The Outlaw's Kiss (an Old West Romance) (Wild West Brides)

by Karin, Anya

  I shook my head. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came.

  “Every other time in my life that I’ve been afraid whether in the War, when I was behind a cave-in at the Comstock, it was always that I was scared of dying. Scared of being killed or captured or suffocated. This time it was different.”

  He stroked my cheek with the back of one hand, then with the other then cupped my face between both of them.

  “I was afraid that I’d never hold you again, never see this face, these eyes.” He kissed my nose, then my eyelids. “That I’d never feel your warmth against my body again, that I’d never be able to say these words.”

  “Eli,” speaking failed me.

  He silenced me with a soft kiss, then pulled me closer and kissed harder, pushing my lips apart with his, caressing me and warming me all the way through. Every inch of me, from my hair to my toes, tingled and sparked as he explored me gently with his tongue and curled his hands desperately against my back.

  Clutching him as hard as I could, I let my whole world become Eli for just a few moments, kiss after kiss, our skin clung together, our souls merged into one for a blissed moment. I was so absorbed, so enraptured, that the knock at the front door, followed by Mr. Star shouting ‘mail!’ hardly shook my concentration on Eli’s face, his breath, his touch.

  “Better check that,” he said. “Could be important.”

  I backed away, our fingers touching until the last moment, when we were too far removed. Even with no physical connection, I felt him still as I bent and collected the letter from the doorstep.

  “It’s for father,” I said. “From Francis – his bank manager. All the other communication has been by telegraph. This feels strangely official, doesn’t it?”

  For some reason, I handed the letter to Eli, as though I needed him to deal with it.

  “Well, I suppose we should save it for him. After all, we’d hate to break the law,” he said. A wry grin curled the left side of his mouth.

  Dropping the letter right beside the pan which held the remaining potato cakes, Eli reached for my hand and grasped it, holding tight. “Those cakes are perfectly browned,” I said. “They, I suppose the fat was just the right temperature for, you know, crispness on the outside while still –”

  “I don’t want to wait, Clara James,” Eli pulled me close, kissed me deep. “Be my wife. Marry me, Clara, and let’s just forget this place. Run off to Texas, or Wyoming or Oregon or any damn place. I don’t care where we are, I just want to be with you. I just want you, Clara.”

  My heart thudded in my chest, my throat tightening and quieting any words I may have said.

  Tendrils of pleasure curled against me as Eli’s ran his fingers through my hair, held my head between his hands and kissed me again, so deeply that I felt his breath move in and out of me, as though he were breathing for both of us.

  “I can’t, Eli, I can’t just leave my father behind and run off on some romantic gallivanting adventure through the west.” What I wanted to say was ‘yes, yes, a thousand times yes’ but somehow I kept myself calm. “And what about Itan and the rest of everything we still need to do here? What about Mr. Bullock? If you vanish, who knows what the people of this town will do.”

  “I know, damn it!” Eli balled up his fist and slammed it against the table. “Why is it that after years of nothing happening at all, right now, when I find the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, I have to deal with some ludicrous charge levied against me for petty revenge? Why do I have to deal with Eustace Rawls and his scheming? Why do I have to care this much? Why can’t I just up and leave and never look back?”

  Pain burned in Eli’s eyes. It hurt me to watch, but I knew he needed my comfort right then, just as I’d needed his. I put my hands on his cheeks and forced him to look at me. “Because you’re a good man,” I said. “And that’s why...”

  I couldn’t finish. I couldn’t tell him that I loved him. I just couldn’t do it, no matter how badly I wanted to lie down in his arms, cover him in kisses and tell him over and over how desperately I ached for him.

  My eyes fell on the thick envelope Mr. Star had delivered and for a moment at least, I was saved from my own heart. I just had to break Eli’s embrace, or else I don’t know what I would have done. “Father won’t mind if I check this.”

  Even with my back to him as I slid the tip of a butter knife into the envelope, Eli’s hand remained on my shoulder. The letter was bad news, but nothing unexpected. To return to stability, the bank needed something on the order of a million dollars to cover expenses in a month.

