The Outlaw

by JoAnn Ross

  Buchanan turned toward the newcomers. " 'Afternoon, Your Honor," he said. "Come here to watch a murderer get his just rewards, have you?"

  "I've come here to ensure justice is done."

  "Well, now, Your Honor, sir, I hate to quibble with you, but this Injun has already been tried and convicted. Would've hanged, too, if he hadn't escaped."

  "You're fortunate he did," Wolfe's father said. "Since it saved you having to explain to St. Peter why you hanged an innocent man."

  A loud murmur went through the gathered crowd.

  Beneath his handlebar mustache, Buchanan's mouth drew into a harsh scowl. "He's been found guilty."

  "In a trial that was a joke. A trial conveniently conducted by a circuit judge known for his propensity to take payoffs." The anger in Cavanaugh's tone was as sharp as a whip. "Any crime dealing with the native population requires a federal judge," he reminded the marshal. "And that happens to be me."

  "You were outta town," the marshal mumbled.

  "I was in Washington. But I'm back now. So we can move these proceedings to the courthouse."

  The mumbles increased, but knowing when he was outranked, the marshal reluctantly removed the noose from around Wolfe's neck.

  "What are you doing here?" Wolfe demanded when they came face-to-face on the courthouse steps. He was furious at Noel for having put herself at risk.

  "Trying to save your stubborn neck," she retorted. "And by the way, I've brought your father along to help."

  Every muscle in Wolfe's face clenched. He glared at the tall handsome man standing beside Noel. "I have no father."

  Noel practically bit her tongue in half to keep from screaming at him. "Wolfe," she said, struggling for the patience that had once been her hallmark, "this animosity between our races has to end somewhere. Why not here? And now? With your father?"

  "I told you—"

  She pressed her fingers against his taut lips, forestalling his argument. "You once said you would do anything for me."

  "It was the truth."

  "Then talk to him, Wolfe. That's all I ask. Please."

  The two men exchanged a look. Then Wolfe shrugged and returned his gaze to Noel. "I am only doing this for you."

  Hope fluttered its hummingbird wings in her heart. "I know."

  The conversation, held in private, did not take long. Wolfe's dark expression as the two men came out of the back room, was less than encouraging.

  Noel's nerves were on edge as she sat in the courtroom, listening to Bret Starr's testimony. Relieved that he'd managed to stay sober, she felt that any reasonable person would find the story believable. Especially since he had no reason to lie. Well, she admitted, some modern courts might quibble that the four-carat diamond ring in his vest pocket might prove an incentive, but knowing that she was only paying him to tell the truth, she decided to overlook that nitpicky little point.

  The new jury looked interested, she felt. But not quite convinced. Obviously, more than one had the feeling that Wolfe wouldn't be accused of the murders if he hadn't committed the crimes. And unfortunately, Wolfe had no alibi for the time of the massacre. And more distressing, he'd steadfastly refused to tell Noel where he'd been.

  "Are there any more witnesses?" Judge Cavanaugh inquired, exchanging a glance with Noel that suggested he'd done his best.

  Suddenly, a woman seated among the spectators stood up. "I'd like to testify," she said, her voice trembling with emotion.

  "Do you have information relevant to this case?" the judge asked.

  She took a deep breath and looked straight at Wolfe. "I was with the defendant at the time those settlers were murdered."

  If that statement set off shock waves through the spectators, her next words had the effect of a dynamite blast blowing everything to kingdom come. "We were together at my ranch. While my husband and his friends set fire to that cabin."

  After banging his gavel for at least five minutes, the judge managed to quiet the courtroom.

  While the woman testified, Noel took the invitation out of her pocket. As she watched, the wording changed. The showing was now a retrospective of that famous western artist, Bret Starr.

  They'd done it!

  There would be no hanging here today!

  "Although I am supposed to be a writer, I do not have the words to thank you," Wolfe said.

