Outlaw Hearts (11 page)

“I don't know,” she answered. “I might like it there, might find a job. I've heard there is all kinds of work for a woman in a busy mining town. They say women can make a fortune just cooking for all the men there looking for a hot meal.”

Jake glanced at her, thinking of one occupation that could earn a woman who looked like Miranda Hayes a virtual fortune; but she was no easy woman. As though reading his mind, she suddenly returned to her knitting, looking embarrassed.

“You'd better keep this rifle handy, and that little pistol of yours. I don't think you realize how a woman like you will look to men who haven't seen a decent female in months,” Jake told her. He turned his eyes back to the rifle. “After a while a man gets sick of the painted whores who'll go with any man with a coin in his pocket.”

“Please don't talk that way,” she said, her cheeks feeling hot again.

He sighed, picking up the rifle stock and oiling the wood. “Sorry. I just want you to think twice about what you're doing. It's like the sheriff said. You're a beautiful woman and unattached. That's awful ripe bait for lonely men. Most will respect the lady that you are, but don't count on all of them knowing or caring about the difference between a proper lady and one that's not so proper. My mother was a proper lady, a good woman. I guess that's why in spite of the life I've led, I've always respected a good woman.”

Miranda felt a rush of warmth at the words. “Well, I guess I should say thank you, if you meant that as a compliment.”

“I did.” He amazed her with a smile and a wink. Miranda felt herself blushing more. She set aside her knitting and added more wood to the fire, thinking about his warning about Nevada. She knew he was right about the danger of going into wild country like that alone. Even if she traveled with others, who was really going to care anything about her?

Somehow it all came together then. Jake Harkner was going west too. Why not hitch a ride with a man who could protect her better than anyone else she knew? But would he protect her? She glanced sidelong at him, watching him work. Maybe the only reason he hadn't harmed her here was because she was so close to town and someone would find her. Maybe alone with such a man, day and night out in the middle of nowhere, would be another matter. Still, when he had spoken about respecting a good woman, something rang true in his voice and his eyes.

Yes, Miranda
, she thought,
you
truly
have
lost
your
mind
. She stirred the coals. “You really shouldn't leave tomorrow. I'll worry about you, Jake. You can't tell me you aren't still in pain.”

He began putting her rifle back together. “Sure I am. That doesn't mean I can't travel. The worst is over. I'll heal just as well on the back of a horse as in that bed, and it's too dangerous for both of us for me to be here. If someone did discover me and there was a shoot-out, you could get hurt.” He looked at her. “You changed the subject. We were talking about you going to Nevada and how I think it's too damn dangerous. Take it from a man who knows how most of those worthless bastards in places like that think. That's no place for somebody like you.”

Miranda had the strange sensation that she'd lost control of her speech and thoughts, that the normally sane and logical Miranda Hayes had vanished in the last few days and a stranger had occupied her body. “What if
you
took me?” she found herself asking.

The room hung uncomfortably silent for a moment as their eyes met. A look of astonishment moved through Jake's eyes, followed by cynicism. “I didn't think you were that crazy.”

She folded her arms, stepping closer.
Why
are
you
doing
this, Miranda?
she argued inwardly. “I need to go to Nevada, Jake, and you said yourself how dangerous it is. I could have turned you in a long time ago, but I didn't, so you owe me something, besides the fact that you've been sleeping in my bed for over a week, eating my food. I cleaned up after you when you kept losing everything I put in your stomach. I've bathed you, cut your hair, taken a bullet out of you; and you've told me things I'll bet you've never told anyone else. I think we've gotten to be pretty good friends. I've helped you. Now you can help me. I think it's the perfect solution. I can go ahead to Independence like I said I'd do, and we could meet somewhere along the way. No one in Kansas City will know what I've done once I leave, and we wouldn't have to travel completely alone together. Maybe I'll join a wagon train, and you could join up later as just a traveler going in the same direction. Then you'd be along if I had any problems, and I'd feel safer knowing you were there.”

“Safer? With a wanted man along? An outlaw?” He shook his head. “Jesus,” he muttered, turning his attention back to the rifle.

Miranda waited, feeling more embarrassed and foolish with every silent moment. She watched him put the barrel back on the rifle and tighten some screws. He cocked it then and grinned sarcastically.

“I've been trying to tell you the kind of man I am. You just don't get it, do you? Men like me don't dawdle along with a wagon train full of farmers and prospectors and women and kids. We might rob them, but we don't travel with them.”

“Then you could meet me at Independence and we'd go it alone.”
This
is
insane! Totally insane!
Why did she feel this need to keep him around? Was that all it was? Was that why she had come up with such a foolish idea, just because she didn't want him to ride out of her life?

