Loving an Outlaw

by Kristen Iten

  “Where is the Wagoner place? Someone has to go talk to him—make him drop this!” cried Abigail.

  “A full day’s ride south along the river, but it won’t do any good. You don’t know the man, Abby,” said Jake.

  Abigail felt a strength of resolve rise up from deep within that she didn’t know she possessed. Passionate courage blazed in her eyes as she looked deeply into his. “I didn’t know it until we met, but I’ve been waiting for you all my life,” said Abigail. “Now that I’ve found you, I’m not about to lose you.”

  She took his face in her hands, pulling it down to hers. Abigail’s eyes roved over every feature of his face before she pressed her lips to his. Warmth like she had never known flooded her body. She shut her eyes and tore herself away. A moment later, she had mounted Jake’s horse and was racing south with his voice calling after her.

  Chapter 20

  Abigail pressed on through the sweltering heat of late afternoon, the cool air of early morning but a faint memory. She was saddle sore and smelled of horse sweat, but her mind was focused on one thing only: Jake. Her heart ached in her chest when thoughts of him sitting in jail waiting for the judge crept into her mind. Abigail knew what the verdict would be if his case came to trial before she returned. Her sun burnt cheek stung as she wiped a stray tear away with the back of her sleeve.

  She slowed her mount to a walk and led him to the riverbank. She patted his strong neck while he drank deeply from the shallow waters. Even though the water was tinged with the color of the earth around her, she took a moment to quench her own thirst.

  “It’s time we were on our way again, boy,” she said. “We have to reach the Wagoner place today. Jake is depending on us.” Horse tossed his head at the mention of Jake’s name. “I know, boy. I miss him, too.” Abigail gave him one final scratch between the eyes before climbing back into the saddle.

  They traveled along the riverbank for several miles. The ground rose and fell around them. Once again, Abigail was overwhelmed by the size of the Texas sky. There’s something about this place; it just seems bigger somehow.

  Her heart leapt when she finally caught a glimpse of what looked to be a homestead in the distance. She pointed her animal in the direction of something glinting in the evening sun and picked up the pace.

  A short time later, they were standing beneath a large “W” set inside a circle. It was made of hammered metal and hung suspended from a single beam supported by two roughly hewn posts. She had arrived at the entrance of the Wagoner ranch. The symbol above her head served to remind all who entered that Mr. Wagoner reigned supreme in this corner of the world.

  “We did it, boy. We’re here,” said Abigail.

  Horse sensed Abigail’s excitement and pranced in place. “Whoa, boy.” She leaned in and reassured the animal with a comforting rub on the neck. “Well, this is it. I’ve been talking to Mr. Wagoner all day long in my head. Now that we’re here, I have no idea what I’m going to say.”

  Horse tossed his head, pawing at the ground with his hoof as if to encourage Abigail to ride on.

  “You’re right, boy. We need to get moving. I may not know what I’m going to say, but I definitely know what I’m not going to do.”

  Horse neighed in response. Abigail sat tall in the saddle and squared her shoulders. “I’m not going to take ‘no’ for an answer.”

  She tapped the horse’s sides with her heels and followed a well-worn path up a gentle slope. It led to an impressive home overlooking a sprawling ranch. Large beams supported the roof of a covered porch spanning the entire length of the house. A wide set of stairs led up to a pair of oversized double doors. One half of the Wagoner brand was carved into each heavy wooden door so that when they were closed, they formed a perfect likeness of the mark of the Circle W ranch.

  Abigail marched up the stairs and pounded on one of the doors with a doubled fist.

  “Lyle, I told you no and that’s final,” an older woman’s voice called from inside the house. “Now get on out of here before I let loose on you with my horse whip.”

  Abigail stepped back, eyes wide when the door flung open. A woman with silver hair stood before her with a coiled whip raised above her head. She was not a frail woman by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, she looked hardy enough to wrestle a steer and bring it trembling to its knees.

