The Outcast tp-3

by Beverly Barton

  Then he heard a low growl and saw the big black wolf-dog he'd encountered the night before. That damned animal didn't like him. And why should he? Reece reminded himself that he had invaded the dog's home and threatened his mistress. Threatened her with his gun. His gun! Where was his gun? He'd been holding it when he'd passed out.

  "Well, good morning." Elizabeth thought Reece looked rather handsome with a two-day growth of beard and wearing Sam's old clothes. "I'd about decided you were going to sleep away another day."

  Reece stopped dead still in the doorway. "Lady, who the hell are you?"

  The practical realist in him warned that this woman was a stranger and not to be trusted, but his male libido reacted differently, appreciating the woman's earthy beauty, the ripe fullness of her sturdy body, the basic sensuality that surrounded her like a visible aura.

  Elizabeth set the pan of biscuits on a hotpad atop the counter, turned to Reece, took several steps in his direction and held out her hand. "I'm Elizabeth Sequana Mallory. You're in my home, on my mountain, in Sequana Falls."

  Reece didn't make a move to enter the kitchen or to take Elizabeth's hand. Why the hell was she being so friendly? She acted as if he were a welcome guest. Was the woman crazy?

  "Breakfast is just about ready. Come on in and sit down." Elizabeth turned, busying herself with preparing two plates. "How do you like your coffee?"

  "Black." Reece walked into the kitchen, stopping abruptly at the table, grabbing the top of the wooden chair.

  "I see the clothes and boots fit you all right." Elizabeth placed two plates of eggs, bacon and hash browns on the two blue place mats.

  "Your husband's?"

  "No." Elizabeth poured coffee into two Blue Willow cups.

  "What did you do with my gun?" Reece clutched the back of the chair.

  "It's in a safe place." Elizabeth set the cups on the table, pulled out a chair and sat down. "Aren't you hungry?"

  Reece glared at her. What did she think this was, a damned picnic? Although they were total strangers, this woman was treating him like a long-lost friend.

  "Don't worry, Mr. Landry, when you leave I'll return your gun to you." Elizabeth lifted the cup to her lips.

  Reece watched her sip the hot coffee. Her lips were full, soft and a natural rosy pink. He remembered that those lips had touched his cheek. She had kissed him! Her small hand held the cup securely as she continued leisurely sipping the coffee. Reece noted the delicate size of her hands, but remembered their strength, remembered those slender fingers caressing his face, touching him lightly.

  Dragging his eyes away from her lips and hands, Reece suddenly realized she'd called him Mr. Landry. She knew who he was. He hadn't been imagining things when he thought he'd heard her calling him Reece.

  "How do you know my name?"

  "Sit down, Reece. Your breakfast is getting cold."

  What the hell was wrong with this woman? Didn't she have the good sense to be scared? After all, she obviously knew he was an escaped convict, a murderer on his way to a life term in the state penitentiary.

  Releasing his death grip on the chair, Reece reached out, grabbing Elizabeth by the shoulders, turning her in her seat. She stared up at him with surprised blue eyes. The expression on her face was a mixture of fear, doubt, hope and supplication. This woman-Elizabeth-wanted something from him. But what?

  "What's going on with you?" he asked. "If you know who I am, why haven't you called the sheriff?"

  "I know who you are, Reece Landry." You're the stranger in my heart, the man who has invaded my thoughts for five months. "I heard a news bulletin on the radio yesterday morning telling about a sheriff's car that wrecked and the escape of a convicted murderer who was being transported to Arrendale."

  "You heard a bulletin on the radio yesterday morning?" How was that possible? He hadn't escaped until yesterday afternoon. "What day is this? How long have I been here?"

  "You came here the night before last. You were exhausted, injured and suffering from minor frostbite and exposure. Then you ran a high fever for a while."

  "Son of a bitch!" Reece loosened his hold on Elizabeth's shoulders, noticing for the first time that her wolf-dog had moved to her side. "Have you notified the sheriff's department?"

  "I can't. The phone's out." Elizabeth hated herself for lying to Reece, but she felt it was a necessary fabrication. The phone had been working since early this morning, but she had unplugged it, preventing anyone from calling her.

