Outlaw Moon

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Amber clambered down and then had to step away to avoid the gelding’s nervous, prancing feet. “Of all the—do you believe those people, how they—”

  “We knew something was funny. Guess we’re lucky they didn’t shoot us in our sleep.” Holding tightly to the reins, Rafferty led the bay in a few wide circles to calm him down. “Never would’ve guessed Olga was a dog snatcher, though. Won’t be for long—you’ll see. First chance she gets, Maudie’ll be down that lane lickety-split, following our scent. Let’s wait here and get our bearings, give her some time. She’ll find us.”

  If they don’t shoot her first, Amber thought glumly. The look on Jack’s face told her he was trying not to think about that possibility, and her heart went out to him. Hundreds of miles he’d traveled with his faithful collie, and even though he’d declared his love for her, she knew he’d be hard-pressed if he ever had to choose between them. His devotion to Maudie was something that raised him from a callous outlaw to a compassionate, lovable man, and Amber knew better than to question their waiting here.

  But after several minutes passed, it became obvious that the dog was either tightly tied, or shut into a cellar, or ....

  To keep from watching the despair deepen on Rafferty’s face, Amber checked the carpetbags she’d hurriedly stuffed her belongings into, after having to dress in front of a smirking Karl and Olga. They’d already watched the two crazed killers disappear into the farmhouse, so now it was only a matter of time before Jack resigned himself to riding away from these trees.

  “Well—at least they didn’t find the money I made telling fortunes on the train,” she commented, reclosing the two white pouches. “If they smuggled your dog out of the room without waking us, Lord knows what else they could’ve taken.”

  Rafferty scowled. The sun was now ablaze on the eastern horizon, and Amber was pulling the rest of her blouses on, to wear beneath her cloak. They would need warmer clothing and food before the day was out—had already wasted a good forty minutes in this secluded grove, and it was time to move on.

  To give Maudie one last chance, however, he checked his own belongings. “Well, I’ll be—damn those thieving bastards! Stole the money from my spare pants! And after I mended that fence for them!”

  When he swung up onto the bay, Amber knew better than to say anything. She mounted Smoke, and, sharing a backwards glance at the farm and the empty pastureland below, they cantered toward the rising sun.

  The rolling hills, occasionally studded with an outcropping of rock and trees, gave way to vast acres of ugly stumps. Yesterday’s snow didn’t conceal the desolate cut-over, where Amber could imagine thick, green forests of sweet-smelling pines had once rustled in the wind. When they came upon a dirt path that resembled a wide strip of tan corduroy, Jack kept to it rather than picking his way between the tender saplings that swayed beside their sawed-off neighbors.

  “Must be an old logging road,” he muttered. “No point in trying to hide our trail. If I can’t have my dog back, that damn detective may as well find us.”

  He sounded ready to cry, and when they stopped to water the horses in a narrow, ice-coated stream, Amber wrapped her arms around him. “Maudie’s all right, Jack,” she assured him in the strongest voice she could manage. “Olga liked her too much to hurt her. Probably lured her to the root cellar, or tied her up. The moment she’s freed, she’ll be on our trail, just like you said.”

  “I know. But I still don’t like it.” He was holding her close, as much to share his warmth as to seek relief from his deep loneliness. “I...I had a second dog in Colorado, a tri-color. Caught a mean, sonuvabitching rancher bashing his head with a skillet, and had to finish poor Will off myself. But at least I knew what happened to him.”

  Amber blinked back tears, fearing they’d freeze on her face. “Let’s keep going. I’m c--cold.”

  With a nod, Rafferty helped her remount. They rode silently, except for the rumbling of their stomachs, along the endless trail that led them through a wasteland of stumps and saplings no thicker than his finger. He ached for a hot meal and a warm bed—even a bottle, low as he was feeling. He despised himself for leading Amber, so brave and uncomplaining, into yet another hopeless situation.

