Outlaw's Bride

by Maureen McKade

  So why did the thought of leaving Mattie and her small family make his insides feel chilly and alone? Like something vital would wither up and die? For over a year he’d lived on grief and the taste of vengeance, but now it seemed as if that wasn’t enough. He craved something of more sustenance to feed his empty soul.

  In an odd way, he felt like he was waking from a nightmare—a nightmare that had begun when he’d found his wife’s lifeless body.

  He shifted on the hard ground, the absence of his gunbelt another reminder of how he’d changed since he’d been here. At first he’d felt as if he were partially dressed without the holster and gun, but he’d grown accustomed to not having the weight on his right hip.

  “I’ve got a nibble,” Mattie suddenly said in a low, urgent voice.

  Clint peered at her cork in the pond and saw it dip beneath the surface, bob up, then go down again, this time deeper. “He’s tasting your worm to see if he likes it.”

  She shot him a pained look. “That isn’t funny.”

  He barely managed to hold back his laughter.

  The fish kept playing with Mattie’s line and she got to her feet. Wrapping her fingers around the pole more firmly, she watched the cork with rapt attention. Suddenly she jerked the line, setting the hook, and let out a little shriek. “I got him!” Mattie leaned back, slowly pulling the fish in. “He’s huge! It must be Fred the Second.”

  Clint scrambled up, ignoring the sharp twinge in his side. If she really had Fred, she might need some help. He moved behind her, his arms coming around her to grab hold of her pole, one hand above her hands, the other below. Mattie’s back fitted snugly against his chest while her soft backside pressed against his crotch.

  He tried to concentrate on the struggle with Fred the Second, but his erection had an agenda all its own, and Mattie’s excited movements didn’t help one bit.

  “I think it’s coming,” she exclaimed.

  Clint closed his eyes—damn, he wished she hadn’t said that.

  Abruptly her whole weight was thrown against him. He tried to stay on his feet, but with the combination of surprise and the sharp jab of pain in his wound, Clint fell backward, managing to turn slightly so he didn’t land on his bad side. He also succeeded in hanging on to Mattie, partially cushioning her fall.

  He groaned, but he wasn’t certain if it was from the reawakened ache of his injury or the pleasant distress in his groin. She laid on him a moment as if stunned, and her womanly curves seared every inch of his body.

  Mattie scrambled up, her red face and shocked expression telling him she had no trouble discerning his rigid length through her skirt and undergarments. His gaze dropped to her breasts, which rose and fell rapidly with her breathing. Her nipples were plainly visible against her blouse.

  He’d never wanted a woman as badly as he wanted Mattie St. Clair.

  “You okay, Mr. Beaudry?” Andy asked, his eyes wide.

  Not even close.

  “I think so,” he managed to say.

  Andy helped him up while Mattie stood off to the side, much too engrossed in brushing off her skirt.

  “It looks like Fred got off the hook,” Clint said.

  “He ain’t the only one.” Herman’s knowing eyes and chuckle told Clint the old man knew exactly what had transpired between the two of them.

  Mattie’s blush went all the way down her neck, giving her pale skin a pink glow, and Clint couldn’t help but wonder how much lower it went.

  “C’mon, get another worm on, Ma. Fred’s still down there somewhere.” Thank heavens Andy was unaware of the currents traveling between the adults.

  Grateful for the diversion, Clint found another worm and put it on her hook. This time, Mattie stood ten feet away from Clint. He couldn’t blame her—the attraction was as tangible and electric as a bolt of lightning.

  And equally as devastating.

  An hour later each of them had caught one fish, except for Mattie, who’d brought in two, though none were the escaped Fred. They trudged back to the house, tired but elated to have fresh fish for supper.

  A rabbit hopped across their path and Andy’s eyes lit up. He handed his fish and fishing pole to Clint and took off after the bunny.

  Mattie called after him, “Be careful of the old well.”

  “I will.”

  The three adults kept walking, and a few minutes later Andy rejoined them. Sweat trailed down his face and his hair was plastered to his forehead.