  “That amount, assuming your father can get his mine going, he can manage that in a week, a month is plenty of time.” I felt Eli twirl one of my fallen curls around his finger and rub it back and forth.

  “But he’s got to get it going first,” I said. “Unless he figures out some way to get someone who knows what they’re doing to manage it that mine will never produce what it should.”

  “Listen to this,” Eli cocked an eyebrow. “You sure you’re not related to George Hearst?”

  His joke, and the smile that went along with it, had me straining every shred of my will power to keep from throwing my arms around his neck, declaring my undying, eternal love and begging for him to take me all the way to Texas right then.

  Another knock at the door saved me from that sort of terrible indignity. “Who is it?” I asked, turning my head away from Eli and breathing a sigh of relief.

  “Miss Clara? It’s Seth. I need to talk to you.” Mr. Bullock’s words sounded like they came through clenched teeth. I could almost hear the strain in his voice. “Just for a moment. No bad news.” I heard his boot heel scrape on the wood then come to a halt.

  Eli crept off to the kitchen, and thankfully had never bothered to put on his boots else he would have been as audible as the sheriff. The cupboard clicked shut and I knew he was securely hidden.

  “Coming,” I called.

  Seth had his hat in his hands and looked like he hadn’t slept in quite some time. Black circles marked his cheeks and his hair was messier than I’d ever seen it. He was normally very carefully groomed and dressed, but even his mustache was out of sorts.

  “Mr. Bullock,” I said as I touched my chest, “is everything all right?”

  “May I come in? There’s a breeze what’s got me sneezing.”

  “Of course,” I said, gesturing him to a chair.

  Seth turned around twice, then sunk into father’s favorite chair and breathed a deep sigh. “Fine seat,” he said. “Feels like a month since I sat down. I’m sorry to bother you, Clara.”

  “No, not at all,” I said. “Would you like a drink? I’ve just made some lemonade, or I believe my father has a bottle of whiskey I’m sure he wouldn’t mind sharing.”

  Seth’s eyes went left, then right. He looked awful. “Yes, that’d be fine,” he said. “The whiskey, I mean. I’m in no state of mind for lemonade.”

  “Of course,” I said, making my way to the kitchen. “What is it I can help you with?”

  I poured the drink, with a bit of a heavy hand, I admit, and returned to the living room. He sipped it appreciatively.

  “Much obliged. I needed this more than you could know.” He licked droplets of the stuff off the bottom of his mustache, and then he took another deep breath. Seth turned the glass around in his hand, apparently mesmerized by the light from the window casting an amber square across the arm of the chair. He ran his thumb over the textured part on the bottom of the glass before putting it back to his lips and swallowing the rest of the fiery liquid in one go.

  I waited a moment before asking him again what I could help him with.

  “Oh, right. My mind isn’t right lately. I suppose there’s not really much anything you can do for me, so much as I needed to see a friendly face.”

  “Is everything all right, Seth?” I sat in the chair opposite his. “You seem terribly worried.”

  “I am,” he admitted. “There’s been
no sign of Eli, no sign of Itan, or any of the other Sioux, and I’m damn worried something’s got their dander up and they’re just waiting to pounce again. Next time they might not leave so quick.”

  “What purpose would they have for attacking again? They’ve got what they wanted, don’t they?”

  Seth nodded. “Yes, but in that last raid, a brave was shot in the back as they left. That don’t go over so well.”

  “I see.” I averted my eyes to keep from looking past him, to the kitchen. “Well, what are you going to do?”

  He ran his hands through his tousled hair. “I can’t say, because I just don’t know. I wish I could find Eli, to make sure he’s safe if nothing else. Not only to save my own hide, but because if some of these half-wild Deadwood cowboys find him, he ain’t gonna have an easy go of it.”

  A moment later, he put the whiskey glass down on the table and pushed himself to his feet. “But, I must be going. Things need attending to. I’m just happy you were home. Friendly smiles are hard to come by these days.”

