Her Outlaw Heart

by Samantha Harte

  From his chair on the sidelines, Virgil Robstart climbed slowly to his feet and led his wife in a few exquisitely slow turns before the two headed quietly out the doors. More than a few gossips took note of Avinelle Babcock standing near the mayor and his wife. She smiled a brilliantly brittle smile as if she didn’t notice that no man had asked her to dance.

  Jodee looked ethereal with her pale hair streaming down her back and her young face upturned, her eyes fixed on Corbet’s beaming face. She might not be a girl of the town, more than a few were thinking, but there was no doubt she was Queen of the May. Corbet looked tender—folks would say later they had not realized their marshal was such a handsome man.

  Everybody watched Marshal Harlow and the McQue girl dance as if in a rapturous daze, eyes locked, bodies moving gracefully together until a young lad with crooked teeth stepped forward to tap the marshal on his shoulder.

  “Excuse me, sir,” he said.

  Jodee stumbled as Corbet broke the rhythm of the waltz steps and looked down into the darkly serious eyes of Hobie Fenton. Without a word he relinquished his hold on Jodee. When Hobie took Jodee in his arms, she could feel him trembling. His fingers felt cold and thin in hers. His cheeks sported two blotches of nervous color. Jodee’s heart melted with affection. “How-do, Hobie.”

  “Miss McQue,” Hobie began, looking directly into her eyes. “Jodee,” he corrected himself. “I promised you a dance. Here I am.” He relaxed his chilling hold and forced a sheepish smile.

  “I want to thank you for treating me decent when I first got to town,” she said to Hobie. “You were my first friend. I hope you find all you hope for in life. Back east. In college.”

  “Oh, I won’t be leaving just yet. I go in the fall, but when I get back,” he said, beginning to grin with all his crooked teeth showing, “you won’t recognize me, all duded up in eastern clothes and talking law.”

  She grinned. “You’ll look fine, but I won’t be here. I’m going away soon. I don’t know where I belong, but I’m going to try fresh someplace else.”

  “Some folks around here think real high of you,” he said. “I’m proud to know you.”

  Artie Abernathy cut in next. Jodee felt disoriented, not getting a chance to tell Hobie goodbye.

  For a husky man Artie moved surprisingly light on his feet. He danced Jodee away from Hobie, talking non-stop. Jodee didn’t hear a word he said. Then a handsome young cowhand cut in. Jodee felt like the belle of the ball, swirling in circles, smiling until her cheeks ached…but then in the shadows she saw Widow Ashton’s frowning face and remembered her warning. Was dancing with this stranger ruining her reputation? Was she making a spectacle of herself? How could she extract herself from this young man’s eager grip without seeming unkind?

  Looking around, Jodee saw the woman rise to her feet, outrage purpling her face. A stab of fear went through Jodee until she realized the woman was watching Avinelle refuse the invitation of broadly grinning Deputy Brucker. Jodee stumbled. Then, blessedly, there was Corbet again, tapping the shoulder of the cowhand and taking Jodee back into his arms. Her heart shivered with happiness. Oh, if only she could go on like this forever.

  “Having fun?” Corbet asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Corbet laughed. It was such a wonderful sound. “Of course you are.”

  They went on dancing several more slow dances. Then they stood aside, watching couples attempt the faster, more complicated reels and quadrilles. When Deputy Malone, who had been manning the jail approached, he looked winded.

  “It’s all right, Marshal. Brucker just now took over at the jail,” he explained. “Said he wasn’t having any luck here. Where’s the food?” He dragged off his hat and bowed to Jodee. “Evening, Miss McQue. You look real nice. Are folks heading home already?”

  Corbet looked around. His brow knit. He was looking for Avinelle, Jodee thought. He hadn’t danced with her yet. She didn’t see her or her mother. “I should check on something, Jodee,” he said. “Charlie, would you mind looking after Jodee a moment?”

  Deputy Malone blushed. “I can’t dance a step, Ma’am.”

  Jodee watched Corbet stride out of the barn into the darkness. She guided the deputy toward the refreshment table. Shoving pie into his mouth, Deputy Malone said, “It’s been a helluva day. ’Scuse my language, Ma’am. Jail’s full. We was trying to track down a whiskey thief who’s been breaking into the Bail ’O Hay Saloon in the wee hours.” He swallowed hard.

