To Marry a Texas Outlaw

by Linda Broday

  “You don’t seem very happy.” He reached for her hand and found it as icy as before. He was starting to recognize it as a sign that she was scared. “What did you see?” he asked quietly.

  Rose told him about seeing the gun firing and the man falling dead. “What does it mean, Luke?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. Do you think you were the shooter?”

  She frowned. “I don’t know. I only saw a hand.” Her fingers curled inside his palm. “I can’t explain how familiar it all felt the second I held this weapon. I know how to handle a pistol.”

  The unease was back, twisting in his gut. For argument’s sake, if she was an expert marksman, it could mean only one thing—that she was probably someone who made her living with a gun. Maybe a female outlaw.

  He’d know more when he tested her aim.

  He just hoped she didn’t shoot him—or one of the horses—before he had the chance to find out.

  * * *

  The sun had slipped low in the sky when they stopped to make camp on a rocky creek bank. Rose knew she’d jarred Luke with the scene from her past. He hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words since. A man like Luke didn’t seem to deal in guesses and suppositions. An outlaw’s life appeared to depend on facts, to know straight out who was after him and how near they were.

  He didn’t understand her need to talk, for conversation. It eased her nerves.

  Before she could throw her leg over the saddle, he was there. Instant heat swept through her the minute his strong hands closed around her waist. She slid slowly down the length of his body.

  His eyes held desire. She didn’t need to have a real name to know that much.

  She loved how anger could turn those pale-green orbs to silver. She’d seen that when he’d faced down Reno Kidd’s men, and later at the cave where they’d stayed. Luke Weston could instill almighty terror. But not in her. No matter how upset he got, she knew he’d never hurt her.

  Rose clutched his sleeve and held her breath. Warmth swept over her as his eyes darkened almost to the color of emeralds. For a moment, she thought he’d kiss her. She hungered for his mouth, his touch, his rough, low voice that made her quiver. But her feet settled on the ground and the moment passed, much to her immense disappointment.

  “This is the only water for miles around and known to experienced travelers, so we’ll have to be on guard. Keep your disguise on.”

  “Sure, Luke.”

  “I’ll find some game for supper.” He grabbed the horses’ reins and led them to the water.

  A heavy ache filled her heart as she watched him stride away.

  Don’t care for me, he’d cautioned. Don’t try to save me.

  “Too late,” she whispered. It was too damn late.

  She cared and there wasn’t one thing she could do to stop it.

  “I’ll get some wood and put the coffee on,” Rose called and started for a large stand of scrub oak. She bent to collect some nice limbs when she heard crying.

  Who on earth? She pulled out her pistol and scanned the area for horses or a wagon, but saw nothing other than Luke with their mounts. The whimper of a dog caught her attention and drew her toward a thicket.

  “Shh,” warned someone in a whisper.

  Rose crept forward until she spied a figure curled on the ground, covered by the tall brush. A dog growled low.

  “Hello? Is anything wrong? Are you hurt?” she asked.

  “Go away. I’m fine.” The voice sounded young.

  “Please, I won’t hurt you.”

  Luke stole up beside her. “What is it?”

  “Someone is hurt, I think.” She pointed toward the forms. “I’m sure they’re scared.”

  “I’ll take a look.” Luke moved toward them. Suddenly, the dog growled and lunged at him with the hackles on its neck standing. It sped around their legs, barking furiously.

  “Watch out, Luke.” Though the pet was small, it probably had razor-sharp teeth.

  “Come here, Rowdy!” A thin boy who appeared to be somewhere in the vicinity of twelve scrambled for the mutt. “Don’t kill him, mister.”

  “I don’t kill dogs, son.” Luke crouched and let Rowdy smell his hand, then scratched the pooch behind the ear.

  The poor thing looked a sight with one half-chewed ear and dirty, wiry hair. Rose swallowed a sob. Rowdy seemed an appropriate name for the little scrapper.

  She knelt beside Luke. “Hi, I’m Rose and this is Luke. What is your name?” she asked gently.