  Where was that town Karl mentioned this morning? Or had the old bugger purposely steered him in the wrong direction, knowing they were without food? The sky was glazing over, and soon they were being dusted with huge snowflakes that resembled confections of sparkling spun sugar. Any other time he would’ve watched them in wonder, but the day was wearing on and civilization still wasn’t in sight.

  “What’s that?” Amber finally asked, pointing toward the gray distance. “Looks like cabins or—”

  “Or a town?”

  He squinted hopefully . . . saw some low log buildings, but no smoke rose from their chimneys and the area had a deserted air that matched his mood. “We’ll stop to see what we can find. Lord knows there won’t be much game to shoot. Nothing for the animals to eat out here.”

  The little outpost consisted of six log buildings with slanted, snow-striped roofs, in a clearing—a logging camp, at one time. A quick look around revealed that the cook shack had been cleared, except for the lingering odor of grease, and the other sheds yielded nothing but the remains of broken saws or bits of leather harness. One of the bunkhouses did have a few logs stacked inside, near the potbellied stove, and a tin of matches suggested that the place saw occasional use from other travelers passing through.

  “Well, it’s not a hotel, but at least I can afford it,” Rafferty mumbled.

  “And we won’t have people across the hall making obscene noises,” Amber replied with a wry chuckle. She hugged herself to keep warm, watching as Jack squatted to get a fire going in the stove. “None of this is your fault, you know. You could’ve been to Canada by now, if I hadn’t lied my way into ... if I hadn’t gotten Becker all upset and been thrown off the train. You’re probably wishing you’d stayed aboard that fancy private Pullman.”

  The first flame caught and he gazed up into her dusky, stricken face. He’d been so upset about losing his dog he’d hardly looked at Amber today, and she’d apparently spent the long, silent hours on horseback thinking the worst.

  “None of this is your fault, either,” he said softly, “so let’s don’t look back. I bet you can think of a way to warm me up before I go hunting for supper.”

  His dark eyes sparkled above a devilish grin that was a big improvement over his previous expressions. Amber stood lightly against him, her hands resting on his shoulders as she returned his playful smile. “I could probably make you so hot we wouldn’t need this stove,” she replied in a sultry voice, “but then we’d never have dinner. Why not hunt for, say, half an hour? If you don’t find us anything, we’ll have all night to make each other so hungry for something else that food won’t matter.”

  “Fine idea.”

  God, how he loved her for understanding that they might not eat tonight, and for telling him she could do without! Jack caught her head between his hands and drew her close for a quick kiss, which turned into a second, longer one before he forced himself to go outside. What must she think, if he couldn’t provide her even the basic necessities? Surely she had doubts about a love that asked her to sacrifice so much and receive so little in return.

  Yet when he came back to the cabin empty-handed and even glummer than before, Amber welcomed him with a hug that dispelled the winter evening’s gloom. She was indeed a special woman. The gypsy fortuneteller with the come-on lines had turned out to be a lady of great emotional depth and fortitude, who met each challenge with a pluck he’d come to admire.

  Right now, however, it was Amber LaBelle’s physical attributes he was focused upon, one by one, as she bared them. In his absence, she’d pulled some old straw from the bunks onto the floor and spread their blankets over top of it. The stove gave off little waves of warmth, yet the fire was nothing compared to the heat his woman was creating as she fixed him in her want
on gaze and dropped one blouse after another onto the floor beside her.

  When she was down to her camisole and bloomers she stopped, smiling coyly. “What would you like for an appetizer?” she asked with a throaty laugh. “It’s about time I did some cooking, don’t you think?”

  Jack felt steam rising up out of his collar. As he fumbled with his buttons, he watched her cup her breasts and push them forward beneath the pale, filmy silk. The ivory fabric enhanced her coloring, allowing him a glimpse of her dark nipples and that alluring patch above her thighs . . . Lord, but her sweet, natural scent had him straining against the long johns he couldn’t peel off fast enough.

  The sight of him made her suck in her breath. How many times had she rubbed against this powerful body as they rode Smoke, or lain against it for warmth? Yet until she saw Rafferty’s bare shoulders, the muscular chest and thighs that tensed with a wildcat’s strength, she sometimes forgot what a potent presence he could be.

