Lady Outlaws

by Lady outlaws (NCP) (lit)

  “You are a feast,” he whispered, his eyes half open as though surrendering to fatigue. “And I am ravished with hunger.”

  If she had heard such a comment in a movie or read such a quote from a book, she’d most likely roll her eyes in disgust. Being the object of the intense desire, however, changed her opinion on otherwise terribly tasteless comments.

  “You don’t ever quit, do you?”

  He scrutinized her a moment. “No. I never shall. But I see you are tired so I will have to be satisfied with this mere nibble.” He stretched on the bedroll, holding her close to his chest, wrapped snugly in a blanket. “Soon,” he whispered to her as she drifted, the night sounds floating far away. “Soon your ghosts will leave your head and then I shall enter your heart.”

  Chapter Two

  “There. Do you see it?” Romano pointed to a thin line of smoke rising from a shadow folded into the side of a sloping hill.

  Sara squinted. “I see something. Is that your friend’s house?”

  “Si. He grew tired of the nomadic life, claimed a wife and built a house. I teased him then, but now I understand.” Romy twisted in the saddle and winked, a simple gesture that swelled Sara’s chest with a warm bubbling spring.

  “Nomadic life?”

  “Si, you know traveling from place to place, never staying long in one or the other.” He flipped his hands as he spoke, as though the motion helped illustrate the English he thought out so carefully.

  Sara sighed. “I know what nomadic means, you big goof. Was he an outlaw, too?”

  “He was,” Romy confirmed. “I expect he still could be if given the opportunity. But he denies himself temptation by living out here.”

  “Must be lonely for his wife,” Sara said, deciding she could never sacrifice at least an occasional social gathering for total isolation.

  “Oh, no. His wife is Apache.”

  This was meant to be sufficient explanation as to why a wife wouldn’t be struck with loneliness by living in the middle of nowhere. Sara didn’t know much about the native peoples that had once roamed this huge state and she wasn’t eager to ask too many questions in case Romy thought her incredibly uneducated, so she nodded, feigning total understanding of his comment.

  He glanced at her over his shoulder, his dark brow crinkled. “What is a ‘goof’?” he asked innocently. “This you called me and I don’t know what it means.”

  “Oh, ah. It’s a term of endearment, actually. All started with a famous man called Goofy ... Von Magicland. Have you not heard of him?” she asked, barely able to keep a straight face.

  “Magicland? That is a very strange name. I have never heard of such a name before.”

  “Goofy was very popular,” Sara continued. “Especially amongst children. Children loved him because he was so funny. He said and did things to make them laugh. So, you see, to be called a goof is a good thing.”

  Romy considered this a few moments. “I make my brother’s children laugh. And you, little rabbit, smile more and more.” His chest puffed with pride. “I am proud to be this goof.”

  “As you should be,” Sara said, despite feeling slightly guilty for the joke. “But let’s keep this between you and me, okay? Our own secret.”

  “I understand.” His black eyes narrowed suggestively. “When I make you smile that certain way with my passion then you shall call me this name.”

  Sara hugged his middle. “I highly doubt it,” she sighed. She had the distinctive impression she’d be calling him anything but.

  “My friend is called Bear.”

  “Why’s he called Bear?”

  “Two reasons. He is very big and fierce and he often growls like one.”

  “Sounds charming,” Sara laughed. She wasn’t worried. Not if she was with Romano. “What’s his real name?”

  Romy shrugged. “Just Bear. Don’t be afraid,” he added. “I think he is a big goof, too.”

  The shadow from the distance grew larger as the horse sauntered closer. It was a small structure, built partly into the hill. There was one door at the front, the entrance shaded with branches crudely constructed for shade. One broken chair sat sentinel. Other than several chickens picking around the yard, the hovel looked completely abandoned.

  “Maybe he’s not home,” Sara ventured, half hoping that any human who could call such a place home would not materialize. But no sooner had the words left her lips than a monster appeared in the doorway, blocking it completely. And just as Romy had warned, it growled, sounding every inch an irritated grizzly.

