The Outlaw Bride

by Sandra Chastain

  “A person sometimes has to take a risk when she believes in her cause. You deserve to be paid.”

  Elbe nodded and gave Josie a sudden smile.

  “Now promise me you won’t earn any more money taking care of men.”

  A quick wince crossed Ellie’s face, then disappeared. She nodded. “I promise.”

  Ellie was leaving through the side door just as Sheriff Will Spencer came in. “Josie?” Will said in a worried voice, “somebody just brought word there’s a wounded man out at your house.”

  “Holy hell, Dr. Annie and Dan have gone to New York. How’d he get out there instead of the office here in town?”

  “That Indian friend of your mamas, Bear Claw, brought him.”

  Josie stuffed her law books and papers into her carrying case. “I’d better get going,” she said as she pushed open the saloon doors and dashed across the street to the livery stable where old Solomon was still hitched up to the Miller buggy. Will followed close behind.

  “I’ll ride out there with you,” Will said, “and we’ll bring him back to town.”

  “Will, that’s not necessary. I don’t need protecting. I can look after myself.”

  Will reached out to help her up into the buggy, but Josie didn’t wait. She lifted the mud-stained train of her walking dress, climbed up, plopped down on the seat, and gathered the reins. “Let’s go boy, we’ve got an injured man at home.”

  Will jumped into the buggy at the last minute. “I’m sure you can take care of yourself, Josie, but I’m coming with you.”

  “All right,” Josie said impatiently. “Let’s go.”

  The sheriff smiled. From the time Josie came to Laramie fourteen years ago, she’d been the most talked-about, envied, and admired female in the territory—outside of Dr. Annie. Everyone knew that Josie Miller tried to be a stern lady lawyer. She even dressed like one, corseting her curvaceous frame into the hourglass dresses now in style. Her honey-blonde hair refused to be confined in the curls of the times, so she braided it and pinned it in a knot. But the knot tended to slip and the strands escaped regularly. With her wide blue eyes and disheveled dress, her attempt to look like a professional attorney was doomed to failure. But she was smart. She knew the law and she knew almost as much about doctoring as her ma.

  “What do we know about the patient?” Josie asked.

  “Bear Claw said he found him west of the mountains. He kept talking about a black-and-white horse.”

  “Black-and-white horse?” Josie was afraid she knew what Bear Claw was talking about. Some of the Sioux believed Death rode a black-and-white horse. Others believed the horse was just a messenger from the spirit world. If Bear Claw was right, she’d better get home quick.

  “Did anyone else see the horse?”

  “Not that I know of. Could be it belonged to the man.”

  “Yeah. And it could be a maverick, running loose out there on the plains.” Josie gave Solomon another sharp rap, urging him into a trot. The buggy bumped across the ruts. Her hairpins fell out and her face was streaked with perspiration.

  Will didn’t say anything else. And Josie concentrated on her driving. She had a peculiar feeling about this, a feeling of danger she hadn’t had in a long time. Something was about to happen. And it might not be as easy to fix as picking a pocket.

  2

  The Miller ranch was an oddity in Wyoming. Dan Miller had designed it to look like a Spanish hacienda he’d seen in New Mexico, with a courtyard wrapped around the rambling adobe-brick house.

  Josie drove the buggy up the long drive toward the house and smiled. Protected by the mountains to the east and the west, the trees were green and wild animals scurried away from the sound of the wheels. The afternoon sunlight gave the adobe a pink glow, and the smell of flowers caught by the summer wind brought a special kind of welcome. Dan had built the house the third year of his marriage to Dr. Annie, the year Laura was born.

  Laura was ten now, the same age Josie had been when she’d picked Dr. Annie’s pockets at the rail station and Dan had entered both their lives. That’s where the similarities ended. Laura was calm and studious, with a voice as melodious as a bird’s and beauty that caused people to stop and stare. Laura was the lady that Josie had tried to be—tried and failed.

  There were two wings to the Miller house. One wing housed Dr. Annie’s clinic, and the other contained the family’s sleeping quarters. Connecting the two were a foyer, a large gathering room, and a dining area.