  It was several hours later and he and Noel had finally managed to slip away to Belle's private suite in the Road to Ruin. The yellow dog was downstairs, happily sampling scraps from the rack of lamb Belle had roasted to celebrate Wolfe's freedom.

  "Then you're not angry? About your father?" She'd worried that although she'd saved his life, going behind his back, when he'd made his feelings so clear, might cost her Wolfe's love.

  "I was, when he first introduced himself. But I understand all too well how it feels to be found guilty for something you did not do. And his explanation, along with that letter, proved he was telling the truth."

  Wolfe frowned, thinking back on the startling revelation that had turned so much of what he'd always believed upside down. He and his father would never be able to make up for those years they'd missed. They may never be able to have a true father-son relationship. But he felt they'd taken the first steps to being friends today.

  "How about you?" he asked. "Does it bother you to know that I was with another woman? A married woman?"

  From the beginning, Noel had known Wolfe wasn't a saint. She also knew that he loved her now. "You've no idea how relieved I was. Why didn't you ever say you had a witness?"

  "Mary was only a witness if she chose to testify. And she had her own reasons for not wanting to do that."

  "Like a violent husband." Noel shook her head. "Some women made very poor choices."

  "Strange words from a woman who fell in love with a convicted murderer from another time," Wolfe teased gently as he drew her into his arms.

  She framed his handsome face in her hands. "I was afraid, once I saved you, that I'd be drawn back to my own time."

  "I feared that, as well," he admitted. "However, since neither of us knows what the future holds, I suggest we stop wasting time by talking."

  "Yes." She laughed with pleasure as he scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the adjoining bedroom. "Yes, yes, yes."

  Basking in this stolen time that neither had expected, they undressed each other slowly, drawing out the moment with lingering kisses and caressing touches.

  Wolfe lifted his head and glanced over at the bath Belle had instructed some unseen servant to prepare. "It seems our hostess has thought of everything."

  "A woman of imagination, our Belle," she agreed, laughing as he lifted her again and lowered her into the warm water. She ran her hand over the curled edge of the hammered-copper slipper tub. Noel knew antique dealers who'd pay a fortune for this tub. Back home. When that thought reminded her that her time with Wolfe could be fleeting, she held out her hand. "Aren't you going to join me?"

  The water rose as he settled in behind her, drawing her against him. "This reminds me of the first time I made love to you," he murmured against her neck as he took a bar of French milled soap and rubbed it between his hands, creating a froth of fragrant bubbles. "You were wet that day, too." He ran his soapy palms over her shoulders. "And warm."

  "I was freezing when I first stepped into that pool."

  "But not for long." He touched his lips to her neck.

  "No," she said on a soft, rippling sigh, "not for long:"

  He spread the lather over her breasts. When his fingers skimmed over a nipple, she shivered. "Cold?" he asked.

  "Actually, I think I'm burning up." Her head was spinning, filled with the fragrance of bath salts rising in a mist from the hot water, bedazzled by the touch of his hands on her body, the warmth of his breath against her neck.

  "That's just the way I want you." He ran his hand up her leg, from her calf, to her knee, to the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. "Hot." He pressed his hand against her. "
Hungry."

  "Wolfe, please—" She arched against his intimate touch, not caring that she was begging.

  "Is this what you want?" He slipped his fingers into her slick moist heat, moving them in and out with a silky ease.

  As delicious as his sensuous touches were, as clever as his hands could be, Noel needed more. Much, much more.

  "I want you." She twisted in his arms, pressing her breasts against his slick wet chest as her avid mouth roamed over his face and her hands slipped between them, touching him as he'd touched her.

  As many women as he'd known, as many as he'd bedded, it had never been this way for Wolfe. Every time was like the first time. He knew that if he were to make love to his princess every day for the next one hundred years, until they'd reached her time, he would never tire of the way she made him burn.

  "Not yet." He caught her waist, stopping her as she began to lower herself down onto him.

  "Wolfe—"

  He ignored her faint protestation. "There are times, like now, when you seem like a dream," he said, standing up, drawing her to her feet, as well. The warm water sluiced off them. "And I'm terrified of waking up, because you might be gone."