  Jodee sagged with relief when Corbet came back. He drew her aside.

  “Theia and Avinelle weren’t very happy that I sent Doc to the Botellers’ in their surrey. Bailey just got back and he’s taking them home now. We should go, too.”

  Jodee felt uneasy. “Is that all that’s worrying you, Corbet?”

  He offered his arm. Feeling the tension in his body, she followed him into the darkness.

  Where would she go if Widow Ashton refused to let her back into the house? After all, she had done precisely what the woman told her not to do. She had danced. With a stranger, too.

  Corbet patted her hand where it lay in the crook of his arm. They moved quickly along the dark road no longer so crowded with wagons. “I have important things to talk to you about, but now isn’t the time. There won’t be any trouble when you get home tonight because I spoke to Theia and Avinelle just now,” Corbet went on. “Theia wants you gone—you already know that.”

  Jodee nodded. She couldn’t speak. Tears stung her eyes.

  “I released her from her obligation to take care of you, as she put it. It was never an obligation as far as I was concerned. I thought it was an invitation. I thought they wanted to help you, but I’m an idiot. Avinelle just wanted to make me beholden to her. You don’t have to work for them anymore. Consider your debts paid in full. All of them. Don’t argue, honey,” he said when she began to protest. He remained quiet a moment. His grip tightened.

  The desire to weep subsided as Jodee chuckled. This was all so silly.

  Abruptly he pulled her close and hugged her. The more he tried to cushion the blow of what he was going to say next, Jodee thought, the more frightened she became.

  “I’ll see to it that Theia and Avinelle don’t exclude you from going to the funeral.”

  “What funeral?” Jodee whispered, pulling away so she could see Corbet’s face.

  “Mrs. Boteller died about an hour ago. Bailey got Doc Trafford to the house in time to save the baby, but she was gone. While I was making heartless remarks about her having so many children, the woman was drawing her last breath. She’ll be buried Saturday.”

  Jodee went still inside. The woman with the cold hands? The end was coming for her, too. She couldn’t prevent it.

  Corbet released her and cupped her upturned face. “I don’t want you to worry, Jodee. Trust me on this. Everything will be all right. I’ll talk to you in a couple of days and help you plan what to do.” Then he lowered his head and pressed his warm soft lips to hers.

  Taken utterly by surprise, Jodee’s body blossomed with fire. She closed her eyes and fell headlong into the delicious sensations coursing through her body. His strong arms enfolded her. She went up tight against him, too surprised by the suddenness of the kiss to have her arms free to encircle his neck. She stood deliciously restrained, feeling the urgency of his mouth against hers until her hands clutched his waist.

  When Corbet pulled free, he buried his face in her hair. He held her and held her as if he never intended to let her go. They stood like that in the darkness as one, safe together. She tightened her hold on him in a way she had never imagined before. This big strong man with his formidable eyes and the gun on his hip clung to her as if she were his pillar of strength.

  When at last the moment passed, they released each other. Corbet captured her hand in his and they walked slowly, without speaking, through the darkened town. The night air felt cool against Jodee’s burning cheeks. She couldn’t capture a single thought. All she knew was the
sound of their footsteps and the quiet rush of the night wind high in the pines.

  Sixteen

  Hanna’s shawl wasn’t enough to keep Jodee warm as she stood among the mourners at the cemetery that Saturday morning. Reverend Boteller stood at the head of the coffin balanced on two lengths of lumber over an open grave. Alongside him were nine stair-step children from the oldest boy to the newborn in the eldest girl’s arms. The newborn’s white blanket stood in stark contrast to the children’s mourning black. His cry was feeble, filling everyone with sorrow.

  Before the funeral that morning, Jodee had served Widow Ashton tea even though she was no longer in the woman’s employ. Without asking permission, Jodee prepared a basket for the bereaved family, filling it with sweet rolls, leftover chicken, and tea cakes that Hanna had made for the May Day picnic. Widow Ashton didn’t object.

