Lady Outlaws

by Lady outlaws (NCP) (lit)

  “Get yer head down,” Devon snarled in her ear, and he folded over her, forcing her to follow the order. The saddle horn dug into her stomach; another shot zipped past them.

  The horse hooves thundered on and on, the grueling pace continuing as they escaped across the prairie. Brandi caught glimpses of Budd riding to the left and Sara to the right, eyes closed, gripping her carpetbag. Romy held her and the reins with one hand while the other still carried his pistol.

  There was no call for its use, however. The five of them were alone in the vast expanse of wilderness that opened up in every direction.

  Finally the horses were allowed to slow to a canter. Even the trotting motion caused Brandi’s now aching legs to scream out for relief. She had never been on a horse before, and as exhilarating as the experience was at the start of their great escape across the plains, she was ready to rest before they started back to town again. The one compensation for the pain was the sheer power of the body that swayed against her back. The hand that held the rein in front of her was tanned, and weather beaten and the fingers were calloused from heavy work. He hadn’t spoken for ages but she felt his breath on her neck and she felt his shoulders flex as he turned occasionally in the saddle. Maybe this excursion wasn’t so bad after all. Brandi was beginning to warm to this Devon, despite the leeringly suggestive comment he had made to her at the saloon.

  “They ain’t following us,” Budd said, breaking the long silence. He had directed his steed closer to Devon; the animals’ rumps bumped together. “How far you wanna go before makin’ camp?”

  “Making camp?” Brandi said, surprised. “You mean we’re not going back this afternoon?”

  The chest behind her expanded to a short puff of laughter. “Not unless you wanna get hung by dusk.”

  “As if,” Brandi protested. “And what would my crime be? Staining costumes with too much paint?”

  Budd and Devon exchanged quizzical glances.

  “Did it escape yer attention that not an hour ago you shot a man?” Devon said.

  “Well, yeah, but…” Brandi’s voice trailed.

  “I don’t know where you two are from,” Devon went on, “but murder in these here parts don’t go overlooked. And you shot William Jackson clean between the eyes.”

  Brandi’s mouth popped open and then snapped shut again. This wasn’t making any sense. Paintballs weren’t fatal regardless where they landed.

  “Good shot, though” Devon said. “And yer friend’s magic act caught the other two off guard. It mighta been a tight squeeze fer us otherwise.”

  “Wait a minute,” Brandi said, turning as far as she could in the saddle. Devon’s palm steadied her shoulder, a warm pool of heat through her clothes. And his blue eyes were so awash with admiration that she forgot what she was going to say.

  “I wasn’t about to leave you behind,” he whispered. One brow lifted and he pinched a half smile. “Not a sassy little thing like you.”

  “Oh?” she exhaled. This was it. Finally, every fantasy, every daydream, every hope of discovering the ultimate untamed Frontier man, was right here. Dashing, brave, handsome, rugged and ... If he hadn’t been holding her she would have slithered to the ground, a quivering mass of nothingness.

  Budd cleared his throat with blatant exaggeration. “How far are we ridin’ tonight, boss?”

  Devon tipped his chin towards the ridge that crossed the horizon in front of them. “I want to be up there by dark, in case the sheriff sends a posse. We’ll see ‘em comin’ from that height.”

  “That’s a good three, four hour ride, Dev,” Romy said. He was squeezing Sara, his whiskered cheek flush against her tussled hair. Her eyes had glazed but she managed to flicker a quick smile to Brandi. “Think the girls are up to it?”

  Devon smirked. “They ain’t got much choice. The law’ll be lookin’ fer them now too. So I reckon us outlaws are gonna have to stick together. Ain’t that right darlin’?” He planted a hard kiss on Brandi’s lips. “And I done decided. You and me are gonna stick together real good.”

  Even for Brandi this was a little too presumptuous. She winced back and gave the bogus fugitive a hard glare. Ready to chastise his aggressive display of affection with another quip she faltered, hypnotized by the blue eyes that bore through her with sultry ruggedness. She wilted.