  The woman lowered her whip but didn’t soften her tone. “Sorry about that, girl. I thought you were one of those no-good cow hands Mr. Wagoner fired a few weeks ago.”

  “I’m Abigail Dodd. I’ve come to see Mr. Wagoner.” Her voice sounded braver than she felt. “It is a matter of life and death.”

  “I’m expecting him back some time tomorrow.” The woman closed the door without another word.

  Abigail hesitated for a moment before turning to walk down the steps. She hadn’t considered the possibility of Mr. Wagoner not being at home. Evening was coming on, and she hadn’t eaten all day long. Now, she was faced with the prospect of spending the night outdoors without any supplies.

  Abigail patted Horse’s neck and unfastened the saddle. She gave it a tug and guided its fall to the ground. She kissed Horse on his velvety nose and led him to the trough for a long, thirst-quenching drink.

  “I guess it’s just you and me tonight, boy.”

  The old woman opened the door once again.

  “Where did you come from, girl?” The woman’s arms were folded resolutely across her chest.

  “I rode in from Sweet Creek.”

  “That’s a mighty small pack on the back of your animal. What have you got in the way of vittles?”

  “Nothing, ma’am,” said Abigail.

  “Land sakes, if ever there was such an empty-headed girl.” She threw her hands into the air in exasperation. “Well, don’t just stand there, child. Gather your things and come inside. I’ve got dinner on the fire, and I haven’t got a mind to burn it on your account.”

  Abigail obliged the woman and came back to the porch.

  “You haven’t got the sense the good Lord gave a tick. I said to bring your things, girl.”

  “I don’t have anything to bring.”

  “You don’t …” The woman turned and walked down a grand hallway leading through the center of the house shaking her head. “Land sakes—girls these days. They’ve got all the sense of an empty-headed, day-old calf, that’s what.”

  Abigail assumed she was supposed to follow the blustering woman. She closed the door behind her, hurrying down a hall that led to the biggest kitchen she had ever seen. The smells that greeted her as she walked through the door were nothing short of heavenly after a long day on the trail. Spice-rubbed chicken, buttered biscuits, and boiled potatoes were on the menu. Abigail’s mouth watered.

  “I am Miss Townsend. I run the household for Mr. Wagoner. Don’t think that this is a charity house, girl. Roll up your sleeves and wash those grimy paws of yours. There’s work to be done. ‘Those who do not work shall not eat.’ That’s what my grandmother used to say. Now there’s a real woman for ya.”

  Abigail pumped fresh water into the basin under a large window overlooking green hills dotted with cattle in the distance. Their calls hung in the air like a melody almost beyond the reach of the ear. The song of the West.

  “No more lollygagging. You’ll set the table and bring along the platters of food. My rheumatis is acting up. If you’re going to be here, you may as well make yourself useful.”

  The outspoken woman’s abrasive and straightforward manner reminded Abigail of her aunt. She couldn’t help but think that the two of them would be the best of friends if they were ever to meet.

  The meal was silent, much to Abigail’s relief, and completely satisfying. The exhaustion from the night before, combined with a long day on the trail, proved to be too much for Abigail and her full stomach. Her eyes closed of their own accord as her head drooped to her chest.

  “I can see I’ll get no more good work out of you tonight. Follow me to your room.” The
harsh timber of the woman’s voice roused Abigail. She strained to lift her eyelids. It took all of the will power she could muster to get up from her seat at the table and follow the silver-haired woman up the stairs.

  “I’ll lend you one of my nightgowns.” She ducked into one of the bedrooms and reappeared with a simple nightgown draped over her arm. “Follow me,” she said.

  Abigail walked with her hostess to the last room on the left.

  “You can air your dress out by the window there.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. …” Abigail struggled to repress the massive, ear-popping yawn that played in the back of her throat.

  “Miss Townsend.” The indignant woman was quick to correct Abigail’s misstep.

  “Thank you, Miss Townsend. I truly appreciate your hospitality.”

