Nights with the Outlaw

by Lauri Robinson

  Not only was he fine looking, he radiated compassion and a sense of loyalty to his fellow man. She’d thought deep into the night, and a part of her, a large part, didn’t believe what he’d told her. He may have done time, but Clint Turnquist wasn’t an outlaw.

  He caught her staring, and the smile he cracked had her cheeks tingling.

  “I can do this. There’s no need for you to help.” He hefted two buckets.

  She pushed off the wall. “No, I’ll help,” she insisted, if for no other reason than to be near him. It was where she felt safest, which was just one of the things that told her he wasn’t an outlaw.

  Once the chores were completed, she led him to the house, knowing Sarah would have breakfast on the table.

  “That pen could use a bit of reinforcement.” He nodded toward the large paddock that had held the herd Joe and Dobbs had driven to the train.

  “Pigs are tough on their pens,” she admitted. “Dobbs and Joe will see to it when they return.” For a second she caught a glimpse of a future that had Clint working beside her, building the ranch back into a profitable venture.

  He held open the front door for her to enter. The smell of flapjacks and bacon filled the air. Side by side, and with her heart skipping around, she and Clint walked into the kitchen and washed their hands before they took their seats.

  Tristan, already consuming the food, pointed his fork at Clint. “You can give me some lessons as soon as we’re done eating.”

  Doreen bit her lip and stayed silent, wondering how Clint would handle Tristan. Clint lifted a brow. “Oh?”

  “Yep. Teach me the trick to shooting that coin.”

  “There’s no trick,” Clint replied, taking the platter she passed his way. “And lessons can’t teach it.”

  “Then how’d you learn it?” the youth demanded.

  She watched and waited while Clint covered his jacks with syrup. Tristan needed guidance from a man—only heaven knew how hard she’d tried with her brother.

  “It takes coordination. Once you have that, it just comes,” Clint said.

  “I’m coordinated.” Tristan twirled his fork, as if proving his dexterity.

  “Eye-hand coordination.” Clint chewed his food and swallowed before adding. “I’d be willing to teach you that.”

  “You would?” Tristan asked.

  The same question rolled around in Doreena’s head.

  “Yep, as soon as breakfast is over.”

  Mind ticking over, Doreena kept her gaze on Clint. He glanced her way and winked. The action had her heart thudding.

  The meal proceeded with Jeb and Clint talking about repairing the pen, and as soon as their plates were empty, the two headed toward the back door.

  Tristan stopped them with a shout. “Hey, what about my lessons?”

  “Come on.” Clint waved a hand.

  “I’ll get my six-shooter,” Tristan said.

  “You won’t need it,” Clint assured him, already walking through the open doorway.

  Doreena carried the dishes to the sink and peered out the window. All three men soon disappeared around the corner of the house. Usually, household chores didn’t bother her, but today, knowing Clint was outside and she wasn’t, they seemed a nuisance. Less than an hour later, she decided the rest could wait and walked out the back door to where the sounds of hammers echoed.

  In awe, she stopped to stare for a moment. Tristan was nailing the boards together alongside Clint and Jeb. Her brother didn’t even look her way, but Clint did. A smile pulled on his lips as he set his hammer down and walked across the pen, meeting her near the gate.

  “How on earth have you managed that?” She gestured toward her brother.

  “Eye-hand coordination. If you can’t hit a nail on the head, you’ll never shoot a coin out of the air.”

  Tristan let out a yelp, and shook one hand, before he started hammering again. Astonished, Doreena pointed a finger at Clint. “You’re quite amazing, Clint Turnquist.”

  “So are you, Doreena Buckman.”

  A rush of warmth flooded her system, and when he winked at her, a tornado set down inside her, stealing the very air she breathed.

  He nodded toward Tristan and Jeb. “They have this covered. Do you have time to ride with me to where we saw that light last night?”