  Now they were gathered on the windswept hill. Corbet stood alongside the doctor, who looked downcast for having lost his patient. As Jodee listened to words spoken by Reverend Boteller, her weeks in Burdeen seemed like a dream. Jodee suspected Corbet wanted to buy her ticket out of town, and she intended to accept. When the coffin was lowered into the ground, and the mourners started moving away, Jodee laid the hamper at Avinelle’s feet and turned away, too.

  “Miss McQue,” came the widower’s deep voice.

  Jodee discovered Reverend Boteller staring at her. She felt startled and embarrassed that he was speaking to her, of all the people there, drawing everyone’s attention to her. She’d been beneath his notice at Widow Ashton’s dinner party.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, sir,” she said, unsure if she should’ve spoken to him before the funeral. They were strangers, after all. Widow Ashton gave no indication what Jodee should do. Avinelle’s eyes remained averted. Maggie stood behind them, sniffling.

  “I have need of a housekeeper and caretaker for my children,” the reverend said.

  Jodee’s cheeks flamed. She spoke without thinking. “You’re willing to have me in your house now?” Oh, that sounded unkind.

  “Yes.”

  Jodee tried not to scoff. “I’m sorry, but you need somebody with experience.” She was thinking of Hanna or some other woman who had raised children. She couldn’t imagine cooking, cleaning, and caring for eight children and a newborn while trying to please an employer as exacting as that preacher would surely be.

  “Fifteen dollars a month, plus room and board,” he said as if someone had coached him. “Space in the attic to sleep.”

  The same wage Widow Ashton offered. Nine times the work. “I’m sorry,” Jodee said, trying to soften her tone as she shook her head.

  She felt awful, refusing, but as Hanna had whispered earlier, he kept a wife over forty years of age still bearing children although she’d clearly been worn out. Besides, caring for so many wasn’t the new life Jodee imagined. Frantic to escape the dismal scene, she pushed through the cemetery gate and broke into a trot.

  • • •

  Deputy Brucker leaned against a fence post, drawing cigar smoke deep into his lungs. Watch the Ashton Babcock house during the funeral, the marshal told him. Fine and dandy. There he was, sizing up the place, watching for Burl Tangus with no idea what the renegade looked like. Whatever name the outlaw was going by these days, Brucker intended to be the one bringing him in. It’d seal his position in this town. He’d be appointed marshal and Harlow could go build himself a cabin or whatever it was he intended to do with his time.

  He tossed his stogie aside. This was the part he liked anyway, the waiting, the watching. He picked up a brown button from the dirt. Harlow claimed Tangus had disguised himself as a button drummer. Brucker smirked, imaging Tangus loitering in this same shadow, watching the house, waiting for his chance to break in. With sample case in hand? Hardly. Brucker sauntered along the fence. No tracks. Nothing to indicate Tangus passed that way—

  A faint sound caught Brucker’s attention. He straightened, eyes moving quickly from shadows between pines to dark windows lined with lace. He heard muffled thumping, either an echo from town or something going on inside the house. Sometimes mountains made it difficult to distinguish where sounds came from.

  Dropping to a crouch, Brucker drew his gun, his hand damnably stiff. All the womenfolk were at the funeral, and the driver as well. The place was supposed to be empty. More thumping. Brucker dashed to the gate. By damn, somebody was in there. How had anybody gotten past him? Trotting around to the side street, he slipped past the carriage house up close to the stone foundation near the front porch.

  He heard a faint crash inside. The hair rose on the back of his neck

  Once on the porch with his ear pressed to the front door, Brucker listened to bootsteps inside, slow-moving, pausing, prowling. Almost smiling, Brucker cocked his gun. He might not be able to outdraw Tangus, but he’d hit what he aimed at. With all his strength he took aim and landed his boot sole squarely into the center of the front door. It went flying inward, splintering the frame and slamming against the inside wall in a tremendous crash.

  Not knowing the lay of the rooms inside, Brucker stepped cautiously inside, gun at the ready. For damn certain, whoever was inside knew he was there now. He whirled, saw a figure and fired without thought, shattering a mirror in a hailstorm of glass shards.

