Gambling on the Outlaw

by Margaret Madigan

  “I think her bun’s too tight,” Daisy said relieving the tension between us, and I couldn’t help but giggle. Daisy was just Daisy and I couldn’t let her outrageous behavior—or my conflicted feelings over a man—come between us.

  “Go put some clothes on, Daisy. I’m going to take this tray to Isaac, and then we need to get the kitchen garden planted today. We’ve put it off long enough.”

  Daisy groaned. “You know how much I hate getting dirty.”

  “You love getting dirty,” I said, winking at her as I headed for my bedroom.

  “Not garden dirty,” she said with a full-on lower-lip pout.

  “We plowed last week. If we wait too long, it’ll be too late. Go. Get dressed,” I said, waving her back to her bedroom.

  “What about Nellie?”

  “If I know her, she’s already out there.”

  Daisy frowned and headed back to the bedroom she shared with Lydia, but stopped in the door.

  “Can’t I just say hello to Mr. Collins? Tell him how glad I am he’s on the mend?”

  “Not in that getup,” I said, chuckling at the way her pout deepened.

  “You can’t keep him locked up all to yourself forever.”

  “I can try,” I said.

  I smiled when she spun on her heel and slammed the bedroom door after her. Before I entered my room, though, I took a calming breath. As much as I teased Daisy about keeping him for myself, I was under no illusions that was an option. I’d behaved in a shockingly unprofessional manner by kissing him. It didn’t matter that my body wanted more—it was wrong. So I was decidedly worried about facing him again after last night.

  I squared my shoulders and entered the room, determined to behave myself properly.

  “What’s all the door slamming about?” Isaac asked.

  He sat up in bed with several pillows piled behind him for support, looking every bit as if he belonged there, enough so that last night came to mind and I was tempted to crawl in and snuggle up next to him. But I gave myself a mental shake. He was quickly turning me into a silly schoolgirl.

  I am a strong, independent woman.

  I had other women depending on me and I couldn’t let some male drifter, a wanted man no less, distract me from my responsibilities.

  I placed the tray on his lap and backed away as quickly as possible, taking a seat in the rocker I’d spent so much time in the last few days.

  “It seems your presence is causing quite a stir around here. My friends don’t quite know how to react to you. Except maybe Nellie.”

  “She’s the Injun, right?”

  “Yes. You owe your life to her, by the way. She’s the one who concocted the poultice for your wound.”

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “You said none of your lady friends knows how to react to me. What about you? Do you know how to react to me?”

  The taste of his lips on mine leaped to mind unbidden, along with the feel of his hands on me, and that’s all it took for my double-crossing heart, and my equally rebellious body, to react with lusty desire. I’d assumed I’d never again be lucky enough to find a man who made me feel that way, and yet here he was, already in my bed.

  Although I wanted very much to shift from the rocker to the edge of the bed and assist him with his breakfast, perhaps feeding him bits of bread with creamy butter that he’d have to lick from my fingertips, I opted for maintaining at least a modicum of decency and kept my rear end rooted to the chair. I suspected where Mr. Isaac Collins was concerned, me and my good sense were in a heap of trouble, because my body had clearly declared war against us.

  “Just how would you expect me to react?”

  He’d been watching me, waiting for my answer, those warm brown eyes regarding me from under a fringe of dark lashes, making my belly flutter like a flock of hummingbirds had nested inside.

  “A smart woman would be on her guard. She’d be concerned and maybe even afraid, and she’d send me on my way, happy to see the back of me. And I took you for a smart woman.”

  I thought about how happy I’d be to see the back of him, especially if it was anything like the front of him, and realized the smart part of me was doomed.

  “If you knew more about me, you might change your mind about that assessment. But since you bring it up, your stay here so far has been based solely on the promise that once you were conscious we would get some answers to our questions.”

  “Fair enough. Will you be my only inquisitor?”

