Outlaw's Honor

by B. J Daniels

  But there sat the bracelet on his bedside table where he’d left it last night—proof that the woman had been real. The sun gleamed off the gold—and the round dark circle of onyx. It gave him a small thrill at the same time it sent a chill up his spine. He felt like a thief. He’d taken the woman’s very expensive bracelet. Worse, last night in his dream she’d confronted him, accusing him of stealing her luck—and, in her fury, had put a curse on him.

  Shaking off the dream and the guilt, he reminded himself that she’d been the one trying to steal from him. That rationale didn’t help that much as he stepped into the shower. The warm water chased away the remnants of the dream, leaving him feeling a little better.

  He knew why he couldn’t get her off his mind. The woman had been mysterious and exhilarating. He reminded himself that he was talking about a thief. But for too long he’d felt antsy, as if he needed a change, but he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving his sister alone to run this place.

  He’d thought he needed a change of scenery, but maybe it had been something else entirely. This morning he felt amped up as if he’d been hit with a jolt of electricity that had awakened something deep inside him. He felt...different. And all because of a woman he’d seen in passing. A thief who could have been using one of his credit cards right now if he hadn’t grabbed her to talk to her. He let out a laugh. Talk about luck...

  With a sudden chill, he glanced at the bracelet.

  What if it was cursed?

  That made him laugh at his own foolishness as he dressed and went downstairs. It was hours before the bar opened, but he felt even more restless than usual. Needing fresh air, he raised the windows and even propped open the front door. This was Montana—the only place to be this time of year since the temperature was as perfect as it could be.

  He breathed in the mountain air scented with pines and rushing creek water and felt as if he’d been given a shot of vitamin B. Still, at the back of his mind he debated what to do with the bracelet as he busied himself washing bar glasses.

  If only it was just costume jewelry. He would toss it in the trash and put the whole episode behind him. And yet, he didn’t want to put it behind him. He wanted to savor that excitement even as he felt it slipping away.

  Engrossed in this work and his thoughts, he didn’t hear her. Nor did he pick up the scent of her perfume. Instead, he sensed her and looked up to find the woman standing in the open doorway of his bar like an apparition.

  At the sight of her, the soap-slick glass slipped from his hand. Without looking, he caught it with his other hand before the glass shattered in the sink.

  “Good hands,” the woman said from the doorway, sunlight spilling around her, making her appear ethereal. But there was nothing angelic about her from her obsidian black hair that was loosely braided over one shoulder to the mystery behind her dark eyes as she stepped in.

  His tongue felt rooted to the roof of his mouth for a moment. “Thanks.” He had thought that he’d never see her again. But now he realized how foolish that had been. The bracelet was worth too much money for her to simply walk away from it. But the realization that she’d tracked him down sent a chill up his spine to raise the fine hairs at the back of his neck.

  His gaze moved from her face to her wrist and the band of pale skin where the gold cuff had been. She wore jeans, biker boots and a black leather jacket. With a start, he recognized the T-shirt beneath the jacket. Stagecoach Saloon. One he’d thrown to the crowd yesterday?

  Seeing his apparent interest in her T-shirt, she opened her jacket wider and smiled. “Nice place you have here,” she said as she sidled up to the bar.

  That’s when he noticed the backpack slung over her shoulder. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find out there was a gun inside it. Or that she was about to pull it on him.

  “Thanks.” He fought to rein in his pulse as he waited for her to get down to the business of her visit since they both knew what it was. She had come for her bracelet. He didn’t have to wonder too long how she’d found him. He’d hit her with one of the T-shirts promoting the place. Maybe the one she was wearing right now.

  He waited for her to ask, though, curious how she was going to explain taking his wallet. “We don’t open until eleven,” he said, finding he had to fill the deathly quiet that had fallen over the bar.

  Tantalizing whiffs of her citrusy perfume drifted to him as she set her backpack on a stool and slipped onto the one next to it. She was taller than he remembered, slimmer, but no less striking. As she looked at him, he caught a flash of something at her neck. A gold pendant lay against her glowing olive skin. In its middle was a dark circle of black onyx—just like the one on the bracelet.

  As she crossed her long legs and reached into a side pocket of her backpack, he put down the glass in his hand, slowly dried his hands and waited, the baseball bat he kept behind the bar within reach.

  “I was hoping you might have a job opening,” she said as she took out a tube of lip gloss and applied it to the deep pink of her full lips.

  Darby stared at her for a moment, uncomprehending. “You want a job?”

  She gave him an amused look before she glanced around the bar, taking it in with a professional air. “I have experience.”

  He just bet she did. Was it possible she didn’t remember him from yesterday? He certainly remembered her. No, he thought, she knows exactly what she’s doing. “Experience? As what? Bartender, waitress, barmaid?”

  Her gaze settled on him with an intensity that made his pulse jump. “All three.” She said it with such confidence that he had to call her on it. Most of his patrons ordered a draft beer, a glass of wine or possibly a margarita. Every once in a while, someone would order something more upmarket, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know his cocktails or how to make them.

  “Great,” he said. “Step behind the bar and make me a...mojito.”

