Texas Outlaw (Wild Texas Nights, Book 1)

by Adrienne deWolfe

  "How?" Cord demanded.

  "I don't know yet," she said thickly. "But one thing's for certain: I won't let him hang."

  A thundercloud seemed to settle on Cord's brow. His face grew dark. Ominous. Not even her slur against Beth had made him glare at her so fiercely. She wasn't exactly sure how she had aroused such anger in him. God knew, when she had tried, she had failed.

  Shrinking down beneath the quilt again, she braced herself for the explosion.

  It never came. Rising with a grim finality, he pushed his chair against the wall. "That settles it then."

  "Settles it?" she repeated uneasily, watching the tense squaring of his shoulders.

  "You'd best get dressed. You're burning daylight."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Just that," he said curtly. "You've got twenty-four hours. Come this time tomorrow, I'll be on your trail."

  She gaped. "Twenty-four hours?" Her speeding heart threatened to choke her. "But you gave me your word—"

  "I said I'd set you free. I didn't say anything about coming after you."

  His eyes were hooded. It was the same kind of look professional sharpers wore at the poker table. She thought she might be sick.

  "You're cheating! You said you never cheat, Rawlins."

  "Reckon you must have rubbed off on me since then."

  She gasped, reeling. She wasn't certain whether she was more stunned by his insult or his betrayal.

  "Why, you lying, no-good, son of a—"

  A sharp knock cut short her invective. Her chest heaving, she bit her tongue and watched him cross to the door. When he pulled it open, his sun-bronzed cheeks turned lighter by a shade.

  "Wes! For the love of Jesus. What are you doing out of bed?"

  "I came to see Miss Fancy."

  There was the usual ring of defiance in the boy's tone, but when Fancy glimpsed him standing there, looking more ghostly than human, she grabbed Lally's robe and hurried to join Cord on the threshold.

  "It's all right, Cord. Let him in."

  Was it her imagination, or did the glaze in Wes's eyes make them look keener, smarter? He glanced from her to Cord, then back again. Understanding furrowed his brow.

  "You're taking her in, aren't you?"

  Cord stiffened. A dark red stain crept up the back of his neck. "Wes, you lost too much blood. You shouldn't be walking around yet—"

  "Answer my question."

  Something about the boy's manner reminded Fancy of Cord, when she'd watched him turn his rifle on Diego. The thought unnerved her. She couldn't think of any other reason why she should feel compelled to defend her enemy.

  "I've got twenty-four hours, Wes. Then he rides after me."

  "Twenty-four hours? Shoot. She can hardly get to Fort Graham and catch a stage by then. You aren't giving her a fair chance, Cord."

  "Fair or not, it's the only chance she's got. And you're using up her time by jawing. Now let me get you back to—"

  "She got beat up and nearly killed trying to save me," Wes said harshly. "But that just doesn't matter to you, does it?"

  Pain flickered across Cord's face. For some reason, the sight of it moved Fancy. She knew she shouldn't care about his dilemma; if anything, she should use it against him.

  Unfortunately, she couldn't reconcile herself to the idea of coming between these two brothers.

  "Wes." She spoke quietly. "It's all right, I'll manage. You know me." She pasted on a smile. "I've still got an ace or two hidden up my sleeve."

  She felt Cord's speculative gaze upon her, and her stomach knotted. She didn't have a damned thing hidden up her sleeve—not yet, anyway. But she would beat him. She had to. If Cord Rawlins wanted to see who was better at cheating, he was in for one helluva showdown.

  Suddenly, Wes swayed. Fancy watched anxiously as Cord wrapped an arm around the boy's chest and braced him against the doorjamb.

  "You're scaring the hell out of me, son."

  "It's nothing. Just my knees. They're feeling a little wobbly is all."

  "Wes, you need to sit down," Fancy said, extending a hand.

  He nodded, catching her fingers and breathing hard for a moment. Cord muttered an oath. When he tried to help the boy inside, Wes tightened his hand over Fancy's.

  "Cord, could you... get Aunt Lally for me?"

  Cord's gaze darted to her. A warning glimmered there.