Jake held up the rifle and aimed it away from her, pulling the trigger. Another click. He rose and handed her the rifle. “You don't know what you'd be asking. I just got done telling you about lonely men and beautiful women. After a while I'd be one of those lonely men.” His eyes moved over her. “I'd hate to ruin a beautiful friendship. Find somebody else to take you.”

Miranda took the gun from him. “I wouldn't be afraid of you. You said yourself you respect a good woman.”

“Yeah? Well, being alone on a trail for weeks can alter a man's thinking. You just give me a good breakfast in the morning and I'll be on my way. As far as all the things you've done for me, you're right. I owe you. I intend to pay you in cash before I leave. I expect you could use all the extra money you can get for your trip.”

Miranda struggled against tears, feeling more embarrassed by the second. She set the gun aside. “Thank you for cleaning my rifle,” she said quietly, turning away from him. “You'd better get some sleep. I'll make flapjacks in the morning, if you like.”

“Sounds fine to me.”

He was standing close behind her, and she could feel the brawny power he emanated, feel the danger; but the danger lay not in anything bad he might have in mind, for she trusted him. Why, she wasn't sure, but she did. The danger lay in her own attraction to him, these ridiculous feelings that were churning inside of her. “I hope you don't think me too forward,” she said hesitatingly, staring at the fire. She laughed nervously. “I guess it was a pretty ridiculous suggestion, let alone how it would look to others.”

She felt his big hand on her shoulder then, realized he could break her in half if he wanted, but his touch was gentle. “Trouble follows me everyplace I go, Randy, and you don't want to be along when it comes. If I wasn't a wanted man, I think I'd consider it, but you're better off without me around. Something tells me you'll make it just fine on your own. You just keep that rifle handy.” He squeezed her shoulder, and then his hand was gone. He walked into the bedroom, and Miranda shivered at the realization that she would have liked to turn around and let him hold her, just for a moment, just for the comfort of a man's strong arms around her again. But Jake Harkner's arms? She wiped at a tear, outraged with herself for making the blatant suggestion that he take her to Nevada. What a fool he must think she was!

Jake closed off the curtain to the bedroom and laid back on the bed, deciding to leave his clothes on. He wanted to leave good and early, and there was no sense getting undressed. Hell, out on the trail he slept in his clothes most of the time anyway. Besides, he knew that if he got undressed and crawled under the covers tonight, he'd start fantasizing about Miranda Hayes being under there with him. Didn't she know what she did to him? Did she realize the emotions she brought forth in him, things he had never felt before?

No way was he taking her to Nevada. Come morning, he was getting the hell out of the woman's life for good. He really wasn't ready to travel yet, but he didn't dare stay near Miranda Hayes one day longer.

Miranda watched Jake saddle up while she held the two gunnysacks full of supplies she had prepared for him. He gave Outlaw's stomach a light punch. “Suck it in, boy,” he barked. “You don't fool me, filling yourself up with air like that.” The horse's belly contracted, and Jake tightened the cinch. “All I need is to be on a hard ride to get away from some marshal only to have my saddle slip on me.”

Miranda saw him wince, knew he was still in pain. “Jake, can't you wait one more day?”

Jake kept his eyes on the cinch, thinking about the restless night he had had, lying awake and wondering what Mrs. Miranda Hayes would have done if he had gone out to her cot and planted his mouth on her sweet lips. “No, ma'am. Too dangerous for you having me here, what with that sheriff sweet on you and all. Hard telling when he might show up again.” He let down a stirrup and turned to meet her eyes. Was that a trace of tears he saw there? No. He would not believe that. “If you had any common sense at all, you would stay here and marry the sheriff and let him take care of you.”

Miranda stiffened with indignation, glad he had said something that made her momentarily forget about wanting to cry. “Why do all men think a woman needs ‘taking care of'? I'll be just fine on my own. And if I did have common sense, you would be sitting in prison or hanging from a tree by now, and I would be five thousand dollars richer.”

Jake grinned. “You've got me there.”

Miranda thought how he looked even more handsome now in the morning light. It was the best he had looked since the first day she saw him in the supply store, bearded and mean-looking, then so sick after that. He had a fine, square jaw and dark, wide-set eyes that were perfectly outlined with dark eyelashes. Even his nose seemed perfectly matched to the rest of his face, and when he smiled, his teeth were straight and clean. She surmised that in spite of his cruelty, Jake's father must have been as handsome as his mother was beautiful, for they had produced a son that was the best of both. How sad that they had never given that son a decent home.

A faint scar on Jake's left jaw and another tiny one on his upper lip only seemed to make him even more handsome, lending a ruggedness to his looks that was accented by his tall frame and broad shoulders. She found herself wondering how his full, firm lips would feel on her mouth, how a man like Jake Harkner kissed a woman, made love to a woman. She could only guess where the scars had come from—a barroom fight, some man's knife, maybe his father.

