Outlaw Hearts

by Rosanne Bittner

  She reached over to help him raise up a little, bracing an arm under his neck. She reached around him then to fluff the pillows and grasp an extra one to prop against the cross-poles at the head of the bed.

  Jake noticed her neck was small and pretty. She was so close, smelled so good. He thought how if he were at his usual strength and felt all right, it would be very hard not to pull her to him and taste her mouth, feel her soft skin. How long had she been a widow? How often did she think about what it had been like to let a man bed her? Had it been good with her husband, or were there things he had never even taught her?

  “I’ll help all I can, but you’re going to have to push with your hands a little.” Miranda grasped him under the arms and used all her strength to help scoot him up slightly, thinking what a solid, muscular man he was, in spite of his last week of sickness. His skin was so dark, she wondered if he had Mexican or Indian blood. She struggled to ignore his closeness, tried not to think about how good it might feel to have a man hold her again in the night, treasure her, make love to her. It was certainly ridiculous to think such a thing about a man like Jake Harkner.

  She got him to a sitting position and quickly moved away from him, turning to take the tray and set it across his legs. She took the cup then and raised it to his lips. “Try to drink some.”

  Jake took the cup into his own hands. “I can hold it.”

  Miranda watched him a moment, confused by her own feelings. Taking care of him, nursing him through his agony and knowing she was the cause of it, hearing the things he had said in his delirium, all made her feel closer to him, responsible for him. Her curiosity about his past had only grown stronger, as had this strange, unexplainable sympathy for him. Why on earth should she feel sorry for this man who was probably no better than those who had killed her father? Was it foolish to believe that deep inside, every man had some good in him?

  “I don’t know why I haven’t told anyone you’re here,” she said. “I only know that no matter how much part of me argued for it, I simply could not turn you in for bounty money. I did go into town once.” She watched his dark eyes turn distrustful again as he lowered the cup. “Don’t worry. I had no intention of turning you in,” she assured him. “I only went so that everything would appear normal and so my friends could see I was just fine. I wanted to avoid anyone coming here to check on me. As long as you were sick, I couldn’t count on you keeping quiet if someone came around.” She smiled softly. “Do you want to know the latest rumor about you?”

  Jake frowned. “I’m not so sure I do.”

  “Oh, you’ll like this one. Everyone is convinced you died alone somewhere and your body will never be found. They say you might have made it to Indian Territory, in which case you most certainly will never be found, except perhaps by wolves and buzzards who will do a fine job of consuming what is left of your body.”

  Jake grinned. “That so?” He took another drink of tea. “Well, as long as I’m supposed to be dead, we’ll just leave things that way. It will be easier getting out of here. If I’m lucky, a certain gang of outlaws will believe the rumor and will stop looking for me.”

  “Bill Kennedy?”

  Jake studied her eyes. “How did you know?”

  “Sheriff McCleave told me you rode with him. Why is he after you?”

  Jake rubbed at his eyes. “I think I told you I don’t like questions.”

  Miranda folded her arms. “And I think that after all I’ve done for you, I deserve some answers.”

  Jake sighed, setting the cup on the tray, feeling ridiculous trying to handle the delicate little thing in his big hands. He thought how the thin china cups reminded him of Miranda Hayes. “Don’t you have some good whiskey? That would do me a lot better than this tea.”

  Miranda walked around to the foot of the bed. “Tell me why Bill Kennedy is after you, and I’ll let you have a couple of shots of whiskey.”

  He grinned a little. “So, now we’re up to blackmail, are we?”

  “Call it what you want.”

  He rubbed at his stomach, thinking how the tea did make him feel better. “The things that bounty hunter said, about me being wanted for rape. I wasn’t with Kennedy’s gang that day they robbed that bank back in Missouri, and I didn’t have anything to do with them taking that woman customer off with them. But because I usually rode with them, rumor spread that I was a part of it. I didn’t even know about it until I rode into Kennedy’s hideaway that night and found him and the rest of them—” He glanced at her, saw her growing a little pale. “I don’t think I need to go into details. Suffice it to say most women would rather have been shot, and this one wasn’t even a woman. She was young, maybe only seventeen or so.” A look of anger and outrage moved into his eyes. “It’s like I said before, Mrs. Hayes. I’ve done a lot of things, but not that. And because of something that happened when I was younger, I’ve never been able to tolerate watching a man abuse a woman. I got her out of there, but not without a hell of a gun battle that left a lot of Kennedy’s men dead. They aren’t going to forget about it anytime soon, if ever. I took the girl back to town and left her off. I don’t even know if she realized who helped her. Apparently she didn’t, or she would have told the law I had nothing to do with abusing her.”

  Miranda watched his eyes. They were dark, compelling, and at the moment she believed they told the truth. The man emanated power and danger, and at the same time he had shown such vulnerability when he was sick, had again spoken the name Santana. When he had muttered about his father, it had been as though in agony, with an almost begging tone to his voice. This man carried some kind of deep hurt, and for some reason she wanted to find the good in him. She told herself to be careful, not to let his powerful personality and handsome qualities make her do something foolish. Those dark eyes had a way of making her forget all reason. She had been alone too long, that was the problem, so long that she was allowing herself to enjoy the company of an outlaw.

