Outlaw Moon

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Booth focused his attention on the window. He was surprised that this isolated outpost contained such a large pane of glass, yet he supposed that he, too, would appreciate the occasional ray of sunshine, a view of the wondrous wilderness—not to mention a glimpse of approaching visitors—during the long, lonely winters. He sidled up to the casement slowly, ready to duck if Rafferty or Amber glanced his way.

  And what he saw pierced his heart.

  Jack and Amber, free of their cumbersome wraps, were standing before the fire sharing a kiss that spoke of deep devotion, of thankfulness that they’d survived this trek through the blizzard . . . a foretaste of the love Booth knew they’d soon make, because this need came before their desire for food or water or rest.

  Booth watched them, spellbound. And he suddenly felt very empty. Whatever feelings Jack once had for Felicity were long gone, if indeed they’d ever flared this brightly. He doubted Mrs. Nunn would ever comprehend the eloquent, undeniable force that melded Amber to Jack Rafferty—the blonde would never show such sincere affection for him, either, and their quick coupling at the boardinghouse took on a tawdriness he regretted now.

  Mostly, he wondered if any woman would gaze at him the way Amber was beholding Jack. This life he’d chosen made it hard to meet decent women, much less encourage any real intimacy, and an indescribable ache filled him until he feared he’d burst with it.

  When Rafferty began to unbutton Amber’s shirt, Watson sighed and returned to the shelter of the lean-to. No reason to intrude upon the last private moments this couple would enjoy for a while. No need to torture himself, witnessing a love—a tenderness—that he might never experience.

  “Honey, first preacher we see we’re getting married, all right?” Jack whispered as he held her close. “After what we’ve been through, I can’t even think about being without you.”

  Amber’s eyes filled with tears and she burrowed against him so he wouldn’t see them. They’d just finished a frenzied bout of lovemaking in an oversized feather bed, and were now snuggled beneath a comforter made of soft, lustrous rabbit pelts. Eddie Gastineau hadn’t shown up to keep their passion from flaring, and she hoped the trapper wouldn’t return to his cozy home for a while yet. It felt too good, just lying here in Jack’s arms . . . and there were things they should discuss, now that they were out of the elements.

  Rafferty gently raised her face to kiss her, wondering at the wetness there. “Are you all right? Maybe I’m assuming too much, thinking you want to marry an accused—”

  “Oh, I do!” she replied in a strained voice, and then she pressed against him for another of the heavenly kisses she couldn’t live without.

  “What is it, then?” he coaxed quietly. “You seem to be shying away from something you want to say.”

  You know me too well, she thought with a sigh. But if I tell you I think there’s a baby, will you hate me? Will you give up your dreams of freedom and let that detective haul you in, for MY sake?

  Amber stroked the stubble on his face. It hurt her wind-burnt skin, but it was a big improvement over his shiny nakedness after she’d made him shave off his mustache. “I love you, Jack,” she murmured. “Does anything else really matter?”

  “Probably not.”

  He pulled her close, hoping Gastineau didn’t barge in on these precious moments of privacy. The past days on horseback at the mercy of Minnesota weather had made the decision for him: he was turning himself in. He’d be a fool to think they’d make it to Canada without catching pneumonia or losing fingers to frostbite. And he knew damn well Watson was out there right now, ready to pounce when they left this cabin.

  But how do I tell you that, honey? he mused as he nuzzled her warm, coarse waves. How do I take a chance on being separated from you forever? Even if I get a prison sentence, I couldn’t ask you to wait for a convict to come home. We’re damned if I let Watson catch us . . . and probably dead if I don’t.

  She was moving against him, her silken skin warm and fragrant from their lovemaking, so it was easy to avoid the hard truth for a little while longer by succumbing to her unspoken suggestion. He had to tell her his decision, though. She, too, was being hunted, after all.

  But for now he savored the curve of her hip as she moved over top of him, meeting the mischievous, loving shine in her eyes with a smile of his own. No woman on earth was like his Amber! And no matter what the consequences of tarrying here, he would show her again just how much she meant to him . . . how she touched his soul with her tender, unshakable faith in him.