  “He got away,” Andy said, breathing heavily. “Next time I’ll catch him.”

  They arrived back at the house and mounted the steps to the porch.

  “It looks like there might be some fresh blood on your shirt,” Mattie said.

  When Clint tried to twist around to see, pain sliced through him and cold sweat dampened his brow.

  Mattie took his arm and steered him toward a chair. “You sit here on the porch. Herman and Andy, you two clean the fish. I’ll get the pies in the oven, then change that bandage for Mr. Beaudry.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Clint said, barely suppressing the reaction to salute her.

  He lowered himself to the chair and closed his eyes. If he kept reopening his injuries, it would be a long time before he got back on the trail of the killer—his ambusher. But he couldn’t just sit around, either. He had to push himself, see how much he could do. Just as Andy had to push his limits.

  The problem was that Mattie didn’t understand either one of them.

  Mattie washed her hands and gathered her medical supplies. If she hadn’t landed on Clint after the infamous Fred the Second had gotten away, his wound wouldn’t have broken open. Some nurse she was.

  She placed the pies in the oven and headed outside, nervous about seeing Clint shirtless. An almost healthy Clint Beaudry was temptation with a capital T.

  Stepping onto the porch, she spotted him sleeping with his chin resting against his chest. Her heart collided with her throat. How could he look so innocent and vulnerable?

  He had done too much today. She shouldn’t have accepted his help in the orchard, but it was easy to forget he was hurt when he acted as if nothing were wrong. But she should have known; she’d been trained by Kevin to recognize symptoms.

  Guilt warmed her face. She had spared little thought for Kevin while he’d been gone, and after he’d returned, she hadn’t sought him out when she’d gone into town.

  Shamefully, she remembered the kiss she and Clint had shared. Why didn’t Kevin’s kisses make her dizzy with longing?

  Kevin is a good, decent man, who truly cares for me.

  Clint was a drifter who lived on the fringes of civilization. His irreverence and blunt honesty were the characteristics of a man who was accustomed to answering to no one but himself. He took what he wanted, when he wanted it, and damned the consequences.

  Yet she couldn’t deny she was physically drawn to him. If that’s all there was between them, she could resist the fire he ignited in her blood. However, it was the memory of the anguish in Clint’s eyes and voice while he’d been delirious, and his thoughtfulness for her, that drew her so powerfully toward him. Both told her that Clint Beaudry was a man of deep feelings and deeper secrets.

  She sighed, not wanting to wake him, but needing to change his dressings. Leaning over him, she spoke his name quietly. “Clint.”

  He opened his eyes, and after a moment of confusion he smiled self-consciously. “Sorry.”

  “You shouldn’t have done so much today,” she scolded to hide her concern.

  “I won’t get any better lying around.”

  She rolled her eyes. He sounded so typically male. “Thank you for those words of wisdom, Dr. Beaudry.”

  He chuckled, then winced. “Don’t make me laugh. That’s not on the doctor’s list of treatments.”

  “Take off your shirt.”

  “Gladly.”

  The single word slipped across Mattie like velvet over bare skin, making her fingers tremble and her belly tighten with suppresse
d desire.

  She ignored the wicked glint in his eyes as she removed his bandage. Curiosity nibbled at her until she had to ask. “So what’s on this doctor’s list of treatments?”

  Clint arched his brow. “For starters, a gentle hand, which has already been administered.”

  She nearly laughed. “I can change that. What else?”

  He frowned, though his eyes twinkled. “Plenty of bedrest.”

  “Now, that’s a sensible one.”

  “With a woman.”

  Her breath gusted through her lips as her nipples hardened. She put a few more inches between them, but the heat between their bodies still intensified. “Are you always this forward, or do I just bring out the worst in you?”

  He raised his hand to brush her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Hardly the worst, Mattie.”

  His gentle touch brought goose bumps to her arms and her brain lost all track of coherent thought. Oh, Lord, she didn’t need this. Not now.

  Some perverse part of her liked the control she held over him, but another part recognized the control he held over her. If Andy and Herman hadn’t been there…

  She had to resist him if she was to hold on to her fragile pride.