  A bubble of excitement popped inside her windpipe. “Yeah.” She sucked in air, and repeated more clearly, “Yes, I do.”

  He twisted about. “Then let’s go.”

  Her work dress wasn’t the best for riding, but she’d done it before, and once she had the skirt twisted about her legs, they trotted out of the barn.

  As the well-worn path out of the yard narrowed, Clint steered his mount left. “Let’s go this way.”

  “But the light came from over here.” She pointed to the right.

  “I know,” he said, “we’ll circle around to there.”

  She nudged Scout into the tall grass. “This’ll be a roundabout way.”

  “I know, but whoever’s watching will think we aren’t headed their way,” he explained.

  She studied Clint for several seconds, taking in his confidence. “I bet you’ve outsmarted a fox or two.”

  He shrugged. “It doesn’t always work, but I’m counting on it this time.”

  “Me, too.” The significance of her agreement filled Doreena. She’d been cautious of people for a long time, but here she was, barely a day after meeting the man, riding across the countryside with him and counting on him to solve her burdening problems. It should be perplexing, but in short, her intuition told her Clint Turnquist was the answer to her prayers. And she believed it.

  They rode through the open prairie, side by side, silently, until she asked, “Do you have any family?”

  His back stiffened.

  She hesitated, but then couldn’t stop from continuing, “You said your mother died, but is there anyone else? Siblings? Your father?”

  “He died when I was little.” Clint tipped his hat brim, glancing at the horizon before adding, “So it was just the two of us.”

  “How’d she die?”

  They came upon a cluster of trees that lined the creek, and Clint picked a trail near the underbrush.

  Having lived on the ranch her entire life, Doreena knew most every inch of her property, yet, she’d never traveled the creek bed, didn’t know exactly how it twisted and curved through the land. “You don’t have to tell me. I was just curious,” she added, following in his wake.

  At a spot where the trees hung over the water, Clint steered them across the shallow creek and up the bank on the other side. “She had consumption,” he said finally when they rode side by side again.

  “My mother, too,” Doreena offered.

  Clint glanced her way. She shook her head, not wishing to recall the past, yet it was there and wanted out. “She was sick for so long, a part of me wished it would just end for her.” Fearful he’d think she was callous, she quickly admitted, “I’ve never told anyone that. It’s not something I’m proud of.”

  He reached over and laid a hand atop hers. “I know just how you felt. It was the same for me.”

  “It was?”

  “Yes, it was.” He squeezed her hand. “And a part of me was glad when she died, knowing it was over for her.”

  His touch was much more than simple comfort; it held a deep connection she’d never felt before. “Me, too,” she whispered. “Me, too.”

  After giving her hand a final squeeze, he let loose and kneed his horse ahead. She followed, pressing her warm and tingling hand to her chest, lost in thought. Had she just confessed her most personal sentiments to a stranger? He didn’t feel like a stranger. More like a friend she could tell anything to, and not be condemned.

  A short time later, after rounding a sharp bend, Clint twisted and held a finger to his lips. The action made her pulse quicken. He eased out of his saddle and gestured for her to do the same. “We’ll walk from here,” he whispered, tying the horses to a tre
e.

  “Wh—”

  “Shh.” His fingers clasped hers and he pulled her in his wake. The touch sent her blood racing. Bramble brush and taller hardwoods grew close together and cast dark shadows. Their trek was uphill and the rocky ground treacherous at times. Doreena held on to his hand more firmly and depended on his skills more and more as they climbed.

  Open land and bright sunshine appeared between the trees when he knelt down, tugging her with him. He touched his lips with a finger again before pointing through the trees. The covertness of their actions heightened her senses and dulled them at the same time. Her gaze didn’t follow to where he pointed. It stayed on his lips. They were full, and she wondered what they’d feel like upon hers. What they’d taste like.

  A tap on her cheek forced her to turn her head. His arm went around her shoulders, pulling her close to see between the thick branches. Their shoulders pressed together, and her temple touched his cheek.

