Her Outlaw Heart

by Samantha Harte

  Corbet found no murder warrants on him among his collection. The dead man was just a clumsy traveler with an old gun. The gun belt offered no information other than the wearer had been skinny. Corbet feared he’d never know who he buried.

  Nine

  Bracing himself for an onslaught of feminine emotion, Corbet delivered himself to Avinelle’s doorstep the next morning and forced a smile. “Sorry to call so early—”

  “Corbet!” Avinelle beamed. “Have you had breakfast? No, then you must come in. What was your emergency?”

  She seized his elbow and dragged him inside. This was a pleasant, if suspicious surprise, Corbet thought. He had expected reproaches and tears. Avinelle pulled him in to the dining room. Feeling like a bull at the county fair being led around by a nose ring, he plucked off his hat.

  Avinelle's mother sat queen-like at the head of the table. At the sight of him, her expression registered shock. She tipped her head as if granting him leave to enter. “Marshal Harlow, how good of you to call so early and unannounced…as usual. Do sit down.”

  He declined. He was impatient to see Jodee, to know she was all right.

  Avinelle took her seat. Fussing with her napkin, she flashed a peculiar look at her mother, irritating Corbet, because he couldn’t guess what was beneath this feigned propriety.

  “Since you had to disappoint us on such short notice this past Sunday, we expect you to honor our invitation this coming Sunday, if you would be so kind, Marshal,” Widow Ashton said.

  There seemed to be a subtle change in the woman, Corbet thought, noticing a shadow of anxiety darkening her glinting eyes.

  Before he could state his purpose, Jodee elbowed her way through the door from the pantry. She was wearing her new clothes. Her pale hair was tied back, making her appear thin and frail. She was pale except for blotches of color on her nose and cheeks. Hers was a natural beauty that didn’t need a frame of elaborate curls or expensive lace. It was a relief to see her. Corbet suppressed a smile.

  Seeing Corbet, Jodee faltered. She held a heavy-looking silver tray loaded with a platter of sausages and eggs. He stepped around the table quickly and took it from her. Setting the tray on the sideboard, he swung and pinned Avinelle with a look so severe her smile withered. Instantly, tears sprang to her eyes. He felt like a cad. This wasn’t Avinelle's doing, he realized. He turned his glare on her mother, understanding at last who his true adversary was. They were treating Jodee as a servant. That had been their intention from the first.

  “Do not look at me like that, Marshal Harlow,” Widow Ashton snapped. “We are not mistreating your little charge. I have her sleeping in my guest room, after all, not on the back porch where serving girls belong. You have no idea the disruption her stay has imposed upon my routine. Getting her clean. Instructing her in the simplest of tasks. Constantly correcting her. Ever watchful lest she break something. Already she has dropped my best silver sugar.” Shaking her head, she folded her napkin and laid it beside her plate. Her veined hands trembled.

  “How are you feeling, Jodee?” he asked gently, trying to hide his frustration.

  “I’m fine, really, Cor—Marshal. I don’t know how to do none of—”

  “Any,” Widow Ashton corrected.

  “Any of this work,” Jodee said, scarcely noticing the woman’s interjection. “I got to learn.”

  “Did the doctor give you permission to work already?”

  “You know very well, Corbet Harlow,” Widow Ashton interrupted in a shrill tone, “the doctor cannot call every day.” She rose from her seat. “Perhaps we should have a private word.” She started toward the door.

  When he failed to follow, she gave a scarcely perceptible pause and continued on her way out of the room.

  “I’ve got to pay for all I owe, Corbet,” Jodee whispered.

  At that, Avinelle stalked from the room as well.

  Corbet felt torn three ways. “Are they treating you all right?”

  Jodee leaned in close. “How much do I owe for the silver sugar? I didn’t mean to drop it. It just slipped out of my hand.”

  He dismissed the question. He’d pay for it himself, if necessary. He took Jodee’s elbow. She felt so thin. As he guided her into the kitchen, he struggled to conceal his concern.

  Hanna was whipping cream with a bowl held against her bosom. “Well, hello there, Marshal,” she exclaimed. “This here’s an armed camp since we got your note Sunday. Who’s that old man you got running errands for you? Better tell him to come to the back next time. Miz Ashton had a fit to think such like was seen on her front porch.”