  “Save it for some woman who’s willing,” she managed to say with just the right amount of flippancy.

  He cupped her chin and gave her a devilish wink that turned her knees to mush. “You’re willing, Mattie. You just won’t admit it yet.”

  Damn him! He was right, but thankfully her mind still managed to control her hot and willing nature.

  So far.

  As she applied a clean dressing, her fingers brushed the light smattering of hair across his chest and her thoughts skittered back to the feel of his hard body against her own.

  “I can do this,” she muttered.

  “I sure hope so. Or maybe you haven’t had enough practice yet.”

  And I’ll bet you’re willing to teach me. Mattie shoved the rebellious thought aside. He only meant changing his bandages. Hadn’t he?

  The half-smile on his lips was open to interpretation. Her fingers trembled as she knotted the bandage around his middle. She reached for his shirt and thrust it at him. “Put it on.”

  He made no attempt to take it from her. “What’s wrong? Don’t you trust yourself around me?”

  The gall of the man! “That’s right. I don’t trust myself not to slap that smug look off your face.”

  She tossed his shirt at him and stalked back into the house—but not fast enough to escape the sound of his laughter.

  Chapter 9

  The smell of baking pies and frying fish wafted out onto the porch, making Clint’s mouth water in anticipation. He closed his eyes, imagining Mattie bustling about in the kitchen. The image was a dangerously enticing one. She was like a little whirlwind, full of energy that Clint had hoped to channel in other directions. But the woman was as stubborn as she was seductive.

  Damn.

  The sound of hoofbeats and squeaking leather brought Clint’s eyes open. At the hitching rail, the sheriff dismounted and tossed the reins loosely around the pole.

  Then he climbed the steps to the porch. “Howdy, Beaudry.”

  Clint tensed, wondering if Atwater had any news about the man who’d shot him. “Sheriff. What brings you out here?”

  Atwater sniffed deeply and a wide smile creased his face. “If that ain’t reason enough, then you ain’t human.”

  Clint chuckled and relaxed.

  The sheriff sat down and removed his hat, then mopped his brow with a handkerchief. “You look like you’re healin’ right fine.”

  “Thanks to Mattie.”

  Atwater leaned back and eyed him for a long moment. “You should be ready to move on real soon.”

  The hint was anything but subtle, and though Clint had come to the same conclusion himself, he didn’t like another man telling him what to do. Especially when it came to Mattie. “Is that an order?” he drawled.

  “Nope, just some friendly advice.”

  Any question that the sheriff had come visiting only for Mattie’s cooking was dispelled. He was checking up on Clint, ensuring that he hadn’t taken advantage of Mattie. Clint couldn’t blame the lawman—the idea had certainly crossed his mind more than once. But Mattie St. Clair was a special woman, and he had no intention of using her like he would a saloon gal.

  “I plan on leaving the day after tomorrow,” Clint finally said.

  “Does Mattie know?”

  “No. I’ll tell her this evening.”

  Atwater rocked silently and Clint listened to the muffled creak of the chair, trying not to think about how he was going to break the news to Mattie.

  “It’s for the best, you know,” the sheriff said quietly. “You got too damn much hate and anger inside you. It’s only goin’ to destroy you and hurt everyone around you.”

  Clint couldn’t deny it. “You’d feel the same way if it’d been your wife.”

  “You tell Mattie about her yet?”

  “No.”

  Atwater shrugged. “Might make things easier for her to understand.”

  “My business is my own,” Clint said coldly. He wasn’t about to turn his wife’s death into grist for the gossip mill in Green Valley.

  “Have it your way.”

  “I always do.”

  Mattie appeared in the doorway and smiled. “I thought I heard voices. Hello, Walt. You chose a good night to come calling. Andy, Clint, and Herman helped me pick peaches this morning and we all caught enough fish for supper.”

  “I was just tellin’ Beaudry here how good your cookin’ is, but I was preachin’ to the choir. He already knows, right?” Atwater gazed at Clint.