  No harm done, a voice inside her coaxed. This was, after all, what she had dreamed about. And who knew? Maybe once the week was over she’d get this guy’s real name and number and then the possibilities would be endless.

  “Okay,” she flirted. “I’m all yours.”

  With that a half smile touched his lips. The horse jolted forward.

  “The Lady Outlaws ride again,” Brandi muttered.

  Chapter Three

  Certain emotions were strangers to Devon. Fear had introduced himself the night Trilby and his men burned down the home Devon shared with his younger brother. Then panic stepped forward to help watch as the building crumbled, a mass of heat and smoke, taking a young life that had no chance of escape. The pain of recovery from the burns inflicted by the collapsed beam was nothing compared to the pain of loss, and for three long years Devon had found no relief for that agony. Revenge tasted sweet when he kissed her; the three men who had helped Trilby that night had paid for their crime, but the kiss was a smoldering foreplay and Devon could never find the ultimate relief until Victor Trilby paid. With his life.

  Devon shifted in his saddle. Hatred, it seemed, was the most familiar companion he had.

  And Lady Love? She would do nothing more than ruin a man’s mind, weaken his spirit and Devon refused to acknowledge the existence of any emotion that could blind a man’s soul. He had made a solemn vow to avoid her destructive ways. This had been a relatively easy task since female companionship was a commodity he paid for. Besides, when money for a transaction was involved, comments about his grotesque scars were kept silent. The burns that had disfigured one side of his body had long since given up the physical pain, but it was a continual reminder that he had failed to save his brother’s life, and that pain was a heavy burden to hold.

  Between the deformity and the quest for revenge that had dubbed him an outlaw with a high bounty on his head, no respectable woman would ever look twice at Devon Fault.

  Never in his wildest dreams had he considered meeting a woman who was as fearless and as efficient with a gun as he.

  Devon flexed the arm that rested under the soft curves of her breast. He inhaled deeply the strange, sweet scent that radiated from her short hair. As they rode toward the nearing ridge he continued to wonder how it was she knew his name. Probably one of the numerous wanted posters printed by Trilby’s law-dog friends. Man hunters from all over the state would be looking for him, seeing that the price on his head had reached an all time high. He smiled. Jackson was one of the best. Was.

  Yes, this Brandi, whoever she was, could certainly make an excellent partner. If nothing else she might want to help him in his quest to seek out Trilby. After that, well, the future was a place no one could know or understand.

  His thoughts were interrupted when she suddenly laid her head back into the curve of his shoulder. It was a tight squeeze, the two of them in the one saddle; not that he was going to complain. Devon was enjoying the feel of her body snuggled so close to his. A peculiar sensation of warmth grew inside him. Stealing a quick glance over the white skin of her neck and down the top of her shirt, he imagined their union, an act that must certainly be inevitable, one that had already begun to stir within him.

  He had tasted her lips; there was so much more to explore.

  “This is all really cool,” she said, twisting slightly to look into his face. “But we will have to get back by the end of the week. I hope you’ll give me your number. Or I could give you mine.”

  Devon wasn’t much for small talk, especially nonsense like this. There was such a thing as fearlessness, but asking to be hung was plain stupidity. And what was this about a number? “We ain’t goi
ng back,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean we ain’t going back.”

  Her backbone straightened. Thin brows lifted. “We have to. Otherwise we’ll miss the bus. Besides we only paid for one week and I can’t afford another.”

  “Miss the what?”

  “The bus. You know, bigger than a car, smaller than a boat. The bus.”

  Devon shook his head. He had no idea what she was jabbering on about. “Darlin’, the only thing waitin’ fer you in Dry Gulch is a noose.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I know this is just a side trip, so you can stop the theatrics. And might I add at this point that, regardless of how dramatic you and your sidekicks have been, I don’t put-out on the first date.”

  “I know we’re usin’ the same language, but I’ll be derned if I can figure what the hell yer talkin’ about.”