  Corbet greeted Hanna and then fixed Jodee with a serious look. “I don’t like seeing you work before the—don’t give me that got-to-have-a-job argument, Jodee. Should I take you somewhere else? You’re not getting any rest here.”

  “I don’t know how to convince them I ain’t going to rob them,” Jodee cried. “I don’t speak out of turn. I ain’t touched a gull-darned thing. I’m not complaining, neither. I just can’t figure out how to please them.” She lifted her chin, her lips quivering. “I can’t go around acting like a fool the rest of my life. They’re willing to teach me. I got to learn.”

  Corbet studied the flush to Jodee’s nose and cheeks, the frustration pulling at the corners of her mouth. Just what were Avinelle and her mother trying to teach her, to do a job in order to earn a living? Or that she was second class?

  “I need to talk to you this afternoon,” he said, changing his tone to official rather than personal. “I’ll call for you at two.”

  Jodee’s eyes rounded. She looked pleased but suspicious. “Fine by me.”

  “Sorry about interrupting breakfast,” he said to Hanna.

  “No harm done, Marshal. All this food is going to waste anyhow. Them two eat dry toast and tea most mornings.” She swept her arm around the kitchen. “All for show. Whipped cream in the morning. I’m glad you were here to see it. Things is just as hospitable around here as in a snake pit, all smiles and if-you-please. It’s enough to make a body take to whiskey before noon.” She clapped Corbet on the back. “Ask Jodee what she thought of church on Sunday. You’d think we had a medicine show going on the way folks trouped in and out of here all afternoon to pay calls, gawkin’ and havin’ their say. Now everybody thinks Miz Ashton is the most charitable lady in Wyoming Territory.” She gave a chuckle in Jodee’s direction. “Tell the marshal what fun we had, honey. A regular picnic.”

  As he headed down the hall, Corbet realized Avinelle and her mother waited in the drawing room. No gang of outlaws ever looked more formidable. To Widow Ashton he called, “Sorry I missed dinner Sunday, Miz Ashton, but my deputy found a dead man in the mountains. I had to investigate. And bury the body.” He opened the front door.

  Widow Ashton hurried after him. “I had no idea. Your work must come first, of course. Our invitation stands, if you find time for us.” She flashed a look in Avinelle’s direction and then hurried up the stairs.

  Something about that woman didn’t ring true, Corbet told himself. He felt it now more than ever. Theia Ashton didn’t like him, and yet she was shoving Avinelle at him with both fists. “Corbet, I assure you, Jodee gave us no indication she was in any sort of discomfort,” Avinelle said. “Otherwise we would never have asked her to serve breakfast. She’ll never make a satisfactory maid, cook, or governess if she can’t stop asking questions when she should be working.” Her lower lip quivered in a most attractive way. “We’re doing our best, Corbet, truly we are, but she’s so ill-bred. I fear you’ll blame us when she doesn’t find a job. Mother is at the end of her patience already.”

  Letting Jodee come to Avinelle’s house had been the worst idea he’d ever had, Corbet realized. He squeezed his forehead, yearning to say something scathing, but Avinelle looked so brittle he couldn’t bring himself to wound her further.

  “I’ll take Jodee to the hotel. That’s what I should have—”

  Avinelle rushed to him and caught his arm. “Corbet, no!�
��

  Before she could press herself against him, perhaps even try to kiss him, Corbet held her off. “I’m calling for Jodee at two o’clock. I have something serious to discuss with her at the jail. Now let me go.”

  “But what about me, Corbet? Haven’t you any time for me? After all I’ve done?”

  He racked his brain. Did he owe Avinelle something? Did she think he was obligated to marry her because of the job of marshal she and her mother secured for him? If so, he’d quit on the spot. He felt worse than her puppet. He felt bought and paid for.

  “Maybe a picnic,” he blurted, feeling like an easy mark. “When it’s warmer. You, your mother, Jodee, Maggie, and Hanna.” He warmed to the idea, anything to get out the door, but Avinelle’s appalled expression made him sorry he spoke.

