Outlaw Hearts (13 page)

The steamboat gave off two long whistles from its stack as it drifted away from the dock and the huge paddle wheels at either side began churning through the water. Again Miranda felt the tears wanting to come as the sight of Independence gradually disappeared when the steamboat made its way around a bend.

“Got an exciting trip ahead of us, don't we?”

Miranda felt a hand against her back in a too-familiar gesture. She turned to see Clarence Jennings standing beside her, his blue eyes sparkling with eager youth. His gaze dropped to her breasts for a moment, and he rubbed her back lightly. “Don't you be worried, Mrs. Hayes. My uncles and I will look after you.”

Miranda moved away, feeling a chill at his touch. “You look after yourself and your father, Clarence. I can take care of myself.”

The young man shrugged, looking her over again. “Must be hard, being a widow, alone and all. I just wanted you to know we care.” He grinned at her. “Anything you need, you just let me know.”

Miranda did not miss the suggestive tone of his remark. “If there is anything I need, I will talk to your aunt or your uncle,” she answered. “Right now I would like to be alone.”

His smile faded, and Miranda was surprised at the hostile look that came into his eyes. He nodded to her. “Whatever you want, ma'am. Once we head out by wagon across Nebraska, you won't get much chance to be alone then, will you? We'll all be herded together like the Lord's sheep.”

He gave her a wink and left, and Miranda shivered. She pulled her shawl closer, and the sickening feeling that she had made the wrong choice after all returned to plague her; but her determination to find her brother was stronger. She set her lips tight, gritting her teeth and telling herself she could do this. If Clarence Jennings tried to give her any trouble, she would quickly put him in his place. The steamer gave off another lonely sounding whistle, and she turned to go and find Opal Jennings. Thank goodness there was another woman along.

She turned away from the sight of things left behind. She must not think about Mack or her father, or the lonely little cabin at the farm, the grave behind it. And she must not think about Jake Harkner. All those things were in her past now. She had to be strong, think about the future, finding Wes. She had told everyone she could do this, that she could take care of herself. Now she had to prove she was right.

Jake tipped his hat and nodded politely to an elderly woman who was stepping off a boardwalk to cross the street. “Morning, ma'am,” he told her, giving her his best smile. He hoped Miranda was right when she said he looked very different when he was clean and shaved and smiling.

“Good morning, sir,” the woman replied, responding to his smile with one of her own. “Lovely day, isn't it?”

“Yes, ma'am.” What the hell had gotten into him, risking his neck like this, sweet-talking an old lady, all to find a woman who probably would rather he didn't show up in her life again now that he was out of it. “I'm wondering if you might tell me where a man could go to find out about others traveling west. I figure most come here to Independence first. I'm looking for someone who would have needed to find decent, Christian traveling companions. Where might she have gone for that kind of help?”

The old woman squinted at the sun that was at Jake's back and eyed his horses and gear. Jake had purchased an extra horse from a farmer, loading part of his gear onto it so he could hide his rifles under blankets and keep them from being noticed. Besides that, he needed the packhorse for the extra supplies he had gathered for his journey. His revolvers were also put away, and he felt naked as a jaybird without them, but he wanted to look like a common traveler, and he knew Miranda was right about that too. He couldn't expect to go unnoticed when he wore two six-guns and packed a Winchester and a shotgun besides. Once he got out of civilized areas like this, he decided he would at least carry his revolvers again. Being without them made him too damn nervous.

“Well, sir, if a person is looking to find good, Christian folks to travel with, they would surely see the Reverend Bishop at the Presbyterian church just up the street,” the old lady was telling him. “He helps good people find traveling companions. Otherwise, the person you're looking for might have just gone to the docks along the river and asked around, or north of town there's a big area where people with wagons gather. Some start right out from there by wagon, others with a little more money take the steamboats up to Omaha first.”

“Thank you very much. You've been a big help.” Jake nodded to her again and rode on, heading for the church. It was his last hope. He had already checked at hotels and boarding houses, had already been to the docks and to the “jumping off' area, which was what some still called the gathering place for those going west by wagon train. Rumor had it that a transcontinental railroad would someday span the West, and he knew tracks were already being built out of Omaha, but he found it hard to believe such a project would ever be completed.

The fact remained that people still had to go west by wagon, and he didn't even like to think about the danger that would be for someone like Miranda. The more he searched for her, the more anxious he became to find her, and the more guilty he felt for not going with her in the first place. He hoped that he would find his answer at the church. He had to get out of this town before he was recognized.