  Elizabeth laid her hand atop Reece's where it rested on her shoulder. As if he'd been burned by her touch, he jerked his hand away.

  "So you're stuck with me for the time being, huh?" Just because she hadn't been able to notify the authorities of his whereabouts didn't mean he was safe. From the looks of the sunshine and blue sky he saw outside the windows, the winter storm had passed. Even if she couldn't telephone for help, that didn't mean a search party wouldn't show up on her doorstep any time now.

  "Why don't you sit down and eat. You've got to be hungry. You haven't eaten a bite in a couple of days." Elizabeth didn't think she'd ever seen anyone as wary, as suspicious as Reece. Didn't the man trust anybody?

  Reece pulled out the chair, sat down, picked up the Blue Willow cup and tasted the coffee. The brew was warm, rich, full-bodied, with a hint of flavor he couldn't quite make out. He swallowed, then frowned, wondering exactly what the unique taste could be.

  "Vanilla almond," Elizabeth said, as if she'd read his mind. "I grind my own coffee beans." She nodded at the counter where an antique coffee grinder perched on a wooden shelf alongside several other antique utensils.

  Nodding in acknowledgment of her statement, Reece picked up his fork, lifted a hefty portion of scrambled eggs and put them in his mouth. Suddenly he had the oddest sensation that he'd somehow stepped into the twilight zone, that he had escaped from the sheriff's car and found his way to never-never land. Nothing about this place, this isolated cabin in the woods, or this woman-sultry, earthy and incredibly beautiful-seemed real.

  Any woman, alone the way Elizabeth Mallory was, would be afraid of an escaped convict, but Reece sensed more curiosity than fear emanating from the woman sitting across the table from him.

  While he continued eating, devouring the tasty breakfast, he watched Elizabeth as she broke open a biscuit, buttered it and fed small pieces to her wolf-dog. The animal ate heartily, consuming three biscuits in quick succession. Elizabeth laughed, the sound piercingly sweet to Reece's ears. There was no pretension, no coy feminine silliness to her laugh. The sound came from her heart-warm, loving and completely genuine. Any fool could see the mutual love that existed between dog and woman.

  "Where'd you get him?" Reece nodded toward Elizabeth's pet.

  "Mac here?" She patted the animal's back, then scratched behind his ears.

  "Mac?"

  "Short for MacDatho." Elizabeth sensed a minute loosening of the tension in Reece, barely discernible but evident nevertheless. "My German shepherd, Elspeth, was Mac's mother. His father was a wolf."

  "I'd guessed as much. Are there many wolves in these hills?"

  "Some."

  "Why'd you take care of me?" Reece asked. "You should have tied me up once I passed out on you. Instead, you put me to bed and nursed me. Now you're feeding me. Woman, haven't you got any sense at all?"

  Elizabeth smiled. Dear God in heaven, he wished she hadn't smiled at him like that. He wanted to capture that smile, hold on to it, keep it from vanishing.

  "The newscaster said you'd been convicted of killing a man," Elizabeth said. "Did you kill him?"

  "I was convicted, wasn't I?"

  "I know that. But were you guilty?"

  Reece finished off the last bite of bacon, downed the remains of his coffee and shoved back his chair. Standing, he stared down at Elizabeth's upturned face. "Would you believe me if I told you that I'm innocent, that I didn't kill B. K. Stanton?"

  "Yes, I'd believe you."

  Running his hands through his
thick, wavy hair, Reece snorted. "Lady, are you that naive? Would you take the word of a stranger, someone you don't know the first thing about?"

  But I do know things about you, Reece. Less than I want to know, but more than you could ever realize. "You don't have the soul of a killer."

  "What makes you think I don't?"

  "I can sense it. I'm very good at sensing things." Did she dare try to explain her special gifts, her God-given psychic powers? Would he believe her if she did?

  "You live up here in these hills all by yourself?"

  Standing, Elizabeth began clearing away the table, stacking the dishes in the sink. "Just Mac and me. My great-aunt, Margaret McPhearson, spends a lot of time up here with me in warm weather. She lives in Dover's Mill."