  Josie urged Solomon to the clinic wing and climbed down, handing the reins to Wash, the old ranch hand who had emerged from the barn.

  “Take care of Solomon,” she said, moving toward the door to the clinic and nodding at Lubina, the Millers’ housekeeper who hovered nervously inside.

  Josie approached the unconscious man Bear Claw had brought to her mother’s clinic. She took one look at him and felt a funny shiver run through her. He’d been laid out on the examination table. His clothes were caked with blood. His face was turned away and the side nearest her was obscured by a strand of thick dark hair that lay like a whip across his cheek. It was entangled in the dusty growth of his beard. He looked like a dark angel who’d been shot out of the sky. Josie thought that if she ever had to defend this man in court, he’d be convicted on his looks alone.

  She pressed her fingers against the artery in his neck and felt the pulsing. Josie was once again struck with a sense of impending danger.

  “Es too much blood, señorita,” Lubina said, wringing her hands and wailing loudly.

  “Stop that caterwauling, Lubina!” Josie snapped. “I don’t want him scared to death.” She tried to lift his shirt front, but the blood had stuck it tight to his shoulder. She didn’t force it. “Looks like he was shot a couple of days ago. You know who he is, Will?”

  “Never saw him before. And until we find out, I think I’d better hold him in town, where I can keep an eye on him.”

  Even though he seemed unconscious, Josie had the uncanny sensation that the stranger could hear her. The danger she’d sensed skittered up her backbone and hovered somewhere behind her lungs, vibrating like the tail of a rattlesnake poised to strike. The feeling created a tension so strong she was surprised she wasn’t visibly shaking.

  “No, he can’t be moved,” she heard herself saying, “not until I treat his wounds.”

  Will looked at her with worry in his eyes. Josie tolerated him like an older brother, but there were times when she knew he wanted more.

  Josie began to focus on the injured man’s lower body. Most of the blood had dried on his trousers. “We’ll have to get him out of those clothes,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “Lubina, help me.”

  “Lubina will not touch this devil,” the housekeeper said, wringing her hands helplessly. “I ask the Holy Mother for strength, but she doesn’t hear this poor feeble woman’s plea.”

  “He’s no devil, and I don’t know about the Holy Mother,” Josie said, “but when my mother returns—”

  Will interrupted. “You hold his legs, Josie. I’ll get the boots.”

  “All right. Lubina, please go get some hot water and clean cloths.”

  The housekeeper wasted no time getting out of the room.

  Josie planted herself firmly against the man’s right thigh and felt a shiver rush to the point of contact. She took a deep breath, nodded, and clasped the wounded man’s knee while Will wrenched off his boots.

  Josie might have spent a good portion of her youth assisting Dr. Annie in the sickroom, but she’d never been faced with treating a dangerous-looking man like this alone. Dealing with a simple wound was one thing, but for most of the last four years she’d been studying law in New York. The man on the table wasn’t the only one in trouble.

  Josie swallowed hard. She’d never totally undressed a man—certainly not in front of anyone. His skin was as rough as his appearance. Whoever he was, he’d been a man who worked for a living.

  Will broke her train of thought. “Until
we find out who this man is, I don’t feel right about you having a stranger out here. I think we ought to send Dan and Dr. Annie a telegram in New York.”

  “We don’t have time for that,” Josie said, unbuttoning the wounded man’s shirt. “Besides, this man is too near death to be a threat to me or anyone else.”

  “All right,” Will said reluctantly. “I’ll get back to town and make sure we haven’t had any reports of a train holdup or a bank robbery. I’ll be back to check on you in the morning.”

  Josie laid her hand on the hard plane of her patient’s stomach. “He isn’t an outlaw,” she said softly, then wondered where that certainty came from. He might not be a criminal, but somebody was angry with him. Considering that one of his wounds appeared to be in the groin, a jealous husband could have shot him.

  “You don’t know what he is. You’re just like your mama. You’re the second stubbornest woman in the territory,” Will grumbled as he left the clinic.