  She sucked in air at the humming inside her.

  “Shh,” he whispered again. “Look.”

  Far off, in the direction he’d pointed, two men sat beside a small fire. In all the years she’d traversed the land, she’d never seen the little hidden spot. A small overhang created a cave of sorts near the top of the hill. The men were reclined against the rocks, and two barely distinguishable horses were staked in the large grassy area between the hill and the creek.

  She turned to Clint. This time he put his finger against her lips and then tapped her ear.

  His touch had her heart pounding so hard, it was impossible to hear. The two men conversed casually, but she couldn’t decipher words. She held her breath, but not even that helped her hearing. After several minutes, Clint gestured it was time to leave.

  He picked their return path as silently and cautiously as he had earlier. “Be very quiet,” he urged almost soundlessly when they returned to their horses.

  They rode back along the creek without speaking, and by the time he led her into an open field, questions about the men screamed to get out.

  “Did you recognize them?” he finally asked.

  Practically bursting, she blurted. “No, did you?”

  He grinned. “I’m not from around here. How would I recognize them?”

  His teasing made her smile. “You’re right,” she admitted. “I can’t believe we found them. I mean you found them. I’m sure I checked that hill.”

  Clint reined in, and gazed at the rolling hills behind them. “You wouldn’t have seen them from the top of the hill. They’d have noticed you and hidden the horses in the cave.”

  “What do we do now?” she asked.

  “We wait. They’re there for a reason. Let’s see what it is.”

  Chapter Four

  Upon his return to the homestead, Clint took a moment to check Tristan’s and Jeb’s progress, and then used the excuse of examining other areas of the pen to gather his bouncing nerves. Leading Doreena through the woods had been more pleasurable than it should have been. She smelled like a field of flowers, and at one point all he could think about was kissing her.

  He paused near the back of the pen, and knelt to run a hand along the bottom board. The delight of holding her hand still had his tingling. He shook his head. The men camped in the hills were what he should be thinking about. They’d seemed relaxed and settled, like they’d been there for some time and planned to stay a while longer. His gut told him Martin and Henderson had something to do with those men, but for the first time in a very long time, he wasn’t listening and reacting to his gut. Instead, in a sneaky but warm and pleasant way, his heart had taken over. It talked louder than his gut and was focused on Doreena.

  “Clint!”

  He spun around.

  Tristan waved an arm. “Lunch is ready.”

  Clint pushed off the rail and walked over to where Jeb, leaning on his cane, waited. “Doreena said you found them,” Jeb said.

  Clint set his gait to accommodate Jeb’s. “Yeah, two men camped in an overhang in the hills.”

  “Got a plan?”

  Clint shook his head. “Not yet.”

  Jeb grinned. “When you do, let me know what I can do to help.”

  “I will,” Clint agreed, half wondering how he’d gotten himself proclaimed the person in charge. He’d never been the leader, just a follower. Did what the Harmon brothers had told him to do, which usually had been holding the horses, or keeping watch. Though, when he’d returned from Texas, and the group took him back in, they’d all listened to him then, which is why he’d been able to foil the robbery and had eventually got the law on his side.

  Lingering thoughts stuck in his mind while he washed and he took the empty seat at the table on the end opposite Doreena.

  It was a mistake. Every time he glanced up those blue-green eyes, full of contemplation, caught his. She didn’t pull her gaze away, or blush, but simply kept staring.

  Bold and beautiful, that’s how he’d describe her, and he liked that. Liked it a lot. He’d come up with a plan all right—make sure whoever was out there left her alone, and then he’d do the same. The connection he felt to her went too deep. Feelings like that caused nothing but problems.

  “What do you say?”

  He glanced to Tristan. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your question.”

  “I said how about we do a bit of shooting practice this afternoon?” Tristan swallowed, and then added, “That pen’s almost done.”