  Rafferty let out a sigh when she rubbed rhythmically against him. She was arched proudly forward, her breasts begging to be caressed as she teased him without letting him inside her just yet. The comforter of white rabbit pelts fell softly around her back and hips. Lit by the flickering fire, she made a picture he knew he’d recall often in his solitary cell bunk ...if he were that lucky.

  The painful thought made him surge into her with a fierce longing, crying her name so urgently that neither of them heard the cabin door open or saw the giant of a man in a snow-coated capote stepping inside, staring at them.

  “Well, well!” he bellowed with a suggestive laugh. “You warm yourself weeth Eddie’s fire, eet seems only fair that he warm heemself weeth yours!”

  Chapter 26

  Maudie sprang from her corner by the hearth to bark frantically at the intruder, circling him warily. Amber froze, suspended above Jack in an extremely revealing position, her face reddening even more when the comforter slithered down her bare back.

  This man, who was chuckling as he shrugged out of his hooded capote, made the logger Claude LeClerc look like a midget by comparison. Resembling a giant sequoia, he stood thick and tall, his auburn hair falling to meet his bushy beard. His eyes flashed blue as he took in her exposed flesh. His swarthy face lit up with anticipation . . . and then he was loosening his buckskins! He intended to join them in this bed!

  “Mr. Gastineau, I hardly think there’s room for—”

  “Leetle lady, I’ll have no trouble at all feeting into your—” The trapper’s eyes narrowed in a suspicious stare. “How you know Eddie’s name?”

  “You—your cousin—Claude LeClerc,” Rafferty piped up. “He told us how to find you! Said you might guide us to Canada—for a fee, of course. And we’re prepared to pay however much you ask.”

  Gastineau was listening as though it took some effort for the English words to sink into his French-Canadian brain, but Jack was taking no chances. Even though Amber’s comment had caught the huge trapper off guard, he had little time to win this giant over. He was sliding out from under her, pulling the rabbit-pelt comforter over her back as he considered the best way to proceed. Getting caught with his clothes off was one thing. Convincing this randy redbeard to take something other than Amber in trade might require all the bargaining finesse he could muster!

  Meanwhile, Maudie was alternating between loud, ferocious barks and a menacing snarl as she readied herself to pounce on Gastineau. Suddenly the trapper pivoted to point at her. When he began snarling back as he advanced toward her, a little yelp escaped the dog and she slinked to her corner to turn belly-up in submission.

  Rafferty watched tensely, chiding himself for leaving his gun across the room with his clothes. Eddie was now stroking the dog’s stomach, crooning some sort of teasing French at her, but his playfulness wasn’t to be trusted. Maudie was no fool: this Gastineau fellow was too much to tangle with. They either had to make friends with their host, or outsmart him.

  “That’s Maudie,” he offered in a congenial voice. “She’s a cream puff, really. All bark and no bite, once she gets to know you.”

  The trapper grunted as though a lie rang false in any language. With a sidelong glance, he took in the pile of clothing beside his table, as well as the rifle and supply pack on top of it. “Don’t leave ze bed ’teel I tell you to, leetle man,” he said in a coiled voice. “Eddie go out to check ze closest traps, come back to find strangers een heez house�
�and signs zat two more watch from outside. Smells feeshy, like a pike zat rots on a rock. You want Eddie to take you to Canada, you pay ze price Eddie say.”

  There was no doubt about Gastineau’s fee as his eyes lingered on Amber, and Jack’s mouth went dry. His gun and pants might as well be in Bemidji, as fast as this trapper could move, and he now knew that Watson and Grizzly Fiske were lying in wait as well. The trap he’d inadvertently created by coming in out of the cold made exposure to the elements sound almost enjoyable, by comparison. Almost.

  A glance at Amber, her doelike eyes wide as she clutched the rabbit comforter over her breasts, settled the matter. He’d made her too many promises—invested far too much of his heart—to let her be the sacrificial lamb that bought their freedom. He swung his legs slowly to the floor, holding Gastineau’s gaze as he planned how he’d dodge the man’s grasp and get ahold of his gun.

