Outlaw Moon

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Two gunshots fired in rapid succession sent her into a frenzy. She whimpered an encouragement to Blanche, and then saw the figure in the distance: a rider whose horse and slicker blended so perfectly with the murky dusk he could’ve been a phantom. Gideon had gotten ahold of another horse and was coming after her, shooting at her!

  “Faster, Blanche!” she urged as she hunkered down over the horse’s neck. But her mount was as cold and tired as she, and the progress they made toward the distant trees reminded her of nightmares where her pursuer drew closer and closer while she seemed to flounder in the same spot.

  Amber could see the oncoming rider more clearly now. His black slicker and low-slung hat covered a body far too powerful to be Gideon’s, yet he still looked like a vision from hell come to capture her. Perhaps it was that detective Rafferty had mentioned—perhaps Minnit had indeed hired him, and he was splashing along this muddy trail to apprehend her because Gideon didn’t want to get himself dirty. The thought made her laugh, a desperate, choking sound— until a third shot whined over her head.

  “Please! Please don’t hurt me!” she heard herself shriek, and then she felt Blanche stumble. The man was now so close that his mount’s footfalls beat a staccato tattoo that raced with her own pulse.

  It was over. She hadn’t been on her own for half a day and she’d gotten caught.

  Amber sat shivering on the mare, clutching the wet leather reins between fingers that were numb with cold. She prayed that this fresh horror would soon pass, and that her captor would show some mercy when he saw how frightened she was and that—and that—

  Rafferty’s heart shriveled when he reined Smoke to a halt and saw the way Amber quaked beneath her rain-drenched cloak. Was this the same brazen lady who’d drawn a gun on him, and later dodged the innuendo of twenty randy salesmen single-handedly?

  “Honey, I admit I’ve behaved like a monster,” he said with a sorrowful sigh, “but I’d honest to God never hurt you on purpose.”

  No response, except the chattering of her teeth and a glimpse of eyes clenched shut beneath her hood.

  “Amber, sweetheart, look at me,” he urged as he guided Smoke closer to the white mare. “It’s me, Jack. When I thought about you out here all alone, I made them stop the train—crazy, wild-eyed maniac that I am—so I could come after you. We’d better find some shelter before you catch your death. Or am I too late?”

  She couldn’t stop shaking, but deep inside her a flicker of hope leapt to life with his devilish drawl. Rafferty had rescued her after all. She wasn’t going to leap into his arms, but she’d be a fool—a very sick one—if she didn’t acknowledge the huge favor he’d done her.

  A sigh escaped her when she caught sight of his wicked mustache. Despite the cold, pouring rain that ran in rivulets down his black slicker, he was smiling at her, his eyes beseeching her for a forgiveness he couldn’t yet ask for aloud. “It’s you,” she breathed.

  “You were expecting someone else? Well if that’s the case, I’ll—”

  “Wait! Don’t leave me!”

  Amber nudged Miss Blanche alongside Rafferty’s mount, but the mare balked and only limped a few steps. “Damn! She’s gone lame, and now—”

  “Now you’ll ride with me, young lady,” came Jack’s reply as he circled around to rejoin her. “Shed that wet cloak and slip underneath my slicker—”

  “But I—”

  “No arguments now, or I’ll yank that wet wool off you myself!”

  Rafferty was reaching toward her cloak as though he intended to make good on his threat, so Amber thought better of quibbling with him. No sooner had she raised the wet, heavy side of the cloak over her head than he was saying, “Sorry, Maudie, ride’s over for you, girl,” and wrapping a solid arm around her waist to pull her onto his lap.

  The warmth beneath his slicker enveloped her immediately. She smelled the damp muskiness of wet gear and Jack’s dog, mixed with Rafferty’s own masculine scent, and she found herself snuggling against his lean, muscled body despite her determination never to fall for a man’s allure again. A chuckle rumbled in his chest, and then fresher air fell upon her face as he unfastened the top of the waterproof garment so she could breathe more easily.

  “Glad to see me, eh?”

  Amber shut her eyes, realizing that all the moisture on her face wasn’t rain. “You might say that.”