  "I think... I started bleeding again," Wes added hoarsely.

  Cord swore. "Fancy—"

  "I'll take care of him."

  His eyes softened. "Thanks."

  As Cord's boot falls faded out of hearing, Wes raised his head and winked at her.

  "Well, that was easier than shooting fish in a barrel."

  She caught her breath. "Wes, are you faking?"

  He grinned, but when he tried to straighten, his knees buckled under his weight. He nearly knocked her over, and she feared he would crumple at her feet until he braced a hand against the wall.

  "Well, ma'am." He chuckled weakly. "Maybe not."

  She slipped her shoulder under his arm. "Come on, Wes. It's all right to lean on me. You need to lie down."

  He let her support him, his cheeks growing pink again when her hip and thigh molded intimately to his. His gaze flew hastily from hers, and she had the sneaking suspicion that Wes Rawlins knew a bit more about women than his oldest brother probably wanted to believe.

  Sweeping aside the quilt, she helped lower him to the bed.

  "I'm real sorry, ma'am," he said sadly. "I would have come with you to help cover your tracks and all, but it just looks like I'd be slowing you down."

  He lay back on the pillows, and she smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "The best thing you can do for me is get better. Promise you'll try?"

  He nodded. He looked so pained, though, she thought his shoulder must be hurting him. She reached for his bandage, but he caught her hand, holding it close to his heart.

  "Will I ever see you again?"

  His question startled her. "I don't know," she said truthfully.

  His fingers tightened around hers. "You aren't going to prison. I won't let you. I'll do whatever it takes. I'll—I'll marry you."

  The intensity of his gaze was unnerving. There was something else behind the fervor, something warm and vulnerable. Something that stole her breath away. No man had ever looked at her like that, not even Diego.

  "Wes, you can't marry me." She tried to keep her tone light. "I'm old enough to be your mother."

  "You are not. Heck, you aren't but ten years older than me. Cord's even older than you, so that would make you like my sister."

  Fancy couldn't help but smile at the irony of his logic.

  "Maybe so," she said. "But marriage is a serious business. It takes a lot of work. There's sickness and raising children and sometimes there's money troubles too. You've still got a lot of living to do, Wes. Why would you want to get into such a serious business so soon?"

  "'Cause I love you. And I want to take care of you."

  She felt her throat constrict. He sounded so sincere. He looked so earnest. But he was only sixteen years old!

  How could this happen? All of her life, she had wanted nothing more than this: a man to really love her. A man to make her his own for always.

  Yet now that she had finally been offered her dream, she had to turn it down. It was just so unfair! Why couldn't Wes have been older?

  Why couldn't he have been... Cord?

  Her face flamed. Mortified, she hastily pushed the thought aside. Cord Rawlins was her enemy. How could she even consider the possibility of spending the rest of her life with him?

  "Wes." Ashamed to hear how thick her voice had become, she gulped a bolstering breath. "Thank you. No man has ever asked me to marry him before. But I can't be your wife."

  "Why not?" he demanded in wounded tones.

  "Well..." Dammit, this was hard enough. Why did he have to look at her like she was breaking his heart? "What would Cord say?"
<
br />   "I knew there had to be more to it," he said, pressing his lips together grimly. "It's not the difference in our ages, it's Cord. You love him."

  She felt the heat start in her belly and rocket north and south through her body. She wondered if her cheeks looked as red as they felt.

  "Why on earth would you think such a thing? He's trying to put me in prison."

  "I've seen how you look at him."

  She nearly groaned aloud. Was it true? Did she look at him like a calf-eyed schoolgirl?

  "I assure you, Wes. I do not love your brother."

  "I saw how you kissed him. And how he kissed you," he added with a tinge of envy. "He didn't ever kiss Beth like that."

  "He probably didn't let you see him kiss Beth like that."

  "Naw." The wisdom of a man was staring back at her from his young eyes. "He didn't like Beth the same way he likes you."

  Fancy swallowed. For a moment, she dared to wonder. Was it true?

  Then reason returned to set her straight. Of course not. Unlike herself, Beth could inspire finer, nobler feelings in a man, something other than lust.