What if she hadn't even come to Independence first, as she said she would? He had stopped at her cabin, found a man living there alone. He had felt a terrible ache at seeing the cabin bare and unkempt, not at all as homey and warm as when Miranda lived in it. The man had said she'd been gone nearly three weeks already, that all her friends in Kansas City had thrown a farewell party for her. He imagined it must be nice to have good friends like that, and he was almost surprised Miranda hadn't stayed after all; but then she was a stubborn, independent woman who stuck to her guns once her mind was made up.

Because of the information, and the danger of being recognized, he had bypassed Kansas City and had come straight to Independence. He had hoped against hope that she would still be in town, but he had found no trace of her. His last hope was the Presbyterian church the old woman had told him about. He headed in that direction, passed a stage station on the way, then drew Outlaw to a halt when he spotted a poster on the outside wall of the station. The packhorse meandered to a halt behind him, and Jake dismounted, holding Outlaw's reins as he stepped closer to look at the poster, seeing a hand-sketched picture of himself, his dark eyes looking mean and threatening, his hair hanging long and stringy, a grizzly beard hiding most of his face. He moved to catch his reflection in a nearby window, and he grinned. By God, Miranda had a point. He didn't look much like that poster at all. Still, it was eerie to see his own mug plastered up that way, with the words
$5,000 Reward
printed in huge, bold letters at the top.

Wanted
, he read,
for
robbery, murder, abduction, and rape. Jackson “Jake” Lloyd Harkner, description: approx. 6'1”, 200#, believed to be part Mexican, dark hair and eyes, dark skin. $5,000 reward if caught alive. $3,000 dead. Armed and
dangerous
.

Jake stepped back and glanced around. People walked by on their busy errands, no one paying him much attention. He adjusted his hat, feeling more than uncomfortable at the sight of the poster. He decided he had better do what he came here to do and get the hell out of Missouri. He remounted Outlaw and headed for the small frame church the old lady had indicated to him. As he came closer, a short, graying man emerged from the front doors of the white building. He made his way down the steps, glancing at Jake and smiling. “Excuse me, sir!” Jake called out. “Might you be the Reverend Bishop?”

The man brightened. “Yes, I'm Reverend Bishop. Can I do something for you?”

“Possibly.” Jake halted Outlaw and again dismounted, holding the reins as he removed his hat respectfully. “I'm told you often help people who are headed west find traveling companions.”

“Yes, I do, but most have gone by now. You have to get an early start in the spring in order to make it all the way west before bad weather sets in.”

Jake watched the man's kind, sparkling eyes, wondering at how some people were almost innocent in their trust. He wondered how the reverend would feel if he knew the truth about him. Would he still smile like that?

“I know that,” he answered. “But there is someone I'm looking for, a Mrs. Miranda Hayes. Back in Illinois, I was a good friend of her family,” he lied, “her father, Dr. Baker, and her brother Wesley. I came here looking for them, went to Kansas City and found out the good doctor had been killed by outlaws. I was real sorry to hear that. Then they told me Wesley had gone to Nevada months ago, and that Mrs. Hayes had been married and lost her husband to the war. She just recently left to go to Nevada to find her brother.” Jake shook his head, putting on a look of dire concern. “I can't imagine that poor young woman heading out alone to a place like that. I thought I'd try to find her, at least go along for extra protection. I owe that much to her father, who saved my life once.”

The reverend frowned. “Oh, it is too bad you didn't show up sooner. On a trip like that, and with women and children along, you just can't have enough men to provide and protect, Mr., uh, what was your name?”

“Jake,” Jake replied too quickly. He cursed himself for it, feeling he shouldn't have used any part of his real name. “Jake Turner,” he finished, using the name of the farmer from whom he had purchased the packhorse. “You know Mrs. Hayes then?”

“I certainly do!”

Jake felt a rush of warmth, wondered why his heart always pounded a little faster when he thought about seeing Miranda again.

“A beautiful young woman, she is. Being widowed and all, I knew she would want good, trustworthy people with whom to travel, so I introduced her to a fellow reverend, Wilbur Jennings. Reverend Jennings is headed for Virginia City with his family. They intend to bring Christianity to the poor, lost miners there who need Christ's guidance and teaching. Reverend Jennings and his family plan to build a church there and start a school.”

Jake could hardly believe how trusting this man was, so willing to give out information, apparently not doubting for a moment that he might not be telling the truth.

“Jennings?” he asked. “Is it a big family?”

“Oh, yes! The reverend and his wife have four children, and the reverend's two younger brothers, his father, a brother-in-law and nephew, and a friend of the family are all going. In fact, they're traveling with a trader, Hap Dearing, and four extra men. Mrs. Hayes should be quite safe, I assure you. The traders know how to defend themselves. Mr. Dearing has made the trip to Nevada before. Fact is, I imagine Mrs. Hayes herself can do a good job protecting herself. Did they tell you back in Kansas City about her shooting that outlaw, Jake Harkner?”