  “Rose? Why are you using that name?” The boy looked puzzled; the poor thing was little more than skin and bones.

  Her heart raced. “Do you know me?”

  “You look like Josie. Josie Morgan.”

  Rose sucked in a breath. There was that name again.

  Luke glanced at her then back at the kid. “Do you think you might be mistaken?”

  “Possible I guess, but I don’t think so. Josie’s my friend. I’ve seen her lots of times,” the shaggy-haired lad answered.

  “Where?” Luke leaned closer.

  “At our farm. Josie came with this other man to talk to my pa.” The youngster gave a sob and dragged his sleeve across his face to wipe a tear trickling down his cheek. “Leastways it was at the farm where I used to live. Before my ma and pa died.”

  “I’m sorry.” Rose laid a comforting hand on the boy’s thin arm. “How long ago did they pass?”

  The boy scrunched up his face. “I sorta lost track of time. What month is this?”

  “We’re in May.” Rose wondered how she could know that and not her identity. She shot Luke a questioning glance and he nodded to confirm she was right.

  “My folks died when it was cold.” The boy hugged his dog tighter, struggling to hold back a sob.

  “Where do you live now, son?” Luke asked gently.

  “Uncle Bert. He’s mean.” The youth had spoken the words so low Rose almost missed them but she had no trouble seeing the fear that filled his brown eyes.

  “Mind telling us your name?” Luke asked. Panic filled the boy’s eyes as he tried to rise only to collapse. “Just so we’ll know what to call you.”

  “Noah.”

  “That’s a fine name, Noah.” Rose smoothed back hair so dirty she wasn’t sure of the color. “Are you hurt?”

  He nodded. “A little.”

  “Well, let’s get you back to camp and tend to you. I’ll bet you’re hungry.” Luke picked up the boy, who seemed to weigh nothing at all.

  Noah squirmed around, apparently looking for his dog. “Rowdy’s starving.”

  “We’ll feed you both,” Rose assured him. She snatched up a few pieces of wood and hurried after them and the mutt.

  Luke sat the youngster down on a flat rock and went to get some water. No telling when Noah had last drunk. Rowdy jumped into his lap and licked his master’s face. Rose attempted a smile but found it faltering. An ache filled her chest as she searched in the saddlebags for food. She found two cold biscuits and three slices of venison left from breakfast. Precious little, but those would tide the boy over until supper.

  Luke returned with a cup of cool water and squatted in front of Noah. Concern deepened the lines around his mouth and Rose could see anger building, the kind that would terrify everyone when unleashed.

  Although Luke forbade anyone to care for him, he had no such rule in place for himself toward others. He rubbed Noah’s thin back as the youngster wolfed down the biscuits, sharing the venison with Rowdy. The way both barely took time to chew said they hadn’t eaten much in a long while.

  Now that he was clear of the brush, she could see the full extent of Noah’s injuries. Raw welts encircled his wrists and ankles where someone had bound him tightly.

  Again, she went to the saddlebags and rummaged for a small tin of salve. She gently dabbed the thick oin
tment into the wounds.

  “How did you get these?” Luke’s rasped words told her he was struggling to keep a tight rein on his anger.

  “He chains me in the barn at night. That’s where I stay. I’m not allowed in the house. He lets me out in the day to work.” Noah’s soft answer was mumbled and low, as though someone would hear and punish him if he said it louder.

  “Bert?” Luke asked tightly.

  Noah nodded and released a loud whimper. The little dog whined and licked his face in sympathy.

  Fury burned red-hot in Rose. If she beat Luke and got first crack at Uncle Bert, she’d definitely put a bullet between the man’s eyes. Then one in his chest where no heart lived.

  “I finally got loose yesterday and ran all night. He’s going to come and take me back.” Noah shook his shaggy hair from his eyes. “This time he’ll kill me,” he whispered. “Then he’ll feed Rowdy to the pigs like he said.”

  A chill ran up Rose’s spine. She watched Luke’s eyes turn icy silver. There was no need for words; they were in perfect agreement. Uncle Bert would find nothing but a cold grave waiting if he was stupid enough to come for Noah.

