The Lady and the Outlaw

by Joyce Brandon

  “Then what will you do?” Cruz asked.

  “We don’t have a plan. Except to get Younger—whatever it takes.”

  “Make this your headquarters. We have many contacts that will be of use to you, Señor Ward.”

  Ward looked at Dusty. “What do you think about using this as our base?”

  “Suits me fine. No one could get near here without our knowing about it.”

  Ward frowned. He didn’t like bringing war to a friend’s home, but Cruz was a smart man and a valuable ally.

  “We can try it,” he said slowly. “If things get hot, we can stay away from here—pull any pursuers off to the north toward the yellow pine country.” Dusty agreed.

  “Good! It is settled! You, Señor Ward, will sleep in Juanita’s room. She is gone to Sonora, married to a wealthy haciendado,” he said proudly. “Your friend can have the room next to Juanita’s.”

  They ate Mama’s excellent rice, beans, tamales, and corn cakes, and Ward caught up on news of the Castenadas and their mutual friends.

  When the rest of Ward’s men rode into Buckeye, the welcome they received was vastly different from the one they had gotten the day before. The welcome mat was out.

  Doug Paggett, who had accepted this opportunity to earn a pardon, was grinning when he took Ward aside.

  “Hey, compadre! You should have been here sooner. We got the full treatment yesterday. Cool courtesy and hot chili! I mean hot! Today—we’re family.”

  Ward grinned. “I’m glad you came.”

  Doug shrugged. “What the hell? ’Lowed I’ve tried everything else—don’t work out—what’d I lose? A couple of weeks.”

  Ward didn’t mention the small matter of survival. “None of the others wanted to try it, huh?”

  “Naw, my mama didn’t raise no lunkhaids. This boy knows better. Without you they’ll end up as tree ornaments. But they don’t know that. Nate sees as how he’s the brains. I’m happy to be out of it.”

  “Did you learn anything while I was in Phoenix?”

  Doug took off his hat and ran his hand along his ear, which had collapsed at the point of an injury, so that the top half-inch of it flopped over. “Larned myself not to stick my head up.”

  “Christ! How’d you get a gotched ear?”

  “Ran smack into six riders herding about sixty cows into a ravine. Lookin’ guilty as hell. Opened fire right off. Low-down ornery galoots stampeded that blamed herd practically right over us. Felt a tolerable amount of gratitude to make it back here with my pelt intact.”

  Ward looked disgusted. “They got away?”

  “We were lucky not to get killed!” Doug protested. “Hope you didn’t sprain your back humping all the girls in Phoenix while we were busting our asses,” he said bitterly.

  “You complain more than a woman,” Ward said, shaking his head.

  “Figures you’d know that. It’s been so long I almost cain’t remember what they’re like.”

  Ward cuffed him lightly as Dusty joined them.

  “Good chow,” Dusty said.

  “You shoulda been here yesterday. Chili—Montezuma’s revenge!” Doug said dryly, grinning ruefully.

  “Did you get a line on how many riders Younger has?” Ward asked.

  Doug frowned, becoming serious. “Hard to tell—maybe twenty, but they keep moving. Looks like they’re pulling back into the mountains. Looks like something’s fetching it to a close. We saw tracks going north. Not too many coming back. They ain’t exactly deuce high with me.”

  “What are we going to do?” Dusty asked, watching Ward.

  “I want to catch Younger or some of his men with some cows that don’t belong to the Lazy P. Any cattle moving north?”

  “Yeah, some, I reckon.” Doug nodded.

  “When was this?”

  “Yesterday morning.”

  “What’d you do today?”

  Doug looked disgusted. “I was feelin’ kinda low-spirited about how I hadn’t been doin’ enough, so we checked on that train—to see if it was makin’ any runs.”

  “Was it?”

  “Naw,” Doug drawled. “Looks like they’re aiming to see the deal through to the last turn of the card, but I don’t know. If they’re using the blamed railroad to move ’em, they should be shipping some ever’ danged night.”

  “You’re right. Unless something happened to their contact in the Texas and Pacific.”

