The Outlaw's Bride (13 page)

“You know nothing about me or my plans. You treat me like a child—forcing me to run when I should stay and fight. You are a coward.”

He turned his head, blue eyes piercing. “A coward?”

“That is what I said.”

He gave a little grunt. “I must be slipping. I used to be a commonplace vaquero. Now I’m a coward.”

“If you had stood by my side—”

“But you’re right. We should have fought it out with Snake and his pals from behind the privy. Then, when Dick came to claim our rotting bodies, he could say, ‘Yup, these two are dead as doornails, but they sure were brave.’”

“I have no intention of dying at Snake Jackson’s hand,” Isobel shot back.

“You have some kind of holy halo to keep bullets away?”

“Mock me if you will. I shall never run from my destiny, Noah. I am not afraid of death.”

“Well, you and death can get together and have a little tea party one of these days. But until our arrangement is over, you’re staying right here.”

They set out again without speaking, and it was not long before they arrived at the gate to John Chisum’s spread. Isobel caught her breath as they neared the house. Rosebushes had leafed out and were beginning to bud. Once dry grass had brightened to a soft green. The stream ran high and swift through the valley.

Isobel softened as she recalled the sweet days she had spent with Noah on this land. Now he had brought her here again. If she went to his house, she would fall into that dreamworld again and surrender her quest. Or was a life with Noah her true quest?

She studied him as he unlatched the gate. It seemed forever since her hands had slipped over his broad shoulders. Since his arms had held her close.

“Noah,” she said, “when will our arrangement be over?”

His eyes were soft as he regarded her. “When things calm down in Lincoln. When I’m sure you’re safe from Snake Jackson. When I convince Chisum to sell me some land.”

“I see,” she said, trying to imagine the day he would look into her eyes and bid her farewell.

“Howdy, Buchanan!” A slender, mustached man with deep brown eyes and thinning hair strode toward them. “Where’s your hat, partner?”

“Looks like we may end our arrangement sooner than we thought,” Noah spoke under his breath. “Here comes John Simpson Chisum.”

J
ohn Chisum took Isobel’s hand and kissed it. His thick brown mustache—each end waxed into a curly point—brushed over her bare skin.

“Hey there, you old coot,” Noah said as he and Chisum embraced.

But the older man drew back with a frown. “What did you mean leaving your new bride at my place, Buchanan? I was mighty ashamed of you when Mrs. Towry told me about it. Especially when I realized that your wife had taken to sleeping in my new bed and hanging her shiny silk dresses in my wardrobe.”

Noah turned to Isobel, who blushed a deep red. She lifted her chin. “But Mrs. Towry said—”

“Buchanan,” Chisum cut in, “don’t you know I’ve been cooped up in a Las Vegas jail for three months? Eating grub that ain’t fit for man nor beast. Sleeping on a hard prison cot. Why, I’ve been living for the day I could get back here and stretch out on my pretty bed.”

Mortified, Isobel spoke up quickly. “Oh, Mr. Chisum, please, I—”

“Now I reckon I’ll just have to sleep on my old camp cot.”

“Sir, I—I’m terribly sorry,” Isobel stammered. “I had no idea. And certainly Noah never intended to offend you.”

At this the cattle baron slapped his knee and burst into a gale of hearty guffaws. “Oh, I got you good there, didn’t I, Mrs. Buchanan? I had you thinking your husband was in a heap of trouble, right? Camp cot—why, that’s where I always sleep!”

Noah tucked Isobel under his arm and gave Chisum a punch on the arm. “You had us plumb tongue-tied, you old joker. I should have guessed what you were up to the minute you started in on her.”

It took a moment for Chisum to control his laughter over the grand prank he had pulled. Isobel saw little humor in the situation.

“Don’t you mind me, now,” Chisum said. “Everyone knows I love a joke. Welcome to the family.”

She mustered a smile. “Thank you, sir.”

“Noah Buchanan,” Chisum said as his sharp brown eyes studied Isobel. “I never would have figured you to settle down. But now that I’ve seen your enchanting bride, I understand. You folks come on into the house.”

As Isobel and Noah followed, he turned and fixed them with another frown. “You know how I feel about gun fighting, Buchanan. A six-shooter will always get you into more trouble than it’ll get you out of.”

Without waiting for a response, he strode into the cool shadows of his front room. Isobel had already decided that John Chisum was the most eccentric man she had ever met. He swaggered when he walked. His speech
was peppered with sarcasm and loud hoots of laughter. He loved practical jokes that were funny only to him.

But as Isobel entered the cattleman’s opulent home for a second time, she was reminded that, as odd as he might be, Chisum was also a shrewd businessman.

“Two hundred miles along the Pecos River,” he boasted as Isobel gazed out the front window. “Largest ranch in the territory. I dug those irrigation ditches between the roses and the orchard. Clear water. One hundred rosebushes. We’ll have watermelons this summer. You and Noah come over for some
sandía.
”

“I would like that,” she replied.

