Outlaw for Christmas (9781101573020) (14 page)

“Leon told Father his news.”

Noah, who had been close to kissing her sleepy lips, straightened. Maybe he'd have no choice.

“And what did your father say?” he managed.

Perhaps hearing the tension in his voice, she struggled to open her eyes. “Don't know what Father said to Leon. But I told him what happened in town.”

Noah frowned. “What happened?”

“Everyone defended you.” She smiled, warm and sweet. “You're one of them now, Noah.”

“I don't think I'd go that far.”

“I would. What happened when you were a child wasn't your fault, and everyone knows it. Everything will work out. You'll see.”

“You're much too good for me, Ruth.”

“No.” Her eyes slid shut once more. “We're just right for each other.”

The truth of that silenced him, and he knelt next to her bed. As she fell back asleep, Noah realized something. Only with her had he ever allowed himself to feel anything at all.

She'd told him that love was always there, constant and sure; when you loved, you would know it. He hadn't understood—until now. Because he felt it deep within.

Love.
It could be nothing else.

Chapter Eleven

Noah kept his revelation to himself, which wasn't easy, since he wanted to shout from every rooftop that he loved and was loved in return. His luck was turning around. Perhaps he
could
have the life he'd never dared to dream of—a job, a home, a wife and family. Gifts such as those had never been within Noah's reach.

Until now.

But he wasn't a fool. Though Kelly had said nothing about the sheriff's accusations, Noah didn't trust the man. He trusted Harker even less.

As time went on, Noah began to believe Ruth was right. What was past was past. What was important was now. Folks in Kelly Creek
did
see Noah as one of them, and he was starting to see himself as one of them, too.

Not used to having days off—an outlaw had to be “on” all the time—this particular Saturday was no different from any of the Saturdays that had come before. Noah wandered about, looking for chores, getting snarled at by first Tim, then Tildy, then hiding in the barn until Ruth took pity on him and suggested an activity for them to do together.

They had eventually made snow candy, and eating the soft molasses-and-sugar concoction from Ruth's fingers had been an experience Noah wasn't likely to forget anytime soon.

Equally exciting had been making snow angels, then rolling around in the snow together until the angels were all gone.

They'd taken countless rides on Dog and Annabelle. The horses were as much in love as Noah and Ruth, though they showed it a bit differently.

Noah had even escorted Ruth to mass, sitting stiff and still, waiting for the lightning bolt to strike him dead for daring to set foot in church at all.

If his life was dull, predictable, less than stunning, so what? He had Ruth, and the heaven in her kiss was worth several hundred years of purgatory.

Ruth appeared in the doorway of the barn, her fresh-scrubbed face the shade of a peach, her hair loosely braided, with curly tendrils tumbling down. She wore her riding habit, a demure dove gray that wasn't quite as awful as the pink, blue, and yellow of most of her dresses. At least the habit was a whole lot easier to ride in than a skirt with a bustle, petticoats, and corset beneath. The thought of corsets brought another thought—one of black lace over milk-pale skin—and then Noah's mind went completely blank.

“Noah, are you busy?”

“Huh?”

She came closer, and the scent of cinnamon and sugar made him dizzy with a hunger that had nothing to do with cookies. He had to have her for his own, and in his new life, there was only one way to achieve that.

Today was the day he would ask her to be his wife.

A shuffle behind him made Noah glance over his shoulder, only to see Tim look away, pretending too hard that he hadn't been watching them. They would receive the same treatment from Tildy in the kitchen, if not from Kelly in the parlor. There was no place for them to be alone unless they took a ride on Dog and Annabelle. But proposing marriage as his lady love froze to death on the prairie was not what Noah had in mind.

“Would you take me to town?”

“Huh?”

She laughed. “What
are
you thinking of today? I need to go to town for Tildy, and if you aren't too busy dreaming, I'd like you to take me.”

He smiled. Life just kept going his way.

“Only if you have cocoa with me at the hotel when we're through.”

She kissed him on the nose. “I thought you'd never ask.”

“You'll be surprised at what I'll ask,” he murmured.

“What?”

“Never mind. Get your coat and let's go.”

She frowned, opened her mouth as if she'd argue, then shrugged and went to get her coat.

“Going to do the deed at last, boy?” The volume of Tim's voice, right behind his ear, made Noah jump.

“Deed?” Noah scowled at the implications of the word. “What are you talking about, old man?”