  “The show,” she said, sounding perturbed. “You are Devon Fault, right?”

  “I am.”

  “And you and these desperadoes were hired to stage a shoot out.” She flashed him a wink. “Excellent acting. You should all be in movies, and I don’t give such compliments lightly.”

  “Damn, girl,” he said with a chuckle. “You say the strangest things.”

  “Be that as it may, but I insist on being taken back to town before the end of the week.”

  Devon pulled the reins. The horse came to an immediate halt, taking the opportunity to nibble the prairie grass. No one was following them anyway. Devon decided to take a few minutes rest. This chatter was beginning to give him a headache.

  “Something wrong?” Romy asked, reaching for his canteen.

  “Yeah, somethin’s wrong,” Devon complained, throwing his leg over to slide off the horse. Brandi grabbed the saddle horn to keep from falling. “We managed to find us a couple of lunatics. All this one wants to do is get herself hung.”

  Budd stretched, standing upright in the stirrups. He leaned on the pummel, crossing his arms. “Another hour and we’ll be at the base of the ridge,” he said casually. “Sooner if we dump them.”

  “Dump us?” Brandi said, offended. “Don’t think so cowboy. You brought us out here so now it’s your responsibility to see we get back safely, or else we’ll complain to appropriate authorities and you’ll never act again.”

  “See?” Devon said to Romy. “Has that one been jabberin’ this foolishness as well?”

  “Nope,” Romy said. “She’s not said a thing since we left town. I’m not trading her neither. I like the quiet type.”

  Maybe it had been a mistake to bring the women, Devon thought. It seemed the right thing to do at the time, and they had made no protests. In fact, before the altercation they had given signals, certain signals men and women shared when they were attracted to each other. His experience with the fairer sex was limited but he could read expressions at least. Still, this one was bordering on being too different. She was definitely trying his limited patience.

  Now what? Here they were, out in the middle of the wilderness, pressing farther every minute. Deciding to give logic one more try he took a deep breath and peered up at Brandi. “Fer the last time,” he growled. “You were the one who shot Jackson clean between the eyes. Murder is a hangin’ offense and if you go back there they’ll lynch you.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Brandi said, her tone as exasperated as Devon’s. She pulled the Colt from her belt and waved it through the air. “It shoots paintballs.” With that she pulled the trigger.

  The horse bolted to the sudden crack. Brandi toppled, somersaulting over the startled animal’s flanks. She hit the ground with a thud.

  Devon swore. The bullet had knocked his hat clean off his head; a hole smoldered through the rim. Instantly he was on his feet, yanking Brandi up by her collar.

  If she hadn’t been a woman he would have smacked her clean in the face with his fist. “What the hell do you think yer doin’?” he bellowed.

  “But that can’t be my gun,” she cried, dropping it to the ground as though the handle was made of fire. “It’s supposed to shoot paint!”

  “Ain’t no such thing as a gun that shoots paint,” he growled, dropping her roughly to the grass. “Lord Almighty,” he muttered retrieving his hat. “You coulda kilt me, again.”

  Budd had his pistol cocked and pointed at Brandi’s shivering form. “Let me do it, boss. Don’t bother me none to shoot a woman.”

  “Put that away,” Devon ordered. “I fer one wanna know what’s goin’ on here.” With one long stride he grabbed the other woman from Romy’s saddle. He threw her to the ground with Brandi. “Convince me why we shouldn’t just leave the pair of you out here fer the buzzards.”

  Two pale and very frightened faces peered up at Devon. It made him feel like a brute but he needed answers. When he first saw them enter the saloon he figured they were bounty hunters by the way they dressed. He had never seen women bounty hunters, but there was a first time for everything. Now that suspicion had surfaced again.

  “Well?” he said. “I’m listenin’.”

  “All we wanted was a holiday,” Sara squeaked before gushing a flood of tears.

  Brandi, however, seemed a little more in control of her thoughts. “But you’re actors, aren’t you?” she said, barely audible.