  “What happened in your life that made you feel so defensive of women? Did it involve the one named Santana?”

  He looked away. “All you need to know is that I didn’t do the things I’m wanted for now. By the way, where’s my gear? I need a smoke with that whiskey.”

  Miranda sighed. He was through talking about himself for the moment. “I’ll see if I can find your tobacco, and I’ll get the whiskey, but only if you promise to eat something.”

  “I’ll try.” He met her eyes again. “And I still want my guns. Anyone could come by at any time.”

  “That’s right, Jake. And anyone who might come by would be one of my friends checking on me. Do you really think I would allow you to shoot an innocent person who might come out here just to see if I’m all right? I have betrayed my friends enough already just by saving your life and keeping you here secretly. I’m not about to let you turn around and hold a gun on them.”

  Jake rolled his eyes. “Mrs. Hayes—”

  “Randy.”

  “What?”

  “I told you my first name is Miranda. Friends and family just call me Randy.”

  “I’m not family,” Jake told her. “Don’t tell me you’re calling me a friend! I’m no friend to anything but my guns, and I’m not eating until they’re hanging over this bedpost.”

  Miranda stiffened. “Fine, if that’s the way you want it. You can also go without your tobacco and whiskey. You just remember that you’re not going to do anything but get weaker if you don’t eat, and if you ever intend to ride out of here, Jake Harkner, you’d better learn to go by my rules! No guns!”

  She held his eyes challengingly, then watched another hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “You drive a hard bargain, Randy.”

  “It’s called survival, and I meant it about considering ourselves friends. After what we have been through together for the last week, what else can you call it?”

  He put a hand to
his hair, wishing it was cleaner. “I don’t know. I only know that among those I run with, a man calls you friend only as long as he knows you can outdraw and outshoot him.”

  Miranda smiled. “Well then, I’d say it’s time you learned what it’s like to have a real friend. Besides, I did outshoot you, and I’m still calling you friend.”

  Jake sighed deeply. There was no outtalking this woman, and at the moment no outdoing her physically. “I give up. Just get me that whiskey, will you?”

  “Are you going to eat?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine.”

  Jake watched her exit the room, his mind already whirling with how he could outsmart this woman. Friend? No woman like that one called a man like him friend, and he still couldn’t quite believe she wouldn’t turn him in if someone came by.

  He had to find those guns! As long as he was this weak, the guns were his only protection. They were all he’d counted on most of his life, and he wasn’t about to be without them now. If he could find them, Randy Hayes would have to live by his rules. He’d never lived by anyone else’s, and he wasn’t about to start now!

  Four

  Miranda lugged two buckets of water from the well, setting one down at the door so that she could open it, then picking the water up again and struggling inside with her heavy load. As soon as she got through the doorway she saw Jake standing near the counter under which she kept the potatoes. He had managed to pull on a pair of long johns but was still shirtless, and he held one revolver in his hand; another lay on the pantry. His gun belts, which she had hidden in the bottom of her wardrobe, hung over one shoulder. She moved slowly to set the buckets on the floor, unsure whether or not she should be afraid. She watched Jake’s eyes, saw there a mixture of victory and humor. “Potatoes?” he asked sarcastically. “I thought they’d be under a floorboard or something.”

  Miranda told herself to stay calm. Everything had been fine as long as he was in bed and had no weapons. She had carried her own rifle everywhere with her, leaving it on the porch just now while she got the water. “Apparently I shouldn’t have left those things anywhere in the house.”

  Jake grinned, whirling the chamber of the revolver in his hand and holding it up to blow into it. “Potatoes have dirt on them. I’ll have a time getting these things cleaned up. I usually oil them nearly every day.” He glanced at her, saw the fear beginning to build in her eyes. “Don’t worry, they aren’t even loaded. I took the bullets out so I can clean them.” He frowned then, feeling annoyed at what she must be thinking. “Look, I told you I don’t go around hurting women.”

  Miranda leaned down and picked up the buckets. “I’m wondering why it’s so important to you to have a gun in your hand. I’m certainly no threat, and I told you I have no intention of turning you in.”

  Jake watched her lift the buckets to the counter, seeing that it took great effort, and wondering at the fact that such slender arms could lift anything. “A man like me can’t be too careful or too trusting. A whole townful of people who would love to collect the reward on me is only a half hour from here. Not only do I have civilians and the law after me, but the men I used to ride with are after me too. I’ll rest a lot better with these hanging over the bedpost.”

  Miranda faced him, her arms folded. “Suit yourself. You have a lot to learn about trust, Jake.” She turned away and began adding more wood to the fire in the hearth. “You’d better get back in that bed. Just because you woke up this morning feeling better doesn’t mean you can be up rutting around like everything was normal. You do too much too soon and you’ll just land yourself in bed longer than if you’d stayed there in the first place.”