  “You didn’t find nothin’ going through them books?”

  “The only thing that would seem to support our theory is that earnings didn’t go up this year. Units transported went up, overhead went up, but not profits.”

  Dusty nodded. “That makes sense. The Texas and Pacific is absorbing the cost of transportation. What does it cost to ship a steer back east?”

  “Two dollars a head.”

  Doug grinned suddenly. “Maybe the old Devil’s Canyon Gang had somethin’ to do with that. Payrolls were up forthwith—paying all them special agents to ride around on his trains pretendin’ they knew what they was doin’ when they didn’t know any more than a range bull.”

  En masse they spent two and a half days scouring the countryside for any sign of illegal activity but found nothing. About noon they saw the agreed-upon smoke signal from Cruz. He was waiting for them on the porch.

  “Bad news, Señor Ward,” Cruz said, pursing his heavy lips. “You have wasted much time because my lazy friend whom I depended upon was drunk. Señor Powers is dead. Señor Younger stayed in Phoenix for the funeral. He and his men left only last night.”

  “That explains a lot,” Ward said grimly. “How did Powers die?”

  “His throat was cut, cheeeech.”

  “They know who did it?”

  “I think not, mi amigo. You are the one they look for.”

  Ward frowned. “There’s more?”

  “Sí. Word among the gringos that you are taking over rustling. That you hanged another rustler for working in your territory, Señor Ward. The townspeople are forming a muy grande posse to ride you down. And”—he paused significantly—“a beautiful señorita is missing and they think secuestrar ella.”

  “I kidnapped who?”

  “I did not find out her name, but apparently she was to be your novia.”

  Cold bands clamped around his chest. That could only mean that Younger had Leslie. Either Younger or the mysterious head of that gang—the name Younger’s man would not divulge, even with a knife to his throat. The thought of Leslie at the hands of the man or men who had killed Isabel chilled his blood.

  “Sounds like we’ve been framed,” Dusty growled.

  Doug nodded. There was general agreement among the others who had clustered around, listening in silence.

  Dusty spoke first. “I say we ride north into the mountains, find their rabbit hole, and wipe ’em out. I think we’ve wasted enough time.”

  “There are only six of us,” Ward said. “I think Younger has forty, fifty men—all told.”

  “Forty? Jesus!” Doug exclaimed.

  Dusty grimaced. “Let me repeat myself. I say we ride south into the desert and give them Sonora señoritas a run for their money.”

  “Layin’ up in Charlie Tarbell’s Eagle Hotel in Tombstone ain’t exactly the same as facing Dallas Younger and his pack of wolverines,” Doug drawled.

  “Don’t sound like the same idee to me!” Boisterous men howled their agreement.

  Ward ignored the good-natured exchange. “I don’t think rustling is their only source of income. I think if this mountain hideaway exists, one man could ride in there, but not six.”

  “One man! Who?” Dusty demanded.

  “Me,” Ward said quietly.

  “Whew! I was afraid he was volunteering me,” Doug drawled, dragging his hand across his brow.

  “And what are we s’posed to do in the meantime?”

  A commotion out front caused all heads to turn.

  “Hey, boss! One rider coming in!”

  The men exchanged loo
ks and strode quickly to the window. Ward and Dusty recognized her at the same time. Dusty motioned the men back to the bar.

  Ward was a master at hiding his emotions from others, but he couldn’t ignore the leaping in his blood at sight of Leslie Powers riding into his camp. Relief that she was safe flooded through him first and then pride. She was so fetching, so alive, and so singularly female. In that fancy riding habit and tophat with her hair twisted up into a wind-whipped topknot beneath it…and her cheeks flushed from riding…she was incredibly lovely. There was a hungry reaction all through his lean frame. But why was she here?

  Chapter Forty-One

  Cantrell stepped out into the slanting sunshine on the porch and moved forward to lift Leslie down from her mount. And once she was in his arms, it was only natural that he kiss her half-parted lips, stilling whatever utterance she’d been about to make.