  Ducking, feeling stupid for shooting his own reflection, Brucker was caught by surprise when he heard something move behind him. He heard the explosion of a gunshot and was struck hard. He hit the wall and slumped. Son of a bitch. Not certain where he’d been shot, he let himself topple to the floor. Fire flooded his left arm. Cussing in two languages, he saw someone slip into one of the side rooms. He dragged himself through the doorway into a cluttered parlor. Then, playacting that he was losing strength, dying, dead, he lay motionless, finger on the trigger, to wait.

  • • •

  Panting, Jodee hurried down the hill from the cemetery. She’d raised a blister on one heel and began limping. Hearing a loud pop ahead, she stopped and cocked her head. Was that a gunshot? Heart leaping, she heard another. Quickly she moved to the side of the road and huddled alongside a fence. The shots seemed to have come from up ahead in the direction of Avinelle’s house.

  Waiting, listening, growing anxious, Jodee crept closer. She was imaging things. It was a hunter far off. She shook off impossible fears that Burl had chosen this moment to come for her and went on with her plans to fetch her knapsack and change into her britches for the long walk to Cheyenne City. It would take days—

  At the gate to Avinelle’s house, she saw the front door hanging open. They hadn’t left it like that!

  Someone had broken in! It wasn’t safe to go inside. For a long moment Jodee couldn’t think what to do. Corbet was back at the cemetery. She should run back to get him, but if it was Burl—how could he be in Avinelle’s house? How could he know where she was?—she’d be blamed. She knew it as surely as she’d ever known anything in her life.

  With a shudder, she tiptoed up the walk and saw the splintered door frame. Feeling sick to her stomach, she dropped down beside the front steps. She had to be sure. Silently, she climbed the front steps and crossed the porch to peek into the entry hall. She saw the floor covered in shards of broken mirror and a bullet hole in the back of the mirror’s frame. There was blood on the floor.

  The silence inside the house was interrupted only by the ominous ticking of the tall case clock and the thunder of Jodee’s drumming heart in her ears. When she saw the silver dish for calling cards missing from the hall table she knew all her fears had come true. But if she fled without trying to stop Burl, it’d be the same as helping him.

  Darting across the crunching shards she skidded down the hall into the kitchen. A loaf of bread lay on the table half eaten. The butter crock was open. Burl had taken time to eat? How long had he been there? She clutched her hair. This didn’t make sense!

  The cellar door hung off its hinges. The center panel lay smashed on the hall floor—he’d been in the
cellar? Her stomach lurched. Turning in circles, she was about to race up the back stairs to get her pistol when she saw the silverware chest lying empty in the pantry. A single spoon lay on the floor. Damn that worthless varmint of a man. And damn them snake-bit spoons. She’d shoot Burl dead just for touching them.

  In the dining room she found the silver sugar missing from the sideboard. The creamer, too. The silver coffee server stood on the table, too heavy to tote away. Thinking Burl might be gone already, she bolted up the back stairs and pounded down the hallway to the guest room. Her belongings were strewn on the bed and her pistol was gone. The knapsack, too. She doubled over, wanting to scream.

  Heartsick, she tiptoed down the hall, afraid of all she’d find missing wherever she looked. She heard what sounded like silverware being dragged in a bag along the floor and froze. Burl was still in the house! In Widow Ashton’s room. With those damnable snake-bit spoons and her knapsack full of loot.

  Like a mountain cat stalking prey, Jodee paused in a crouch outside Widow Ashton’s doorway. “Burl?” she croaked, unable to see him. “I know you’re in there, you dirty son of a bitch. I got Pa’s gun and it’s aimed at what you don’t want me to shoot off.”

  She heard paper rustle and the scrape of a boot against floorboards. Her heart slammed in her chest. Edging around the door frame, she saw nothing amiss. The widow’s bed looked tidy. The crystal drop lamp glinted in a shaft of sunlight coming in the side window When she heard the dragging clank of silver again, she realized Burl was on the far side of the bed, on the floor. She couldn’t draw a breath.

  Burl lifted his tousled dark head.

  Jodee ducked down, but he’d seen her. He swung his gun over the edge of the bed, cocked and ready. She’d never stared down a gun barrel before. The sight sent her into full panic. She flattened herself against the hallway wall, gasping, unable to think. At a mad scramble, Burl burst through the doorway and hauled her up by the scruff of her neck, hair included. Her collar cut into her throat, choking her.