Lady Outlaws

by Lady outlaws (NCP) (lit)

  Brandi’s stomach sunk. “No,” she called out. “We can’t…”

  “Quiet, woman,” Devon snarled. “What did I say ‘bout that mouth of yers? Now close it and hang on.”

  Brandi had flirted with the thin thread of hope that Sara was right, that this was a well-thought-out, elaborate joke and at any minute the charade would be disclosed much to everyone’s amusement. That hope had entirely withered, dried and blown away.

  And as if being transported through time by some freakish lightning storm wasn’t traumatic enough, now they were separated. Brandi had the hideously sinking feeling she would never see her friend again. Worse still was the thought they would never see home again.

  Chapter Five

  Brandi’s legs no longer ached, they burned. Stopping only twice for a chance to stretch and drink from a clear-running stream, she could barely move, and had to be helped up again onto the horse’s rump. There was no reprieve that evening. Devon insisted they carry on and when he did concede to rest, it had begun to rain.

  Supper was nothing more than salted beef and cold coffee. Hungry, sore, exhausted and downhearted, Brandi huddled under the slicker Devon wrapped around her shoulders. She slept for what seemed like only a few minutes, leaning against a tree. Long before morning they were continuing a relentless trail. She doubted that Devon had slept at all, and if he had it was sitting upright, both hands holding a rifle.

  He rarely spoke. Brandi had given up asking him where they were going, not that it mattered if he told her anyway. This world was unfamiliar to her despite the history she had read. It was one thing reading a paragraph in a book, snug in a warm bed, imagining what long past lives must have endured, it was quite another thing to actually be riding through the pages of that book. Talking might have distracted the depression that was beginning to overwhelm her. But Brandi was not riding with this world’s greatest conversationalist. Finally she gave up. It was taking too much energy to lure out the smallest of words.

  A snake-like stream they had been following continued to open across flat banks of mud. Devon directed his horse to walk over the rocks where possible. He twisted to look backward a few times, his brow furrowed with concern. Brandi suspected he wasn’t pleased that they were leaving an obvious trail to follow. They were, after all, being hunted.

  More than once she was certain she had seen a flash of movement behind a rock, on a distant precipice, or farther up the widening river. But each time it turned out to be nothing more than a bird of prey or a deer or her weary eyes playing tricks. It seemed they were the only human occupants in this vast lonely land--more proof this was certainly not the twenty-first century.

  Empty as her stomach was, it flipped. A wave of despair crashed its full weight into her gut. This was not the twenty-first century. Everything and everyone she ever knew or loved was gone. Even Sara, who had been transported to this place with her, was gone. Combined with Devon’s silence it was too much to bear. Brandi threw her leg over the sauntering horse and fell, without grace, to the rocky riverbank.

  “I can’t do this,” she cried. “I can’t. I have to go home. I shouldn’t be here.”

  The horse had taken a few steps before Devon pulled the reins to stop. He slid down and knelt by her side, gingerly picking her up from the pool in the rocks where she had slumped. Tipping her face to meet his, he brushed away hot tears with his thumbs. “Brandi-girl,” he whispered, compassion oozing forth like a gushing stream in the middle of a desert. “I ain’t good with words. You likely seen that by now, but I will tell you this: I’m real glad yer here, with me, and I’m sorry if I don’t show it. You saved my neck back in Dry Gulch. That ain’t somethin’ a man could ferget in a hurry.” He smiled through his eyes. “I’ll do my level best to return the favor, unless you accidentally shoot me in the meanwhile.”

  He had cupped her jaw with a strong tenderness. The force of the hold demanded she listen, find courage, believe and trust what he was saying to be true. Simultaneously, the caressing thumbs communicated a need to touch, be touched, to find passion in an escape of heated embrace. She had been denied conversation for so long. The words he whispered were forcefully delicious and the tone filled with honest emotion. Weakened by his gentle touch she would gladly have made love to him right there and then, for it was this moment she realized how deeply her feelings went for this quietly troubled man.