Tim snickered. “I might be old, but I'm not a fool. Maybe I've been married most of my life, but I can still remember what it felt like to love.”

Noah gaped. “Tildy?”

Tim snorted as he hitched Annabelle to the wagon. “Hell, no. You think that's love?”

“I wondered.”

Tim shook his head. “I waited too long. Didn't think I was good enough for her. But another man did. Snatched up the love of my life and married her right beneath my nose. I ended up with Tildy because I didn't have any gumption—not enough to grab the woman I wanted or to say no to the one I didn't. You don't strike me as a man without gumption.” Tim tossed the reins to Noah with a wink. “Here comes Miss Ruth now.”

Noah helped Ruth into the wagon, then climbed in himself. As he guided Annabelle onto the road that led to town, Tim stood outside the barn and grinned like the old fool he swore he wasn't.

One thing Noah had always had in abundance was gumption, perhaps because he'd had little else. He glanced at Ruth. The bright winter sun shone in her hair, making him think of autumn leaves and flames against the night. She smiled, and her eyes laughed, their color the shade of spring trees and summer grass.

He opened his mouth, shut it again, and turned his attention to Annabelle's big behind.

Yep, all he'd ever had was gumption. So now that he had hope, love, possibilities, his gumption appeared to have deserted him. He could face a gun, a killer, a lawman, but to face Ruth and open his soul. . . . How would he ever find the words?

They reached Kelly Creek, and Noah helped Ruth from the wagon. She clung to his arms when he would have released her. “Will you join me at Harker's?”

As Noah turned toward the store, his gaze caught on the saloon. Perhaps he could get his gumption from a bottle today. Men had done it a thousand times before.

“You go ahead. I'll meet you there directly.”

Ruth frowned, and he had a thought. “Are the Harkers giving you trouble?”

“Trouble? No. They aren't friendly any longer, but I can't blame them.”

“Would they rather you'd married their son when you didn't love him?”

“They want him happy. He isn't.” She shrugged, patted Noah on the arm, and moved off in the direction of the general store.

Once she'd disappeared inside, Noah shouldered through the swinging doors of the saloon. Several acquaintances nodded as he strode to the bar.

He hadn't been in here since he'd arrived, which only showed how different his life had become. In most towns the saloon would be the only place he visited.

As the scent of cheap whiskey and cheaper tobacco wafted over him, Noah had to say he had not missed it. Nevertheless, he ordered some of that bad whiskey and tossed the drink back with high hopes.

The warmth spread through his belly. Unfortunately, courage did not follow; nor did any words of love, devotion, or forever. Perhaps his gumption had never come from a bottle but rather from his gun.

Noah caressed the barrel where it rested on his hip. Although he was less jumpy these days than he'd ever been before, he still wore his gun as often as his hat. Maybe there'd come a day when he did not feel the need to be armed wherever he went. But he doubted it.

As if in mockery, a tickle danced down his spine. Someone was watching him. Not that that was anything new. Someone was always watching him in Kelly Creek. It just didn't mean the same thing as it had in the old days.

Slowly, Noah raised his head and gave the mirror behind the bar a casual glance. No wonder his spine was dancing.

“Sheriff,” he greeted in an attempt to be polite. Harker, sitting all alone at a corner table, didn't bother to answer.

Even though Noah didn't appreciate his past being dragged out for the entire town, as well as Ruth, to pity him, he had to say the stunt had backfired on the sheriff.

Ruth seemed to think Noah needed pampering to make up for the horrible life he'd lived while she'd been safe and warm. The people in town, too, had been treating him like a poor lost boy. Noah wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

He
was
quite sure the behavior of the town and Ruth had made the sheriff furious. While Noah didn't care for the man's angry stare, he had to say that if their positions had been reversed—if Harker had dropped into town and stolen Ruth's affections—he would do a lot more than stare. So Noah nursed his drink and let the sheriff glare at his back, even though the tickles turned to full-blown itches after the first few moments.

Unable to bear it anymore, Noah paid for his whiskey and stalked out of the saloon without a backward glance. But he'd waited too long. He couldn't get rid of that infuriating tickle right in the center of his back. As he traversed the short distance to the general store, he felt as if someone were brushing a feather on his spine or trying to drill a hole right through his back with their gaze alone.

