Wed to the Texas Outlaw

by Carol Arens

  He sat up, rubbed his hand over his beard stubble, trying to wrap his mind around it. One day he had been paying his debt to society, responsible for nothing, then the next he had the care of a wife and a tenderfoot lawyer. And now five others, one of them an infant.

  Coming down the ladder he stopped at the mirror, splashed icy water on his face from the bowl Melinda had placed under it.

  The slap of water braced him, made him appear alert—or maybe that look came from a sound night’s sleep.

  A night’s sleep that he suspected he owed to his wife. What was it about her that, as delicate as she was, put him at ease?

  That was a question he could puzzle over forever.

  Closing the barn door behind him, he jogged across the yard. For now it was enough of a puzzle to figure out what to do about the folks in town running out of food.

  Coming in through the kitchen door, Boone found Trudy grilling a slab of ham. It smelled good enough to make his mouth water.

  Melinda, standing in profile, stirred up something in a bowl. Watching the slender curve of her back, the circular action of her arm and the way it made the swell of her breast jiggle—well, it made his mouth water all the more. Even his stomach growled.

  The rumble made Melinda look up. A blush spreading across her cheeks made him think that while she spooned around whatever was in the bowl, she’d been thinking about what had happened against the barn wall last night.

  Hot blazes, he couldn’t get that moment out of his mind, either. There was no way he was going to forget the sound she had made when he’d touched her.

  Lucky thing he wasn’t prone to blushing since Trudy was looking at him. If he and Melinda had both been blushing she would have figured something intimate was going on between them.

  And why not assume it, since in the natural way of things it would be true.

  But they did not have a marriage in the natural way. He had a dirty past. He was not half good enough for his lovely, high-spirited bride. Even if he was twice as good a man as he was, he would fall short of deserving her.

  “Smells good in here, ladies,” Smythe announced, entering the kitchen with a wide grin on his face.

  Even though the lawyer greeted them both, he was gazing at Trudy alone.

  Boone squinted to make sure he was seeing right.

  Yep, the lawyer looked smitten.

  Now, that was something to smile about.

  Melinda must have noticed his grin. She winked at him then nodded toward Stanley.

  When Trudy and Stanley seemed caught up in private conversation, Boone sidled over to Melinda, bent his head to hers.

  “Looks like we’ve got a secret to keep,” he murmured.

  For some reason Melinda lit up, her eyes all atwinkle.

  “Thank you, Boone.”

  “For what?”

  “It’s just that this sort of thing is something I share with Rebecca. Being so close, we know each other’s minds. We can look at each other and know things. I’ve missed it. I’d like to think I have that bond with you.”

  He sucked in a breath, hit by the intimacy of the sort of sharing that went beyond a physical touch. He’d never had it with anyone. All of a sudden he wanted this spiritual connection, the bond that time and distance would not diminish.

  Reckoned he’d had it at one time with his brother, but this, with his wife—he guessed that was why it was called the holy bond of matrimony.

  If things were different, he’d kiss Melinda, now in front of Edward and the doc who were just now following their noses to breakfast. He’d proclaim that bond.

  But he wasn’t worthy, and everyone would know it. If, somehow, he managed to capture the King gang, and do it without undue bloodshed, maybe then—but that was a big maybe.

  Better if he kissed her forehead, just friendly-like.

  That was a link they could share. Friends.

  Still, just now, looking at how Smythe and Trudy were gazing at each other as if the world and its troubles were far from them...hell, he wanted that.

  “Anyone dream up a way of getting food to the folks in Jasper Springs?” The doc pulled out a chair and sat at the table. Edward followed him.

  Melinda poured what Boone thought to be corn-bread fixings into a pan then slid it into the stove.

  “It ought to be a raid,” Edward said, seeming oblivious to the goings on between his daughter and her beau. “They raided me and I want my goods back. My customers, they’re suffering.”