  Old Miss Townsend appeared to be unmoved by Abigail’s gratitude. “I’ll not leave a candle. No doubt you’d fall asleep before blowing it out, and we’d both be burnt to death in our sleep. Heaven preserve us.” She stepped into the hallway. “I’ll make sure that one of the men see to your horse.”

  “Thank you,” Abigail said through a wide-mouthed yawn that was so big it took two hands to conceal.

  Miss Townsend grunted, giving a curt nod before closing the door behind her.

  Abigail changed into her night clothes and laid her dress on a chair near the open window. She crawled into a tall four-post bed with two large, goose down pillows at the head. A chorus of katydids and crickets droned on in endless waves throughout the night, but Abigail didn’t enjoy the pleasure of their song for long. Sleep overcame her the instant her head touched the pillow.

  Abigail awoke the next morning to the muffled sound of a man’s voice downstairs. She threw her clothes on, racing down the stairs and working on the final buttons of her collar. The voices were accompanied by the clanging of pots and the sound of utensils on breakfast plates.

  “Mr. Wagoner?” Abigail was surprised to see a much younger man sitting at the table.

  He slapped his overly stuffed stomach and laughed.

  “I wish,” he said. He leaned across the table to grab a freshly baked biscuit. “The name’s Cole. That’s a nice animal you’ve got, Miss. I took good care of him for you last night.”

  Smack! Miss Townsend rapped his knuckles with a large wooden spoon.

  “Don’t you reach over my table like a wild ape. Your stomach is overfull as it is. Gluttony is a sin not to be taken lightly.”

  “Have a heart, Miss T. I’m only trying to fill up for a long day of work. I’ll be dogged if you ain’t the best cook in these parts.” The man leaned forward and winked at Abigail. “And the prettiest, too.” The corners of his mouth turned down as he struggled to hold back a playful grin.

  “Get on out of here with your biscuit. I’ll have no empty flattery, if you please.”

  He snatched up another biscuit and gulped down what was left of his coffee.

  “There’s been no living with you since Mr. Wagoner made you foreman. Too full of yourself, that’s what. Pride goes before a fall; you remember that Mr. Barton.”

  Miss Townsend turned her attention to Abigail. “Don’t just skulk around in doorways, girl. Come to the table and have your breakfast. I see that you slept through all of the work it took to prepare it. How convenient for you.”

  The man sputtered into his cup and looked at Abigail with a twinkle in his eye. “I just know you and old Miss T. here are going to get along fine.”

  Miss Townsend threatened the man with a raised spoon, and he ducked quickly out the door. He popped his head into the doorway when the cantankerous woman’s back was turned and mouthed the words, “Have fun.”

  Abigail smothered a laugh just as Miss Townsend turned back to the table.

  “I haven’t had a moment’s peace since Mr. Wagoner made that fool boy the foreman,” she said.

  Abigail didn’t know much about the man, but she liked him. She had a feeling that his would be the last friendly face she’d see for many hours to come.

  Chapter 21

  An iridescent wasp buzzed up and down the steel bars of a dusty jail cell. Its slender legs swayed with each change of direction as it searched for a suitable spot to build a new home.

  Jake was stretched out on a cot, his long legs overhanging the end by a good eight inches. A hat rested on his face, shielding his eyes from the morning sun and leaving his scruffy chin out in the open. Morning had dawned on his second day in the town jail.

  He interlaced his fingers and cradled his head in the palms of his hands as he lie in bed. He relived the events of the past few weeks in his mind. His lips curved into a smile when he saw Abigail’s face in his mind’s eye. She was worth it.

  Jake sat up at the sound of jingling keys headed in his direction.

  Micah stepped though the door. “How we doing this morning?”

  “How do you think I’m doing?” Penlapp growled from a small cell on the other side of the room. “I want—”

  “Yes, I know. You want out of here. Just you wait a bit. You’ll be out of here before you know it,” said Micah. His eyes met Jake’s. “I was actually interested in how you were doing this morning.” Micah’s eyes squinted into a smile.

