The Outlaw and the Runaway

by Tatiana March

  * * *

  They ate supper in silence, the weight of emotions between them too great to allow for a casual conversation. Roy had slipped his eye patch back on, and it added an edge of mystery to his masculine good looks. Celia stole glances at him in the flickering firelight, a mix of old and new dreams churning around in her head.

  When she could no longer tolerate the silence only broken by the cool desert breeze that stirred the stunted cottonwoods along the river, making them whisper in the darkness like a reflection of her confused mind, she blurted out one of her tangled thoughts.

  “Could an outlaw reform?”

  Roy took a sip of his coffee. Beneath the brim of his hat, Celia could see a wary glint enter his blue eye.

  “Drop it, Celia,” he said. “I already told you. It’s too late for me.”

  “Please,” she said quietly. “Can’t we at least talk about it?”

  For a moment, she thought Roy might ignore her. When he finally spoke, his voice was casual. Too casual. The way he sat on the ground, hunched forward, his attention on the flames that crackled in the darkness, revealed his indifference to be feigned. It seemed evident to Celia that an escape from the lawless life had very much been in his thoughts.

  “Twenty years ago it was easy,” Roy said. “When the War Between the States broke out, you signed up for the fighting and stayed on until the end. If you came out alive, you could start with a clean slate.”

  “But now?”

  “Sometimes the law might turn a blind eye, pretend not to recognize you if you change your name, but that doesn’t make a man into an honest citizen. For that you’ll need a full pardon from the territorial governor, or even from the president.”

  “Is there no other way?”

  “A judge might make it known he is prepared to be lenient if an outlaw turns himself in. You can serve your time at the territorial penitentiary and come out a free man.” Roy’s mouth twisted into a grim smile. “And a much older one.”

  “You protected my father...took the bullet intended for him...that ought to help...” Celia’s mind leaped ahead. In her eagerness to make sense of the jumble of ideas in her mind, she forged on, not pausing to consider the impact of her words. “You could turn yourself in. The authorities wouldn’t hang you. You’d get five years in prison, perhaps ten. And you might get paroled much sooner than that...perhaps in just a few years...”

  A scowl settled over Roy’s features, but Celia paid no mind to it. She craned closer to him, the heat of the fire enveloping her as her words poured out in a breathless stream. “And then...once you’ve turned yourself in...you could tell them about my father, that he is innocent, and we could—”

  Like a lash from a whip, Roy’s voice silenced her. “Is that what this has been all about?” His expression grew harsh. “Is this what your kisses were leading up to? You want me to trade places with your father? Sacrifice my liberty so he can gain his?”

  “What I meant—”

  Roy cut her off with an angry gesture of his hand. “And of course, a man needs an incentive to throw his freedom away. Is that why you were so eager to say ‘yes’ to me a moment ago, Celia? Were you trying to seduce me into turning myself in, so you can use me as a bartering chip to get your father released?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “There is no other way to mean it.”

  “Please,” she said. “Let me explain.”

  Roy tossed the remains of his coffee into the flames and pushed up to his feet. For a moment, he stood there, staring at the hissing cloud of steam, the empty cup clutched in his fingers. The impassive mask that usually hid his emotions slipped, and on his features Celia could see hurt—hurt and a sense of hopelessness.

  She wanted to jump up, wrap her arms around him and comfort him, but the stillness about him warned her to stay away. How thoughtless she’d been! In her eagerness to clear up her own tangled mind, she had put her ideas all wrong. She longed to undo the damage, but the words she had so thoughtlessly spoken could not be taken back.

  She saw a shudder travel down Roy’s powerful frame, as if releasing him from his frozen state. He hauled in a deep breath, then another. When he finally spoke, his voice was raspy and harsh, like rusty nails rattling in his throat, but the words were casual enough. “I need to check on the horses. I’ll take care not to disturb your sleep when I get back.”

  * * *

  Roy pulled the patch from his brown eye and strode away into the darkness. He could feel his body shaking. He’d known from the start there would be a price to pay for taking Celia with him, but each day that went by the cost seemed to escalate.

