Lady Outlaws

by Lady outlaws (NCP) (lit)

  The muscles of his shoulder blade flexed as he finished shaving. When he bent to wash the soap into the basin of water Sara sighed audibly at the sweet remembrance of their lovemaking. His thick hair dipped over his throat as he dried off the remnants of water with a thin towel. Then he cocked one eye at her again through the mirror and grinned.

  “What are you thinking to make such a noise?” Eyebrows wiggled with childlike mischievousness.

  “I was just thinking that perhaps we should keep the door locked and stay here for the whole day.”

  Dropping the towel he bounded across the floor with bare feet and jumped on the bed, nearly knocking the coffee from her hand. Trousers fitted snugly round his hips; even more snugly since the front had tightened in physical agreement with her suggestion. “You really are far too shy,” he teased, tapping the tip of her nose.

  “And you are far too loathsome to attract my favors.” She examined the cut and considered it a good idea to coat it with some of the antiseptic cream she had in her bag.

  “Do you mean this?” he said, alarmed at the way she studied the wound. “I’ll put the bandage on again.”

  “No,” she said. “I was kidding.”

  “Am I being a goof again?” he grinned.

  “Big time. Now hand me my bag.”

  Romy straightened. “No. I don’t wish to touch it.”

  “Pardon?”

  “No.” Romy sat up, agitated. “I touch you but I shall not touch this bag of ... things I can not understand.”

  “You are a big baby, aren’t you?” she sighed, reaching for the bag herself.

  “I am a big goof,” he said, his chest puffed with pride. “And don’t you forget that.”

  “Unlikely. Now come here.” Sara oozed out a dab of cream and smoothed it over the cut. Despite being a horrid color it was on the mend. She’d take the stitches out later.

  Romy crinkled his nose. “It smells.”

  “So do I,” Sara lamented. Pushing the carpetbag out of sight she turned to Romy. “Sweetheart, could we stay here another night? I’d like to buy some new clothes, have a hot bath and a hot meal. And if you could manage to stay out of trouble,” she said, trailing her finger seductively up his arm, “we could go to bed early and have some fun.”

  “Must I wait till tonight?” Taking the cup from her hand, Romy crawled under the sheet, enveloping her body with his bare flesh. His throat and chin glistened from the fresh shave and the perfumed soap filled Sara’s nostrils. Such persuasiveness could win rewards. But not this morning.

  “You must,” she said firmly, throwing Romy and the sheet off to one side. Dressing quickly, the dirty clothes reminded her how much she wanted new apparel. “I want to go shopping and maybe you had better find Flicker and make amends.”

  Romy blinked a few times. “You deny me my rights?” he asked, seriously.

  “Pardon?” She whirled, giving him an icy glare.

  “You are mine and I want you to come back to bed. Now.”

  “Your rights?”

  “Si. As your husband.”

  “Look Casanova. It may have escaped your attention, but there hasn’t been a ceremony. Nor have I said yes to one.” Finding a ten-dollar bill she placed it on the bureau.

  Romy gasped. “You pay me as though I am a whore?”

  It did look bad now that he had pointed it out. “That’s not for you,” she said. “It’s for the room and the drink. Pay for tonight as well.” She finished squeezing on her boots and headed for the door. “I’m going shopping.”

  The snapshot image of Romy, half naked, sitting up in bed, staring mortified at the money, was with her for some time. What must be going through the poor man’s mind? Thinking he was going to exert his nineteenth century ‘rights’ as a dominant male and there she was, not only shirking him, but throwing money down as well. She chuckled. It would be a good test. She would see how attracted he really was to her uniqueness-and whether or not they were compatible for marriage.

  Marriage. The implication stopped her short. Through the glass window was an assortment of women’s clothing, all of it looking rigid and extremely uncomfortable. Reflected in the window was her own image, dressed in trousers and a shirt and looking drawn and unfamiliar. “I’m stuck here with you,” she said quietly to the reflection. “I may never get home. And my only hope is to be a wife of an outlaw.”

  She could never survive here alone. Her chest constricted with fright. What if she had angered Romy by being sassy? What if he simply rode off and left her in this dry disgusting town? What would she do? How would she cope?

  Sara closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. “Stay calm,” she whispered. “Stay focused. He wouldn’t do such a horrid thing.” And when she opened her eyes the Sara in the mirror was smiling warmly at a Janet who had all but faded from reality.

