The Angel and the Outlaw (11 page)

They rode for three days, seeing no one, but J.T. refused to turn back. Like a man driven by some internal devil that would not be stilled, he rode from dawn ’til dark, pausing only to rest the horses. Brandy remained silent and withdrawn. During the day, he ignored her, his thoughts focused on finding the Lakota. But at night, alone in his blankets, she was foremost in his mind. His body ached for her, burned for her, fueled by the memory of the kisses they had shared, the way she had felt in his arms, as if she belonged there.

He could see her now, lying on the other side of the fire. Was she asleep? Thinking of him? Hating him? Let her, he thought sourly. He’d never needed anyone in his life before, and he certainly didn’t need her. Hell, he barely knew the woman…

What difference did it make if her hair was like black silk, and her skin smelled always of sunshine and flowers? He’d hardly noticed that her eyes were a clear soft gray, or that her lips were pink and perfectly formed, or that her breasts…

With an effort, he dragged his gaze away from her shapely form and stared at the starlit sky. After a time, his eyelids grew heavy. Before the hanging, he’d never had any trouble sleeping, but now, knowing the nightmares that awaited him, he fought to stay awake.

A dreamcatcher, he thought. That was what he needed. Hovering in the nether world between sleep and awareness, he seemed to hear his mother’s voice, telling him the legend of the Lakota dreamcatcher.

J.T. frowned, trying to remember the tale, something about
Iktomi
, the trickster, and how he had taken a willow hoop decorated with feathers, horse hair and beads and began to spin a web. And as he fashioned his web, he spoke to one of the elders of the tribe about the cycles of life, and how life is a circle. A man begins as an infant, then moves on to childhood and adulthood, and then, when he is old, he must be taken care of again, as he was when he was an infant.

There were many forces in a man’s life, the spider said, some good, some bad. And all the while, he continued to spin his web, working from the outside towards the center. To find happiness, a man must listen to the Great Spirit and follow His teachings. He must not interfere with Nature, but be a part of the land, of the circle that was life. When
Iktomi
finished speaking, he returned the hoop to the elder. “This web is a perfect circle,” he said, “but there is a hole in the middle. If you believe in the Great Spirit, the web will catch the good ideas. The bad ones will go through the hole.”

The elder took the web back to his people. In turn, they made dreamcatchers of their own. The web captured the good dreams, the good thoughts and ideas, but the evil dreams escaped through the hole in the middle…

He clung to that thought as sleep claimed him.

* * * * *

It was mid-afternoon the following day when J.T. saw the tumbleweed wagon. He experienced a sudden, gut-wrenching urge to run like hell as the cart rolled toward them. He eyed the six outriders warily, wondering if they’d give chase. In the end, he decided it was better to keep going rather than arouse their suspicion. There was nothing worse than a nosey lawman. With luck, they’d pass by without a word.

Brandy noticed the barred wagon a few minutes later. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing.

“Prison wagon,” he replied curtly.

Brandy squinted against the sun, trying to get a better look. Six heavily armed men accompanied the wagon. One lawman rode ahead, the other five were spread out around the wagon. A seventh handled the reins of a four-horse team.

J.T. edged his horse nearer to Brandy’s as the lawman riding point galloped toward them. “I don’t have to warn you to keep your mouth shut, do I?”

“Is that a threat?”

His gaze was as cool as his voice. ”Damn right.”

J.T. reined his horse to a halt, his hands folded nonchalantly over the saddlehorn.

Moments later, the lawman rode up. “Afternoon,” the deputy said.

“Afternoon,” J.T. replied.

“Where you folks headed?” the lawman asked.

“South Pass City,” J.T. flashed Brandy a warning glance. “We’re gonna try our hand at gold mining.”

“Getting a late start, aren’t you?”