  How could he have been so careless and let her stir his emotions? He should have guessed she might be manipulating him for her own aims. What else could be the reason for her sultry looks and her tempting smiles? Women like Celia Courtwood were not for the Roy Hagans of this world, and he’d be a fool to think otherwise.

  Boots splashing through a puddle, Roy headed to the edge of the riverbed, where a grassy spot provided grazing for the horses. Dagur lay asleep on his side, legs stuck out like an obstacle to trip up a careless man. Roy circled around the horse and squatted on his haunches beside the buckskin’s head.

  Rubbing the horse’s nose, Roy muttered to himself as much as to the animal. “Don’t ever trust a filly, Dagur. You might have lost the urge when they cut off your male bits, but that hasn’t stopped you from making a fool of yourself over Baldur. Mark my words, though, a stallion prances along and the mare won’t give you another glance.”

  Dagur neighed and shook his head.

  “Are you telling me I’m wrong, boy?”

  The horse did not reply. Roy kept up his gentle stroking, the repetitive motion soothing his troubled mind. Had he reacted too swiftly? Could it be that the memory of a thousand childhood rejections had clouded his thinking? Surely, there could be no deviousness in Celia—she had made her suggestion out of love for her father. If he had any experience of the bond of parental love himself, perhaps he would understand her reasoning and not resent her for it.

  Slowly, Roy felt his bitter anger fade away. The cool night air stirred his hair, helping his heated mind to calm. Humid scents drifted over from the stagnant ponds in the shallow stream, easing his throat after days of breathing the desert dust. Above him, a million stars dotted the sky. In the distance, a hyena barked, no doubt fighting for a carcass.

  The inevitability of death and the vastness of the landscape around him filled Roy with an acute sense of loneliness. He thought of Celia, how she had flinched at his cutting words. He ought to go back to her, explain about his past. For the rest of the trip, he had to find the strength to resist the temptation she presented, but there was no reason why they couldn’t be friends.

  After saying good-night to the horses, Roy walked back to the campfire. Celia had not settled down to sleep but remained seated by the fireside, arms wrapped around her upraised knees. When she heard his footsteps, she looked up. The glow of the flames illuminated her face, and the anguish Roy could read in her expression cut like a knife.

  Pulling his eye patch back on, he stepped out of the shadows. “It doesn’t work like that,” he said quietly, and crouched to add another piece of driftwood into the flames.

  “I’m sorry... I didn’t mean...not the way it sounded...”

  He held up a hand, an easy gesture that brushed away the need for apologies. Celia fell silent, but instead of lowering her chin to rest on her knees again, she contemplated him, her gaze flickering over his features. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Roy toyed with a piece of firewood, searching for the right words to make amends. Sticking to the facts was best, he decided. Emotions were too treacherous a ground for a man to tread.

  “The law wouldn’t simply believe an outlaw’s word and let your father go free. And they wouldn’t just pat me on the b
ack for having surrendered peacefully. They’d put pressure on me to testify against the rest of the gang. Perhaps threaten me with a hanging. Might even go through with it, if I got them riled enough. And if they decided to let me live, I’d have to watch my back in prison, for my former associates would rather see me dead than risk me changing my mind about testifying against them.”

  Celia hugged her knees, drew tighter into herself. “I didn’t consider...”

  Roy fought the urge to reach out and bundle her into his arms. He wanted to banish her anxieties, to soothe her fears, and what better way to do it than to hold her close, let her feel the warmth and strength of a man’s embrace. However, a moment ago, he’d resolved not to allow any more intimacies between them, and he needed to stick to the promise he had given himself.

  “It’s all right,” he said, and forced a ghost of a smile. “You meant well, even if your ideas were not fully thought through. Best we forget the whole conversation.”

  She put her hand up, like a pupil in a schoolroom. “Just one more question. Why is it not possible to simply leave the outlaw life behind? Ride away, take on a new identity, start over in some place far away?”