  "How do you support yourself? Do you have a job in Dover's Mill?" Reece couldn't imagine anyone with no income being able to afford such a luxurious two-story cabin.

  "I operate a nursery. I have a degree in horticulture." Elizabeth turned on the water faucet and squirted dishwashing detergent into the sink.

  "What sort of nursery? Flowers?"

  MacDatho followed Reece to the back door, watching him intently when he opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. The dry, frigid air cut through Reece’s clothing, but the sun warmed his face when he stared up at the sky.

  Walking out onto the porch, Elizabeth waited for Mac to run outside before she closed the door. She turned to Reece, instinctively reaching out to touch his arm, but she suddenly remembered his aversion to being touched and withdrew her hand.

  "Look over to the right and you'll see my greenhouses. I grow roses and a fairly large variety of flowers as well as herbs and spices and a few specialty shrubs. I sell in nearby towns to both florists and gardeners, and two years ago I started a mail-order business, which has grown by leaps and bounds."

  "So, you're a successful businesswoman, huh?"

  "I guess you could say that."

  "How are you keeping the temperatures in your greenhouses regulated without electricity? A generator?"

  "Yes. The generator kicks in automatically when the electrical power fails, which is fairly often when we get a winter storm."

  Reece glanced at her. The sun streaked reddish highlights in her dark brown hair and gave a golden glow to her olive skin. With the log cabin, the blue sky, the snow-covered forest as a background for her beauty, Elizabeth seemed as much a part of nature's perfection as her surroundings. Her calf-length, rust-colored corduroy skirt swayed in the cool February wind, revealing a pair of flat, plain, tan ankle boots. Her breasts swelled invitingly, not quite straining the buttons on her hunter-green-and-rust-striped blouse. Her baggy green sweater hung down past her generous hips.

  Reece forced himself to look away, unable to deny his body's sexual urges. He wanted this woman. She was beautiful and sexy and caring. But who was he kidding? The last thing on Elizabeth Mallory's mind was sex-and it should be the last thing on his mind. All he should be thinking about was getting the hell away from here before the authorities showed up looking for him. He had to find a way to get back to Newell, to hide out until he could discover who had really taken his .38 revolver and blown B. K. Stanton to hell.

  MacDatho ran down the steps and into the backyard, the snow coming up to his belly.

  "I wouldn't hurt you." Reece spoke the words in a low, deep voice, not much more than a whisper on the wind.

  Elizabeth heard him; her heart heard him. "I know."

  He saw her shiver, and realized she must be cold. "Why don't you go back inside? I didn't realize how cold it still was. The sun had me fooled."

  "Are you staying out here?"

  "For a few more minutes." Reece leaned over the porch railing, curling his fingers about the top wooden round.

  Elizabeth laid her hand over his where he gripped the railing. When he flinched, she squeezed his hand gently. "Do you want to tell me about the murder? About what really happened?"

  "What really happened was I had a motive for killing Stanton and a lifelong reputation as a town bad boy. Once they arrested me, they stopped looking for any other suspects. That's about it."

  For a split second Elizabeth picked up the intense rage burning inside Reece, then suddenly he shielded his emotions, almost as if he had felt her probing.

  "There's a lot more to it than that, isn't there?" Elizabeth asked. "I want you to know that I'm here for you, willing to listen when you're ready to talk, willing to do whatever I can to help you. I know you can't bear the thought of being caged again."

  He stared at her as if he'd never seen her before, as if she'd appeared out of nowhere, a blithe spirit sent to taunt him. "Caged? Yeah, caged. That's exactly what it's like in jail, what it would be like at Arrendale. I nearly went nuts being locked up so many months."

  "You couldn't post bail?"

  "The district attorney persuaded the judge that I was a poor risk. The Stantons were generous supporters during the D.A.'s reelection bid. He owed the family a favor."

  Elizabeth clutched Reece's hand. She longed to put her arms around him and comfort him. Something told her that it had been a long time since anyone had comforted Reece Landry. When she glanced at him, he was staring off into the distance.