  Brandi could sense within Devon a silent commitment, a promise that came from the soul, a gift she believed could be an offer of love returned. She accepted, and to prove her sincerity she ran her fingertips over the stubbles of his whiskered chin and leaned up to kiss his lips. He had kissed her twice already, in front of others. How much more tender would his kiss taste now that they were alone?

  “We can’t stay here,” he said. Standing quickly, he lifted her up, ignoring the nearness of the touch. He sounded harsh except the words trembled a little and through that Brandi concluded that Devon was leery about more than being followed. Was he still suspicious of her despite the gentle sympathy? Or had he, too, been touched by emotion and chose to ignore its presence?

  There was no way of knowing. Her kiss rejected, yet she wasn’t about to give up.

  Snuggling close against his back she slipped both arms round his waist as the horse plodded arduously on. His stomach muscles flexed beneath the layers of clothing, and her fingertips more than once brushed against the handles of two pistols.

  “Is that all you’re doing, returning a favor?” she asked, breaking another period of silence between them.

  “Favors are like promises.”

  “Fine. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

  Devon fidgeted in the saddle. His body tensed within her embrace.

  “Well?” She wasn’t about to give up. She couldn’t. Cosmic abnormalities or quantum physics or astrological hiccups or whatever it was that had seen to it she was sharing her life with Devon Fault in the year 1885 was incomprehensible. Loving him she could understand. Loving him had instantly filled the yawning black hole inside her heart that had threatened her very existence, regardless of where or when she was. Loving him had given her purpose in this strange place, a place she had always wanted to see. All she needed was some small reason to believe--the tiniest suggestion, the promise of hope--that he might be harboring similar feelings for her.

  Yet she had to remind herself that this was a nineteenth century man. The therapeutic process of cleansing the spirit through confessing one's deepest thoughts and feelings was something the Western male would certainly never indulge in, and Devon remained closed, as she suspected he might.

  “I done told you I’m appreciative yer with me,” he said, annoyed. “Leave it at that.”

  “I like the way you call me Brandi-girl,” she said with a squeeze. “It makes me feel special. Am I special to you, Devon?”

  “Yer different, I’ll give you that.”

  “You’ll give me that? Well, how romantic.”

  He threw her a scolding look over his left shoulder. “Romantic means soft and I ain’t soft.”

  “Where’d you get an idea like that? Has your heart been broken, Devon Fault?”

  No response. It was difficult to know, when he remained tight lipped, whether Brandi had struck a nerve or not. He seemed determined to keep his feelings closed within the dark box of his soul, and try as she might to fiddle with the key the lid was not going to move. Yet there had been occasional glimpses of the man’s emotions peeking out. He cared for her, she was certain of the fact, but either he didn’t know how to show he cared or he refused to acknowledge such feelings. Brandi couldn’t decide which. Perhaps a little of both.

  Hugging Devon’s stomach they rode in silence. She was growing increasingly sleepy due to the rocking motion, warm sunshine, and the river’s gurgling lullaby, so she rested her cheek against his back and drifted.

  “Soft is good when you’re with someone you care deeply about,” she said after a while. It was as though she was talkin
g to herself. “I’m happy to be here with you, Devon, and I promise I’ll never break your heart.”

  Her short speech came straight from her own heart, and she was surprised at the flow of such honesty. Never had she said such a thing to a man before, yet she was certain of the sincerity. And the verbal proclamation was also a revelation. The storm that threw her into this time was no accident, no freakish anomaly. It was meant to be. For whatever reason, Brandi was meant to ride with Devon Fault, to be his partner, his confidante, his girl, and it was up to her to fill the hole in his chest with her loyalty and love. It would be a project not without its challenges, but Brandi was fueled by purpose. This world had become a little clearer in focus.

  Strong fingers clasped her elbow. No words, merely a gesture, but to Brandi it meant confirmation. He heard, understood and accepted her offer. Fatigue melted away, her stomach stopped grumbling and tired muscles relaxed.

  They made camp that evening beside the river. Brandi tended the fire while Devon skinned a rabbit, one he had cleverly picked off with one shot earlier in the afternoon. Never had Brandi tasted anything so delicious. A quick wash in the river and the meal rejuvenated her energy and the star-filled sky was more beautiful than she had ever seen. Devon was still quiet but he smiled at her more often. Brandi had never felt as alive as she did this night.