  Sounded fair enough, but Melinda was the only dependable shot among them. She was also the last person he was going to allow near the King ranch.

  “As right as that sounds,” he said. “I can’t see how it would be successful.”

  “You must know a way,” the doc said. “Meaning no disrespect, but of us all, you’ve the most experience at...at expropriation.”

  “Thievery, you mean.” No disrespect, but a kick to the gut none the less.

  A kick that didn’t hurt him as much as it appeared to hurt Melinda. She curled one closed fist against her belly as though she had been struck.

  Right there was the reason he could not remain married to her. Suspicion would follow him all of his life, assuming he lived through the process of gaining his freedom. No matter where he went tabloid stories would make up lies about him.

  “Given my experience, I say it won’t work.” It was the truth. “The Kings, every last one of them, would need to be away. And even then there would be others at the ranch who would fight us.”

  “All I know is that we can’t let—” Edward was interrupted by an urgent knock on the door.

  Boone opened up. A boy bolted across the yard toward a horse whose reins had been left dangling in the dirt.

  Something blew across the porch. Boone stomped on it then picked it up. He held an envelope made of the finest paper he’d ever touched. Fit for royalty no doubt.

  “Hell’s curses,” he muttered when he opened the damned thing up.

  Melinda plucked it from his hand and read out loud. “‘You are hereby summoned to meet with King Cobra at the Jasper Springs saloon at high noon this day, October twenty-seventh, to discuss a matter of great benefit to you.’”

  There was a postscript. If Boone failed to show, the butcher would lose his right hand.

  * * *

  “I’m worried about those Kings. What’s to say they haven’t set us up in a trap?” Trudy dried a pot with a dishcloth then set it on a shelf. “And lured Boone away in order to leave us defenseless?”

  A valid fear; one that had been discussed up and down, left, right and in circles. In the end, the butcher’s hand was deemed worth the risk.

  “We aren’t exactly helpless. The men are on guard.” Melinda would feel a good bit more comfortable if any of them could shoot. She stooped to tuck a shawl blanket around Diana who slept sweetly in her little crate bed. “We’ll be safe.”

  Somewhat safe, at any rate.

  “I’m taking Bird his lunch.” She stood, lifted the plate from the table that Trudy had prepared.

  “Be careful,” she advised, her pretty freckled face looking downcast. “You have a weapon?”

  Melinda nodded. She had the pistol that Boone insisted she carry in her skirt pocket.

  In her opinion, it might not be wise to go into the small shed with it drawn. It wouldn’t do to have Bird wrest it from her.

  Melinda carried the plate of food down the porch steps.

  She glanced at the sky, judging the time. Noon sun hit the earth without warmth.

  Boone ought to be walking into the saloon about now. She could see him in her mind. He would open the door, walk inside, his hand within easy reach of his weapon. She saw the grim set of his mouth, how his eyes would be narrowed and his expression razor-edged.
As clearly as if she were there, she heard the slap of his boot heels walking across the floor.

  After that she refused to see anything because Boone was alone, facing murderers whose lives would be simpler if he were dead.

  She took a breath and pulled her shoulders back to better focus on the job at hand. Acting weak and fearful would do no one any good.

  Delivering the young criminal’s meal without a chaperone made her feel uneasy. It didn’t matter that he was somewhat weakened by his broken arm and that his ankle was bound to the wall by a short tether, the Vulture was a threat. She would treat him as such.

  She would open the door and shove the plate toward him with the toe of her boot, that way she would never even have to step inside the shed.

  “Maybe I’ll shoot you between the eyes—or...or maybe in the gut. Let you suffer like my husband, like he—”

  Giselle! Her voice, catching on a sob, had come from inside the shed.

  On the run, Melinda heard Giselle scream then Bird laugh.

  Her first thought was to dump the food and grab the gun. But there was already one too many weapons in the small space. Besides, Bird was young. Many a boy was ruled by his stomach. Lunch might be her best weapon.