  “Do I look like some actor?” Devon asked, stretching his arms to show everyday clothing. “Actors wear funny cloaks and tights and repeat poetry while holding a skull in their hand. Is that what I look like?”

  “Not that kind of actor!” Sara proclaimed. “An outlaw actor. That’s what the brochure said.”

  “Er,” Devon growled, his patience spent. He hopped up into his saddle. “Leave ‘em. I had enough.”

  “No,” Romy said, his square jaw set. “We can’t leave them here.”

  Devon was taken aback. He and Romy had ridden together for years, in good times and bad; they always supported each other. It had been Romy who pulled Devon from the consuming flames that fateful night, and it had been Romy who devoted his support in helping to hunt down the culprits who started the fire. Revenge had been the theme of Devon’s quest once his wounds had healed, and Romy had followed, whichever path Devon decided to follow to fulfill that quest. Never once had he questioned an order.

  But never had there been women involved.

  “What do you suggest we do with ‘em, then?” Devon was still annoyed. Not at Romy’s disapproving sneer but the silly talk he had been subjected to.

  “Exactly what you intended when we carried them off, amigo,” Romy said, a slow smile touching his lips. “Make them our ... companions.”

  Budd, who had been listening with his usual lack of emotion, scoffed. “That ain’t fair.”

  “You want her,” Devon said, allowing the annoyance over the predicament to take control, “you take her.”

  “You mean it?” Budd had brightened.

  Devon’s horse pranced sideways, anxious to move. No, he thought, I don’t mean it. But she was scared, crouched on the ground with her teary sidekick, and Devon felt better knowing she was finally frightened into submission. He meant to keep her that way, let her know his superiority. Then she’d know better than to argue or act foolish. Then she’d understand he was the leader of this group.

  Yet, despite his harsh attitude, Devon missed having her in the saddle with him. He rode ahead, unwilling to look back to see her with Budd; just the thought had made him regret his hasty decision. But how would it look if he changed his mind now and demanded she ride with him? Certainly she had talked foolishness. What woman didn’t? So why had he gotten so perturbed?

  Besides, he had kissed her, held her slim waist, smelled her hair. As far as he was concerned these were the markings of ownership. Devon gave himself a shake. What was he thinking? He had never wanted a woman to be with him for more than a few hours. And now he was fighting off jealousy, knowing Budd wouldn’t hesitate to force himself on her once they made camp.

  The vision was
too much. Devon pulled the reins and circled round. “She’ll ride with me now,” he said, avoiding Budd’s questioning look.

  “I thought you…”

  “Then you thought wrong,” Devon interjected.

  “But you said…”

  “Ferget what I said. She’s mine and you ain’t gonna be pawin’ at her.”

  “That ain’t fair,” Budd muttered. His face was set in stone, however. He handed his package over without further complaint.

  “I’m sorry, all right,” Devon whispered in her ear once she was settled against him again. Her eyes were red from crying and her lips pressed together so tightly they were lined blue. “Just I ain’t used to bein’ round women much, especially them that keep pointin’ a pistol at my head.”

  “Sunny disposition like yours, I’m surprised you’re not used to it,” she muttered.

  Devon smothered a smile. Only twice had he tamed a wild filly, riding her to exhaustion and then luxuriating in the thrill of knowing her steady gallop was thanks to his sheer determination. The memory flooded back to him as he gave Brandi a hard squeeze. She’d learn to obey. He’d enjoy the challenge of taming her.

  He’d enjoy winning the challenge even more.

  * * * *

  “Brandi, I’m scared.”

  “Ssh,” Brandi whispered. “So am I, but till we figure out what’s really going on here we should just play along.”

  Stars had begun popping out in the sky before they had been allowed to slip from the saddles. Brandi’s legs ached so badly she could hardly help gather sticks for a fire. Saddles were used as cushions with outstretched bedrolls surrounding what little heat the small fire generated. It was surprising how cold the air was, seeing the afternoon heat was verging on unbearable.