  Nine

  Rose had so many questions to ask Noah, but knew she had to bide her time. Feed the boy first and let him rest.

  Then find out what he knew about her.

  Why the hell had she gone to his farm with a man? Who was he to her? Somehow, she knew the answers would be key to unlocking everything. But they lay just out of reach, teasing at the edges of her mind. Taunting her. Just like the emerald ring on her right hand. She tugged it off and stared at it. Who had given her the piece of jewelry? Or had she thought it pretty and bought it for herself?

  The puzzle was driving her crazy.

  With a heavy sigh, she slipped the ring back on and made a fire. When the flames died low, she set the coffeepot amid the embers. Hopefully, Luke would return soon with fresh game, but if not, she’d let Noah and the dog have her portion. She glanced to them lying on the bedroll fast asleep. Not surprising seeing as how they’d walked all night, desperate to get as far from pain and trouble as possible.

  Suddenly, Noah whimpered, begging his uncle to give him food and a blanket. “Please, I’ll be good,” he cried.

  The ache in Rose’s heart cut off her ability to breathe. No telling what he’d suffered. She hurried to him and laid a hand on his chest. Her touch quieted the boy. Rowdy glanced up at her with sad eyes before burrowing against Noah’s side.

  After a few minutes, she returned to the fire.

  Josie Morgan. She turned the name over in her mind, trying to spark a memory.

  From what Noah had said, she’d been to his farm lots of times. She had to have seen the boy, eaten at the same table. Yet, she couldn’t remember, not for the life of her. Maybe when Noah got around to telling her more she’d recall something. If she truly was Josie, she should probably start using the name. She whispered it to test how it sounded. Thoughts rolled in her mind.

  Josie killed her husband—gutted him with a knife.

  A shiver crept up the back of her neck.

  What else had Josie done? Who else had she killed?

  Bathed in twilight, she sat there, watching Noah sleep.

  Before she knew it, Luke returned with a turkey. They’d eat well tonight.

  She hurried to take the bird from him. “You must’ve seen this big fellow right off. You haven’t been gone more than fifteen minutes.”

  “The strangest thing.” Luke dismounted. “He practically walked right up to me. Just stood there, waiting for me to grab him. Saved me a bullet.”

  “Luke, if you think I’m going to believe that, you’re crazy.” She marveled how the remaining sunlight struck his sharply angled jaw and high cheekbones, danced playfully in his midnight hair. A yearning to bury her fingers in it came over her. “But thanks. I needed a smile to brighten my thoughts. Noah’s been asleep ever since you rode out.”

  “That’s good.” Luke’s deep voice brought tingles. “The boy’s exhausted.”

  “And hungry. Which we’ll soon remedy.”

  Rose’s gaze followed him as he unsaddled Major John and led the horse over next to the roan. Long and lean, Luke Weston cut quite a handsome figure with his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The pair of black trousers with the silver conchas up each side drew her attention to his long legs. Any woman would consider herself lucky to be with such a man—outlaw or not.

  Besides, he had the biggest heart she’d ever seen, and he could kiss. Rose couldn’t forget how those finely sculpted lips had settled on hers.

  But would he want to kiss a killer?

  * * *

  Luke finished the last bite of turkey and leaned back against his saddle. He gazed at Rose, watching the firelight softening her pretty features. It became more and more apparent that her name was Josie Morgan.

  Even so, no one would ever convince him that she could have killed anyone, unless it was for good reason.

  Looking at her now, he had a hard time believing that she’d hurt a fly. But her fury at Reno’s men when she didn’t even have a weapon rushed back. And there at Tally’s when she was mad enough to fight the ones who’d wronged them told him she could kill if provoked. Maybe that’s what happened.

  People who killed others without reason were cold, unfeeling. Dead inside. That definitely crossed Rose off the list. He’d never seen anyone with a bigger heart or as much life.