  “Sheriff Lagrange, this is the finest jailhouse I have ever had the privilege of staying in. It’s the only jailhouse I’ve ever been locked up in, mind you, but still—the finest.”

  Micah’s thick mustache danced with laughter.

  Jake’s expression sobered. “Any word on Abigail?”

  “Not yet, son.” Micah was smoothing his moustache back in to its place, covering his mouth when Miss Rosie arrived. “That’ll be your breakfast. Hope you’re hungry. You haven’t lived until you’ve eaten Miss Rosie’s cookin’.”

  “Good morning, Jake,” said Rosie. “I’ve brought you a little something to eat this morning.”

  Micah unlocked the cell door.

  “Miss Rosie, you didn’t have to go to all this trouble for me.”

  “Nonsense. It’s no trouble at all,” she said.

  “I’m much obliged,” said Jake. “It smells delicious.”

  “I left a plate on the desk for you, too, Micah.”

  “And what about me?” said Penlapp. “Am I to be starved?”

  Rosie’s brows furrowed. “Micah, I am a charitable woman, but I can’t abide the thought of that… that man eating off of my grandmother’s dishes.”

  “Don’t give it a second thought,” said the sheriff. “I’ll pick something up for the prisoner at the general store in a bit.”

  “I’ve never been so disrespected in all my life. I don’t deserve—”

  “Don’t you tell me what you deserve, James Penlapp,” said Rosie. “A plate of burnt beans from the general store is more than you deserve.”

  Penlapp’s knuckles turned white as he squeezed the bars in front of him. “Why of all the—”

  “Mind how you speak to the lady, sir.” The look Micah shot his way quieted Penlapp’s tirade.

  “Well, I best be getting home. Don’t forget to eat your breakfast while it’s still warm, Micah.”

  Jake noticed something pass between Miss Rosie and the sheriff. It was the quiet hesitation of two people searching for a reason to stay in one another’s company a little longer. He smiled softly and remembered the same sweet hesitations that had taken place between he and Abigail.

  Miss Townsend had a long list of chores for her uninvited houseguest, but Abigail was grateful for the diversion. The hours marched on at a snail’s pace, even with all of the busy work.

  She made her way around the large front room of the home with a dusting rag in her hand. It was obvious from the furnishings that this room was intended to impress but Abigail couldn’t care less. When is he going to get here? Her stomach churned with anticipation.

  A bolt of nervous excitement shot through her body when the sound of a carriage reached her ears. She rushed to the large picture window and saw it rolling up to the ho
use. The uneasiness she felt at the thought of speaking with Mr. Wagoner had dissipated over the course of the day. If I can survive a night and day in the same house as Miss Townsend, I can certainly handle this man.

  The imposing double doors flung wide open. A man of average height and build walked through the front doors wearing a wide smile. He looked to be in his mid forties, much younger than the man Abigail was here to see. The hair on his head was jet black, making the white hair creeping into his temples all the more striking.

  Even after a long day on the trail, his clothes were impressive. He wore a navy suit, buttoned at the waist. The crease running down the front of his pants looked as crisp as any Abigail had ever seen. A starched collar and bolo tie finished off his ensemble, giving him the look of an extremely well-to-do man.

  “Miss Townsend,” called the well-dressed man, “I’m home. Titus has come to stay for a few days.”

  He walked into the house followed by a small, out of breath man. He stopped short when he saw Abigail standing on the other side of the room.

  “Hello, Miss. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he said.

  Miss Townsend walked into the room with a tray of refreshments. “This young thing came riding up last evening. Says something about it being a matter of life and death that she speak to you.”

  “No, I’m sorry. There has been a misunderstanding. I’m here to see Mr. Wagoner, the owner of this ranch,” said Abigail. She walked over with an outstretched hand and introduced herself. “I’m Abigail Dodd. I’ve come from Sweet Creek and simply must speak with Mr. Wagoner as soon as possible.”

  The man reached out and shook her hand, bowing slightly. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Dodd, but there is no mistake. I’m Carson Wagoner, and this is my ranch.” A broad smile again spread across his features.