  She fled the room.

  Swearing, Corbet slammed out of the house. He supposed Avinelle wanted him to court her in the parlor with posies in hand. She wanted Jodee serving tea on a silver tray, a servant, not a rival.

  He wanted to deny that he was smitten with Jodee, but he was more than smitten. He was in love with her. The realization struck him. By checking on her so often, he was revealing his attraction and feeding Avinelle’s jealousy. He didn’t belong in Avinelle’s life. By accepting her invitations to dinner he prolonged a painful charade. The only way to free himself was to quit as marshal and leave town. But he couldn’t leave. Not yet. He was not sure Burl Tangus was dead.

  • • •

  Jodee suffered through a cold breakfast, helped tidy the dining room, ate a distracted luncheon, and did various chores for Hanna before going to her room to brush her hair for Corbet’s arrival at two o’clock. It was the longest morning in memory.

  Jodee had just gotten her hair twisted and was attempting to get the first pins in place when Widow Ashton shouted, “Jodee, come downstairs this instant!”

  Letting her hair fall free, Jodee hurried down the back stairs. She found the woman in the pantry, her face explosively red. The silverware box stood open with its gleaming contents arranged in perfect stacks.

  “Yes, Ma’am?” Jodee said, hiding her hands behind her back. Having a hair comb in the pantry was surely wrong, somehow.

  “Count the spoons, if you can.”

  Jodee’s heart began to hammer. She took a step back. “Why?”

  “Do not think you can run away from me. Count them. How many you have taken? Did you think I would not miss them? I have a mind to search your knapsack.”

  What could she say in her own defense? Jodee’s breath came in short gasps. She had no idea how many spoons the old porcupine had started with, much less how many there were now.

  As the front door’s bell tinkled, Jodee stood with clenched teeth and her face afire with fury and fear. What good was silver except to make a body feel better than everybody else?

  “You think I’m taking your scratched up old spoons? After all you and Avinelle have done for me?”

  “Do not be so familiar with my daughter’s name. She is Widow Babcock to the likes of you.”

  “I don’t need no spoons! You can look in my knapsack if you haven’t already, but I ain’t taken nothing. Didn’t I go out and trade for my own clothes? Ain’t I done everything you asked of me?” Jodee’s voice shook. She wished to Christmas she was stronger.

  Maggie appeared in the shadows. “Caller for Miss Jodee. It’s the marshal. He’s in a buggy.”

  Jodee’s heart leapt. How could she feel frightened, indignant, and overjoyed, all at the same time? The outing was spoiled, but she realized all at once that was Widow Ashton’s intention. Were any spoons really missing? She took a deep breath. She had half a mind to slap the old she-devil, but she was decent now. Decent folks didn’t slap their enemies. Without another word, Jodee stormed back to the front hall.

  Corbet saw her and sobered. “What is it?”

  “Widow Ashton was helping with my hair, but it don’t take to pins.”

  Widow Ashton emerged from the shadows of the hall, her expression somewhat contrite. “Will you be long, Marshal? I do not like to be kept worrying.”

  He looked from one to the other, sensing something. “Not long, no. And you needn’t worry. Jodee will be with me the whole time.”

  How could he know what women would do or say to make war with one another? Jodee wondered, tucking her comb into her pocket. She realized she’d forgotten her hand bag with the pistol in it. She almost went back upstairs. Then she decided if Widow Ashton wanted to search her things, let her find the pistol and know Jodee McQue was no fool she could bully.

  Outside, Corbet handed Jodee up into his hired buggy. Jodee was reminded of afternoons when she sat alongside one creek or another, one hillside or another, dreaming of the life she would have when she and her father returned to Arkansas. Buggy rides had been high on the list.

  Feeling fidgety, Jodee forgot Widow Ashton and Avinelle Babcock and even her poor father lying dead in his grave. Corbet climbed into the buggy beside her. His shoulder brushed hers as he took up the lines. They started out with a lurch that jostled her hard against him. She felt so happy suddenly she was going to come apart.

  “How do you feel, Jodee?”

  “Just dandy.” She grabbed the seat to keep balance.

  Looking closely, Corbet seemed pleased. “And your shoulder?”