  “You deaf, or just stupide?” the trapper whispered. He rose from stroking Maudie, knowing his superior size would make the desired impression. “What you shoot ze woman weeth won’t stop Eddie, leetle man. I be nice weeth her, treat her fine. You can watch or not, but you won’t be keeling Eddie Gastineau een heez own bed! Afterwards, we talk about ze men outside and ze treep north.”

  With surprising agility, the trapper went for the rifle and just as quickly Jack sprang from the bed. When Gastineau turned to toss the gun into the blazing fire, Rafferty jumped him—landed nimbly upon the giant’s shoulders—but his efforts at restraining and then choking the man were futile. He felt like a child on a piggy-back ride, and then, to his dismay, he realized he was just as vulnerable. With a loud laugh, Eddie reached back to clutch him with one thick arm and then ran to open the door.

  The icy blast brought Amber out of her shock. She’d been so mortified these past few moments that she couldn’t have guessed Rafferty would be headed outside, stark naked and defenseless, in the grip of a lusty beast who outweighed both of them put together. The closest clothing was the white woolen capote Eddie had shed, and as she tied it around herself she was scurrying toward her boots.

  “Sic him, Maudie!” she cried as they rushed out the open door. “Bite him—slow him down! We can’t let him hurt Jack!”

  Booth Watson blinked. The snow had stopped, leaving a world of opalescent pearl beneath a pale gray sky, so he could see every detail of a most bizarre parade quite clearly from where he was peering between loose boards of the lean-to. “What the—? Rafferty’ll freeze his ass off!” he muttered.

  Instinctively he grabbed his rifle and swung up onto Butch, glad that he’d left the black saddled. He could see why the burly, buckskinned trapper would be upset to find uninvited guests in his cabin—in a very compromising position, it seemed. But only a madman with deadly intent would expose his unclothed captive to this subzero temperature.

  As he paused in the doorway, he spied a small white-robed figure, stumbling through the drifts alongside Maudie, several paces behind the men. Even if Amber and the dog caught up, they were in no position to help Rafferty. It was up to him to save the fugitive’s bare hide—which would be funny, if the weather weren’t another deadly player in the game.

  Booth also noted that the bearded redhead had a specific destination in mind, judging from his unwavering path through the snow, and as he considered the possibilities, his scowl deepened. Up here, most of the areas not covered with evergreens were lakes ....

  And then, from the green thickness of the pine forest, rode the man who’d done such a fine job of hiding himself these past few hours. His tall roan stallion cantered through the drifts effortlessly, but it wasn’t Rafferty he was after—it was Amber! Without so much as slowing his mount’s stride, he leaned down to scoop her up, his nasty laughter mingling with her cries and the collie’s strident barks.

  Booth kneed his mount and positioned his Winchester, considering which villain to drop first. The big redhead carrying Jack hollered French obscenities when he saw Amber in the other rider’s arms, but he kept a straight course toward Rafferty’s doom. The poor woman’s screams alerted Watson to the way she, too, was being bared by her captor, and he fired twice.

  As the roan reared, dumping its two riders into a snowdrift, the retorts of his gun echoed off the edge of the white-draped evergreen forest. Watson was cantering toward the pair, hoping to hell he hadn’t hit the woman, when he realized that the ominous rumble, like low, continuous thunder, was lasting far too long to be from his gunshots. The redhead’s laugh confirmed his worst fears: the giant and Jack were on a snow-covered lake surface that, this early in the winter, was still too weak to bear much weight.

  Watson swore as he watched the buckskinned prankster toss Rafferty forward and then dash nimbly back to safety, his wild cackles ringing out over the sickening sound of a crack, and then a splash.

  Jack’s body cried out with the sudden numbing stillness, the excruciating cold that went beyond comprehension. Just before Gastineau told him how he was going to die, he’d seen Grizzly swoop down for Amber . . . heard her frightened cries, and his heart stilled within him. As the bitter wind stung his skin and Eddie’s grip crushed his bones, all he could think was that his woman was in far worse pain than he, and that his own stupidity had set her up for such a degrading fate. He should’ve kept his gun by the bed, should’ve assumed Gastineau was closer to home and hungry for a woman . . . should’ve guessed Grizzly Fiske would pursue his revenge to the ends of the earth.