The man's trusting ignorance made Jake almost want to laugh. “Yes, they did. I'm just glad she wasn't hurt. It must have been very unsettling for her.”

“Yes, I think it was. She didn't seem to want to talk much about it. I think it still upsets her. She certainly is a brave woman.” The man adjusted his hat. “Even so, I expect she'd be happy to see an old friend of her father and brother show up. I think she was pretty scared to set out for Nevada, but she's a determined lady. I expect by now they are well on their way out of Omaha—took a steamboat upriver first. I do hope they're having good weather. Spring can be mighty tricky.”

“Weather out on the plains can be tricky any time of year. I traveled as far west as western Nebraska once, came back this way during the war.”

“Oh, were you in the war, Mr. Turner?”

Yeah, I was a gunrunner
, Jake felt like answering, just to see the look on the reverend's face. “Yes, sir,” he answered. “But I would rather not talk about it.”

“Oh, I see, I see.” A look of true concern came into Bishop's gentle eyes, and Jake felt like an ass for having to lie to him. “Do you intend to try to find Mrs. Hayes? They are a good two or three weeks ahead of you, you know. They left May third.”

Jake looked past him at the open country beyond the church. “Yes, I'll try to find her. As long as I know the party she's traveling with, that will help. I'll ride hard north to the Oregon Trail. I can probably be up there before another steamboat could make it, and I can inquire at some of the forts along the way. It won't be easy catching up to them, but a man alone can also travel a lot faster than a whole family with wagons. Those freight wagons will slow them down even more.”

“Well, Mr. Turner, you're welcome to come to my home for a good home-cooked meal first to send you on your way.”

Jake was dumbfounded at the offer.
You
don't even know me
, he thought.
I
could
rob
you
blind!
He was not used to being around such good, trusting people. He wondered if the reverend had ever known or witnessed any form of violence in his whole life. “No, thank you,” he answered. “If I'm going to catch up with Mrs. Hayes and the others, I had better get started right away. I appreciate the offer, though.” He remounted Outlaw. “You've been a big help, Reverend. I'm very grateful.”

“Well, I'm here to serve in any way I can, Mr. Turner. God be with you on your journey.”

“Thank you.” Jake nodded to the man and kicked Outlaw's sides lightly, heading out of town, anxious to be away from civilized places.
Thank
you
indeed
, he thought. He could hardly believe it had all been so easy—the old woman telling him about Reverend Bishop, the reverend so willing to give out information. Again he felt controlled by fate. Maybe he was supposed to find Randy. Maybe someone was making it easy for him.

Someone? He looked up at a puffy cloud overhead, then rolled his eyes at what he had been thinking. Men like him didn't give much thought to being helped by God. He only kept his mother's prayer beads for sentimental reasons, not to pray with. Praying was not for the likes of him. Still, if he had prayed, he couldn't have gotten a much quicker answer than what he had just gotten from Reverend Bishop. He thought finding Randy would be a lot harder than this, but then he hadn't really found her yet. He only knew where to start looking, and she had a big head start.

He pulled a thin cigar from his shirt pocket. It was getting warm already, and he wore no jacket. He slowed Outlaw to a walk while he took a match from a little pouch on his saddle and flicked it with his fingernail to light it. He held it to the cigar and took a puff, then waved out the match and threw it aside, thinking again what big country it was where he was headed. His only hope was that the Jennings family and the traders would stick to the regular Oregon Trail. It was his only chance of finding Randy.

He spurred Outlaw into a faster gait, heading north.

***

Miranda walked beside the wagon, swatting at a fly that kept pestering her. During the day it was flies, at night mosquitoes. She was sure that both, along with the heat, the mud, the sudden drenching storms, the painful cramps in her calves, and the sores on her feet would be much more bearable if she could have kept Opal's friendship, as well as the friendship of the Reverend Jennings and his brothers.

Clarence had seen to it that she was left an outsider. What was most frustrating was that she could not directly accuse the young man of anything solid. She simply knew by instinct that he had been talking to his uncles about her, had been planting ideas in their heads. She realized now that she should have known by the hostile look the young man had given her the day when she turned down his advances that he would find a way to get even.

He had apparently done just that. The first three weeks of their journey out of Omaha, he had hung around her incessantly, pushing his presence on her, making her talk to him when she didn't want to, finding ways to help her, touch her. Then there were times when she would see him talking to his uncles, all of them stealing glances at her, whispering together. She had no doubt Clarence was telling the pious men that she was some kind of wanton woman who had been flirting with him, a man-hungry widow who seemed to have her eyes set on an innocent teenager.