  All her fears and doubts dissolved in that warm, strong embrace. When his tawny head finally lifted she was weak and breathless in his arms.

  “Leslie, love, what the hell are you going here?” he asked huskily.

  “Could we talk somewhere?”

  “Sure.” He led her into the dim interior. It was ordinarily a combination saloon, dining room, and hotel. Now it was an armed fortress—guns, rifles, hard-faced men in various positions. No one seeing that room of desperadoes could miss the tension and the deadly coolness of their demeanor. They were armed and ready to do battle. She recognized Dusty Denton, cool and sturdy with a level, piercing gaze. There were others like him—all young, lean, determined. How had they come to this end—waiting here to die? But they wouldn’t die until they had killed a number of their enemies—faceless men who would leave behind wives and daughters to weep and wear their widow’s weeds. She could have wept with the sudden sweep of emotion that rose up in her. How futile it all was!

  Ward’s room was at the top of the stairs to the right. It was the logical place to take her. She followed silently, thinking her riotous thoughts, resenting him for being so willing to expose himself to danger and death. Angry, selfish thoughts trembled on her lips, seeking release, but he pulled her inside, closed the door, and she was engulfed: lost, drowning, and suddenly not caring. His mouth closed over hers, demanding and reclaiming everything: her will, her body, her soul. There was no chance to protest. He undressed her and took her there on the bed that stood alone in the middle of that forlorn shabby room, with soft breezes flapping the cheap windowshade and gold sunlight yellowing the floor and his hair.

  And somehow, making love in an armed camp, to a man who would very likely be dead tomorrow, reduced everything to basics. There was no need now to pretend she didn’t want him, no need now to hold back.

  Urgent. Fierce. Tender yet savage. They were both hopelessly caught up in each other’s spell.

  Remembering the tension she’d felt until she’d been recognized brought it all home to her. He knew the risk he was running! Why did he stay? Nothing he had ever done made sense to Leslie—except this. But even this couldn’t go on forever. Even the wildest, sweetest flame, once it had flared into brilliance, burned down.

  Snuggled safely in his arms, with a glorious flush still tingling through her, she could almost forget.

  “Leslie,” he whispered.

  “Hmm?”

  “I can’t let you stay here. We’re moving out soon.”

  “I came to warn you. There’s a posse forming to run you down. They’re coming tonight to free the town and hang you.”

  “What for?”

  “For rustling and because they think you killed Mark Powers and kidnapped Sandra McCormick.”

  “How did Powers die?”

  “Someone cut his throat, and Younger told the sheriff it was your trademark. I don’t think they believe me anymore about your not being the one who kidnapped me—the sheriff looks at me funny…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Why do they think I’d kidnap Sandra McCormick?”

  “She was your girl…” Leslie stammered.

  “When did she disappear?”

  “Her father said she had dinner with him and his guests Sunday night, went to bed early, and was gone the next day when the housekeeper checked. Not a trace.”

  “When did Powers die?”

  “They found him Sunday morning at the livery stable. His body was in the stall your horse had been in—at least that’s what Elizabeth said.”

  “You came to warn me?” he asked softly, so amazed that he forgot to mention that he hadn’t been keeping his horse at the livery stable.

  She couldn’t answer him in words. “I brought some money. I thought if you…if…” She couldn’t say, “I’m trying to bribe you to run away with me.” Even she had too much pride for that. “I mean—it’s too dangerous for you to stay here.” Her voice trailed off. He hadn’t even tried to help her—hadn’t uttered a single word to make it easy for her.

  Ward was stunned. The woman he had kidnapped and robbed of her virginity, leaving her vulnerable to every wagging tongue in the Territory, had come there to save him. Not even knowing for sure that he hadn’t killed her uncle and run off with another woman. Not even asking.

  Now, when she would have moved away to dress herself, his hands stopped her, pulled her close to him, kissing her eyes, cheeks, forehead, lips…nuzzling tenderly at her neck. “Leslie, my love, my own sweet love…”

  Did she only imagine that husky whisper?—skin to skin, his hands on her face, holding her as if she were the most precious thing he had ever touched?