  He showed no inclination to discuss our kiss last night, and I wondered if he’d just taken it in stride, if it had been nothing to him. I’d seen the way he’d reacted, he’d wanted me as much as I wanted him, but maybe he was the kind of man who went through women the way Daisy used to go through men. My good sense wrestled for position and won, at least temporarily. I wasn’t about to be just another in a long line of women, so if he wanted to play it cool, I could put on my best poker face and go along.

  “For now. I’m certain the rest of the ladies will wish to talk with you this evening. You may need to repeat yourself. For that I apologize.”

  “I’m happy to answer your questions.”

  He waited for me to ask him something, his steady gaze daring me to make it good.

  “You’re Isaac Collins, aren’t you?”

  He looked down at his breakfast, studying it far longer than it warranted before finally answering. “I wondered if you knew.”

  “It wasn’t difficult to figure out. A strange man shows up in my barn and the next day Clay Dearborn shows up injured, claiming you attacked him.”

  He put the tray aside and threw the covers back, moving to stand. “I can’t stay. You’ve been kind to take care of me, but I can’t put you and yours in danger.

  “Where do you plan to go?”

  He sat on the edge of the bed and hung his head. I guess he hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I’ll find a place to hide out.”

  “You have one, for now, anyway. The posse’s already been here looking. They won’t be back anytime soon. You’re safe.”

  He looked me in the eyes, his brows pulled together in confusion. “Why would you allow me to stay. You know I’m wanted for murder and robbery, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “Aren’t you afraid I’ll kill you and your friends?”

  “Is that what you have in mind?”

  He sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Of course not. I just can’t fathom why you’d let me stay when you know who I am.”

  I shrugged. “I have a habit of collecting misfits.”

  “And outlaws?”

  I laughed. “No, you’re the first.”

  He shifted, settling back onto the bed. “Well, thank you for your kindness and hospitality. I promise to leave as soon as you allow me to.”

  “Why do you want Clay Dearborn dead so badly?”

  The question solicited a chuckle from him.

  “That’s a complicated question.”

  “Not really. If you asked me the same one, I’d have a fairly simple answer.”

  His brows shot up in surprise.

  “You want Dearborn dead?”

  “I can’t say that I’d kill him myself, but I wouldn’t mourn him if he were gone. And you completely avoided my question. Why do you want him dead?”

  He sipped his coffee before he spoke.

  “It’s kind of a long story, so be patient.”

  “I’ve got no place to go.”

  “All right, then. After the war I wandered some, working here and there. Eventually I ended up here in Palmer and signed on at the Lazy D ranch as a hand. I had some difficulties with a few of Dearborn’s other men. You could say I didn’t exactly fit in. I was blamed for everything from calves getting loose on the range, to missing supplies, to cheating at cards. Well, I lost my temper a few times and injured some of the other hands bad enough to put them out of commission.”

  “I’ve always though
t men living together only led to trouble.”

  “Did I hear someone say men living together?”

  Daisy waltzed into the room, and thankfully she wore a relatively appropriate dress that covered most of her female parts. Since I’d told her we’d be working outside, the dress was a simple gingham, though it fought bravely to contain her breasts. She swung a bonnet by the strings and grinned as she came in. I stood to greet her.

  “Mr. Collins and I were just chatting about the difficulties that brought him to our door, specifically about what led him to want Mr. Dearborn dead.”

  “Well, that should make for a very interesting tale,” she said, making a path straight for the bed.

  “I’m Daisy Wells.” She offered her hand and, when she bent just a bit to do so, also offered him a view.

  “Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” he said, shaking her hand. I admired him for keeping his eyes on her face.

  Daisy fussed with her skirt and seemed determined to plant herself on the bed next to him, but I shifted my position and settled on the bed, leaving the rocker for her. She said nothing, but lifted a brow and the corner of her mouth quirked into a smirk. I hadn’t been nearly as subtle as I’d thought, and now that I was there, the heat of his legs against my behind only served to exacerbate my inner battle.

  “Please, continue, Mr. Collins,” Daisy said.