  She laughed, a pleasant tinkling sound that filled the empty room. “You call that a challenge?” she said, slipping off the stool to come around the end of the bar, forcing him to move down a few feet.

  He watched as she nimbly picked up a clean glass, spun it in her fingers and reached for the fresh mint he had growing in the window. She adroitly used a pestle to muddle the mint to release its flavors, then added sugar and fresh lime juice, squeezing the lime with one hand as she poured rum with the other.

  She didn’t measure the alcohol but he could see that it was dead on. Just like the soda water she added as well as the ice. As she poured the mixture into a shaker and gave it a few hard shakes, her gaze returned to him. Bartenders hated mojitos because they were time consuming, but she’d managed to make it in no time without even one misstep.

  He watched her pour the drink into a glass, add the slice of lime garnish as well as another mint leaf, and set it on a bar napkin in front of him.

  Her questioning gaze rose to his. “Aren’t you going to try it?”

  “I don’t drink.”

  She cocked her head at him, surprise in her expression.

  At the sound of car doors slamming, they both turned as three twentysomething females came in. “Is it too early to get a drink?” one of them called out.

  He started to say they didn’t open for another hour or two, when he felt her touch his arm. She motioned the women in with, “We don’t open for a while, but I could make you something.”

  She moved to take their orders, performing the task with such efficiency that he couldn’t help but be impressed. He noticed that she also had a way with the customers. She was a born con artist, he thought, reminding himself how they’d met and what was at stake. She was only here for her bracelet.

  The smartest thing he could do was to go upstairs, get her bracelet and send her on her way.

  “So do I have the job?” she asked as she came back down the bar to where he stood. />
  Was that the way they were going to play this? He couldn’t help but be intrigued. His earlier feeling of excitement had reached a fevered pitch. He was having fun and enjoying himself.

  She picked up the wet cloth, wrung it out, wiped down the bar and turned to look at him. Those dark eyes were killer. As his blood suddenly ran cold, he reminded himself that this woman could be something more dangerous than a pickpocket.

  And yet, he knew he was looking at the most exciting woman he’d ever met. His heart pounded. His skin tingled. His pulse thrummed under his skin. This woman fascinated him and that was no small matter. All he could wonder was how far she would take this.

  No way was this one of those stranger-than-fiction coincidences. She’d come here with only one thing in mind. Getting her bracelet back. So why not waltz in here and simply demand it?

  Because, he thought as he looked into her eyes, she preferred subterfuge. She was a game player, and this was one game she apparently thought she could win. The woman had grit, he’d give her that.

  His every instinct told him not to do it. “You want a job?” he repeated, knowing he’d be a damned fool to hire her. He’d have to watch her all the time to make sure she didn’t carry off the place. Or cut his throat in the middle of the night.

  “You won’t be sorry.”

  He wouldn’t bet on that. “I can only offer you four days a week, but no promises,” he said, telling himself he was taking one hell of a risk. “Let’s just see how it goes. Swing by tomorrow before noon and you can fill out the paperwork and start the next day.”

  “Mariah Ayers,” she said holding out her hand.

  “Darby Cahill.” He felt a jolt as he took her warm, silken hand in his. Her grip was strong, self-assured—just like her.

  She smiled, her eyes glittering with challenge.

  The game had begun. As he let go of her hand, he feared he was a poor opponent compared to her. But at the same time, he felt as if he’d been waiting for this—for her—his whole life. Bring it on, he said to himself as he returned her smile. He felt more alive than he had in years.

  * * *

  MARIAH’S HEART THUNDERED as she walked out of the bar. She’d done it. There was no doubt that he’d recognized her right away. She’d seen it in his gray eyes—and his reaction. But he’d still hired her. Either the man was a fool or crazy like a fox. Or both.

  She kept her back straight, her head high, knowing that he would be watching her from the window. With practiced ease, she swung a leg over her motorcycle, adjusted her backpack and kick-started the engine. It rumbled under her, throaty and loud just the way she liked it. She hit first gear and took off in a cloud of dust and exhaust. She desperately wanted to look back, knowing the cowboy would be there watching her, wondering what she was up to.

  Instead, she concentrated on the narrow paved road that curved through the rolling hills toward town. She hadn’t gone far when she saw the for-rent sign. Unfortunately she’d been going too fast to get to a stop in time.

  She hit the skids, sliding a little as she got the motorcycle stopped and turned around to go back. The bike throbbed as she slowly pulled in front of the old log cabin—and the for-rent sign. Shutting the engine, she climbed off and peered into one dusty window.

  The cabin was what some might call rustic. She called it cheap and quickly dialed the number printed under For Rent. The call was answered on the third ring.

  “I’m inquiring about the cabin you have for rent, the one outside of town on the Maiden Canyon road. What are you asking for it?” She listened. “I’d like it. How soon can I move in?” She frowned and stepped to the door. Just as the woman on the other end of the line had said, the key was under a rock by the door. “I’m new to the area but I just took a job at the Stagecoach Saloon.”