Jake reached into a saddlebag and took out the pouchful of money. He opened it and took out fifty dollars, handing it to her. “I don't want it,” she told him. “I guess helping you was the least I can do after shooting you.”

Jake's gaze raked over her in a way that should have made her angry, but she only felt a rush of desire. “Well, you have your hands full there,” he told her, noticing a gunnysack in each hand. Miranda gasped then when he shoved the money into the moderate neckline of her dress. She felt her cheeks going crimson at the touch of his hand between her breasts, knew she should berate him for such a daring move, but she could not take her eyes from his; nor could she ignore the tingle of fire his touch had brought to her blood.

“Keep it,” he said. “I won't take no for an answer.”

Miranda swallowed, handing him the sacks. “I…packed some food for you,” she said, suddenly flustered, bewildered by her feelings. “There are some potatoes here, some fresh bread, dried apples, a little flour and sugar and salt—some crackers and carrots. There are even some muffins.” He took the sacks from her, their eyes still locked on each other. Miranda felt almost faint. “You should eat the muffins and bread first,” she added, her voice softer. “They'll go stale more quickly than the other things.”

Jake nodded, his smile fading. Miranda wondered if he hated this as much as she did. “Thanks,” he said, turning to tie the sacks onto Outlaw. He adjusted his hat then, took hold of the reins. “I guess that's about it. Far as I know, I've got everything.” He met her eyes once more.

Miranda nodded. “Yes.”
Everything
but
me
, she wanted to tell him.

Jake adjusted his hat again, suddenly looking nervous and uncomfortable. “Look, Randy, I'm sorry about not taking you to Nevada. I hope you understand.”
I
think
I
could
love
you, if I even know what love
is.

Miranda forced a smile. “Sure. I understand.”
I
think
I'm falling in love with you, Jake Harkner.
“I'll make it just fine.”

He smiled again. “You remember what I said about keeping that Winchester handy.”

“I will.”
Do
you
know
how
utterly
handsome
you
are
when
you
smile, Jake?
“You should smile more often, you know,” she continued aloud. “I'm sure with that beard gone and a smile on your face, no one would connect you to the way you probably look on those posters.”

Jake laughed lightly. “Now there's a thought. Change my appearance.”

Miranda glanced at the two gun belts worn crossed at his middle, the revolvers that hung in their holsters at either side of his hips. “It's those guns that give you away, you know.”

He sighed. “I know. But I can't afford to be without them.”

Miranda folded her arms and stepped back, a light morning breeze blowing her honey-blond hair in little strands across her face. She shook her head slightly to get them out of the way. “Bye, Jake.”

He just stared at her a moment before stepping closer and grasping hold of her arm gently. He bent down and kissed her cheek, and Miranda wondered why she didn't stop him, why she wished he would have kissed her mouth instead. She wondered if he was thinking the same thing. He turned and mounted Outlaw.

“This whole thing has been the strangest experience of my life,” he told her, wincing once again as he settled himself into his saddle. He turned Outlaw and faced her. “I don't know what to think of it, being shot by a woman, then helped by her. You're easy to talk to, Randy, a good woman and a beautiful one. I have to say I envy the man you finally pick when you remarry. He'll be a real lucky man.”

Miranda touched her cheek where he had kissed her, a kiss that had sent pricks of fire through her bloodstream. “You take care of yourself. Don't do too much riding the first day. Promise?”

“Promise.”

“I'll watch the newspapers—maybe read something about you once in a while.”

“It will all be bad, I can guarantee. Just don't believe most of it.”

Again the tears wanted to come. “I won't. God be with you, Jake.”

He gave her the familiar sarcastic grin. “I doubt he takes time for the likes of me.”

Miranda suddenly couldn't find her voice.

Jake tipped his hat to her then. “
Vaya
con
Dios
, Randy Hayes.” He turned Outlaw, heading north. Miranda wanted to call out to him to stop, beg him to take her with him, or just to hold her for a little while. She put up her hand to wave, but he did not turn around to look back. She watched man and horse move up a distant rise and disappear on the other side.

“Good-bye, Jake,” she said again, this time softly. He had spoken to her in Spanish, and it had sounded beautiful. She wondered how much of his mother's language he remembered, how often he used it.

Tears blurred her sight as she walked back to the cabin. She told herself those tears were just because of her father's recent death, from all her losses, and her fear of heading into an untamed land. The tears couldn't possibly have anything to do with Jake Harkner riding out of her life.

***

Jake started awake when an owl hooted. In an instant his revolver was drawn and cocked, but there was only silence in the darkness around him. The owl hooted again, and a soft night wind rustled the awakening spring leaves of the trees in the hollow where he had made camp. He waited a moment, listening intently, finally deciding it was only the owl that had disturbed him. He put the gun back in its holster and sat up straighter, bracing himself against his saddle. By the dim light of his fading campfire he could see that Outlaw was still tied where he had left him.