  “Isaac—Mr. Collins—was just saying how after the war he wandered some and ended up here where he signed on at Clay’s ranch. Unfortunately he had some trouble with the other men and lost his temper a few times.”

  From the corner of my vision I noticed him perusing me.

  “That’s right,” he said, then continued his story. “Dearborn and I talked a couple of times, and he seemed to see things as being no more than the result of men with heated tempers. But as the events piled up, he began to see me as a problem. He finally confronted me and instead of just telling him, ‘yes, Boss’ and leaving quietly, I did what I usually do, and the whole thing escalated into a shouting match, and then a shoving match. He threatened me and I threatened him back, and he fired me.”

  “How does that turn into you robbing a stage and murdering everyone on board?” I asked.

  “Or trying to kill Clay?” Daisy added.

  His lips thinned to a narrow line and he fumed. His whole countenance changed, and I could almost feel the anger flowing off him like a thick morning fog.

  “I did not rob that stage.” He pointed his finger at me, and then Daisy, for emphasis as he spoke. “Do you hear me? I was nowhere near it. I didn’t rob it, and I didn’t kill those people.”

  “Then why does everyone think you did?”

  “Because Dearborn pinned it on me. And Dawson. They’re in it together. I don’t know who did the crime, but I suspect Dearborn’s to blame somehow.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me,” Daisy said.

  “Now, Daisy,” I said, “Clay’s not a very nice man, but I don’t know that he’d stoop as low as killing innocent men and women. And he wouldn’t kill his own brother.”

  Daisy scoffed at me.

  “You really believe that? Trust me, Clay Dearborn is an awful man in many ways.”

  She glanced at Isaac, then back and me. Straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin, an act I’d seen her do on many occasions when she was fixing to tell a tale from her past that she thought might make us ashamed of her.

  “Before I retired, Clay came to visit me on a couple of occasions.”

  This was news to me, disturbing news. I supposed it wasn’t unusual to find a single man in a whorehouse, but I hadn’t known he’d visited Daisy.

  “And?”

  “Let’s just say that Clay has some unusual tastes in the bedroom that often include inflicting pain.”

  My jaw dropped, and for once I was speechless.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Beth,” Daisy rushed to say. “I figured it was just because I was a whore. Most men treat us with no respect, taking out their strange inclinations with us rather than at home with their wives.”

  “But I could have married him,” I said, my voice a strained whisper, horrifying images of what could have been flashing through my mind.

  “I don’t think he’d do any of that to you. Men are usually ashamed of those desires. That’s why they take them to whores.”

  Isaac had watched our exchange with growing disgust evident on his face.

  “You’re engaged to Clay Dearborn?” he spat, recoiling from me as if I were diseased.

  “No. We’ve never been officially engaged, but he’s asked me enough times.”

  “Hope you’re not considering it.”

  “It’s sweet of you to show your concern, Mr. Collins, but the truth is, just like yours, it’s a complicated story, and in the end, not really any of your business.”

  I folded my arms over my chest and glared at him, daring him to challenge me further where Clay Dearborn was concerned. His brows came together, and his lips took on an angry frown, but he just stared at me for a moment. It wasn’t long before he smiled and started to chuckle.

  “What’s so funny?” I demanded.

  “I just put two and two together, that’s all. I take it that since you claim you wouldn’t mourn Dearborn’s death, he didn’t take your rejection well.”

  I glanced at Daisy, then down at my lap.

  “No. The strange thing is, he didn’t seem to accept it at all.”

  “He wants this land,” Daisy said. “And he doesn’t like to be told no about anything.”

  I stood and paced the small space of my room.

  “I just worry what he thinks he can do to make me marry him. Or to make me give him my land.”

  “He’s a powerful man. You need to be extra cautious, Beth,” Daisy said, her worried eyes watching me pace.

  “The point is that people who cause Dearborn trouble, or who get in his way, or who he just plain doesn’t like, end up dead or gone or in pain somehow,” Isaac offered.