  "I know that dream." She pressed her hands against his chest, splaying her fingers against his coppery flesh. "Too well."

  "I rather thought you might." He dipped his head and treated her to a kiss so tender, so sweet it brought tears to her eyes. "Whatever happens, I want you to know that you're my destiny, Noel Giraudeau. My life. My love. And somehow I will find a way to be with you. Forever."

  Her lips began to tremble. Her eyes overflowed with tears. "Forever," she whispered.

  He kissed the moisture from her cheeks and held her close for a long time as she wept silently, unable to bear the thought of losing him.

  He spoke to her in his native tongue, the language of his heart, and although she couldn't understand the words, she knew that they were meant to comfort.

  Much, much later, her tears stopped flowing, and although her breath still came in little hitches, her trembling had ceased, as well.

  He pressed his lips against the top of her head.

  "And now I want to make love to you in a real bed. With the lights on, so I can watch you as I take you over the edge. And so that I'll know, for certain, that you're not a dream, but a real flesh-and-blood woman."

  She smiled through the filmy mist of tears. "How could any woman resist an offer like that?"

  Never had Noel known such splendor. Outside the window, the night draped Whiskey River in a moon-less cloak of black velvet. Inside, bathed in the flickering golden glow of the gaslight, Wolfe showed her ways of making love she'd never imagined, loved her in ways she knew she'd remember for the rest of her life.

  At the same time, he encouraged her to spread her sexual wings, to touch him in places she'd never touched a man, to kiss him in new and exciting ways, to claim, to possess, until he was as seduced as she.

  All thoughts of the future were burnt away by that same flame that ignited their bodies and hearts. They forgot the world—both their worlds—as they spent a long love-filled night designed to last a lifetime.

  As he watched her sleep, Wolfe could feel her slipping away. Like illusive wisps of morning fog between his fingers. She was leaving him. As they'd both feared she would.

  Not that she would ever be gone from his heart. Because Wolfe knew that whenever the wind blew through the trees, it would be Noel's voice whispering to him. When he looked at the sky, he knew it would be her face he would see in the clouds. And at night, he knew the tiny points of the stars brightening the black sky would be the twinkling of her magnificent eyes.

  She would be everywhere.

  And he knew, as he knew his own heavy heart, that someday, somehow, they would be together again.

  It was the sun streaming into the bedroom that woke her.

  "Thank heavens," a familiar voice said with obvious relief. "You're awake."

  "It seems so." Fighting against the cloud still settled over her mind, Noel forced her eyes open and found herself staring into a familiar face.

  "Audrey?"

  "It's me," the elderly woman agreed, strawberry curls bobbing as she nodded with enthusiasm. "I'll tell you, girl, you sure did give us a fright. When the sheriff found your car—"

  "I had an accident."

  "Skidded off the road into a ditch," Audrey agreed. "Sheriff Callahan saw the tire marks and figured you must have swerved for something. Maybe a deer?"

  "Perhaps." Or a man on horseback. "I can't quite remember." She dragged her hand through her hair and glanced around the room, her gaze focusing on the wall calendar. The picture was of the towering rocks of Monument Valley, which she could remember with vivid clarity. "You didn't take me to the hospital?"

  "We wanted to," Audrey assured her, "but the bridge over Whiskey River is out from all the flooding and the Medivac helicopter can't fly in this thunderstorm, so the doc examined you and said it'd be okay for you to stay here. He said you were just sleeping. Not unconscious, or anything, but I gotta tell you, honey, you've been zonked out for the past twelve hours and even though the doctor checked on you three times, and said you were okay, you sure seemed gone from this world to me."

  Even as she fought against the threatening flood of tears, Noel felt her lips curving in a faint wry smile. "It felt that way to me, too." For someone who had been asleep for twelve hours, she felt horribly exhausted.

  "I'll get you some tea," Audrey said. "And some soup and crackers. You've got to be hungry."