  “How much farther do we have to go?” she asked, sitting beside him as he rolled tobacco in a brown paper.

  Devon lit the cigarette before answering, a small puff of smoke masking his face before dissolving. “Tomorrow. My sister and her husband have a place where we can stay fer awhile.”

  At last she was privy to personal information. “Does your sister have a name?”

  “Sadie. You and her’ll get along fine. She won’t stop yapping either.” He spoke without humor, like this was a characteristic expected of the fairer sex.

  “Do you have any brothers?” Brandi asked. “Or is it just you and your sister?”

  Devon’s eyes clouded with what seemed a troubled memory. “Sadie’s all the family I have left.” Turning away he peered up the shadowed riverbank.

  “I’m an only child,” Brandi said, not wanting to evoke unnecessary sorrow. She sensed a sad story behind the remark, one he wasn’t ready to share.

  He nodded. The moment grew awkward.

  “Sara is like a sister to me, though,” Brandi went on. A lump formed in her throat. Sara. She missed her friend and wondered if she was coping well with her new circumstances. “Where has Romy taken her?”

  “Mexico.”

  “Mexico?” Brandi was startled. “Why?”

  “Romy has family there. His brother Antonio runs a cattle ranch just south of the Rio. They’ll be fine.”

  Brandi suppressed a nervous giggle. The thought of Sara riding off to Mexico to stay at a cattle ranch struck her as funny. Poor girl. She was hesitant about this odd choice of holidays to begin with and now she had certainly gotten more than she expected. They both had for that matter. Knowing she’d be safe, however, was a relief.

  “I think Romy likes her,” Brandi said. She watched Devon carefully for a response.

  “Reckon so,” was all he offered. Flicking his butt into the water Devon reached for his rifle. “You best get some sleep,” he said.

  “Not yet.” Brandi reached over to touch his arm. “Let me take the first watch.” She couldn’t imagine there would be another living soul within miles but he was insistent they remain vigilant. “Put your head down,” she said, smoothing out her lap. “You need sleep more than I do.”

  Expecting to have to coax him several times Brandi was pleasantly surprised when he stretched out, using her leg as a cushion. She wiggled, finding a comfortable position, the rifle lying on the earth within reach. It was a constant reminder they needed protection, despite the peace of this gentle place beside the water.

  Brandi brushed her fingertips over his rough cheek. He twisted slightly, nuzzling into the folds of her shirt. Firelight shadowed his tense features, flickering yellow against a face drawn and tired. His eyes remained opened but they were oddly shadowed as well. Behind them a war had been raging. With a feathered touch she ran her fingers through his thick straggled hair, and he sighed. Contentment. She felt it too. For now the war was in remission.

  Slowly his eyes lifted. When she gazed into them she saw a child needing to be assured that the ills of a life of brutality could at long last be kept at bay. Vulnerable but not weak, romantic, not soft. She was deeply touched by the openness of his expression. And a little scared.

  Scared because she suddenly knew how deeply she depended on him. The Bonnie she left behind never needed anyone. But Brandi needed Devon. Yet it was born from loving him. Yes, she thought, smiling down into his fluttering lashes as he drifted to sleep, she had indeed found the Western man who invaded her dreams. As rough and solemn and moody as he had been he was also tender and kind and caring. She’d have to work on drawing it out, but there was potential.

  Devon’s chest rose and fell with rhythmic breath. She folded her hands around his neck, and he turned, snuggling tighter, one arm wrapping round her side.

  A falling star streaked across the inky black sky. But she didn’t need to make a wish. Brandi’s wish was already coming true and he was sleeping in her arms.

  Chapter Six

  “Pa! Strangers comin’!”

  The pint-sized farmer bolted through a well-tended garden towards the yard. He was so scrawny he nearly lost his trousers during the dash and twice had to stop to give them a yank up. The boy’s alarm had met the objective, however. Pa had stopped splitting wood to give the strangers his undivided attention.