  “That I am,” Josie agreed, and pushed the door closed behind him. She unfastened the man’s empty gun belt and his suspenders and then reached to unfasten his denim trousers.

  The stranger’s gloved hand shot across his body and caught her wrist.

  Fear washed over her. What if she was wrong about him being an outlaw? She wished she hadn’t let Will leave. “I’m only trying to help you,” she said, “but if you’d rather bleed to death, it can be arranged.”

  He turned toward her with a cold, black-as-sin stare that held her motionless. Lines of pain—or menace—radiated from the corners of the stormiest eyes she’d ever seen. And despite his grimacing expression, Josie knew he was strikingly handsome and very dangerous.

  The stranger let go of her wrist. He closed his eyes as if he had lapsed into unconsciousness again.

  Josie relaxed her shoulders and let out a silent breath as she waited for her racing heart to slow. Swallowing hard, she took Dr. Annie’s scissors and cut into his trousers, her fingers tucked beneath his waistband to guide the blades. As she inched downward, she brushed his thick body hair—and a mound of soft flesh.

  She jerked back and lost her grip on the scissors. The blades slipped sideways.

  The man let out a muffled oath, caught her shoulder, and pulled her forward. Josie suddenly found her cheek pressed against his thigh.

  She froze.

  Scream! Lubina will come, she thought. But when she felt him breathe, felt the warmth of his wounded body beneath her, she waited. “Let go of me,” she said in a low voice.

  He was only acting instinctively, she realized, and slowly she pulled from his grip. “You do that again and I’ll let the sheriff have you,” she snapped. Taking a shaky breath, she steadied her trembling fingers and finished clipping his trousers. Peeling the fabric open, she found a gaping wound. She worked her fingers beneath his body and located a smaller wound. What had happened? He didn’t look like he could possibly be a victim—he was too big and mean-looking—though it was obvious from the wounds that he was being pursued.

  Miraculously, the bullet hadn’t hit anything vital. It looked as though it had simply gone through the back and out the front of his groin without nicking a major vessel. The man’s wounds weren’t fatal, but considering what he must have gone through, she didn’t know how he had managed to stay alive.

  Josie shifted her focus to his shoulder and quickly peeled off his rough chambray shirt, revealing a muscled chest covered with a mat of hair. She felt heat emanate from his body. He was feverish—or maybe she was the feverish one, she decided as she jerked back to study her patient.

  Footsteps announced Lubina’s approach. Quickly Josie drew a sheet over her patient’s lower body.

  “Thank you, Lubina,” she said, taking the hot water and clean cloths from the housekeeper. Josie then waved her off, took a deep breath, and got to work.

  Two pans of water and three cloths later, she’d washed away the dried blood. She then filled the groin and the shoulder wounds with sulfur and covered them with cloth pads to prevent infection.

  The kind of sweat that came from physical exertion ran down Josie’s neck and puddled between her breasts. She could hear the man’s steady breathing in the silence. He was lucky. He’d be sore and weak for awhile, but nothing appeared to be broken and, if infection didn’t set in, he’d probably be able to shoot a gun again.

  Josie moved Dr. Annie’s stool closer to the patient’s bed and sat, letting out a long, exhausted sigh. She peeled back the clean sheet that she had draped across his body and took a quick peek at his groin. The bandage was tinged with blood. She closed her eyes for a moment, then covered him once more.

  The urge to take another peek at the dark-eyed stranger was rapidly becoming a temptation.

  3

  For two long days and nights, Josie Miller stayed with her patient, watching him and studying her law books. The stranger was now her responsibility, medically and legally. Will would be after him soon, wanting to move him to the town jail. She’d better be ready to defend his rights if she wanted him to stay and recuperate.

  Fact was, he still wasn’t well. A fever had swept through his body and turned him into the devil. Josie fought him physically when periodic bouts of half-consciousness made his body convulse, and she soothed him with comforting words when his cries for someone named Ben turned into tears of rage. Ben seemed to give him the strength to survive, and she began to feel a growing admiration for her patient’s unyielding determination to find him.

  Who was this Ben, and how did he fit into this mysterious man’s life?