Chisum fiddled with the waxed end of his mustache. “Tell me about yourself, Mrs. Buchanan. Your kinfolk. Your friends. What possessed you to up and marry my best trail boss?”

Isobel spotted Noah talking to Alexander McSween across the room. Evidently the lawyer had sought refuge at Chisum’s ranch.

“My father owned land,” Isobel replied, reminding herself to make Chisum believe that Noah was a happily married man. “Noah reminds me of him.”

“You married for love?”

She glanced at Noah, whose blue eyes were on her. “I love my husband,” she murmured.

“Reckon you’ll like living in the territory?”

“I already do.”

“Reckon you’ll manage to settle ol’ Buchanan down?”

“I already have.”

“Then how’d he wind up with that bullet hole in his arm?” Chisum asked, leaning closer.

Isobel was ready. “He was protecting me, as a good husband should.”

Chisum grinned beneath his mustache. “I like you, Miss Goldilocks. You’re spunky. We’ll get along fine.”

He clapped his hands, and the room fell quiet. Isobel noted that others had entered the room, but she recognized none of them.

“Noah Buchanan, Belle,” Chisum began, “I’d like to introduce you to Alexander’s wife, Sue McSween, just in from St. Louis.”

A small woman with mounds of curled chestnut hair and almond eyes stood to greet them. Her small lips beneath a prominent nose turned up in a smile. An elegant violet brocade gown trimmed in white ruffles hinted at her husband’s wealth.

“And here are Mr. Simpson, Mr. Howes and Dr. Leverson,” Chisum continued. “Dr. Leverson has come down from Colorado to establish a colony here.”

Isobel stared at the man and wondered at the ill-fated timing of his arrival in Lincoln County. When the guests resumed their chatter, Noah started for the front door.

“Buchanan, where are you off to in such a hurry?” Chisum asked, blocking his path.

“Thought I’d check on my place.” Noah nodded in Isobel’s direction. “I’ll leave Belle with you, if you don’t mind. She’ll be safer here.”

“I certainly do mind.” Chisum glanced at Isobel. “Not that I wouldn’t appreciate the company of such a lovely creature, but she’s
your
wife. You’ll need someone to tend that bullet hole of yours. Adios, partner.”

Laughing heartily, Chisum hailed McSween across the room and swaggered off, leaving Noah gazing at Isobel.

“You make one move to escape, and I’ll hog-tie you to this rail,” Noah vowed as he and Isobel wrapped their reins around the hitching post outside his adobe home.

Isobel decided not to respond to such a vulgar comment. When she pushed open the front door and stepped into the familiar room, her annoyance wavered. The house smelled wonderful—crisp starch in the lace curtains, old leather coats hung on pegs, the charred remains of their last wood fire. From the kitchen wafted the aromas of ground coffee, cinnamon, lye soap. From the bedroom, the eucalyptus and lavender Isobel had packed among her clothes mingled with the bay rum cologne Noah sometimes wore.

She shut her eyes and stood for a moment, swept away by memories…laughter, as she and Noah hung curtains, giggles over too many onions in the rabbit stew, the soft
swish-swish
of the straw broom, the
clickety-clack
of the Remington.

“I mailed your story to New York,” she said when she felt Noah moving behind her.

“Thank you, Isobel.”

She turned to him. “It seems we go in opposite directions, Noah. You are for the quiet life. I am for
la venganza.
”

He studied the oriental carpet beneath the velvet sofa. “I remember when you seemed happy with the quiet life, Isobel.”

“I remember, too.” Again, their eyes met.

“I’ve lived a rough life, Isobel,” he said. “A man’s life—rounding up cattle, warding off rustlers, going without decent food. My gun has sent three men on to their rewards—two cattle rustlers, a horse thief. Despite
what you think, I’m no coward. But I’ve got to follow my dreams. It’s time.”

Noah gazed at her face, and she began to fear he could read her longing, her passion. Did he know how deeply she cared for him? Did he sense that she loved him?

“Then we’ll keep apart,” she said quickly. “Do as you wish. I’ll do the same.”

“Good. In a few days I’ll talk to Chisum about the land I want to buy. As soon as we hear Snake is in jail, you can get on with your own business.”

“Yes,” she said in a low voice. “I understand.”

But as she began removing her shawl, Isobel knew that every word she had spoken was a lie. She didn’t want to stay away from Noah, though he had no use for her. He understood her quest, but he would never help her. When the time was right, he wanted to be rid of her.

Isobel slipped into Noah’s life again as though it were something they had planned. He slept in the barn while she returned to the bedroom. Every morning when he walked into the house and smelled the eggs frying and the coffee bubbling, his heart lifted.

And there she always was—Isobel. Freshly scrubbed from her morning bath. Dressed in her blue cotton dress or one of the fancy Spanish outfits she’d refashioned. Her hair gleamed like sunshine, and her lips were always ready with a smile.

As they ate their breakfast at the white-clothed table, her plans spilled out in a gurgling stream. The house soon wore a new coat of caliche whitewash. The windowpanes sparkled. The floorboards squeaked of fresh wax. Noah repaired his fences and gave the barn a coat of red paint.