In front of Harker's Store, Noah turned his head quickly, but no one was watching him this time—not even the sheriff. He struggled to reach the center of his back so he could scrub at the itch until it went away. But no matter how he twisted and bent, he could not reach the offending area.

“What are you doing?”

Ruth's voice, filled with amusement, made Noah drop his hands and straighten.

“Nothing.”

Her own hands full of packages, she raised her eyebrows. He took them from her and turned toward the wagon. Before he could take a single step, her small, clever hand insinuated itself beneath his coat, then beneath his shirt. He jumped and bobbled the packages when her cold, soft fingers ran along his spine.

“What are
you
doing?”

“Seemed like you had an itch,” she murmured. “Right about here.”

Exactly where his skin writhed, she drew her nails up and down, then across and back. He moaned as the annoying tickle went away and another itch sprang up in an entirely different location.

She laughed, gave his back one final swipe, then patted his side. “There, now, we're as good as married.”

The words he'd been waiting for filled his heart, then his head. “Ruth?”

Set to descend the stairs from the boardwalk to the street, she turned and smiled at him with such joy and promise, he was awed by the possibilities in their future. He, who had been afraid he could give her nothing, suddenly understood they already had everything.

“Hey, Billy Jo! I
thought
that was you in the saloon.”

The beautiful words shriveled on his tongue. Every splendid hope slid toward the deep black cavern of his past.

Ruth didn't even glance in the direction of the speaker. Why would she? He was Noah. She was Ruth. Who in hell was Billy Jo?

Noah raised his gaze from Ruth's precious face to the man a few feet behind her. He should have listened to that itch and gotten out of town. A few weeks in paradise sure softened up the average outlaw.

Noah dropped all the packages. As they tumbled to the boardwalk, Ruth's expression collapsed from joy to confusion. “Noah! You look like you've seen a ghost.”

Maybe because he had.

Oblivious to the undercurrents, Hoxie Frederick, a man Noah had written off as dead along with so many others, continued to chatter. “But we thought you was dead, Billy Jo. Dooley said you had to be, otherwise you'd have come back to the hideout. Said you had nowhere else to go, nowhere else to hide. But here you is, and lookin' mighty fine. Did you use some of our money for new duds?” He scrunched his shoulders as if to avoid a slap. “Dooley ain't gonna like that.”

Ruth finally heard Hoxie's voice. She shook her head as if a pesky fly buzzed about her ears, then glared at the man. “Who are you talking to?”

Noah stood frozen and waited for his bright new world to come tumbling down like the boxes all around his feet.

“I believe he's talking to Billy Jo Kansas.” Sheriff Harker stepped out of the alleyway between the general store and the barber. His gaze, full of mirth, rested on Noah. “Ain't that right?”

“Billy Jo Kansas?” Ruth exclaimed. “That's impossible. He's dead, and his little gang, too.”

“He ain't dead, lady.” The tall, gangling young man with the horribly dirty clothes, face, and hair pointed at Noah. “He's right there.”

“Don't be silly. That's Noah Walker.”

“You can call him whatever you like. I only know I been ridin' with him for years and he's Billy Jo. Billy Jo Kansas.”

The stranger spoke the name slowly and loudly, as if she were stupid. Ruth was starting to see that she was.

Now that she knew the answer to the puzzle, all of the pieces snapped into place. Bullet wound, no doctor; he didn't know who had shot him. Well-worn Colts, not a farmer; he'd watched her every year and never said a word until he needed a place to hide.

His kisses, his touches, his pretending to care—had they all been a ruse? Had he used her, used her father, used all of Kelly Creek?

Robert Kelly was going to have a stroke. Ruth's chest hurt. Her eyes burned. Perhaps she could have one first.

“Ruth, I know what you're thinking—”

“You can't possibly know what I'm thinking, Billy Jo,” she sneered.

“I thought this was my second chance. That we could start over together. If everyone thought I was dead—”

“You lied to me.”

“What possible good could have come from my telling you this?”

“I'd have known the truth.”

“I didn't want you to know this truth.”

“I loved you through everything. I didn't care that you left me here and never came back. I didn't care that you were a farmer or a groom. I didn't care if you had nothing. I didn't care that Leon thought you were a murderer—” She broke off with a gasp. “But you are a murderer, aren't you?”

He narrowed his eyes. “And you do care, don't you?”

Ruth rubbed the ache in her chest with the heel of her hand and didn't answer.