  "I don't—"

  "You need food," the robust innkeeper overrode her planned complaint. "No offense, honey, but you're too skinny, as it is. Men prefer a woman with a little meat on her bones."

  "I'll keep that in mind," Noel murmured, remembering how Wolfe had found her perfect.

  As she listened to Audrey going back downstairs, Noel leaned back against her pillow and closed her eyes. It had been real. She knew it. She was not like Dorothy, who'd only dreamed of Oz. Her adventure in Whiskey River had not been a product of a bump on the head. Her love affair with Wolfe had not been merely a sensual dream.

  She glanced down at her bare left hand where she'd once worn a ring, and despite the fact that her heart felt as if it had been carved into little pieces, Noel found herself hoping that Bret Starr had enjoyed his life in Mexico.

  Viewing the familiar Rogues Across Time on the bedside table, she picked it up, opening unerringly to the chapter on Wolfe Longwalker.

  "Considered one of the West's most important writers," she read out loud, "after being falsely accused of murder, Wolfe Longwalker went on to live a full and productive life, still writing well into his eighties." Tears born of both sorrow and happiness filled her eyes. "He never married."

  But he did, Noel knew.

  They'd exchanged vows that last night together. Here in this very room.

  Wolfe Longwalker would always be her husband. As she would be his wife.

  Forever.

  The following day, fortified with plenty of aspirin, Noel flew home to Montacroix. As soon as she landed at the airport, she went directly to the bank, where Bertran served as vice president in charge of foreign investments.

  "Noel." Her fiancé rose from behind his desk, surprise evident on his face. "I hadn't expected you back so soon."

  "You hadn't expected me to leave in the first place," she said.

  "True." He nodded. "Please, sit down. Would you care for some tea? Some mineral water?"

  "No, nothing, thank you. I'm fine."

  He studied her with concern. "You look pale."

  "I suppose it's jet lag."

  "You never get jet lag," he said, reminding her of one of the disadvantages of trying to be less than forthright with a man who'd known you all your life.

  "You're right." She took a deep breath. "Bertran, we have to talk."

  "I agree." He sat on the edge of his desk and began fiddling with his gold Waterman fountai
n pen.

  "You do?"

  "I recall saying much the same thing when I asked you not to leave for America."

  "True, but I thought it was because the wedding—"

  "That is what I wanted to talk about."

  "Well." She looked at him, confused at the way this was going. All the way home, she'd rehearsed her speech so carefully, choosing her words so as not to hurt him. But no sooner had she entered his office than he'd thrown her off the track. "Would you like to go first? Since you've obviously been waiting longer? Or should I?"

  "I believe the rule is ladies first," he told her.

  "All right." Taking another deep breath that did little to calm the butterflies fluttering in her stomach, she went on to explain how, although she truly loved him dearly, and always would, she felt it would be unfair to both of them—and to whatever children they might have—if they went through with the planned wedding ceremony.

  "As hard as I tried, Bertran, dear," she said quietly, her eyes earnest as they looked straight into his, "I could not love you in the way a woman should love a man she's promising to spend the rest of her life with."

  Noel had not known exactly what to expect. She'd known Bertran would not display any temper. But would he be icily cold? Remote? Would he, heaven forbid, beg her to change her mind?

  What she could not have guessed was that he'd laugh.

  "Bertran?"

  "Oh, Noel." He slid off the desk and took both her hands in his. "The reason I so wanted to talk to you before you left is because I was trying to find some way to say the same thing to you."

  "You wanted to break off our engagement?" She stared up at him in disbelief. "Why?"

  "For the same reason you just mentioned. All our lives, we knew we would marry. Such knowledge was safe. Predictable."

  "Boring," Noel muttered.

  "Exactement. There is something else." He ran his finger around his starched white collar, as if it had suddenly become too tight.

  Comprehension dawned. "You've met a woman."

  "An actress, actually. From America. New York. She arrived last month to appear in one of Sabrina's productions, and, well, she wanted to open an account, just while she was here, and one thing led to another and…"