  Aptly named, he was not only an enormous man, but he wore a buffalo hide for a coat, giving him the shaggy appearance of an animal and adding to his already menacing bulk. She surmised he was well over six feet, and his clenched fists were the size of ham hocks. Glaring directly at Romano he growled again, thick lips curling over a set of gleaming teeth, the sun shining off a perfectly bald head.

  Sara clutched at Romano. She was scared and no bloody wonder! This ferocious creature was striding full tilt towards them through scattering chickens. He shrugged off the coat revealing a bare chest that bulged with muscle.

  As Romy dropped from the saddle, the horse sidestepped. By the time the horse stopped dancing, the two men were locked in battle. Bear had the advantage of size but Romy was quicker on his feet, agility his ally. Somehow he managed to twirl around and kick the monster’s legs off balance. They both fell into the dust and rolled. On the ground, however, Romy was losing the struggle. Pinned on the earth by a mountain of sheer brute he tried, in vain, to recover the upper hand. Sara had never used a rifle before but she was seriously considering trying now.

  Bear straddled his victim, growled a triumphant howl and lifted his massive arms in victory. When he did, Romy lunged, knocking his attacker over with a quick jab to the throat. It was a blur of confusion, dust and hideous sounding grunts and when the dust cleared she was relieved to see that Romy had not only managed to get Bear on his back, but was pressing the tip of an evil looking knife under the leathery brown chin.

  The sneer turned to a wide grin. “You greasers always were good with a blade,” Bear purred, a voice that rumbled, graveled thunder from deep within the earth. He was none the worse for wear for the fight or the jab to the throat; he barely panted.

  “And you half breeds still don’t know how to wrestle.”

  Romy got up and sheathed the knife. As soon as Bear was vertical the men were clasped in a good-natured hug.

  “Good to see you, my old friend,” Bear said.

  Sara, stunned by such an unusual greeting, and grateful the violence wasn’t meant in earnest, had begun to collect her shattered nerves. She slipped from the horse, still peering at this Bear, mesmerized by the brawn that met her gaze. He had muscle on top of muscle and the half-naked mass was a pleasant shock, especially now that she knew he meant no harm. Born a century earlier, he would have made a perfect pirate; born a century later he’d be a millionaire wrestling champion. Either way her mouth had popped open and stayed open.

  When Bear turned his attention to her she, instinctively took a step backwards.

  “Umm,” he purred, “I see you traded in your partner for one far more delectable.”

  Sara threw nervous glances to the two men, with the distinct feeling she was being sized up for dinner.

  “This is Sara,” Romy said, brushing dust from his clothes. “Be nice or I will draw my blade again without manners.”

  “I have little doubt you would,” Bear smiled. He extended his arms in good humor. “But as everyone knows, I am gentle as a kitten.”

  A sabertooth on steroids, more like, Sara mused quietly. She allowed herself to be hugged and was squashed into a chest made of rock, overwhelmed by the pungent odor of something that had died and layers of sweat.

  “What brings you here to this barren section of my earth?” Bear said, directing his attention back to Romy. “Don’t tell me your companero has been hung.”

  “Not yet. We’re on our way t
o see Antonio.”

  “Then you have much to tell me. Come! We shall have a drink to celebrate blood that still runs hot!”

  Romy carried the saddle to the step, letting his horse drift off to find grass beyond the yard. It was here he sat, catching breath from the tussle. He was more winded than his pride wanted to show. Bear, however, wasn’t the least bit disturbed; he picked up the sleeveless shaggy coat and despite the heat, put it back on.

  “April,” Bear called to the black hole that served as a door. “Bring me the jug of whiskey. June, bring another chair.” The boards beneath him shook as he thumped to the crippled chair where he sat with due care. It protested his weight with a squeak, but held.

  Two shy women appeared from the darkness within, each carrying what Bear had asked for. Inky straight hair hung down their backs, their short skirts made of deerskin and their moccasins went to their knees. As far as Sara could tell they could be sisters, although her impression could be wrong.