  Trembling, she gave herself up to this new experience. Allowed him to immerse her in tenderness, her body moving in perfect counterpoint. He made love to her again, and this time his touch was a balm, a drawing-out of old pain, a healing. Tears wet her cheeks, and his lips found them. He gave her the assurances she needed with his body. No matter what happened, she would have this hour, this day, to remember. A warm, soft, perfect moment…encapsulated in time, memory, flesh.

  Did she sleep? Or only lose track of time? The sun, slanting in at the window, had sharpened its angle. Alarmed by the approach of sunset, she remembered why she had come there.

  “Ward, you must get away. A posse is coming to hang you,” she whispered against his cheek.

  He didn’t answer. He was immersed in joy, first that she had come here at all and second that she would run away with him.

  “What could be more important than your own survival?” she persisted. “Those men are not going to give you a chance to deny anything. Don’t you see?” She sat up, her sense of urgency returning. “They’ll take you any way they have to. They’ll shoot you or hang you, whatever they have to do. There’s a reward for you, dead or alive.”

  Ward rolled onto his back, frowning. He had lived as an outlaw for six years. For the first time, he had an opportunity to start over. If he ran away there would be no life worth living anyway. No Leslie. He had no choice. He could either die now, fighting for his and her future, or he could run away and die by degrees, as he lost first her concern, her respect, and then her love.

  Ward’s silence was deafening. What was he thinking now? What a fool she was? Probably. She bit her bottom lip and let her eyes rove around the room they shared. There was a bureau on one wall and a small table with a lacy shawl draped carelessly so that it hung down halfway to the floor. Cream-colored lace that would look very pretty over long black hair. Leslie could feel a coldness settling into her lungs. It spread out, making her breath tingle and ache in her throat. He made love to her in the room he shared with another woman!

  Leslie couldn’t look at him, couldn’t even speak. Mutely, she turned away, fumbling with the clothes he had nearly torn off her body moments ago, feeling her nakedness painfully, and remembering the fears she had suppressed riding into this dust-whipped little town. She could almost laugh now. She expelled a shuddering breath, ignoring the warm hand that caressed the curve of her back—or tried to ignore it. How could he look so relaxed? Didn’t he care that
by tomorrow he’d probably be dead? She had a sudden vision of him on that big black horse, bare-headed, riding straight into that pack of shouting, shooting men. No one knew better than she what a reckless hellion he was. Or what a rotten cheat! But this, making love to her in his girlfriend’s bedroom, was going too far!

  She was determined to be as cool about it as he was.

  “They are mad enough to hang you on sight. Rustling can’t possibly pay all that well. I brought some money. If you leave now, you can be away from here before they arrive.”

  “Does anyone know you came here?”

  “No.”

  “Whose cattle did I rustle?”

  Leslie looked at him sharply. “Don’t you know?”

  Apparently even Leslie believed that one. He shrugged. “Seen one cow you’ve seen them all. How did they find out it was me?” he asked instead.

  “I guess it was the subtle way you issued that challenge to all the other rustlers to clear out of your territory. Hanging one of them didn’t help your image any. I don’t know all that much about rules of conduct for rustlers chief, but it seems you have outraged everyone—ranchers, rustlers, even the little old ladies.”

  “Those are the ones to watch out for,” he said wryly, “the little old ladies. They’ll get you every time.”

  The cold ache was gone now. All she felt was a strange sense of numbness. He wasn’t interested in running off with her even if she paid him. That much was clear!

  Leslie stood up and began reaching for her clothes. Ward watched her, completely entranced with the delicious sight of silky skin—creamy white all the way to the bone—and that luxurious mass of midnight-black hair cascading halfway down her back. Perfect cone-shaped breasts with rosy red nipples that he could almost feel against his lips. He would like to spend the day making love to her but…

  He frowned. He had to somehow get free of this neat little frame someone had constructed for him. He hadn’t issued a challenge. Who would gain by killing Powers? Or kidnapping Trinket?