  On the other hand, the thing to remember about this boy was that he was not an unsullied innocent. Handling him as she would other men would not suit, no more than the weapon hidden in her skirt would.

  Shouting for the men’s help would be the worst thing she could do. As soon as Bird heard the commotion, he would shoot Giselle.

  She and Rebecca had acted their way out of many unfortunate predicaments. But this? This was life-threatening. There was every chance that her skills were not equal to this situation. But what else was she to do?

  With her hand trembling on the door latch, she reminded herself that she was Mrs. Boone Walker. Wife of the most violent of them all, the worst of the worst.

  Even though he was not here, his reputation was.

  She opened the door, a frown of censure on her face.

  “Young man, I suggest you set that gun down beside you.” She indicated a spot beside him with a jerk of the lunch plate.

  He had shoved the pistol against Giselle’s temple, his free leg wrapped around her middle.

  “Can’t rightly blow her brains out if I do.”

  Melinda shrugged her shoulders then sat beside him. She fluffed her skirt as though his murderous intentions did not concern her in the least.

  Setting the lunch plate on her lap, she made a show of smelling the delicious aroma while her heart raced and her stomach heaved.

  “A boy like you must be hungry all the time. Wouldn’t you like to eat?”

  “Soon as I’m finished with this.” He traced the barrel of the gun along Giselle’s jaw, flicked away the tear hanging from her chin.

  “Oh, my.” Melinda tilted her head, frowned severely. “Perhaps you haven’t seen what happens when a head explodes. I have. Many times in fact. Although I’ve never seen blood and brains on top of anyone’s dinner before. I imagine it’s quite a gory gravy.”

  Bird’s mouth sagged open.

  Giselle cried out but there was nothing to be done about her distress at the moment.

  “I recall a time when Mr. Walker wanted to shoot someone at the dinner table but I wouldn’t allow it. In the end, he dragged the fellow out back of the house and then shot his head off.

  “Of course, Boone’s shirt was smattered with all sorts of ugliness so I made him change it before we ate. Oh, I just realized that you don’t have a change of clothing.”

  By the looks of him, he took pride in his appearance. His garments must have been of the best quality. Well cared for until Boone had ripped his shirt in the process of breaking his arm.

  “I imagine if it means so much to you to shoot Giselle, you ought to strip down first. But don’t expect me to look away in maidenly modesty. Nor Giselle, since she has been without the male form ever since you Kings murdered her husband. But, all things considered, you aren’t much to look at yet, not like Mr. Coulson was.

  “Now, now, no need to look so cross. It’s the truth. Really, what you ought to be thinking of is what you will eat. If you ruin this meal, there won’t be another until afternoon three days from now since we will all be grieving for Giselle and trying to deal with her hungry infant. No one will have the heart to feed you. Surely you understand.”

  “What I understand is I’m going to shoot her then you, just so you’ll quit your yapping.”

  He would; she had no doubt of it. Sweet-talking a coiled rattler would be less terrifying.

  “Boone did that once. A boy about your age was bedeviling him with his bleating. It was understandable considering that my husband was about to shoot his dog. Of course I felt bad about the dog, but I never said anything because he would have shot the cat, too. In the end he didn’t shoot the cat. We brought it with us but I was nearly sorry we did. It was a job, I will tell you, washing the boy’s blood off its fur.”

  “You’re full of stories, lady. All of them lies.”

  “Not all of them. I’ve seen quite a lot in my time with Boone. Last night over dessert he told everyone the story of the time he drowned a man in the river just to use him as fish bait. Poor Giselle looked as white as the dead man.”

  “I never puked so hard in my life,” Giselle said, apparently gathering the presence of mind to go along with the grisly tale.

  The gun sagged. “The two of you are making that up.”

  “I half wish I was making this one up, young man. But the truth is I was there. I stripped off my clothes and waded naked into the water to gather the fish feeding off the body.”