J.T. shrugged. Gold had been discovered in South Pass City back in ‘67. When the Carissa Mine hit a rich vein, hundreds of prospectors had flocked to the area, hoping to find the motherlode. By ‘68, the town’s population had hit two thousand as saloon owners, bankers, merchants, freighters and blacksmiths followed the miners. Last he’d heard, there were near thirty mines and dozens of sluicing operations to be found on the hillsides.

“I don’t see as how that’s any of your concern.”

“No, I guess not. You look familiar. Have we met?”

“Not to my recollection.”

The deputy nodded, his brow furrowed thoughtfully. “It’s not safe for the two of you to be riding out here alone,” he remarked, his gaze fixed on J.T.’s face. “You might want to ride along with us as far as you can.”

J.T. stared past the lawman. The tumbleweed wagon had come to a stop a few yards away. The other lawmen had dismounted and were gathered in front of the wagon. “I don’t think so.”

“You might want to change your mind. We passed some Indian sign a’ways back. The Sioux are lookin’ for trouble.”

“I’m obliged for the warning.”

The deputy nodded. “Mind if I ask your name.”

“It’s Lusk. John Lusk.”

“Where are you from, Mr. Lusk?”

“Denver.”

The deputy looked over at Brandy. “And you’d be?”

“She’s my wife,” J.T. interjected smoothly.

“Is that right?” The lawman was talking to J.T., but he was watching Brandy’s face.

Brandy stared at the lawman, her mind racing. Now was her chance to get away. J.T. wouldn’t dare try to make a stand against seven armed lawmen. All she had to do was tell the deputy who J.T. really was. They’d take him into custody and see her safely to the next town. From there, she could take a stage back to Cedar Ridge.

She glanced at J.T.. He looked relaxed, as though he had nothing to hide. And then his gaze met hers and she knew, without a doubt, that he was perfectly aware of what she was thinking. Looking closer, she noticed that he wasn’t nearly as at ease as she’d first thought. A muscle ticked in his jaw; his eyes were wary, like an animal sensing a trap.

Brandy licked her lips. The lawman was waiting for her answer. He was looking at her oddly. At first she thought it was because she was dressed in buckskins, and then, with a start, she realized he thought she was J.T.’s mistress.

“Are you his wife, lady?”

“I…” She couldn’t do it. No matter what he’d done, no matter how much she wanted to go back to Cedar Ridge, she couldn’t turn J.T. over to these men. “Yes,” she replied firmly. “I am.”

She saw a brief flicker of surprise in J.T.’s eyes.

“Is that all, Deputy?” J.T. asked.

“I reckon so,” the lawman said. “Good luck to you, Mr. Lusk. Ma’am.” With a tip of his hat, he rode back to his companions.

J.T. watched the wagon until it went out of sight behind a low rise. Then he faced Brandy. “Why?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know damn well what I mean. You were going to tell that law dog who I was, and then you changed your mind. Why?”

“Because I don’t think I can get back to my own time without you, that’s why,” Brandy retorted, though that was only half the truth. The other half was that she couldn’t abide the thought of J.T. being hanged a second time. She jerked her gaze away from his. She didn’t even want to think about why the mere idea of his facing a rope again filled her with such horror. Refused to admit that it had anything to do with the attraction that hummed between them even now.

He was watching her. She could feel his gaze on her face as surely as she could feel the sun’s heat. Glancing up, she saw that he was grinning at her.

“You don’t have to look so smug!”

“Sorry,” he said, still grinning.

“Are we really going to South Pass City?” She’d always had a fondness for the place, though she’d never been there. South Pass City had been the first town in the West where women could vote and hold political office. In 1869 William Bright, a representative in the Territorial Legislature, had introduced a woman suffrage bill. It had been passed and signed by the Governor. Two months later, Esther Morris had been appointed justice of the peace, becoming the nation’s first female judge. It was a place she’d always wanted to explore.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You’re still determined to find the Sioux, aren’t you?”

J.T. nodded. “And from what that badge toter said, we might not have to look too far. Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.”