  Roy sighed. He didn’t want to have the conversation, but he owed it to her to reply. “It’s not that simple. Lom Curtis, the man who controls the Red Bluff Gang, has sworn never to let anyone leave after they have thrown in with him. He is not the true leader, though. There’s a power behind him, some man in Prescott who is all respectable on the surface. Anyone who tries to break away, he’ll put a bounty on. With my unusual eyes, I’ll never be able to hide behind a new name. I’ll always be recognized, wherever I go. I’d have the law as well as bounty hunters and Lom Curtis coming after me.”

  Celia’s mouth tightened as she digested the information. Then, appearing to accept his suggestion to abandon the topic, she spoke in a carefully neutral tone. “Why do you cover your brown eye even when it is dark? I prefer it when I can see your face.”

  Roy replied with the same air of detachment. “With a fire burning, it is tempting to stare into the flames, and that blinds a man for a few seconds when he looks away from the bright light. If I keep my brown eye covered, I can pull the cloth patch aside and instantly see in the darkness. It gives me an advantage against another man sitting by the fire, and puts me on even footing with a man hiding in the shadows.”

  “I should have thought of that.” Celia gave a slow shake of her head, her gaze veering away. “I guess there is a lot I don’t know about the outlaw life.”

  Amen to that, Roy thought. And let’s hope you’ll never have to learn.

  Aloud, he said, “Time to turn in for the night. I’ll sleep over there by those big boulders. You can stay here and enjoy the heat of the fire.” And with that, he walked away, the boundary between them as clearly marked as a barbed wire fence dividing the range.

  Chapter Eight

  The following morning, the trail dipped down farther and took them to a shady gorge beside a rushing river. The air was cool and moist, filled with rich scents of damp earth. The roaring of the water drowned out all other sounds, making conversation difficult.

  Instead of enjoying the dramatic scenery, Celia dwelled on her troubled mind. Last night, she had allowed herself to be swept along with the new sensations Roy stirred up in her, but then her discarded dreams of a husband and home had clouded her thinking. She had talked about an outlaw’s redemption, seeking for ways to turn Roy into a man who could fit into such a life. But she was following a different course now, that of an independent woman capable of forging her own fate. And such a woman could afford to have a liaison without the bond of marriage—the rules of society no longer mattered, for she was already beyond them.

  But she had behaved as if her kisses came with a price tag, and even though they had made up their argument, a strain remained between them—a strain she had caused by her misguided comments.

  As the sun began to sink in the sky, the gorge opened up to form a narrow valley. The river widened, rippling quietly over shallows between the low banks. From the trail of hoofprints that led to the water’s edge, Celia could tell they had reached the river crossing.

  Roy drew his horse to a halt and dismounted. His back was rigid, and he did not look at her as he spoke. “We’ll cross tonight. There’s enough daylight left.”

  Celia’s mood sank. From what Roy had told her, she understood it was only one day’s ride from the river crossing to the maze of canyons where the outlaws had their hideout. Soon, their time together would come to an end. Before that happened, she wanted to heal the rift between them, make sure their parting would not be marred by resentment.

  Instead of pausing to help her down from the saddle, Roy strode to the edge of the river and studied the swirls of the current. Celia remained on her horse. After several days of riding, her muscles were no longer sore. She could feel a new strength and suppleness in her body. A similar, newfound strength flexed in her mind now. Somehow, before they reached their destination, she would find a way to remedy her mistake.

  Roy came back up the slope from the water’s edge. “I’ll cross on Dagur first. He’s been over many times. Then I’ll come back for you and guide Baldur across.”

  “Baldur and I can follow you.”

  “No, you must wait for me. I don’t know how the mare will react to water.”

  Celia did what she could to help as Roy unstrapped her bags from Baldur and put them on Dagur instead. He mounted again, fitted himself between the goods loaded on the gelding. For a moment, he let his gaze rest on Celia, then looked up the path and appeared to hesitate. With a quick, decisive motion, he unsnapped a holster on his gun belt, pulled out one of his heavy pistols and handed it to her. “I won’t be long, but take this, just in case. This is the only crossing for hundreds of miles. There may be other travelers.”