  Devon’s horse nickered with excitement as they sauntered past a large corral. Several stunningly graceful horses answered the call and nodded as though the creatures were expressing a greeting. Brandi counted sixteen as they rode closer to the house. Likely raising horses was the family business.

  The house was half the size of the barn and both were built with rough, unpainted wood. Smoke swirled from the chimney at the far end and was drawn to ground level by the heavy heat. The smell was welcoming, though. It hinted good things were being prepared for a hearty meal, a pleasure Brandi had almost forgotten.

  Devon dropped from the saddle, extending his hand to the older man. “This ain’t no stranger, boy,” the man said, accepting the hand offered. “This here’s yer Uncle Dev.”

  “Cal,” Devon said, their hands still clasped. “How y’ been?”

  The pleasantries seemed stiff, a covering for some unspoken mistrust between them. Brandi expected she looked just as confused as the little boy who shyly cowered halfway behind his father’s legs. She guessed he couldn’t be any older than five or six, and with a cautious glance she scrutinized Pa, who she expected was on the downhill slope of his three score and ten. His thinning hair was snow white, matching a neatly clipped beard and moustache. Deep lines around sunken eyes denoted a great deal of time spent outside squinting against the sun. His thin shirt was wet with sweat and it clung to a wiry body that hinted at remnants of sheer brawn. He might be older but he was not to be toyed with. There was no hint of humor or fun etched into any part of his being. Another typical frontiersman, she mused, rugged and rough. She felt that, if nothing else, by staying here they would be well protected, despite the tension between him and Devon.

  Bullet brown eyes drifted to Brandi. He swept a scrutinizing glance over her apparel and then clamped a judgmental glare on her face. It was very unnerving. She shuffled on the spot in embarrassment and self-consciousness.

  “This is Brandi,” Devon said, taking her arm and pulling her closer to their host. “She ... ah ... helped me out of a tight spot.”

  Cal darted another glare at Devon, a brow lifting the shelf of his forehead. “That so?” he said. “Can’t imagine anything tight in a whorehouse.”

  The insult hit Brandi as sharply as a slap across the face. Her ire rose like molten lava and she felt
her cheeks blaze. Devon had failed to give her any indication what sort of man his sister married and if she had been prepared for a nasty disposition she might not have reacted quite so vehemently. As it was she was not about to be insulted by some pompous old geezer, tough guy or not.

  “Why you ignorant bas…” she started, but was cut off by a firm palm being clamped over her mouth. It didn’t stop her from muttering beneath or shaking her fists.

  The boy, whose eyes widened to the size of saucers at witnessing such a performance, stifled a weak laugh. “Go get yer mother,” his Pa said with a scuff behind the ear and the boy immediately dashed off.

  “There’s a room in the barn. It’s dry and clean and I’ll have Sadie get some bed linen.” Cal mopped sweat from his brow and picked up the axe.

  “Obliged,” Devon said placidly. He still cupped Brandi’s mouth although she had reconsidered the need for verbal retaliation. Keeping hasty reactions in check around Devon’s family might be a good idea. She made a note never to speak to the belligerent man ever again.

  Leading the horse across the yard Brandi could feel those beady eyes burrowing into her back. It flamed her sensitivities anew but she took a deep breath and reminded herself this was the shining example of nineteenth century male chauvinism. If a girl wasn’t married by puberty then she was labeled with a sordid reputation.

  “Devon!” The ecstatic screech came from the clothesline where the little boy had pulled on his mother’s skirts and pointed towards the yard. “Is it really you?”

  Devon’s face broke into a wide smile, the first time Brandi had seen him look so overcome with joy. She threw herself into her brother’s arms and he hugged her with an affection that made Brandi envious.

  “Oh, Devon,” she squealed, pulling back, holding his hands. “Let me look at you. How have you been? Can you stay awhile? Oh, please say you can stay. It’s been so long.” She giggled and then threw her arms around him again.

  Brandi stood quietly, holding the horse’s reins, wondering how such a young pretty effervescent woman could ever find anything attractive in that crusty piece of misery that greeted them. Thump went the axe into a piece of wood, splitting it in one go. He turned to see the show of affection between siblings and when he was no longer looking Brandi pulled a face.