He sensed that Isobel was channeling her urge for revenge into labor as she spaded the deep, rich river soil beside the kitchen. In his storage bins she found seeds for corn, beans, peas and chilies. She cut the eyes from old cellar potatoes and planted them in rows beside the onion bulbs. Then he taught her how to dig irrigation channels from his ditch to her garden.

In the second week, Noah woke one morning with the idea of taking Isobel out to see the land he hoped to buy. He had no illusions that she would want to stay on with him. Many a sunset he had seen her standing on the back porch and looking in the direction of Lincoln Town. She kept her pistol beside the bed, and he knew if she could, she would ride out again in search of Snake Jackson and
la revancha
.

“Can you leave your laundering for a day?” he asked that morning as they cleared the breakfast dishes. “I thought we might go riding.”

“To Chisum’s?”

“No.” He hung the iron frying pan on its hook. “Thought you might like to see the land I want to buy.”

She scrubbed the entire kettle before nodding.

As the horses cantered through belly-high green grass, Isobel was sure she had never been so happy. Dressed in her riding skirt, shirtwaist and boots, she had placed one of Noah’s old hats on her head.

She watched him riding just paces ahead, his shoulders broad above the straight line of his back. The wound in his arm had almost healed, and his hair had grown too long. She had considered asking if he would like for her to trim it, but they had not touched each other since
returning to the house. The thought of lifting his hair in her fingers was… No, she could never cut his hair.

“I own a few head of cattle,” Noah said, beckoning her. “They range with Chisum’s herds. Now and again I round them up, see how many calves have dropped and send a few beeves to the railhead. I’ve saved a little money. Enough to buy a spread, anyway.”

“A small one, like Dick Brewer’s?”

“Smaller. Chisum staked his claim on this land, and he’s fought off rustlers too long to let it go easy.” He surveyed the rolling grasslands dotted with wildflowers and yuccas. The turquoise sky spread overhead like a clear lake. “Sometimes, I almost think I can look straight up into heaven and catch a glimpse of God.”

“I have never seen my land,” Isobel responded.

“Good country around Santa Fe. You’ll like it.”

Isobel nodded, though she knew she would never own that land unless she fought to reclaim it.

Noah led them beneath a tall tree and they dismounted. “This is a cottonwood,” he said. “Remember what I told you last month?”

“You said the leaves in the wind would sound like a river.”

“Listen.”

She stood beside him in silence, head bowed, eyes shut. For a moment the only sound was the thudding of her own heart. Then she heard it. Whispering, rushing—the gurgle of cool, clear water.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, Noah.”

She lifted her head and let the winds play across her eyelids. Dappled sunlight warmed her cheeks. Grass swished against her riding skirt. A warm mouth covered her lips.

“Noah!” Her eyes flew open, and she stepped backward.

“Isobel, wait,” he said, catching her around the waist. “This has been too hard—you and me together like this. I’ve prayed day and night, and all I can see to do is ask you to stay here with me. I’ll protect you, I swear it. I can’t promise much, but I’ll give you what I can. I’ll give you a home.”

“A home? Is that what you think I want from you?”

“It’s better than what you’ve got now. It’s better than nothing.”

“Oh!” Pushing away from him, she walked around the cottonwood tree and leaned against the trunk. How could he be so blind? Didn’t he see the longing in her eyes as she cooked for him? Didn’t he feel it in his freshly polished boots, in the ruffles of white lace lining his kitchen shelves, in the neat rows of the garden? Didn’t he know she wanted his heart?

Noah’s love was her only hope of healing. Without it, her pain would drive her toward a violent destiny.

“Now, Isobel,” Noah was saying, his head lowered like an angry bull’s as he circled the tree. “I just offered to make good on this crazy marriage of ours. I offered you a home and all that goes with it. Can you tell me what gives you the all-fired uppityness to huff in my face and go marching off like I’ve insulted you?”

Her heartbeat pulsed in her throat as she watched his blue eyes roam her face. She sensed the power in him, and the need. His stance—shoulders set, legs spread, feet planted firmly—said nothing would get past him now. He wanted honesty. He wanted answers. And he wanted her.

She lifted her chin. “You think a destitute woman has
no choices. She must surrender her dreams in exchange for security.”

“So, I’m not good enough for you. Is that it?”

“I want more in my life than a house and food.”

“Well, what is it you want?” he asked.

She stamped her foot and tossed her head. “I want passion!”

“Passion? Why didn’t you say so?” He bent and kissed her. When he lifted his head, his eyes were deep pools. “I’ve been pussyfooting around you so long I’m about to go stark raving loco. Now, come here and kiss me.”

Before she could stop them, her hands slipped around his neck and her fingers threaded through his hair. She stood on tiptoe, pressing her lips to his again and again.

Noah smiled down at her. “We can make it work, darlin’.”

“I’m so weak in your arms. How can I say no when you do this to me, Noah?”