  A dark figure loomed up in the reflection. The tall man in the long greatcoat. Through the blurred window she saw him leaning against a post on the other side of the street and he was staring right at her. The same man who had fired the shot in the saloon the night before. The same man who distracted a fistfight that could have easily ended in tragedy.

  Thinking perhaps she should say thank you, she turned and bumped right into Romano. He was looking very pleased with himself, thrusting a package into her arms.

  “What’s this?” she asked, delighted he had shown up. All was forgiven.

  “The money. I bought you clothes, men’s clothes.” He leaned into her shoulder. “Also a derringer to keep beside your breast--your woman’s breast.” He winked.

  “The money was meant for the room.” Sara was confused. Had she underestimated how far a dollar would go?

  “Si, I know. I went to pay but the attendant explained that another has paid our bill.”

  “Another? Who? Not Flicker?”

  “No, not Flicker. Flicker is gone. I think it might be some mistake. The man who paid our bill said he did so for Janet Steeves.”

  Sara's stomach rose to fill the spot where her heart had once beaten. She wavered slightly to an onslaught of dizziness, dropping the package.

  “What is it?” Romy had reached over quickly to keep her from falling. “Are you ill?”

  The post across the street was abandoned. Sara scanned the busy streets, but the stranger had vanished like the ghost he had become. Fighting the dizziness, she broke from Romy’s tender hold and zigzagged towards the hotel. Stumbling into the foyer the attendant looked up, alarmed.

  “Ma’am? Something wrong?”

  Clutching the counter Sara rasped. “The man who paid our bill--who was he?”

  “He didn’t leave a name.”

  “Well, weren’t you curious?”

  The attendant seemed confused by the question. He shook his head. “Nope. Learned a long time ago not to ask about what don’t concern me.”

  “Do you at least remember what he looked like?”

  Rubbing his chin he thought aloud. “Very polite fella. Well spoken and had fancy duds. I reckoned he was city folk on account of he didn’t have that wild look. ‘Cept fer that glass eye. That were kind of wild looking.”

  “This isn’t telling me much,” Sara growled, becoming more and more frantic for information. “Did he say why he paid our bill?”

  “Nope.” A newspaper on the counter rustled. Sara was being dismissed.

  “Damn it!” she screamed, her patience finally spent. Brushing the papers to the floor she made certain she had the attendant’s attention. “How did he know my real name was Janet?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” came the answer with strained composure. “If you are Janet Steeves then this is for you.” A brown envelope appeared on the counter.

  Handwritten across the front was her name. It was the name she had left behind. Somehow the stranger knew who she was. And there was only one way he could know....

  Her fingers trembled as she tore open the envelope. The letter was printed. Not typed, but printed. Run off fro
m a computer. Weakening knees caused her to slump on the musty couch in the hotel’s foyer. Romy sat beside her, making no attempt to read the letter.

  ‘I risk much with this letter. know my words Are in your interest as well as Mine. for the sake of the child YOu have jUst conceived, Run. be ever viGilant. hunters are snappinG at your heels. horn will not hesitate to hanG a woman. a saddle waits for mR. vAsquez at the livery. you must flee before suNDown. SoONer if possible. be brave, as history records it such. a trial of fire awaits.’

  A newspaper clipping fell into her lap. Headlines stated: TWO MISSING IN FREAK STORM. The date, August 23, 2005. The day after she and Brandi arrived at Dry Gulch for their weeklong Wild West holiday. Written across the top was: Proof of my authenticity.

  Romy touched her arm; she flinched, almost dropping the paper. “Sara?” His huge eyes were brimming with concern.

  It seemed as though the air had been sucked out of the room. Sara’s ears drummed with the heavy silence. Without answering Romy, she read, slowly taking in every word.

  A sudden and violent storm has damaged to varying degrees approximately ninety percent of the buildings at the Western reality resort of Dry Gulch. Of the one hundred and ninety guests and staff two remain missing: Bonnie Johansson and Janet Steeves. Closed for the remainder of the season, representatives from owner/operators Jones and McLeod state that Frontierland will be rebuilt and ready for tourists next summer. “This was a freak storm,” says Mr. Jones to reporters when asked about the pending suit for wrongful death of Miss Steeves by her fiancé Clyde Burrows. “We cannot be held accountable for an act of God.” The search for the missing women continues.