  "Look, Wes. Even if what you think is true—and it isn't—Cord and I have too much bad blood between us to ever build a future. Besides—" she looked him straight in the eye, and she didn't mince words, "I love Diego."

  His brow furrowed. "The train robber fella?"

  "Yes."

  "Shoot." The old challenge crept back into his voice. "If he didn't ever ask you to marry him, why bother?"

  She stiffened. Jealousy was probably warring with Wes's adoration for Cord. Even so, he had no right to judge her life—or her tangled feelings for Diego. She tried to remove her hand, but his fingers tightened again.

  "Fancy."

  His voice had become low and gentle. It reminded her so much of Cord's the night before, when he'd held her close and soothed away her tears, that she felt her whole body quake.

  "You have to know I'd rather die than hurt you," he murmured. "If you're set on marrying someone else, well—" he sighed, putting on a brave face, "I won't make a fuss. But don't you go settling for Diego when a man as good as Cord is loose."

  Her eyes began to sting. She looked away, trying to laugh, to say something clever.

  It was useless.

  "You can't go around promising your brother to spinsters," she said hoarsely, ducking her head to hide the tears. "How would you like it if he did that to you?"

  "I wouldn't mind it a'tall if they were just like you."

  Hurried footsteps echoed in the hall, and she blinked rapidly, venturing a glance at Wes. He stretched his freckles into a grin.

  "That'll be Cord, coming to my rescue. He couldn't find Aunt Lally, I reckon, since she went down to the pasture to help birth a foal."

  True to Wes's prediction, Cord stormed across the threshold. With his narrowed eyes and stone-hard jaw, he looked like a man who realized he'd just been hoodwinked.

  "It looks like I'm not the only one you've been rubbing off on." He flung the words at Fancy, but his glare drilled through Wes. "You'd best jingle your spurs, girl. You're down to twenty-three hours and forty-five minutes."

  Wes chuckled. The sparkle of mischief returned to his eyes, but it couldn't quite dim the youthful yearning there.

  "Yep," he whispered. "He likes you all right. Ain't no doubt about it. Looks like I'm gonna have to see the two of you get hitched."

  * * *

  It took another quarter hour for Fancy to get dressed, fill a canteen, and throw food into a satchel. Zack was waiting for her by the strawberry pony. As she approached, he drew himself up taller, and his features, so much like Cord's, formed an unreadable mask.

  "You ready?" he asked.

  Buckling the saddlebag over her satchel, she nodded.

  "I'll give you a boost."

  When she was settled, he handed her the reins. He wouldn't look her in the eye.

  "There's something you ought to know," he said gruffly. "Cord could track a raindrop through the ocean."

  She smiled grimly. She'd suspected as much, considering the man used to ride with the Texas Rangers.

  "He'll expect you to ride east to Fort Graham. Your only chance once you leave here is heading south and setting your sights on Meridian."

  Fancy remembered the map Wes had put inside her satchel. "Thanks."

  "There's something else."

  Zack stalled, re-cinching her horse's girth strap, double-checking the length of her stirrups. Fancy waited. She could see the boy was really torn between what he wanted to say and what he thought he should.

  Finally, he pulled a Peacemaker from his waistband. She recognized the polished wooden inlay on the butt, and she knew it was one of Wes's.

  "You're going to need this." He held tightly to the weapon. "Wes wanted you to have it in case of pumas, coyotes, and such." His brown eyes rose at last, boring through her like agate spikes. "But you have to swear you won't use it on Cord."

  She swallowed, her tongue thickening. The .45 was more than she had hoped for. Did Cord have any idea how his romantic, foolish brothers were trying to help her?

  She glanced toward the house and saw him, watching them through his open bedroom window. The glow of his cigarette was clearly visible in the shadows. When their eyes locked, her palms moistened.

  Suddenly she realized that no matter what she promised Zack, no matter where she rode or what she did, Cord would be ready for her. Her hands trembled at the thought.

  "I swear," she whispered huskily.

  "All right, then." Zack stepped back. "The ammo's in the saddlebag."

  She shoved the muzzle under her belt, and an awkward moment passed.