  “Yep.” Clint forced a smile to ease the sting of his curt tone. “Did you know she makes the best flapjacks in the world, but only on Saturday mornings?”

  “You don’t say.”

  “She says they wouldn’t be as good if we had them every day.”

  “That’s a woman for you. My Sarah was the same way,” Atwater said. “Would only make chicken ’n’ dumplin’s on Sundays.”

  “Who knows how a woman thinks?”

  “Ain’t that the truth.”

  “If you two are finished with your illuminating conversation about women, you can come in and eat,” Mattie flounced back into the house.

  Atwater’s twinkling eyes met Clint’s gaze. “You got any idea what that was all about?”

  “Nope.”

  The two men stared at one another a moment, then chuckled, easing the tension that had sprung up between them. Clint opened the door and allowed the sheriff to enter ahead of him.

  Herman and Andy, already seated at the table, didn’t seem surprised to see the sheriff. Either Mattie had told them of his arrival or they were accustomed to him dropping by now and again.

  “Howdy, Sheriff,” Herman said. “How’s your lumbago doin’?”

  Atwater pressed a hand to his lower back. “Sometimes better’n other times.”

  “You want me to rub some of Ma’s smelly stuff on it again?” Andy asked.

  “Maybe later,” the sheriff said, ruffling the boy’s hair.

  Jealousy caught Clint off guard. It was clear Atwater was a member of Mattie’s extended family. For a moment, he wondered what it would be like if he gave up the hunt and settled here. Could he become part of her family, too? A very close part?

  He shook aside the treasonous thought—he had a job to do and he couldn’t let a raven-haired angel beguile him into forgetting his responsibility.

  Clint and Atwater moved toward the same chair, and when they both tried to sit on it at the same time, Andy laughed.

  “You two playing musical chairs?” the boy asked.

  “Seems that way,” Clint muttered. He motioned for the older man to sit down, then took the chair on the other side of Andy.

  After they said grace, the food was passed around.

  “Anything happen in town lately?” Mattie a
sked.

  “Not much,” the sheriff replied. “Finally caught young Tommy Kidder stealin’ the tailfeathers from Old Lady Shingle’s turkeys. Said he needed ’em to make a pair of wings.”

  Clint smiled, remembering his own days as a lawman and the stunts kids used to pull.

  “And Miss Lathrop is airin’ out the schoolhouse, gettin’ ready to start classes in a couple weeks, soon as the harvest is in.”

  Andy groaned.

  “You should be grateful you have a teacher. My ma taught me to read and write,” Clint said.

  He could recall the many evenings sitting by the table in the light of a single kerosene lamp. His mother, exhausted after caring for six children, would still find time to teach them their letters and numbers.

  “Where was that?” Atwater asked.

  “Down around the Texas panhandle.”

  “How did you end up here?” Mattie asked.

  Clint saw Atwater’s eyes narrow, but Clint wasn’t ready to tell Mattie the truth. He shrugged. “Itchy feet, I guess.”

  Before she could probe further, the sheriff spoke. “You’ll probably be gettin’ some boarders soon,” he said to Mattie. “Folks’ll be lookin’ for a place to hole up over the winter.” He deliberately gazed at Clint. “Or they’ll be headed to warmer weather.”

  Mattie glanced downward, obviously understanding the sheriff’s pointed remark.

  For the remainder of the meal, she was quieter than usual. Herman and Atwater compared their aches and pains, and Andy had to show everyone the scar under his chin he’d earned when he stumbled chasing a fox kit. Then they all laughed about the time the boy had fallen in the creek while trying to “catch” a log.

  Suddenly feeling like an intruder, Clint pushed back his plate. “My side’s getting a little stiff. I think I’ll go take a walk.”

  “Don’t you want some pie?” Mattie asked.

  He forced a smile and patted his belly. “I’m full up right now. I’ll have some later after I make some room.”

  Escaping the odd loneliness that had settled in his chest, he stepped outside. He didn’t belong here any more than a fox belonged with the chickens. He had no right disrupting their peaceful existence with the rage and vengeance that ate away at his insides.