  Mariah listened to the woman go on about how nice Lillie and Darby Cahill were, how good the food was and how convenient the cabin’s location would be for her.

  She interrupted her to ask, “Do you take cash?”

  * * *

  “YOU HIRED ANOTHER WAITRESS?” Lillie asked, frowning as she perused the schedule and then her brother.

  He kept his gaze elsewhere. “With things picking up this time of year, I thought we could use her. She’ll work the nights I work and Kendall will work with you.”

  Lillie’s eyebrows shot up. Since Kendall Raines had been hired, Lillie had hoped that her brother would ask the woman out. She was blonde, blue-eyed, cute as a button, a great waitress and loved by everyone. Well, almost everyone. When asked, Darby had said she wasn’t his type. Kendall was every red-blooded American man’s type.

  “Has Kendall done something wrong?” she asked, afraid whatever had happened, that Darby planned to let her go. “You do realize she is a favorite around here. If she leaves—”

  “Nothing happened. I don’t want to lose Kendall either. I just want to give this woman who came in looking for a job a chance.”

  Lillie realized her brother hadn’t made eye contact once. She studied him openly for a long moment. “Why do I feel like there is something you aren’t telling me?”

  He chuckled as he came over to take the schedule from her and put it back on the wall of the kitchen. “Because you have a suspicious mind.”

  “True,” she admitted.

  “Did I see the old man’s Jeep parked in front of his cabin?” Darby asked frowning. “I thought he was still up in the mountains.” Most of the time, when their father came down, he headed straight for the bar and trouble. That’s how they found out he was in town—their brother Flint would call her to let her know so she could bail him out.

  “I haven’t seen him.” The whole family was worried about Ely. Flint was convinced their father was losing his mind, although most people in the county thought he’d lost it years ago. Ely still claimed that in 1967 he was abducted by aliens.

  What made Ely’s claim more terrifying was what was hidden underground in the back pasture of the Cahill Ranch. The alleged abduction had taken place near one of the more than two hundred missile silos that sat in the middle of farm and ranch land across Montana. Back in the late 1950s, Flint’s grandfather had signed over a two-acre plot of land in the middle of his ranch to the US government in perpetuity for national defense.

  The US Air Force buried a thousand Minuteman missiles three stories deep in ranch land just like theirs. A missile, which was on constant alert and capable of delivering a 1.2 megaton nuclear warhead to a target in thirty minutes, was still buried in their backyard. The program was called MAD, mutually assured destruction.

  On the night Ely claimed he was abducted by aliens, the Air Force reported seeing a UFO hovering over several of the missile silos—including the one on the Cahill Ranch. Suddenly the missiles began to shut down, going off alert. It caused a panic with the military but no one had known about it until years later when the information was declassified.

  A few months ago Ely had sworn something was going on at the missile silo.

  “Maybe I’ll swing by Dad’s place later after work,” Darby said.

  Lillie saw that her brother was purposely trying to change the subject. Did he really think he could distract her that easily? “So this Mariah Ayers you hired, what is she like?”

  “She’s...” He seemed at a loss for words for a moment. “You’ll see for yourself. She’s coming in tomorrow to fill out the paperwork.”

  “Where is she from?” Lillie asked.

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “Well, you must have asked about her other jobs.”

  “Actually, I didn’t. I had her make me a drink. A mojito.”

  “You don’t drink.”

  “It wasn’t for me,” he said, turning to look at her with impatience. “I wanted to see if she was as good as she said she was. She was.”

 
“Hmm,” Lillie said, still eyeing him suspiciously. This wasn’t like him. He was the one who asked a lot of questions when hiring anyone. So what was different this time? “I can’t wait to meet her.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  MAGGIE THOMPSON RAKED her fingers through the teenager’s long hair, looking for a spot she might have missed before picking up her scissors again.

  The girl wasn’t paying any attention. She was on her phone texting and had been since she’d walked in the door. Next to her at the only other chair in the shop, Daisy Caulfield, her other stylist, was visiting with a regular, Irma Tinsley.

  Maggie drew out each side of the teen’s hair, eyeballing the lengths colored a bright pink. Last week it was purple. Before that, green.

  She’d begun cutting her friends’ hair at the age of eleven. Now at thirty-three, sometimes she felt as if she could do it in her sleep. She snipped a little more before putting down her scissors and picking up her blow dryer.

  “Don’t need to dry it,” Astoria “Tori” Clark said, already slipping out of the chair before Maggie could turn on the blow dryer. “I’ve got to go. My mom called with the credit card number, right?” she said over her shoulder.

  “She did,” Maggie said, but not before the girl was gone.

  “There a fire somewhere?” Daisy asked from the next chair, where Irma was getting foil pulled out from her highlights.

  “I don’t understand this new generation,” the elderly Irma said. “Did you see her, thumbs just a flying on that phone of hers. What in the world does she have to talk about nonstop?”

  Maggie laughed. “It’s the way to communicate now.”

  “First they did away with teaching cursive writing in schools,” Irma said. “Next it will be diagramming sentences.”

  Daisy laughed. “I think they’ve already done away with that.”

  “See what I mean? And you call that communicating?”