  “Oh,” I said, flattered. “Any time you need a smile, you’re welcome. I’m always happy to see a friend.”

  “Indeed,” he said as he opened the door. “Especially one who is as free with whiskey as the present company.” The hint of a smile graced his lips. I imagined it was the first time in days that had happened. “Give my best to Jefferson next you see him.”

  “I will, sheriff, rest assured.”

  He turned to wave when he was halfway down the path, and as soon as I closed the door, Eli emerged from the kitchen, face so pale he looked like he’d seen death. “I can’t do this to him,” he said in a hushed voice. “He’s my friend and I’m torturing him. Could get him killed if things get far enough along. Itan isn’t coming back, not for a time anyway. Aside from the brave who got killed, two of them took nasty wounds that’ll take time to heal. And Itan, he’s just tired.”

  “Well that’s good, at least,” I said and then caught myself. “Not the injuries, God forbid, I meant that another raid isn’t coming.”

  “I took your meaning,” Eli said. “Why do I keep doing it, Clara? Why can’t I let it go? You never answered me earlier. You almost did, and then that letter came.”

  “Answered you about what?” I asked, knowing full well what he meant.

  Eli moved across the room, and put his arms around me. It felt like home, being there against his chest. “Why can’t I let everything just go away? Why do I have to care what happens to Seth or anyone else? Why am I going to march right down the sheriff’s office in the middle of the town and give myself up, then just hope everything works out, and Al Swearengen makes good on what he’s promising?”

  “Because,” I said, carefully measuring my voice. “You’re a good man, Eli.”

  “You’ve already said that once,” he kissed my forehead.

  I pushed away from him, a twinge of tension thrumming in my chest. “But what I haven’t said is,” I shook my head. “No, no, I can’t. I can’t say it.”

  “Say what?” He asked.

  My cheeks burned.

  “Clara, you can tell me anything. You can say anything at all to me.”

  “No, I can’t. I can’t say this. It’s too much, too soon.” I wrung my hands, pacing back and forth. “But I can’t help myself! I can’t keep it from bubbling up every time I see you. The way I feel, I just can’t keep it quiet anymore, Eli, your being here is making every moment of my life confusing and filling me with all sorts of wild thoughts.”

  “What kind of thoughts? They can’t be any wilder than the ones I’ve got about you.” He grabbed my shoulders and held me at arms’ length. “I can’t keep it inside anymore, damn it. I’m about to turn myself in and I might not ever see you again. Hell, the next time I see the sky, it might be right before I’m hanged by the neck for treason.”

  “Don’t say that Eli.” I touched his face, then his neck. Tears welled up in my eyes.

  “All right,” he whispered. “I trust you, Clara. If you say Swearengen’s word is good, I believe you.”

  His lips shook as though there was something else he wanted to say. “And?” I drew near and kissed his chin.

  “And,” he paused.

  “I love you, Clara James. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in the world. And I made a promise to take you to Palo Duro canyon and show you the sunrise. No matter what, Eli Masterson doesn’t break his promises.”

  Eli kissed me one last time, filling my entire being with warmth. He clutched me to him, squeezed me tight, and then let me go and grabbed his hat all at once.

  “You stay here,” he said. “There’s something I’ve got to do.”

  I managed to stay strong until he was gone, but as soon as the door closed behind him, and my Eli was out of sight, I was immediately overwhelmed.

  “I love you too, Eli!” I shouted. “I love you too!”

  He knocked on the door twice. He heard me.

  And then he was gone.

  Sixteen

  October 7, 1878 – Night

  Deadwood, Dakota Territory

  “Clara! Clara, help! Your father’s been hurt!”

  Davis Clark’s voice shattered my light sleep right before he banged on the door.

  I threw on a dressing gown and hurried down the stairs, terrified of what I’d find. Luckily, when I pulled the door open, cuts and scrapes were the worst of it. Mr. Clark helped father inside, and to the chair where he slumped over.