  “I found a few more boards that need to be replaced on the far side.” Clint caught the way the kid’s lips puckered. Dang if he wasn’t taking a liking to the whole family. “I’ll make you a deal,” he offered. “You finish that pen today, and we’ll do some shooting this evening.”

  Tristan thought for a moment, but then agreed with a nod.

  The twinkle in Doreena’s eyes was worth the ammunition he’d use up.

  Hours later, he remembered a time when he’d been just like Tristan, wanted to learn to shoot above and beyond everything else. It didn’t surprise him either, when Doreena joined the shooting practice with two fancy revolvers.

  “You went six for six against those bottles,” he said, walking beside her when Sarah called them to supper. “Hit most every one square center.”

  A healthy glow covered her cheeks. “I’ve had practice,” she said.

  “Oh?”

  She nodded.

  He leaned closer. “Remind me to never make you mad.”

  She giggled. “I will, if the need ever arises.”

  When he took a chair at the table that night, it was once again opposite Doreena. This time, he caught her gaze and winked. The blush of her cheeks tickled him, and later, after he’d said good-night and walked to the bunkhouse, he wondered if she’d join him on the little porch. He sat down and waited.

  It wasn’t long before she arrived, still wiping her hands on her apron. “I just wanted to say thank you, again, for finding those men.”

  He stood, waiting for her to sit in the other chair before he took his seat again. “I figure we should ride out there again tomorrow, just give them something to watch.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  Serenaded by crickets, they sat, without really saying anything, yet Clint felt as if they conversed deeply, profoundly, and that was something he pondered most of the next day, until the sun set and the two of them were sitting on the porch outside the bunkhouse once again.

  “I think we’ll replace those shingles on the barn tomorrow,” he said as she took the chair next to his.

  “At the rate you’re going, Joe and Dobbs won’t have anything to do when they return.”

  A cinch tightened in his chest. “Sure they will,” he said. “Most every building here could use a coat of paint, and the hay field is about ready for cutting, and—”

  Her hand fell on top of his, halting his speech. “I was just teasing,” she whispered.

  He rolled his hand, so his palm met hers. Their fingers entwined, and he felt something trai
l up his arm. It was under his skin, a gentle but strong sensation that entered his veins and filled him with a deep tranquility.

  “I appreciate all you’ve done, Clint, and that includes making Tristan interested in helping out around here.”

  His throat felt a touch raw. He cleared it. “He’s a good kid.”

  “Yes, he is, but he needed some guidance to bring it out. You’ve done that.” Her hand tightened around his.

  He caressed the back of her hand with his thumb, and wondered about telling her about the Harmon brothers. Explain how he’d hated riding with the gang, but had been afraid of what they’d do to him and to his mother if he didn’t obey. The stars twinkling overhead and the grunts of sleeping pigs encouraged him to remain silent. He didn’t want to spoil the evening, spoil the peacefulness of the night. Of the world.

  Doreena held her breath to completely focus on the vibrations of Clint’s thumb tracing a lazy circle on the back of her hand. It was silly how deeply such a simple caress touched her heart. The past two days had been magical. Not just because of the amount of work that had been done, but what was happening inside her. She found herself smiling all the time, and finding beauty and grace in everything. The magic really happened at night. Right now. While they sat on the porch. Together. Alone. She wished time would just stop, keep her right here, holding his hand, forever.

  Yet time didn’t stop, and Doreena found herself happy about that, for each day she found life to be more enchanting. Clint encouraged Tristan to help with every chore, and her heart swelled at how her brother flourished beneath Clint’s tutelage. She found time to complete things she’d set aside the past year, but was never so busy she couldn’t take refreshments to the men, or ride across the plains with Clint. The evenings, though, remained her favorite time, when they’d sit on the porch.

  Tonight as they sat side by side, holding hands, thick clouds hid the stars and lightning flashed on the horizon. Her insides held a storm of their own. She let out a pent-up sigh. “Joe and Dobbs should arrive home tomorrow.”