  “I might say a lot of things, but they’ll keep until we find a dry spot to camp.”

  He tied Blanche’s reins through a ring on his saddle, and then clucked to Smoke. Miss Blanche limped sullenly behind them and Maudie stayed at enough of a distance not to get splattered by mud, casting him disparaging glances. It might be a long, slow ride before they found shelter, but at least the woman that mattered most was safe and dry now, snuggling against him beneath the roomy slicker. One satisfied female out of three was all he could hope for on a day like this.

  Rafferty found his arm resting protectively around the curled-up figure on his lap. Remorse had been replaced by intense relief: he’d reveled at the pitiful sight Amber made at that isolated station as the train pulled away—for about ten seconds. Since then, he’d envisioned her as she wandered lost across the grassland, perhaps falling prey to timber wolves or other terrors, and only now did his heart ease back into its natural, relaxed rhythm.

  She’s got a hold on you, his thoughts warned. You’re a fool to let her slow you down this way.

  It’s only for a while, came the equally-determined reply. Only until I get her to a town where she can settle in. Then I’m hellbent-for-leather bound for Canada.

  Sure, sure. It’s only a matter of time until that detective—

  “Rafferty?” Amber’s plaintive voice came from the opening of his slicker.

  “Yeah? What is it?”

  She sighed as though something was disturbing her, and he could still feel her trembling against him. “Gideon was on that last train that went by. I—I could swear it was his face in the window, staring out at Miss Blanche and me.”

  Jack scowled, silently cursing the rain. “You’re sure?”

  “Pretty much. I ... I’m sorry I’ve brought all this trouble on you.”

  “No more than I’ve brought on myself,” he replied in the kindest voice he could find, but inwardly he was saying, Shit! That means he saw me out here, too. And if he hired that investigator, it’ll take no time at all to follow our tracks, straight to wherever—

  “Rafferty?”

  “Now what?”

  Hearing the edge in his voice, Amber thought better of expressing her gratitude again. He had come after her, but that didn’t mean he’d done it for any noble, humanitarian purpose.

  Still, as she rested against his solid warmth, lulled by the slow, steady rhythm of Smoke’s gait, she felt obliged to say something nice. “You . . . you may look like a half-drowned black rat—and I can’t say your pillow talk in the Pullman was any too inspiring, either—but . . . but you’re a damn fine man anyway, Jack. And I’m glad you’re my friend.”

  Was that a lump forming in his throat? Rafferty dismissed the notion, and then shuddered with unexpected desire when Amber’s lips found that sensitive spot above his collar. One real compliment out of three felt pretty damn good, all of a sudden. Mighty fine for an otherwise dismal day like this one.

  The sight of a ramshackle shed concealed in a grove of tamaracks made Rafferty feel like it was Christmas and his birthday all rolled into one. Never mind that one end of the building was so dilapidated he could ride Smoke inside it. There was room for Miss Blanche under the creaking roof, too, and from what he could see, the rest of the shanty was relatively dry. Maudie passed her approval by trotting in ahead of him and then shaking vigorously, sending water flying in all directions.

  “Wake up, honey. We’re here.”

  Amber stirred against him. “Huh?”

  “I said we found us a fine hotel for the night. You need to climb down out of my lap so I can direct all these porters to carry our
trunks and hatboxes to our suite.”

  She wrinkled her nose at a mustiness that smelled more like a stable than a ... of course. He was teasing her awake. As Amber came around, she recalled that they were out in the middle of a nowhere named Minnesota, getting soaked by the rain. And somewhere out there Gideon Minnit was making plans to find them.

  When Rafferty unfastened his slicker to let her down, she shivered and glanced about in the dimness. “Good thing you insist on the finest accommodations, sir,” she mumbled. “Why, for a moment there I thought we were sharing a shed with the horses and Maude. Silly me.”

  “Yeah,” he chuckled, “silly you.” He kept his hands on her shoulders to guide her down to the ground, grateful that her sense of humor was still intact. If he hadn’t shot his mouth off, they’d be snuggled beneath the down comforter in that Pullman palace on wheels, and none of these past grueling hours would’ve happened.