  Romy grinned and shook his head. “One wife not enough for you, amigo?” he queried.

  Bear rubbed his square jaw and rumbled a sigh. “I’m burdened with the yoke of fame. The decision for another wife was made for me. One in April, the other in June.” The cork from the jug softly popped. He took a long swig and passed it to Romy. “I can’t complain. When I hibernate they keep me warm many different ways.” The intonation was one only men could share.

  Without meaning, to Sara tutted disapproval. The man was disgusting, regardless of the hospitality. Not only was he overbearing and redolent, he was a pervert. Still, it wasn’t her place to say anything.

  “I see your lady does not agree with my marital arrangement,” he said. “I also see by her white skin and neatly cut hair that she doesn’t know the meaning of hardship.” His black eyes narrowed as he leaned towards Sara. “Their families were slaughtered like the buffalo by men you share kinship with, my dear. If not for me they would both be dead. As for my sleeping arrangement, they are grateful to accommodate me, as I am grateful to accept their thanks.”

  Sara lowered her eyes feeling shame for her quick judgment. “I’m sorry,” she said, not wishing to stir the man’s ire. “I mean no disrespect.”

  “Umm,” came another deep-throated growl. “You think I am a freak, and you are correct. I am. The roots of my heritage wind in many different directions. I am a product of white abuse, black slaves. Both Apache and Mexican blood runs through my veins. All of which I have no control over. Here and now I can control.” He leaned back again in the wobbly chair. “And I can kill man or beast without aid of a weapon to secure such control.”

  An awkward moment followed. Sara had been soundly put in her place and she felt very small and very insignificant as a result. She wanted to leave. Sleeping with a pack of wolves was preferable to staying here.

  A hard stare from one of Bear’s wives wasn’t helping Sara’s feelings of anxiety. It could be a look she saved for any stranger that wandered in, but Sara sensed there was more, as though the woman could see beyond flesh and bone. Whatever she saw frightened her for she muttered nervously to Bear in a strange language before disappearing again inside the shack.

  A smile touched the huge man’s lips. “I am told to give respect,” he said in another graveled purr. “That your spirit has great magic and commands time. What does she mean by that, I wonder?”

  Sara snatched the jug from Romy and guzzled several long gulps, the burning liquid stinging her throat and nose. She winced and wiped her mouth. “I’m sure I don’t know,” she answered softly.

  “Umm, I’m sure you don’t. Good thing I am an intuitive man and not a superstitious one.” He turned to Romy. “Now, my old friend, tell me of your travels.”

  Romy talked about his ride with Devon, their attempts to find Victor Trilby, an association with a young gambler named Budd who teamed up with them. With great care he detailed arriving at Dry Gulch on a hunch Trilby was there and finding bounty hunters instead. Then he praised the bravery of the two girls dressed like boys who saved them from capture and the hangman’s noose.

  Bear hung on every word; he didn’t even blink so intense was his concentration. When Romy finished his story the huge man growled a low purr. “Five fingers, all independent of each other yet working for the same goal. Beware of the smallest.”

  Before he could be asked to explain what he meant, dinner was served. Bear’s two wives darted out with plates of steaming white meat, which Sara guessed was chicken. The other heaps of mush she couldn’t guess, but so wide was her hunger she didn’t care. The chefs disappeared inside again. Without utensils, Sara joined the men by eating with her fingers.

  “What are you saying, Bear? Do you know of this Budd?” Romy asked with concern.

  “The question is, do you know of him? Has he earned your title as friend?”

  “That was Dev’s decision, to bring him along. I don’t argue about his decisions.”

  “You argued about the women,” Bear said, his brow lifting the vast plain of his forehead. “He wanted to leave them cowering in the grass and you refused to obey.”

  Sara nearly choked on the meat she was trying to swallow. How could he know that? She checked out Romano’s reaction to the comment. He hadn’t even flinched. It must have been a lucky guess. Still, she felt her flesh crawl.