  With that, he wheeled Dagur around and urged the gelding into the stream.

  Her heart pounding with a sudden sense of danger and loneliness, the pistol an alien weight in her hand, Celia watched him cross. The water whirled around the horse’s legs but never came higher than his belly. Roy lifted his boots out of the stirrups to keep them dry, his balance perfect in the saddle. It only took him a couple of minutes to wade across. On the other side, he turned to wave at her, then dismounted and began to strip the load off the horse.

  Beneath her, Celia could feel Baldur’s muscles bunch. Before she could react to the motion, the mare was surging down the riverbank. The heavy revolver clutched in one hand, Celia pulled at the reins but Baldur ignored her command and rushed headlong into the stream. Celia’s fingers tightened convulsively over the grip of the gun, limiting her ability to control the bridle reins. As the water began to foam around her, she let go of the reins and clung to the saddle horn, her only thought to remain seated.

  “Roy!” she yelled. “Roy! I can’t stop the horse. I can’t stop Baldur.”

  Barely had her cry faded in the air when she felt Baldur stumble beneath her. Water came up to Celia’s thighs, soaking her velvet riding skirt, molding the heavy fabric to her legs.

  “Go to the right,” Roy shouted. “You’re too far to the left.”

  Frantic not to drop the gun in her hand, Celia fumbled for the reins, but too late. She could feel the horse’s hooves scrabbling against the slippery rocks at the bottom of the river, and with a lunge Baldur leaped into the stream and began to swim, the powerful body of the horse churning through the water.

  “Stay in the saddle!”

  Celia could hear Roy’s voice over the gushing spray the horse stirred up but she lacked the strength to fight against the weight of her skirts and the pull of the current. She felt herself being swept out of the saddle. With one hand, she clung to the saddle horn, her fingers curled around the slippery protrusion. Her other hand never loosened its grip on the cold steel of the Smith & Wesson revolver she kn
ew was important to Roy. Even as the weight of the waterlogged velvet and the swirling water dragged her under, even as childhood images and memories of her parents flashed before her eyes, she held on—held on to the piece of cold, hard metal that connected her to Roy Hagan.

  * * *

  Frantic, Roy watched Celia slide out of the saddle. He rushed to the river’s edge, was about to wade in when he saw her in the foaming swirls of water surrounding the horse. Her bonnet dangled by its straps, floating behind her. Her upsweep had unraveled and her hair hung in wet strands, the ends undulating in the water like a cloud of seaweed. He could make out one small, white hand wrapped around the saddle horn, trying to hold on.

  His heart hammered so hard it hurt. He could not breathe, could not breathe. Terror and uncertainty stretched each second into an eternity. The whole world seemed to be in that small hand, holding on to the saddle horn, clinging to stay afloat. Baldur was craning out of the water, legs churning, closing the distance to the shore.

  Horses were good swimmers, but their powerful bodies created a turbulent current. A rider who fell from the saddle could be sucked beneath the surface by the undertow. If Celia lost her grip, she would not only be swept away by the river, but she might be hurt by the kicking hooves of the horse, increasing the possibility that she might drown.

  And yet, Roy did not dare to go to her. Celia’s best chance was to hold on. If he tried to swim out to her, he might startle the horse into a sudden lurch and cause Celia’s grip to slip. If that happened, the current might sweep her away before he could rescue her.

  Finally, Baldur reached the shore. Panting, water cascading down her flanks, the gray mare stumbled out of the stream and scrambled up the bank. Celia hung draped against the side of the horse until they were clear of the water. Then she released her grip on the saddle horn and slumped down on the muddy slope.

  Roy rushed over, crouched beside her. “Are you all right? Are you all right?”

  Gently, he slipped one arm around her shoulders and raised her to a half-sitting position. Her face was marble white, her lips tinged with blue. Icy shivers racked her body. She spoke through chattering teeth. “I didn’t...didn’t drop it.”