  He shifted his gaze to the boy. He’d put a crimp in Luke’s plans; he’d meant to find out just how well Rose could shoot. Besides, he needed to fire that pistol at her side first to see if the thing was even safe.

  He’d make sure of it before they left at sunrise.

  What was he going to do with Noah? He wouldn’t leave him. But could he, in good conscience, take the boy into even more danger?

  Luke watched him hand his little dog a hunk of meat he’d pulled from the bone. Both had eaten until they were about ready to explode, yet couldn’t stop. Maybe Noah feared they wouldn’t get any more.

  “How old are you, Noah?” Luke asked quietly.

  “Fifteen,” the boy mumbled, keeping his head down.

  “Maybe you oughta try again, son.” Luke noticed the red streaks climbing up Noah’s neck at getting caught in the lie.

  “Ten.” Then he threw in quickly, “And a half.”

  A flicker of a smile crossed Luke’s face. He saw a lot of himself in Noah and remembered when he was at that in-between age, badly wanting to be older.

  Rose leaned forward. “Now that you’ve eaten and rested, I’d like to know more about you and how you might know me. What is your last name?”

  “Jordan,” he answered. “My folks were Abel and Ester Jordan. We had a farm outside of China Lake.”

  “What happened to your folks?” Luke asked.

  “Someone shot ’em. I heard the shots and found ’em. Never saw the shooter.”

  After explaining her memory loss, Rose asked, “Why are you so sure I’m Josie?”

  Noah picked up Rowdy and sat him in his lap. “Because you brought me Rowdy. And gumdrops. We’d sit under a tree while the men talked. You told me how much you missed your mama. She died and you were sad. You were real nice and I liked you.”

  “I’m glad I showed you kindness.”

  “Most grown-ups pretend us kids are invisible, but you spent time with me…like you really wanted to.”

  “I know I did want to.” She touched his hair and Luke could see how much she cared for this child. But then, she’d be drawn to him anyway because Noah was the only link she’d found to her past.

  Noah pulled a length of braided leather from his pocket. “You taught me to make this.”

  Luke sat in silence as Rose took the handiwork that showed painstaking care. She fingered it slowly and let out a soft gasp,
riveted by something only she could see.

  “What are you looking at?” He touched her shoulder.

  “A picture—a memory, just now. I was leaning over Noah’s shoulder, showing him how to weave three narrow strips of leather together into this braid here. Before I could grab hold of the memory, the image vanished.” She met Luke’s gaze. “I am Josie Morgan. Of that I’m certain.”

  He swung to Noah. “You said she came with a man. Can you describe him?”

  Luke held Rose’s icy hand and watched her in silence, seeing her desperate need for answers—even if they brought pain. He found himself praying she’d drop her search. Somehow, he knew that when the truth came out, the answers would destroy her.

  “He was kinda old,” Noah said. “He had gray hair and a beard. Not as tall as you. He didn’t smile or anything. My pa called him Captain. I wish I knew more so you could find yourself, Josie. I hate being lost. It’s scary.”

  “You’re not lost anymore,” she said. “And I’ll find my way too before long. What did I wear when I visited?”

  “A dress. It was real pretty, like my mama’s.”

  “Did I wear a gun?”

  “Nope. But once I saw you unbuckle a gun belt when you dismounted and put it in your saddlebag. That man—Captain—got real mad. He said you had to wear it.”

  A frown deepened the lines around Rose’s mouth and on her forehead. Luke couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but the more the boy talked, the more troubled she became.

  “What kind of horse did I ride?” she asked.

  “It was a black-and-white Indian pony.” He grinned. “I wanted a horse just like it. Once you said that you dreamed of riding him to Galveston. You told me you wanted to live there where bad people couldn’t find you and you could wade in the water.”

  “I don’t think I was very happy.” She glanced at Luke. “I’m more confused than ever.”

  “None of this is sparking anything?” he asked.

  She shook her head. Night settled around them and with the black shadows came fear.

  Worry darkened the kid’s eyes and Luke suspected he was thinking about his uncle. “You have us, Noah. I won’t let him take you.”