  “That’s not terribly helpful, Mr. Collins,” Daisy said.

  “His brother, and the people on that stage might have appreciated the warning.”

  “Why would he kill his own brother?” I asked.

  Isaac shrugged. “Who knows?”

  “And he blamed you because you were convenient?” I asked.

  “Exactly. I’d caused him trouble, I had a history of violence on the ranch, and I’ll admit, before that, too. I was a perfect target for him.”

  “But why would you try to kill him? If you’re innocent, why not try to clear your name?” I asked.

  Daisy laughed. “You’ve seen what passes for the law around here. Dawson’s in Clay’s pocket. If it’s convenient for Clay, it’s likely somehow profitable for the sheriff.”

  “That was my assumption as well,” Isaac said.

  “So what are you going to do?” I asked. “Now you really are guilty of a crime. You can’t stay in Palmer.”

  “I’m going to finish what I started.”

  Daisy and I just stared at him.

  “What? Dearborn framed me for multiple murders, a crime I didn’t commit but have no possible way of proving that I didn’t.”

  “Where were you when it happened?” Daisy asked.

  “Out on the range. Alone. Dearborn made sure of it. So it’s my word against his.”

  “And with Dawson in his pocket, and his history in the community, you don’t stand a chance,” Daisy said.

  “I can’t prove my innocence, so in the eyes of the law, and the public, I must be guilty. I don’t stand a chance in hell. I may as well get my revenge on Clay Dearborn before I’m caught and strung up for something I didn’t do. I’ll probably die in the process of killing him, anyway.”

  “You nearly died this time,” I said.

  “And you did a pretty lousy job of killing Clay, too,” Daisy said.

  Isaac smiled. “Not for lack of trying, I assure you.”

  “I like you, Isaac Collins,�
�� Daisy said. “I’d almost go so far as to say that I’d like to see you succeed and survive to see another day. Although I can’t imagine how you’d manage that.”

  “Nor can I. But I will try again, you can bet on that.”

  …

  I intended to leave Isaac to rest while Daisy and I joined Nellie to work on the kitchen garden, but I had to drag Daisy from my bedroom and away from Isaac, and I had to threaten Isaac with further bodily harm if he didn’t stay in bed.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t take me seriously and insisted he’d heal better if he got out of bed and moved around, maybe took in some fresh air, so I allowed him to take a chair outside and sit while we planted vegetables. At first, he tried to help, but we all protested and the first time he stooped it was clear when he stumbled and almost fell that he wasn’t quite ready for that kind of activity yet.

  So he settled into his chair and took up a position I suspected was a regular habit for him—his hat pulled down over his eyes and arms crossed over his chest. It didn’t matter how long I knew him—whether he left tomorrow and I never saw him again or if I knew him for the rest of my life—that pose would always remind me of the first time I saw him in my barn and the heat he’d sparked inside me.

  As Daisy, Nellie, and I worked, turning the soil, planting seeds for tomatoes, carrots, potatoes, and other vegetables, I stole glances in Isaac’s direction. Seeing him wearing one of Frank’s shirts only muddled my feelings since it looked as good, but different, on him as it had on Frank. I teetered on the edge of being completely sunk for the second time in my life.

  Lydia arrived home in the late afternoon, just as we were finishing up, and she cast a pointed glance at Isaac, who was still napping in the chair, pursing her lips to convey her disapproval. I hurried to catch up with her before she went inside to start dinner, wiping garden dirt on my apron as I did.

  “Why the sour face?” I asked.

  “Don’t you think it’s dangerous to allow him out of the house? What if someone sees him?”

  “I’d think you’d be happy that he’s well enough to be up and around. It means he’ll be able to leave that much sooner.”

  “True enough,” she conceded, “but—”

  Before she could finish her thought we heard the sound of hoofbeats approaching and we both turned to identify the new arrivals. Still too far away to recognize, it was obvious the riders were both men, and since we rarely had visitors, a trickle of cold dread slid down my spine.