  It was small comfort to hear the shots and see the roan stallion pitch . . . had to be Watson. And Eddie Gastineau was making the detective’s job a whole lot easier, what with ending the manhunt this way. Rafferty heard the deep rending of the ice, felt the swoosh when the trapper tossed him off as though he were an unwanted puppy to be disposed of. And then knew he was about to find Red Lake without any further need for Shorty’s map.

  He was so numb he heard more than felt the ice shatter with the force of his landing. Jack curled in against himself, but the shock of the icy water dazed him and then sucked him down into its dark void.

  So this is how it ends, he thought as scenes from the past flickered through his mind. Your boy’s paying his dues, Ma, and I hope you’ll never know . . . Bitsy, if it weren’t for you and that damn bottle . . . Amber . . . Amber, honey . . . can you ever . . . forgive . . . so sorry . . . so damn sorry ....

  Chapter 27

  “Stop that damn babbling and listen to me!” Watson stood pointing his rifle at the wild-eyed French-Canadian’s chest, tense with the passing of every precious second. “If Rafferty dies, his murder’s on your head, understand me? Now go see to those two. No funny business, or you’ll be deader than Jack probably is.”

  With a final warning grimace, Booth hurried around to Dutch’s other side to check the collie’s progress. The dog was their only hope, and thank God she understood the gravity of the situation enough to overcome her mistrust of him. She’d carried his rope to the hole in the ice, walking gingerly but quickly, while he tied its other end to his saddle horn. He steadied his horse, straining to see if that really was the top of Rafferty’s head bobbing above the dark hole in the blue-white lake surface. Cracks fanned out like spiderwebs where the dog was walking, yet she insistently pawed at her master, whining loudly.

  “Grab hold, Rafferty,” he hollered, leading his horse as close as he dared. “Grab on—fast! We’ll pull you out. Jesus, can you even hear me?”

  How long could a man—a naked man—remain submerged in that frigid water and survive? His own heartbeat ebbing, Booth watched helplessly while Maudie nudged Rafferty’s ice-caked hair. If the man lived through this, they still had to get him past certain pneumonia and the consequences of frostbite, and—

  Watson swore quietly when he heard the redhead babbling in French behind him—didn’t dare take his eyes from the drama on the frozen lake to see what the commotion was. He wasn’t one to give up, but he wondered if he shouldn’t just call the dog back and think of another way to get Rafferty’s
body out before the ice trapped him there for the winter. He had a tough time understanding how things had gone so crazy in such a short time. How would he ever explain this to Felicity Nunn?

  He puckered his chapped lips to whistle for the dog, but paused. A pale arm was coming out of the water! Rafferty had rallied for his pet, and he understood that he had to grab on for dear life—

  “Back, Butch,” Watson grunted, and as his horse stepped backwards to tighten the rope, he prayed their luck would hold. Prayed that Jack Rafferty possessed strength enough to pull through and sense enough to answer some pointed questions . . . explain the conflicting conclusions he was reaching about this case and the woman who hired him.

  Poised with his blankets in hand, Booth winced as he thought about the incredible pain the wet ice must be inflicting upon Rafferty’s skin, if the poor bastard had any feeling left. The dog was tugging valiantly on the rope, too, and when she was beyond the weakest ice he rushed forward to wrap Jack’s bluish, motionless form in the woolen blankets.

  It was now a matter of time, and luck, and God’s providence.

  Amber stilled her cough with a large spoonful of the herbed honey mixture Eddie Gastineau had gotten from his Indian friends, and then went back to massaging Jack’s cracked, reddened skin with a salve some squaw had concocted. Her own skin was chapped, too, and her body and head drooped with exhaustion and illness, but she refused to give up. Rafferty’s breathing was a labored rasp. Every inch of his body surely must be crying out in agony, so it was probably a blessing that he seldom awoke.

  Three days he’d been this way. Three days she’d tended him, cooling his fever with snow-soaked rags, or wrapping herself around him to give him the extra warmth he needed when he shook with chills ... so she’d be holding him the moment he breathed his last.