Nights with the Outlaw (4 page)

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.”

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 trail 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.”

“If they don't drown in the storm that's rolling in,” Clint said.

She should at least smile, for he was teasing, but her heart hung too heavy in her chest.

With his free hand, he lifted her chin and tilted his head, gazing deeply at her. “What's wrong? You've been quiet all day.”

His hold didn't allow her to look away. She shrugged. “You said you'd stay until Joe and Dobbs returned.”

His hand slid along the side of her face, until her cheek rested in his warm palm. “I also said I'd stay until we find out who's camped in the hills and why.” He nodded toward the plains. “They're still there, and I'm still here. Will be until they're gone.”

She lowered her lashes, afraid to become too joyous. “So you won't leave?”

He leaned closer until their noses almost touched. “I won't leave,” he murmured.

Her gaze stuck on his lips, and she wondered yet again, as she did most every minute of every day, what it would be like to be kissed by him. Could she ask him to kiss her? Or maybe if she tilted her head, brought her lips up to meet his…

Clint stood, bringing her out of her chair with him, and caught her when she would have tumbled. “Wha—”

“I'll walk you to the house.”

“T-that's not necessary,” she protested.

“It's raining. I don't want you to slip in the mud.”

“It's raining?”

“Yes, it's raining.” He pulled her forward.

As she stepped off the porch, large drops splattered her. Clint plopped his hat on her head and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, sheltering her with his body as he ushered her across the yard. Touched by his behavior, and growing giddy, Doreena giggled. He wasn't leaving. Wouldn't be leaving anytime soon.

They arrived at the house and he quickly led her up the stairs, to where the awning blocked the rain. “You find running through the rain fun?”

She nodded. “With you, I do.”

He reached up with both hands, lifting his hat off her head. She stood absolutely still, meeting his thoughtful gaze. Her heart stopped beating and her lips parted. He was going to kiss her. Thrilled, excited and enthralled that the moment had finally arrived, she closed her eyes.

“Good night, Doreena.”

Her eyes flew open. He'd already turned around, was about to step off the porch. She reached out and grabbed his arm.

He put his hat on and patted her fingers. “Go to bed, Doreena. Morning comes early.” Before she could speak, he was sprinting across the yard.

Clint burst into the bunkhouse, shaking the water from his hat as he shut the door. His hat landed on the bed as he paced past it. What had he done? He'd let her get under his skin, that's what. Trouble was, it wasn't like a tiny sliver of wood that festered, but like a torch that had been set ablaze by a match and filled his insides with light.

Plopping on the bed, crushing his hat in the process, he propped his elbows on his knees. Not kissing those pert lips had taken every ounce of discipline he had, but he didn't want to hurt her—ever. Didn't ever want to see anything but delight and enjoyment gracing her lovely face, and kissing her, then leaving, would hurt her.

He lifted his head, blankly gazed around the room and contemplated when he could put down roots. The thoughts hung with him the next few days, like apples waiting for the first signs of autumn before dropping to the ground, and made him feel distant in a poignant way. Ironically, it helped, made him make sure they weren't alone in the evenings anymore. Joe Edwards and Thomas Dobbs had returned, and all the men sat on the porch, discussing which chores to do the next day.

This morning, a runner from a bank in Lincoln brought notice of a deposit made by the rendering plant in Iowa. Clint had to hand it to Doreena. Her investment in hogs was certainly paying off faster than cattle would have.

“Why don't you bank in Plum Creek?” he asked that afternoon as they rode side by side across the prairie.

“Because I don't trust Drake. The less he knows of my business, the better off I am.” She flashed a grin. “Wanna race to that cottonwood?”

He nodded, but when she kneed Scout, he held Runner back, taking in how her hair waved in the wind and the way her body flowed with the gait of the animal as it gained speed. Once again, he found himself wondering about the curves of her body. How smooth her skin must be. How warm and pliable it would be beneath his fingers.

She arrived at the cottonwood seconds before him, and the glow of her cheeks as she whipped her head around to proclaim her win had his insides spinning. Usually they didn't dismount when they rode, but today Clint swung to the ground and grasped her waist, lifting her from the saddle.

“I win again,” she announced softly, her breath expanding the tiny waist his fingers held.

“Yes, you did.” He should put her back on her horse.

“I have a feeling you let me win.” She cocked her head sideways, eyeing him coyly. “Again.”

The urge to kiss her was something he dealt with daily, and each passing moment it took more and more control to resist it. He twisted her around and took one hand. Together they walked into the shade of the tree. “Now, why would I let you win?”

She swiveled, planting herself so her breasts almost touched his chest. “I ask myself that same question.”

Only the skin of their hands touched, but he could feel her from head to toe, almost as if she was a layer of clothing cloaking his body. It was a unique sensation, pleasurable and potent.

Rising on her tiptoes, bringing her lips close to his, she asked daringly, “Are you ever going to kiss me?”

Through the buzz in his head, he half heard his own nervous chuckle. “What?”

“You've been at the ranch for over two weeks and have yet to kiss me.”

His insides pounded with excitement. He shouldn't, but he really wanted to. “Doreena—”

“Where were you headed when you found me in that tree?” she interrupted.

“I've told you,” he reminded her. “California.”

Using one fingertip, she traced a line from his elbow to his shoulder, causing little shoots of pleasure to race down his arm. “Why?”

It took a moment for him to recall his once oft-repeated clause. “To find streets lined with gold and women in scanty dresses.”

“There are no streets lined with gold.” The gentle breeze of her breath danced against his lips.

He shifted his feet, attempting to brace himself. “I suspected as much,” he answered, feeling as if he played with fire. “But the women do wear scanty dresses. I'm sure of it.”

A tiny giggle escaped her lips. “They might.” Her chin dipped and rose in a teasing way. “If I wore a scanty dress, would you kiss me?”