He had made camp in a hollow somewhere on the plains of southeastern Nebraska, had been there for several days now. Miranda had been right, he thought. He was not healed enough to have left when he did. An overpowering weakness had forced him to go slowly and finally to camp for several days in this one spot so he could rest. He felt good now, much stronger again. He just wished he could sleep better. He figured sleep should come easy, now that he was healed.

He sighed with disgust, knew the reason he was so restless and so easily awakened. It had nothing to do with worrying about being followed and bushwhacked, and it had nothing to do anymore with his injury. It had to do with a woman, a little slip of a woman with honey-blond hair and gray-blue eyes who had told him all human life had value. Miranda Hayes was probably on her way to Nevada by now, and it would be a miracle if she made it alive. Even if she did, survival after she got there would be another matter. He wanted to kick himself for not taking her himself, had given himself all kinds of good reasons why he just couldn't do it; but none of his arguments had convinced him he had made the right decision. The fact remained that he would always wonder if he should have taken her, always feel guilty for not doing it.

The guilt was what really frustrated him. He hadn't felt guilty about anything in years—except for the unending guilt over his father that had stolen his desire to ever make anything of himself. That guilt made sense, but to feel guilty for not taking a woman where she wanted to go made no sense. On top of that, after being around her, he had begun to feel guilty about what had never bothered him before, his past life of raiding and robbing and killing. He thought he had long ago accepted the way he lived as just the way things were, had determined in his own mind that such things could never be changed; but that damn woman had made him think about things he had not cared about since he was in his teens. The strange thing was, she had never really preached to him, or even raised her voice. She had just dropped subtle hints, had gotten that damned disappointed look in her eyes at times that made him feel like an ass.

There had been another look in those eyes that haunted him even more, especially at night. If he wasn't so sure it couldn't possibly be true, he would bet the way she looked at him the day he left meant she had feelings for him that ran deeper than friendship. Even friendship seemed unbelievable, considering the differences between them; but to think she might have wanted more…

He shook his head. Damned if Mrs. Miranda Hayes didn't act as if she needed holding, and damned if he didn't want to hold her. He could not forget how soft her cheek had been when he kissed it, how good she had smelled. He had wanted to lick that cheek, taste her skin, her mouth, all the pretty places on a woman that made a man hungry. He couldn't help picturing how firm and pink her breasts must be, how hungry she might be herself to have a man share her bed again. Lord knew he would certainly like to accommodate her, but what was strange was that he didn't want it so much in a lustful sort of way he thought of most women. After all, the kind of women he had always known didn't create much of any other kind of feeling in a man. They were just there to satisfy physical needs.

But Miranda, she was different. For the first time in his life he had wanted to make love to a woman just to satisfy her and not himself, to comfort her, to be united in spirit besides in body, if that kind of thing was possible. He had found himself wanting to protect and defend the woman, which seemed pretty ridiculous when he considered the fact that she had shot him. Sometimes the way she looked at him, he had just wanted to take her in his arms and tell her she didn't have to be lonely or afraid anymore.

He sat up and reached into his supplies, taking out a cigarette paper and some tobacco. He rolled himself a cigarette and pulled a slender stick from the fire, using it to light the smoke. He took a deep drag, leaning back again and studying the stars he could still see through spaces in the treetops. They were fading, as the sky to the east began to glow red from the sunrise.

Randy. The shortened form of her name sounded like a boy, but she sure didn't look or talk like any boy. Why in hell had he been led to her house? Was there some reason for all of it? He snickered, drawing on the cigarette again. What a fool he was, contemplating what it might be like to be married to a woman like that, to bed her, protect her, provide for her. Hell, even if he seriously tried such a thing, society would never leave him alone. He would always have to worry about the law. Life could never be peaceful and happy for a man like him. Fact was, he had never known either of those pleasantries in his entire life.

“What do you think, Outlaw?” he asked the horse. “Would I have a chance with Mrs. Hayes?”

The horse snorted and shook its head, and Jake grinned, taking another drag on the cigarette. Inside he didn't want to smile. Inside he hurt. He wanted that woman, and that was the hell of it. More than that, even if he couldn't have her, he could not help thinking he should have seen her to Nevada. He could have at least done that much. He knew he would never have touched her if she didn't want him to. That wasn't why he had turned her down. He had turned her down because he was afraid of his own feelings. What if he fell in love with her, knowing such a love was impossible for her to return? He hadn't let his feelings get to him in years, and he was not about to start now. He thought he had buried all the hurt a long time ago, with his mother and his brother, with Santana and his father. That was when he stopped feeling anything. That was when he knew a man was better off letting the hardness set in, not giving a damn about anything or anyone, including himself. A few days with Miranda Hayes had opened old wounds. She had made him talk about himself, made him remember things he would rather not think about.