  Miranda heard another gun chamber whirl, and her heartbeat quickened. She had let herself believe he was telling the truth about not hurting her. She hoped her own basic instincts were right. What convinced her was the day she had shot him, the way he looked at her, the fact that he could have shot back but did not. She had seen a side to him while he was sick that she guessed few people knew anything about, and strangest of all, there was something about him she had begun to like, although she could not quite name it. Was it just a woman’s reaction to such a man, or was it like feeling sorry for a wounded animal?

  In her whole life, she could not remember her emotions being so confused. She had always been so sure of herself, sure of what she wanted, able to clearly judge other people. But this man was an enigma, a man she had no doubt could be ruthless, but who still harbored a frightened, possibly abused child within his big, virile frame.

  “Don’t worry, I’m going,” he answered. “But that soup you make and that shot of whiskey and a good sleep this afternoon did wonders. Give me a couple more days’ rest and I can be out of your hair completely. I’m sure that will make you sleep better at night.” The last words were spoken with a hint of bitterness. “If you’ll bring in my gear, I can clean these guns,” he added.

  Miranda faced him. “So you can go on killing?”

  His dark eyes turned to smoky anger, and Miranda reminded herself that this man was a drifter and a raider who probably didn’t even know how many men he had killed. Now he stood here, all six feet plus of him, feeling stronger and ornerier. She stepped back when he cocked the revolver and pointed it directly at her, all with a lightning speed that made her gasp.

  “So I can defend myself!” he nearly growled. He lowered the gun, an almost sad look coming into his eyes. “Hell, I told you it wasn’t loaded.” He shook his head. “Do you really think I’d hurt you now, after what you went through to keep me alive? You know something? My pa couldn’t see any good in me either. My mother did, but then that’s the way mothers are, isn’t it? Trouble was, Pa didn’t see the good in her either, and he had it in his head that the only way to bring out the good in anybody was to beat it out of them, with a board or a belt or a whip or his fists or anything else that was handy! The more whiskey he had in him, the bigger the weapon.”

  He walked up to her and leaned closer, his eyes on fire. “When you live your whole life defending yourself, Randy, it becomes as natural as breathing. My father taught me how not to trust, how not to let myself care about anyone. He made it very clear that I’m a worthless bastard who’ll never amount to bullshit, and he was right! And it’s because of him that I’ve lived a life on the run!”

  He towered over her, making her want to back away, but she stubbornly refused to show any fear. He held the revolver in front of her face. “I don’t expect somebody like you, a proper lady who comes from a world I’ve never known, to even begin to understand why I need these! Just know that I do need them, and don’t bitch at me about it!” He stepped back, just staring at her a moment, then turned away and picked up the other revolver. He walked into the bedroom and threw the guns and belts on the bed, then came back into the main room, hating himself for the way she was still just standing there as though frozen in place. “You got a privy out back?”

  She swallowed, looking a little pale. “Yes.” He could see her pretending to be unafraid. “I’ll heat some water. When you’re through out back, I’ll help you wash your hair. I can cut it a little for you if you like.”

  Jake sighed deeply, thinking how at the moment she reminded him of his mother, not physically, but having that frightened look about her he had seen too many times. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what made me light into you like that. I guess…there are just things about my life you don’t understand.” He went to the door. “Where’s your rifle? I’m not stepping outside without something to shoot with.”

  Miranda began dipping some water from one of the buckets into a black pot. “Do you like dumplings? I thought I would boil some for supper. I’m afraid they will have to be mixed with vegetables. I have no meat. The raiders ran off our livestock and killed all our chickens.” She turned to look at him. “Well? Do you like dumplings?”

  “I like them just fine.” Jake thought how
he would like nothing more right now than a huge steak and some fried potatoes, but then who was he to order up a meal to his liking? He was just an intruder, and besides, she had no meat. “The rifle?”

  She looked away again. “Out on the porch.”

  Jake left, and Miranda breathed deeply to keep her composure. His bellowing voice and smoldering eyes when he had leaned close and lit into her had left her shaken, but she was not about to let him see it. His quick apology had set her more at ease again, but her mind whirled with wonder at the things he had told her. And she still wondered who Santana was. His mother? After all, it was a Mexican name, and Jake Harkner most certainly had some kind of Spanish or Indian blood in him. Still, he surely wouldn’t call his mother by her first name. Was she a woman he had loved? Was Jake Harkner capable of caring for someone that much?

  My father taught me how not to trust, how not to care about anyone. Were the marks on his back from beatings administered by his own father? She wondered if he realized that all the while he was yelling at her, she could see the little boy behind those blazing dark eyes. She wished he would smile more often. When he smiled, he was a changed man. He was devilishly handsome whether smiling or not, but when he did smile, there was no trace of the outlaw, or the hurt little boy or the angry man. There were only those straight, white teeth and those full lips. He looked like any decent man one might meet in town, except that few were built quite so big. Fewer still were that good-looking.