  Amber’s loud sneeze needled his conscience further. “Let’s see what’s around for firewood,” he said as he dismounted. “Better get you warmed up and fed while you’re still speaking to me. Then we’ll check Blanche’s foot and catch some shut-eye.”

  She nodded, but then turned in the darkness beside him. “I—I don’t have any food to contribute to—”

  “Good thing your buddy Thomas thought of that,” Rafferty teased, patting his saddlebags. “Dig the matches and our rations out of here while I check this establishment over. I wouldn’t be too surprised if a few other varmints are sharing our room.”

  It felt so good to be out of the rain, with dinner a distinct possibility, that Amber didn’t care what was living here as long as it didn’t eat much . . . or bite. She groped through Rafferty’s crammed saddlebags, listening to his cautious footsteps, shivering beneath the thin blouse and skirt she’d worn to distract Becker from his poker game—was that only hours ago? What a mistake she’d made, taunting him. And look where it got her!

  But Jack was here, and they were safe, and the misery she’d endured was fitting punishment for her recklessness. Now it was time to win her way back into her rescuer’s good graces before he got any ideas about leaving her again . . . Mama’s old “keep them happy” ploy, but in desperate times it had its merits.

  “Thanks,” Rafferty said when she handed him the tin of matches. “Looks like we’re not the first to use this place for a hideout. I’m guessing it was a stable or a machine shed, and the previous campers tore down the stall dividers to use for fuel. Left us a few pans and a bigger coffeepot, too.”

  There was a pffffft, and the light from his match lit the stack of half-burned timbers, straw, and other debris Jack had gathered into a pile on the dirt floor. The flames leaped nimbly from a clump of dry tinder to the larger pieces of wood, and soon the blaze was putting out some welcome heat.

  “Well, this is cozy!” Amber said cheerfully. She stretched her arms toward the fire and stood as close to it as her skirt would allow.

  “This is luck,” her companion countered, “because the last tenant was kind enough to smother his fire before all the wood was burned—and because he chose a spot where the smoke’ll rise through the cracks in the roof. Otherwise we’d be using each other for heat right now.”

  Rafferty saw her stiffen and regretted his tone immediately. Miss LaBelle was obviously unfamiliar with the techniques necessary for living off the land, but that was no reason to lecture her—and this certainly wasn’t the way he’d hoped to bring up the subject of their intimate encounter on the train.

  “Honey, I didn’t mean to—I carry on sometimes,” he muttered, looking into the fire to avoid her stricken eyes. “You must think I’m the lowest sort of snake, assuming you were . . . that kind of woman. I’m sorry I treated you so badly. I swear, my mouth must not be connected to my brain some days.”

  Amber swallowed hard. Her companion’s jaw was knotted with the effort it took to apologize, yet his low, hesitant drawl told her he meant every word he’d said. She’d met few men decent enough to take the blame for anything, so Rafferty’s entreaty sounded all the sweeter to her.

  She sat down near the crackling fire and began to unwrap the packets of food. “Any man would’ve mistaken me for a whore, Jack, just as naturally as I acted like one. I did it to get by, but I knew it was only a matter of time before it backfired on me. Thank God you were my first, instead of Gideon.”

  His glance darted to her in surprise: not every young lady would admit such a thing, after being so callously laughed at her first time. “It was Minnit making all the noise about what you did in your caboose on Saturday nights, wasn’t it?” he said in a pensive tone. “Letting on like you were his woman . . . should’ve known that was all rooster talk. Is that why you took out for Omaha Saturday night?”

  “Could you stay, knowing how he’d strut and brag to his men that we were to be married?”

  “Smartest move you could’ve made,” he agreed.

  “It was my only move, Jack. And I don’t feel one bit bad about keeping these rings, either,” she added defiantly. Then she gaped at the paper packets she’d unwrapped. “What’s in here? Roasted chicken, and dinner rolls, and little cakes—”

  “Thomas took a shine to you during your short stay. Flat-out refused to bring any more meals to my car, until I told him I was coming after you.”