  “Turn around,” she murmured. “I’ve never seen all of you in the all-together before.”

  “Looking the carcass over to select your favorite cut?” he teased as he slowly obliged her. And when he heard her gasp, he had to swallow a laugh.

  “What is that, on your—”

  “A birthmark. Don’t you know it’s impolite to make fun of a man’s ass?”

  “Birthmark, hell!” Amber strode over to examine the tattoo: a perfect outline of a heart on his left cheek, in red, with blue letters inside it. ‘‘What—or who—is G.P.?”

  “Never should’ve taught you to read,” he muttered with a chuckle. Rafferty leaned over slightly to give her the full effect of his unique marking, hoping the story behind it wouldn’t upset her. “It seems yet another of Dodge’s doves left her mark on me, after a little . . . shall we say, undercover investigation?” he confessed. “At least Gracie Putnam and I parted friends. She makes herself up like an Indian Princess now. Plies her trade in a Cripple Creek parlor house.”

  How many women had he bedded? Amber knew better than to ask—accepted the past realities this handsome, eligible bachelor was showing her one by one, like photographs in an album. Yet her curiosity got the best of her as she caressed the valentine he would wear forever. “Was she special?”

  Jack turned his head to look at her. “All my ladies have been special,” he answered with utmost sincerity. “Grace was a companion when I needed one, somebody to laugh with after grappling with the complexities of the law all day. But she thought of herself as a whore . . . a doormat. I could never stay with a woman like that, though I’d give her my last dollar if she needed it.”

  Amber held his gaze, hoping her questions wouldn’t paint her into a corner she’d regret. “And what about Bitsy?” she asked softly. “Would she have made you happy? Would she have been a good wife?”

  “Probably not. Truth is, I hadn’t even considered proposing to her before I got so ripsnorting drunk that night. The words slipped out before I could stop them.” Rafferty straightened to his full height and turned to take her in his arms. “I—I never wanted her dead, you understand, but I suspect I’d have been looking for a way out of that engagement the minute I sobered up. Bitsy had her moments, but she was mighty bitter sometimes. Mad at the world, and especially disgusted with men, I think.”

  “In her situation, I would’ve been mad and disgusted, too.”

  Jack smiled and ran a finger along the edge of her lovely face. “So would I. But I’ve always had the feeling that no matter how much money and finery I would’ve lavished upon her, or how high we would’ve climbed on the social ladder—even in another town, where people wouldn’t know about her previous profession—Bitsy wouldn’t have been satisfied. Could never be happy with a husband because she wasn’t happy with herself.”

  He watched the emotions play on Amber’s face as she considered this. Her eyes were doelike and her velvety skin glowed with the exotic whiskey coloring he loved so much, but it was her inner beauty he found so compelling. With a soft chuckle he slipped his fingers beneath the straps of her camisole.

  “Shouldn’t let these other ladies distract me, when I have the finest one right here, ready to send me to heaven.” He kissed her, parting her lips with a tongue that savored the taste of her, loving the way she melted against him and gave her affections so freely.

  They knelt together on the blankets, creating a fire that blazed sweeter and warmer than the one in the stove. Jack was determined to erase his former flames from her mind by showing her all the wonders a man and a woman could share physically, when their souls meshed so perfectly as well. Amber, longing to please him, decided that just as his previous conquests had taught him all their little touches and tricks, she would show him how to love. She would be the last woman Jack Rafferty would ever want in his bed—in his life—and that knowledge made her rub against him with a bold new confidence.

  He moaned and deepened the kiss, arching her body until she curved against him in all the right places. Her camisole whispered between them as it slithered down, baring tender flesh for his lips to feast upon. As Amber’s nipples hardened against his tongue, her soft whimpers encouraged him to continue his merciless pursuit. He shifted until his shaft found the crevice between her legs, kindling a new fire within them both as the friction of her silky bloomers worked its magic.