  “You lie,” Bird said, but his eyes had grown round.

  It was a relief to see the blood returning to Giselle’s face. Perhaps she had hope that Melinda would be able to spin their way out of this.

  “What about the time he robbed a bank and killed the seven customers inside?” Bird asked. “That one true? I read it in a dime novel.”

  “Now, that’s just an insult. There were ten people. It was reported as seven because there were already three other robbers in the bank when my Boone came in. I suppose they didn’t deserve counting, being worthless drifters.

  “I’m half sick of speaking with you, Bird King. Giselle, are you prepared to die right now?”

  “I reckon so, if there’s no other way about it.”

  “So am I. Honestly, as Boone’s wife, I’ve been expecting it for some time. But you, young man? Are you ready?”

  “You should know that her husband is mad for her.”

  Melinda felt her respect for Giselle grow. Here she was only a trigger itch from being shot in the head and yet she managed to control her panic enough to build depth to the tall tale.

  “He will be disconsolate,” Melinda affirmed with a sigh. If her voice quavered he would merely think it was from sorrow. “Even I don’t like Boone when he’s disconsolate. My guess is that he won’t kill you at once. Oh, and count on me and Giselle watching in ghostly form, cheering while he takes his time dispatching you. Surely you believe in ghosts? The stories I could tell about that! Boone has quite the menagerie following him.

  “Well, anyway, he’ll start with your fingers is my guess, snipping them off from pinky to thumb. That’s what he did when someone accidentally ran over the cat with his wagon. As I recall those shears still have dried blood on them, but I reckon that will be a small worry to you. After that he’ll likely snip off your not-even-fully-mature member. Have you even put it to proper use yet?” She glanced at his crotch and shook her head. “He’ll probably send it home to your brothers tied up with a pink bow.”

  Finally the fool was beginning to turn pale. His hand shook. This would not do since he still had the gun directed at Giselle’s
temple.

  “Of course, you still have a choice. Eat this delicious meal in somewhat clean clothing, or kill us then sit here hungry and wondering what my husband will do to avenge us. The choice is completely yours.”

  Indecision clouded his expression.

  Lightly, Giselle touched the barrel of the pistol, curled her fingers around it and moved it away from her face.

  Bird yanked it back. Cussing, he stared into Giselle’s face. Without a doubt, he was half a second away from pulling the trigger.

  But he was distracted. Boone had warned her about hesitation and she saw it in Bird.

  In the second he took to gloat about his power over Giselle, enjoy his kill, Melinda snatched the gun from her skirt pocket.

  She shoved it hard at Bird’s temple. The thought of pulling the trigger flipped her stomach. Even so, she forced her hand not to tremble.

  Startled, the kid’s attention pivoted to her. In an instant of confusion, he loosened his grip on the gun.

  Melinda snatched it away.

  With both guns pointed at his chest, she tried to scramble beyond his reach but Bird was fast. He grabbed her skirt.

  Luckily, Giselle was just as fast. She kicked Bird’s arm, then hurried behind Melinda and the safety of the two weapons.

  “If you’re gonna tell him about this, might as well go ahead and shoot me quick, do me a favor.”

  She took a step backward, then another, her knees locked so they would not give out under her. Giselle grabbed her at the waist with both arms, her weight sagging against Melinda’s back.

  “Of course I’ll tell him,” she answered while pulling the door closed. “You can count on the same kindness that you and your family showed Mr. Coulter.”

  Outside, with the door bolted, Giselle slid down in a faint.

  Melinda’s knees gave way. Kneeling on the ground she bent over Giselle and vomited onto the dirt.

  * * *

  Jasper Springs looked as it had the first time Boone had seen it, except that the general store was an ash heap with a few blackened beams sticking out of the mess.

  With the exception of the cheerful gurgle of the spring, town was silent. Everyone was holed up inside, probably too scared to stick their noses out the door.