  “It was those two ruffians, Goldtooth and Ernest or Ernie or whatever his name is. While your father and I were having a bite of supper before heading back to town, they ambushed us. Jeff’s Welsh miners tried to help, but Eustace shot one of them and sent the other running.” Breath hitched in Mr. Clark’s chest. His words all jumbled together until he was utterly tongue tied, and then he waved his hands in the air, frustrated.

  “I’m fine, Davis. It’s just some cuts.” Father looked in my direction. He had two puffy eyes from being boxed, and a number of cuts and scrapes all over his hands and arms. His shirt was torn, bloody, and covered in mud.

  “Father, you’re bleeding all over the place! Get that shirt off and I’ll fetch some water. Those cuts might not be serious but they need to be cleaned.”

  He grunted and shifted his weight as he unbuttoned his clothes. I gathered a pot of heated water and the bottle of whiskey before going back to the sitting room with a handful of cloth swatches.

  I got a touch of liquor on the rag and touched the nastiest of the cuts. Father hissed and recoiled, but gripped the arm of his chair and gritted his teeth. “That smarts like hellfire,” he groaned.

  “Sorry,” I said, and wiped away another bit of dried blood, cleaning the cut underneath. That one made him wince a bit less severely. The vast majority of his wounds were on the surface. They no doubt hurt a great deal, but hadn’t caused any real damage to the flesh underneath. It looked almost like he’d rolled around in a bramble patch, and had nothing but a bunch of bloody scratches to show for his effort.

  “What happened?” I asked when I had him mostly wiped down, and the most ghastly of his injuries cleaned and bandaged. “They just appeared and terrorized you?”

  Father wheezed as he caught his breath. “Well, that’s close to true. They came up and began to demand the claim. They said if I didn’t sell to them at a price so low it wouldn’t cover the trip home, they’d have my heart on a plate. I thought that was a bit over-dramatic, but nevertheless.” He took a deep breath. “Will you be so kind as to pour me a measure of that? My nerves need to be calmed.”

  I did as he asked and he swallowed the whiskey in one gulp. I poured him a second glass, and one for Mr. Clark, who sipped at his.

  After a moment of silence, one of father’s cuts began to weep again and I’d had enough. “That’s it,” I said, standing up. “I’m going to see Mr. Swearengen. He said to come to him if we needed any help, especially regarding those two, and we very plainly do.”

 
; “Now, now, Clara, calm down.” Father waved his hand dismissively. “That’s ridiculous. You’re not going to that den of whores and sin at night. It bothers me enough that you go at all, even when it’s abandoned in the middle of broad daylight. I’ll not have you traipsing about with all kinds of grotesquery on display.”

  “Then you go,” I said. “But I’m going too. Mr. Swearengen knows me. He likes me – for whatever reason – enough to tell me to see him if anything happened, and that’s just what is going to happen.”

  Ignoring me momentarily, father’s hand fell upon the letter from Francis. I’d meant to put it somewhere else, but forgot in the heat of the moment. As he looked it over, he shuddered.

  “It’s happening,” he said. “We’re losing the bank. If that bank goes, everything goes, Clara.” He turned to Mr. Clark. “I’m sorry for putting on such a show.”

  “Not at all, Jeff. We’re friends. Friends stand beside one another.”

  Father’s eyes grew watery. “I’m sorry to you too, Clara. I’ve ruined everything.”

  “What? No you haven’t father, don’t be silly, I’m in...” I caught myself and cleared my throat. “Nothing is ruined at all. You’ve got your claim perched on the edge of a massive return. All that needs be done is to get it started. Eli said that if you got a mining operation going, you’d make the million in a week.”

  Father’s hand shook so hard that the letter rustled in his grasp before he laid it on the table. “But that,” he said, “presumes a mine. I don’t have the first idea where to start. I’ve got all these people offering to help, but I’m so lost I don’t know what the first step is.” He paused for a moment. “Where is Eli, anyway?”

  “Mr. Masterson is here?” Davis Clark looked around. “How did he –”