  She felt herself drop back against the solid arm that supported her, her mind spinning in high, tight circles. Jack’s mouth and mustache were turning her into gooseflesh that quivered hot and cold with anticipation. Had she ever felt this desperate, this wayward before? The man who held her so completely in his sway was now lowering her onto the blankets, as anxious as she to fly toward that blinding burst of energy that would make them one.

  When the soft fabric gave way to his insistent caress, Rafferty pushed her pantaloons past her ankles and held his breath. Her skin glowed in the flickering light of the fire; her smooth, flat stomach tensed with her need and he couldn’t help himself. He slid into her, making them both cry out with an intense wanting that threatened to throw him over the edge too soon.

  Somehow he regained control. He raised up to gaze at her, chuckling at her rapt expression as he slowly pulled away from her slick, tantalizing warmth. “Bend your knees over my shoulders,” he whispered slyly. “Let’s see what sort of delicacies you’re cooking up before I add any sauces of my own.”

  Amber shivered at the hint his words held. She no longer questioned his fascination for that part of her body, because each time he pondered and probed her down there he produced a wild delight like no other. She watched him guide her legs up over his broad, muscled shoulders, held her breath as his dark gaze settled on her most private parts.

  “Smells wonderful,” he breathed. “Much better than anything else I could’ve caught tonight.”

  Her giggle turned into a gasp when he lowered his lips to the sensitive nub he found each time he gave her this special gift. The light flickering of his tongue sent a burst of pleasure through her. Jack was grasping her hips, supporting her weight as she writhed toward him, begging shamelessly for release.

  Yet he eluded her. His lips wandered over her thighs, circling the mound that so desperately craved his full attention. He nuzzled her, teased at her with little smiles and winks, seemed to be sampling each inch of her skin to determine which part of her pleased him most.

  “Jack . . . Jack . . .”

  Her whisperings made him throb with need, but he focused only on the delicate softness of her inner thighs brushing his neck, on the secretive essence that enveloped him as he watched her grow more restless with each moment he gazed upon her. Amber’s eyes closed and her mouth went slack. Her head drifted from side to side against the rich mahogany mass of her hair. Suddenly grateful that neither Gracie nor Bitsy had latched onto him, he plunged his tongue against her and then drove her relentlessly to peak after peak, until she all but suffocated him with the grip of her thighs.

  Amber fell back, breathless, and
felt him gently easing her onto the blankets. Her pulse was pounding wildly. She felt as though she’d been riding at a full gallop—could hear the whistle of the wind outside and feel the rush of exhilaration as the ecstasy raced from the center of her being to the furthermost reaches of her soul.

  Yet he wasn’t finished. Jack grinned wickedly as he picked up the pantaloons that had somehow ended up beside her. “That was a delicious first course, Miss LaBelle. Leaves me hungry for something much more solid . . . more satisfying. How about you?”

  She opened her mouth, but her reply turned into a moan when he pulled the bloomers taut between his hands and then rubbed her firmly where his mouth had just been. Was there no end to these sensations? How much could she possibly endure before she exploded into tiny pieces?

  Rafferty, sensing his patience would prolong her pleasure, forced himself to slow down. “Here—sit up on your knees again,” he murmured, offering her his hand. “We’ll try this from a different angle. Variety being the spice of life, you know.”

  Amber had to laugh. Jack looked so boyish and innocent, despite the slash of black mustache and the raven hair that lent him a devilish air in the dancing light from the fire. He kissed her lightly, and then worked himself behind her so they both faced the glowing stove.

  His sigh felt like warm, gossamer silk upon her shoulders as Jack lifted her hair to let it drift forward over her front, giving him access to her back. His hands followed the curves between her hips and underarms while his mouth explored the hollow of her spine with hypnotic slowness.

  She let out her breath, allowing him to kiss and caress her at will. He seemed to revere each separate part of her. When his mouth wasn’t pressed to her skin, he was murmuring lovewords about her soft, sweet perfection and Amber knew she’d never get enough of this man if she lived to be a hundred. Slowly but surely he was rekindling her need, and when she felt the whisper of his chest hair on her shoulders, felt him prodding against her bottom, she instinctively leaned forward to receive him.