  ————

  Will Spencer was convinced that this was a dangerous man, but he’d had no report of any criminal activity on which to base his fears. He came by the Millers’ house frequently, but he seemed to agitate the man, so Josie banned him from the sickroom.

  Lubina was too frightened to enter the room at all and hovered outside the door renouncing Josie’s patient as the devil.

  “I saw the black-and-white horse the night he came,” she said on the fourth day after the stranger’s arrival. “The Indians believe the stallion es the death horse.”

  “That horse is just some maverick out looking for mares,” Josie argued.

  “Then tell me why he came in the middle of a storm, the very same night that devil in there came?”

  “I can’t.” Josie walked to the open door and stared at the distant hills. A huge, dark cloud loomed on the horizon. “But maybe we’ll see him again. There’s another storm brewing.”

  As if fed by the energy of the storm, Sims Callahan began to wake. From behind closed eyes, he sensed the flash of lightning and heard thunder roll across the heavens like a herd of stampeding cattle. He thrashed wildly for a moment in a fit of confusion, but as the storm quieted he grew still.

  A brisk wind blew across him, pushing away the darkness, bringing the fragrance of clean rain and, finally, awareness.

  He opened his eyes and began to focus on the woman sitting in the chair beside his bed. She had slumped forward, apparently asleep. Her head rested against his shoulder and as her hair brushed against his chin, he could smell the sweet womanly scent of her.

  He stroked her arm. “Am I dead?”

  Josie jerked herself up and stared in amazement. “Not yet. But you’ve been a very sick man. I’ve done the best I can, but I’m no doctor. Your life is in God’s hands.”

  Whoever the woman was, she had spunk. “Well, I hope His hands are gentler than yours, darlin’. You damn near killed me.”

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  Wind gusted through the open window causing the lamp to flame. Callahan saw that her eyes were blue, the midnight kind of blue that cloaked the plains when a storm rode through the region. “Who are you?” he asked.

  “I’m Josie Miller, but I asked you first. Are you an outlaw?”

  No answer. The man had closed his eyes. He’d drifted off to sleep, or at least he’d pretended to.

  “Coward!” Josie sigh
ed in frustration.

  The clouds emptied in torrents, rain hitting the mountains with a vengeance. She ran toward the window, reaching for the shutters to close them against the onslaught. Outside, a lightning bolt lit up the darkness, and she saw him, the ghost horse. The great black-and-white stallion stood on a ridge, looking down, his tail held high, and his mane whipping in the wind. He was just as Bear Claw had once described.

  Her heart raced. She wasn’t certain which had caused it: the violent storm, the ghost horse, or the dangerous stranger lying in her bed.

  Then, just as quickly as he had appeared, the stallion vanished.

  Will Spencer came by the next morning with an announcement. “I’m moving your patient into town, Josie, even if it kills him.”

  “Why?”

  “I put out the word about a wounded man. There’ve been no holdups or bank robberies recently. All I’ve got is a herd of fancy, unclaimed imported cows at the rail yard. Apparently Sims Callahan and his younger brother, Ben, were delivering a saddlebag full of money to pay for them, but they never arrived in Laramie. I have a feeling your man may be one of the brothers or knows what happened to them. If he doesn’t, I’ll have to send the steers back.”

  “No, you don’t. You can’t send them back without a legal writ.” Josie was already planning a defense, but something Will had said stuck in her mind. He’d mentioned Ben. She knew that name—all too well. The wounded man had called it out over and over in his feverish state. “Where are the Callahan brothers from?”

  “Sharpsburg now,” Will answered, “but I understand that they’re originally from somewhere in the east—the Carolinas, I think. The two came up with the idea to invest in these cattle. They brought some other ranchers in on the deal, but the Callahans insisted on driving the cattle home. Now the money has disappeared, and your patient seems to match the description of one of the brothers.”

  “Well, then, how’d this one get shot?”

  Will shook his head. “I don’t know, and until I do I want him in jail. I’m sending a couple of the ranchers out here to identify your patient. They’ll bring a wagon to move him.”