  "You won't be caged again, Reece." Tears sprang into Elizabeth's eyes. "I promise I'll do whatever I can to help you find the real murderer."

  "Lady, why the hell would you do anything to help me? How can you believe that I'm innocent when you don't even know me?"

  "I feel as if I know you, as if I've known you for months."

  Reece turned sharply, staring at Elizabeth again. Her eyes were filled with tears. Was she crying for him? No one had ever cried for him. No one except his mother. Hesitantly, almost fearfully, Reece touched his fingertip to the corner of her eye, brushing away the tears.

  "Elizabeth?" A tight knot formed in his throat.

  "I'm all right."

  "You're crying for me, aren't you?" He gripped her chin in his big hand, tilting her face upward. "Why?"

  She gazed at him with such undisguised concern, such genuine human compassion. "Because you can't cry for yourself."

  He kissed her then. He hadn't thought about it, certainly hadn't planned it. But nothing on earth could have kept him from tasting those sweet, rosy lips. Nothing short of being struck down dead would have prevented him from pulling her into his arms and devouring her with the heat of his passion. He had never wanted anything as much as he wanted to lift this woman into his arms and carry her back inside the house and to her bed. His body ached with the need for release, for the ease he knew he could find in Elizabeth's loving warmth. There was a passion inside her equal to his own. He felt it when she returned his kiss with enthusiasm, opening her mouth for his invasion, as surely as she had unlocked her door for him the other night.

  He ended the kiss when the realization hit him that she had, indeed, left her door unlocked for him. How he could be so certain he didn't know, but certain he was. He grabbed Elizabeth by the shoulders, pushing her away from him and at the same time holding on to her.

  "You left your door unlocked the night I came here."

  "Yes."

  "Do you usually leave your door unlocked?"

  "No."

  "Why did you leave it unlocked that night?"

  Would he believe the truth or would he prefer a lie? she asked herself. "I left it unlocked because I was expecting you."

  Reece glared at her, confused by her admission, wondering how the hell she could have known he was headed in her direction and why she would have left her door unlocked for an escaped convict.

  "I don't understand you, lady. How could you have been expecting me?"

  "Reece..." When she reached out to touch his face, he dropped his hands from her shoulders and backed away from her.

  "What the hell are you, some sort of hillbilly witch?"

  "Some people would call me a psychic. I was born with special abilities."

  Ree
ce looked her over from head to toe, his perusal stopping when he reached her face. "What sort of abilities?"

  "I can sense things, see things. Sometimes I know things before they happen. I'm clairvoyant and precognitive. However, my telepathic abilities are limited."

  ''Are you kidding me?"

  "I'm trying to explain why I knew you would be coming to me, and why you need me to help you."

  "This is a bunch of bull, lady. If you think for one minute that I'll buy into this crap, then you've got another thought coming."

  "Five months ago I began having dreams about you, then brief visions. I could see your face, sense your pain and anger and bitterness. I knew you were caged, that you were being punished for something you hadn't done. These dreams, these visions continued up until you arrived on my doorstep the night before last."

  Reece stood rigid and silent, staring at Elizabeth, astonishment in his amber eyes. "Are you trying to tell me that you've been messing around inside my head?"

  "I'm telling you that I can help you, that I want to help you." When he didn't respond, she went on. "Don't you see that you were sent to me because-"

  "Cut the crap, lady. I told you I don't believe you." Reece held up a hand in restraint as if warning her off.

  "Stay out here as long as you need to," Elizabeth told him. "I have things to do inside, then I'll have to make a trip out to the greenhouses. Make yourself at home."

  Reece watched her disappear back inside the house. The frigid air began to chill him through his thermal top and flannel shirt.

  He heard the back door open, then close again and realized MacDatho had followed his mistress inside. There was something damned strange about Elizabeth and her MacDatho. They didn't seem to belong in this century. Were they real or were they ghosts from some bygone era? Reece wondered if he was hallucinating. Could it be that he was actually lying out in the snow on the mountainside, dying slowly, freezing to death, and he had imagined the beautiful woman and her wolf-dog? Was Elizabeth a figment of his imagination? Had he dreamed her, as she claimed she had dreamed him?