  The chair screamed protest as Bear leaned forward, extending his cigar shaped fingers. “Are you blind, Romano Vasquez?”

  “No.”

  “Then why can you not see? Devon Fault is consumed with rage. It blinds him mightily, and this is why he needs you to be ever vigilant. The thumb needs the forefinger in order to pinch and pinch hard. The women will balance your passions and fears, as they should, but this little finger is gangrenous. It should be severed. And I see it in your eyes you agree.”

  Romano’s chest expanded to a heavy sigh. “You’re right, amigo. I have my suspicions, but Budd proved reliable enough.”

  “So what of Dry Gulch? If not for your women’s magic this Judas would have won?”

  Sara thought back. She and Brandi saw the three ride into town, and Budd had not gone into the saloon with the others. He went down the street. Shortly after returning to the saloon, the bounty hunters appeared. A quick glance to Romano told her he was thinking the same thing.

  “Perhaps,” Romy said, shrugging. “Or it could be a …” He searched for the right word. “A co-in-cidence.”

  “Umm,” Bear purred, unconvinced. His black eyes shifted to Sara. “Wisdom is more powerful a tool than this woman’s magic.”

  “I’m a witch now am I?” Sara said, huddling halfway behind Romano. Bear had made reference to magic too often. He was testing her, egging her on.

  Another smile touched Bear’s full lips. “No more than any other woman, I suppose. But you frighten my wives and I am perplexed as to why. They don’t frighten easily.”

  “I’m not the one who sees what has already happened,” Sara said in her defense.

  “No. Your gift is the future.” He glanced knowingly to Romano. “You choose well. Keep her close to your chest.”

  Romy put his arm around Sara. “I plan to,” he said warmly.

  Their small talk crept into the evening hours and Sara, satisfied with a full stomach and a bit too much whiskey, fought fatigue until she could struggle no more. She stretched out on the bedroll placed on the board veranda and lulled by the deep voices of the two men began to drift off.

  The last part of their conversation pleased her the most.

  “You discovered a mine of gold, old friend,” Bear said, barely a whisper. “I hope you have staked your claim before others try. And I assure you they will.”

  “I’d kill anyone who tried with my hands,” Romy answered.

  They chuckled while Sara covered the grin that had washed up from her heart.

  Chapter Three

  “She’s yours if you can tame her.”

  The dirty beige mustang stood in the tall grass watching Bear
as though she knew she was being talked about. She took a few steps this way, then the other, her head close to the ground.

  “It seems orphans are attracted to me,” Bear went on. “Like my wives she has no tribe and is lonely. Unlike my wives, I cannot get close to her. Perhaps you will have more luck.”

  “The animal probably has a more discerning nose,” Sara muttered to herself. Yet she was painfully aware of her own growing need for a bath. Travel and heat and unsuitable sleeping conditions were taking its toll.

  “She’s very frightened,” Romano said, studying the wild animal’s movements. “She’s alone and vulnerable. And she wants a companion.”

  “Don’t we all,” Bear said, shifting a quick smirk to Sara.

  Romano had started walking towards the horse, so silently it was as though he were gliding just above the earth. Never once did he take his eye from her, and the mustang, in return, was licking and chewing, even though she had bowed to eat nothing since Bear first pointed her out. Romy stopped, speaking to her just above a whisper. Sara couldn’t hear what he was saying but the intonation suggested a litany of questions. After each the mustang answered, either flicking her ears, snorting into the earth, or blinking.

  “Ah,” Bear sighed, thoroughly pleased with what he was witnessing. “She is talking to Romano. More importantly he can hear what she says. She will be content. Once he touches her she will gladly give her obedience.” Bear glanced sideways again to Sara. “But you already understand such language, don’t you my dear? Have you honored him with your obedience?”

  Sara grit her teeth behind a tight smile. None of your business, she wanted to scream. Instead she whispered, “Some things are meant to be kept personal.”

  Bear chuckled. “Nothing in nature is personal. If only all mankind was wise enough to listen.”