  Rafferty bit into a chicken leg, his enthusiasm returning now that there was a truce between them. He let Amber eat for a few minutes, noting how the fire brought out the mahogany highlights in her wavy hair as it dried. Her damp blouse clung to her breasts, which swayed seductively each time she raised her food to her lips . . . it was going to be mighty damn difficult, not making any moves on her while they were confined here by the weather. Talk seemed his best weapon—against his randy thoughts, and against the attachment that would make their inevitable parting that much more painful.

  “So what’d you do before you met up with Minnit?” he asked as he reached for a roll. “An attractive woman like yourself couldn’t remain untouched for too long. Financial necessity usually leads lone ladies to the brothels, so you’ve beaten the odds, honey.”

  Amber shook her head ruefully. “Maybe my brazen fortuneteller act gave my customers the idea I’d already lost my innocence, so there was no prize to claim.”

  “That’s not how it works,” Jack replied with a chuckle. “A man’d have to be blind not to want that pretty lady who was stroking his hand, batting her big brown eyes while she told him wonderful things about himself and his future. It’s as close as I’ve come to a religious experience in a long while.”

  “Well . . . thank you.” The man in the dancing shadows beside her seemed sincerely interested, ready to talk after a cold, wet evening of saving her from herself. She sensed he would understand a story she’d shared with no one else, and that he’d see past her shame and still consider her worth his rescue efforts. “Mama would’ve been pleased to hear you say that. This may sound strange, but she worked very hard to insure my . . . success, when it came to men.”

  Rafferty held his tongue when a question about her mother’s profession came to mind. “A social climber, was she? Parents get ambitious for their children.”

  “Usually with the best intentions. And yes, Letitia LaBelle spent all her adult life trying to climb that ladder,” she went on quietly. Reaching for the locket that hung among her other necklaces, Amber caressed the cool, solid heart to give herself the courage to continue a tale she’d shared with no one else. “We didn’t get much higher than the bottom rung, though. She taught ballroom dancing lessons, you see.”

  He watched the emotions flicker across her face, sensing she wasn’t terribly proud of her past yet needed for him to know about it. “Seems respectable enough.”

  “Respectable, but not terribly profitable.” Amber replied. “She had a small studio in the Vieux Carre, with two rooms upstairs where we lived. We associated with the elite of New Orleans—nice clothes, and extremely wealthy clients who invited us to th
eir soirées and their children’s birthday parties. But our association with the upper crust was merely a nicety on the part of the papas whose children came to Mama for lessons. We were right down there on the level of their cooks and gardeners, and everyone knew it.”

  Her world-weary tone was such a contrast to the husky come-on he’d heard in her fortunetelling tent that Jack studied her closely for the first time. Her eyes had widened wistfully, as though she wished she could live her past over again. Although she seemed unaware of it, she was toying with that heart-shaped locket until he thought its delicate chain might snap with her urgency. There was more to Amber LaBelle than he’d anticipated, and she deserved his total attention. “What about your father?” he asked cautiously.

  “Ah, there’s the crux of it,” she answered, and her sigh hissed with bitterness. She paused to look at Rafferty, whose dark eyes remained riveted on her own. “Until a couple years ago I didn’t know I had one. I mean, I realized that Mama’d had a man in her life sometime, but I never guessed he was one I saw quite often. Until he died under extremely bizarre circumstances.”

  She realized she had to continue now, and hoped Jack would understand the irony of the life she’d gladly left behind. “He was a married man of high standing, you see . . . a man who brought his little girls to lessons at the studio for years. And he died in Mama’s bed.”

  Rafferty nearly choked on his chicken. “How’d that happen?”

  “Oh, the usual way.” Amber let out a short laugh, relieved to see curiosity rather than disdain on his handsome face. “As tall and barrel-chested as he was, I’m not sure how Mama . . . got herself out from under him. When I returned home from my errands that evening, she’d convinced two of our more trusted neighbor men to come over and help her with his body. I think she was more embarrassed about having to explain the situation to me than to them.”