  "Zack, I really appreciate—"

  "You best get along. Time's awasting."

  She drew a slow, steadying breath at his rebuff.

  "I guess you're right." She stuck out her hand. She genuinely liked the boy, and she wanted to leave as friends. "Say good-bye to Aunt Lally for me. Wes, too."

  He eyed her peace offering suspiciously, and she felt the lump return to her throat. Disappointed, she was just about to withdraw her hand when his thick, work-roughened fingers finally wrapped around hers. He gave her a firm shake.

  "Keep an eye peeled for diamondbacks. Scorpions too."

  "I will." She smiled a little shyly. "Take care of yourself, Zack."

  He nodded. Then his hand fell with a loud thwack on her horse's rump.

  "Giddyap!" he shouted at the startled mare. The horse broke into a trot, and Fancy spurred her faster.

  As the mare's hoofbeats quickened and the wind whistled past her ears, Fancy thought she heard a faint "Godspeed, ma'am" behind her.

  Chapter 13

  The next three days were a nightmare for Fancy. She couldn't sleep, she hardly ate, and she didn't dare build a fire to warm her through the unseasonably cool nights. She wished Texas weather was more predictable, and she cursed Cord Rawlins for knowing better than she how to survive temperatures that were too hot by noon and too cold by moonrise.

  He, of course, could afford the luxury of a campfire. He could even shoot a jackrabbit or ground squirrel for his dinner, if he were inclined. No one was looking for signs of his trail.

  Every time a buzzard's shadow swooped, every time a coyote howled or a lizard scurried past, she would jump out of her skin and grab her gun. Her nerves were frayed to the breaking point. She imagined him somewhere out there, watching and laughing.

  Sometimes, she thought she smelled his tobacco on the wind; at other times, she imagined she heard his horse's hooves or saw the thin gray wisp of his camp smoke curling above the horizon.

  She hoped a puma got him. Or better yet, a whole tribe of Indians. The bastard.

  She'd tried to be nice to him. She'd offered a few words of kindness, shown a little compassion—and what had it gotten her? A kick in the teeth! She had known better. Diego had taught her how to treat her enemies.

  She wished she could turn the tables on
Rawlins. She wished she could circle back and stalk him, but there was little chance of surprising a man in this flat terrain.

  Besides, she'd given her word to Zack. Only God knew why she felt so honor-bound. Diego would have been disgusted to learn she was risking her freedom—perhaps even her life—to earn the respect of some freckle-faced youth. He would tell her she was stupid, like he usually did.

  This time, though, she would prove Diego wrong. She would find a way to get him out of jail. He would have to admire her resourcefulness, then. He would be sorry for all the times he had wronged her, and he would finally change. She prayed to God he would.

  Deep down in his heart, he surely must still love her. They could be happy together—not like Beth and Cord had been happy, or even like Lally and Seth must have been, but happy in the sense that Diego and she had shared past experiences. They knew what to expect from each other.

  To Fancy's mind, having someone to care for made all the difference in the world between being a respectable woman and being a whore.

  She sighed. Forcing her mind back to her present predicament, she slumped miserably in the shade of a scrub oak and watched her horse guzzle from the stream. With any luck, the animal would save some for her. She wondered if this shallow current was what was left of Honey Creek. She'd given up a day ago trying to make sense of Wes's scrawl. The boy had meant well, but his map was grossly underscale. Either that, or "the split tree" and the "tilting rock" had disappeared from the face of the planet.

  She feared she was hopelessly lost. She should have found Meridian by now, which would have put her within two days of Waco and a train. Instead, she sat with numb buttocks and precious few miles to show for them, thanks to the fact that she'd followed a streambed more serpentine than a snake. What was worse, her only company was a horse that got spooked more easily than she did.

  Yesterday at about this time, the silly beast had stumbled across a nesting roadrunner, and all hell had broken loose. She had nearly been thrown on her head. God only knew what would have happened if the horse had really been in danger, say from a puma.

  Or a rattlesnake.

  Fancy blanched at the thought. She hated snakes almost as much as she hated Cord Rawlins.