  “It aches some, but doing chores keeps it limber. That ain’t my problem, Corbet. I’m sorry, but I think Widow Ashton is addle-brained. Do all rich ladies act like her, watching and scolding and showing her true side when she’s angry? She accused me just now of taking her ol’ spoons. Why would I do that? She’s got more spoons than Mr. Quimby in his store.”

  “She accused you?”

  “It don’t mean anything. I ain’t taking things. What good would that do me? What would I do with them? Sell ’em to Quimby? He’d know they wasn’t mine. She’s just trying to make me feel bad.”

  Corbet sighed. “I don’t know about rich folks, Jodee. I’ve never been rich. I worked all my life.”

  “Even when you was a boy?” she teased, forgetting the spoons.

  “Even as a boy.” He pulled to a stop in front of the jailhouse.

  Why were they here?, Jodee wondered suddenly. She kept smiling, but her stomach knotted. When Corbet helped her down from the buggy, momentarily something delicious flashed through her body at his touch. She wished he’d take hold of her. She wished—

  They stood, looking at each other so long Jodee grew dizzy. She wanted to touch his cheek. She wanted so much more than just looks and polite talk.

  “When I was ten,” Corbet said, “I worked for a dairy farmer. He had a daughter who liked to hang around, pestering us boys. She was my first friend.”

  Jodee tried to understand what he was getting at. His gaze turned far away. Was he telling her this because she was like a friend to him? Just a friend? Her heart sank.

  Abruptly he released her hand and led her into the jailhouse.

  “What happened to your friend?”

  “Diphtheria. She was ten when she died. You remind me of her. Her hair was always coming loose and getting in her mouth. I don’t want you to relapse. That’s why I don’t want you doing chores just yet. I want you to take care of yourself.” He offered her the chair. “Now I have something to I have to show you.”

  She dropped onto the chair, frightened by his sudden serious tone and dulled eyes. Friend, she thought. Her chest ached with the pain of his revelation. Furtively, she glanced at the empty cell where she’d slept in such desolation.

  Corbet disappeared into his sleeping room, reminding her of that night she laid in his bed burning with fever. Thinking she was dying, she had kissed him. What a fool thing. He never mentioned it. He probably didn’t even remember it. Her throat got thick.

  When she saw him bring a dirty coat and pistol from the sleeping room, her body filled with venom. She sprang to her feet.

  “That there coat is mended on the back of the sleeve,” s
he blurted before she realized how awful it might sound that she’d done mending for Burl Tangus. “He tore it in a fist fight with Lee Rike. They was always trying to best each other. Old man Rike never could make them stop.”

  Corbet let her take the coat, shake it out, and locate the place she had mended months before.

  A sour taste came into her mouth. She was going to be sick. “I ain’t no good with needle and thread, that’s certain. And that’s Burl’s pistol. Many a time I watched him clean it.” She met Corbet’s eyes. What was he doing with these things?

  “In the mountains on Sunday I took these things off a dead man.”

  “Burl’s dead?" Jodee whispered. She looked long at the coat. Her hands felt dirty touching it. Something gave way inside. "I don’t have to worry about him anymore?”

  “I think so.”

  She didn’t have to lie awake nights, listening for the varmint trying to climb through the window to get her like he used to threaten to do. She was free! She wanted to grab Corbet and shake him.

  Corbet wasn’t smiling.

  “Did the dead man have long dark hair?" she asked, swallowing hard.

  Corbet told her everything he had seen in the mountains.

  Jodee’s legs gave out. She sat down again. She pressed her hands to her mouth. “Then it might not be Burl. It might be somebody he killed and left with his coat and pistol to make it look like himself.”

  “Was he that clever?”

  “Hell, yes, he was clever. He could sneak into a town, listen at windows, hang around saloons, find out things. Come back and make plans. One time he came back wearing some old lady’s cape and a bonnet. Said he walked right down the street and nobody paid him no mind. Beard and all!”

  “If he changed clothes with a dead man—a man he murdered—why? Is he planning another holdup? You have to tell me!”

  Jodee was afraid to look at Corbet. She didn’t want to see doubt about her honesty in his eyes.