It was near dusk when they made camp. Brandy was sitting beside the fire, a cup of coffee warming her hands, when she heard J.T. swear under his breath. She was about to ask him what was wrong when he made a grab for his rifle.

“Hold it right there!”

The voice rang out across the stillness, followed by the unmistakable sound of several rifles being cocked.

J.T. hesitated, his hand poised over his rifle.

“I’d rather take you in alive,” the voice remarked calmly. “But I’ll haul you in over the back of a horse if you pick up that Winchester.”

J.T. blew out the breath he’d been holding, straightened up, and backed away from the rifle.

“Get down on your knees and put your hands behind your back.”

J.T. clenched his jaw, then did as he was told.

“Ma’am, if you’d be so good as to step over this way, I’d appreciate it.”

Brandy recognized the voice as belonging to the deputy who had stopped them earlier in the day. She glanced at J.T.. His face was dark with suppressed fury.

“Ma’am.”

With a sigh of resignation, she walked toward the sound of the deputy’s voice.

As soon as she was away from J.T., five lawmen materialized out of the darkness, their rifles at the ready. One handed his weapon to the man beside him, withdrew a set of handcuffs from his back pocket, and cuffed J.T.’s hands behind his back.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” the deputy asked, holstering his revolver.

Brandy nodded. “Yes, fine. Why shouldn’t I be?”

“We know who he is. We also know he isn’t married. Are you his squaw?”

“I most certainly am not!” Brandy replied indignantly. “My name is Brandy Talavera. I teach school over in Cedar Ridge.”

“You’re a schoolmarm?” the deputy asked skeptically.

“Now I’ve heard everything,” remarked one of the other lawmen.

“It happens to be the truth,” Brandy said.

“Never heard of no ’breeds teachin’ school.”

“That’s enough, Lockwood.” The deputy she’d met earlier in the day removed his hat. “Martin Hawkins at your service, Miss Talavera.”

“You’re crazy, Hawkins, treatin’ that squaw like she was a lady of quality.”

“Watch your mouth, Lockwood.”

“She ain’t nothing but a ’breed.”

Brandy stared at Lockwood, mortified by the contempt in his eyes, in his voice.

“Dammit, Lockwood, I said shut up!”

Lockwood turned away, muttering under his breath.

“I’m sorry about that,” Hawkins said. He glanced at Brandy, then fiddled with his hat. “Don’t take this the wrong way, miss, but if you ain’t Cutter’s squaw, why are you with him?”

“I…I’m his prisoner. He kidnapped me from Cedar Ridge.”

“Funny thing, we’d heard he’d already been hung. Guess he must have escaped before the sentence was carried out.”

“Yes,” Brandy said, “he captured me and used me for a hostage. That’s how he got out of town.”

“He’s a mean one,” Hawkins said. “I’m glad I recollected who he was before it was too late.”

“Yes,” Brandy replied distractedly. She glanced at J.T. He was standing beside the fire, his hands cuffed behind his back, his expression blank. “What will happen now?”

“We’ll spend the night here, then ride for our camp first thing in the morning.” Hawkins smiled, his expression one of satisfaction. “It wasn’t easy, catching up to you. We never would have made it if we hadn’t left the wagon behind.”

Brandy stood beside Hawkins, watching as the other lawmen settled in for the night.

“What will happen to Cutter?” Brandy asked, trying to keep her concern out of her voice. It would never do for Hawkins to suspect her true feelings for J.T..

“He’ll be sent back to Cedar Ridge and they’ll carry out the sentence imposed on him.”

“You mean they’ll hang him?”

“That’s what generally happens to horse thieves,” Hawkins answered coldly.

Brandy glanced at J.T. again, wondering if he’d heard the deputy’s reply. One look told her he’d heard every word. His face was pale; a muscle throbbed in his cheek. She thought of the nightmares that had plagued him. How much worse would they be now, when he knew he’d have to face the hangman again? She kept her expression carefully neutral as one of the lawmen shackled J.T.’s feet, then tossed a blanket at him.