tracks, toward the horizon lined with the gray shapes of fir trees. It was probably suicide, going into those woods unarmed and unschooled in the ways of nature, but when she considered her alternatives with Gideon, it seemed the only rational path. Surely she’d run across a cabin or a—