  “Sara?”

  Romy’s voice was far away. The room swirled. She thrust her forehead to her knees to keep from fainting. Fighting the darkness, her mind made a vague attempt to come to terms with this message. It was like struggling to wake from a bad dream that refused to let go.

  She muttered, hearing her own words trying to clarify the jumble of obscurity. “He’s from my time. No. Later still. The newspaper clipping proves this. He travels freely. He’s found some door. He knows what’s going to happen. Why is he watching me? Why can’t he just talk to me?”

  Sara sat upright. Romy was knelt in front of her. “This letter upsets you,” he said, his brow twisted with anger. “Why?”

  “I can’t explain right now.” Sara’s stomach lifted. “We can’t stay here. We have to leave.”

  “But I thought…”

  “Never mind what I thought. The letter’s a warning. Horn is close by. We’ve got to go.”

  Romano swore in his native language. “I’ll get the horses.” Anger was replaced with urgency.

  “Romy,” she called before he reached the door. “The stranger. He bought you a saddle.”

  His expression asked ‘why?’, but he didn’t linger for an answer. Just as well. Sara wouldn’t have been able to answer anyway.

  Chapter Six

  “Well, well. Johnny Little. Otherwise known as Budd. My friends call me Samson J. Do you want to know what the J stands for?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll tell you anyway. The J is for Judge. I judge whether vermin like you goes to court or goes to a noose. Either way I get paid. But I prefer to see necks stretched. As you can plainly see, my boys are stringing up a necktie special for you as we speak.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “A crown of glory awaits me, you sack of shit. A jewel for every outlaw I rid from the face of the earth. You’re next. Unless, of course, we make a deal.”

  “What sort of deal?”

  “Ah. I thought that might get your attention. I could tell from the picture on this poster that you were a fellow who could be reasonable ... when offered the appropriate proposition. The artist captured the greed in your beady eyes.”

  “What deal?”

  “I want Fault and his greaser sidekick. They have more value than you. And these lovely lady outlaws have sparked my curiosity as well. The boys could have quite a party with them soft bodies. Like to keep my employees satisfied, you know, give them pride in their work.”

  “You want me to tell you where they’re hiding?”

  “There now. You’re not as brainless as you look.”

  “How do I know you won’t hang me anyway?”

  “You don’t. But I reckon it’s a chance you’re gonna take.”

  “Dev’s gone to his sister’s place. Along the San Saba River.”

  “You’ll have to do better than that, I’m afraid. We done been there and wouldn’t you know it, we just missed them. Unfortunately information was less than forthcoming, despite my attempts to explain that justice needed to prevail. So I thought to myself, Judge, I thought, who might have a slippery tongue? And I thought of you, Budd. So either you wag that slippery tongue of yours or I’ll watch it swell as you dance from that tree.”

  “That’s the deal?”

  “I like to keep contracts simple.”

  “Mexico. Just across the Rio from Laredo. Romy has a brother there.”

  “Hear that boys? Singing like a bird. And I figured I lost my talent for persuasion. Should have become a politician, instead of being the hired hand for one. I do like to know a bit about people I plan to visit. Who is this brother of Mr. Vasquez?”

  “Antonio. He runs a ranch.”

  “A ranchero. This means he’s a bandit as well. More jewels for my crown. Might there be a big reception for me when I arrive?”

  “How the hell should I know?”

  “Now, now. That’s no way to talk to an outstanding upholder of the law. That necktie ready, boys?”

  “All right. Yes. It’s a big ranch. He has about fifty or sixty working for him, the last I heard.”

  “This could make the situation a bit more complicated than I first figured. But not to worry. Haven’t lost one yet. I’ll just have to plan real careful like.”

  “I could go with you.”

  “Why, Mr. Little. There seems to be no end to your desire to deny me a good hanging on this beautiful summer day. And I’m beginning to have a whole new respect for the way your mind works. Go on. Convince me.”

  “Dev trusts me.”

  “Really? An ace up your sleeve. How interesting.”

  “I could lure them away.”

  “Indeed. Or you could double cross me. Not what you’re planning is it, Budd?”

  “No, sir. I wouldn’t do that.”

  “But you won’t hesitate to run your friends up the nearest river? You really expect me to believe you?”

  “I don’t want to die.”

  “Now that I can believe. Amazing what a length of rope can do to change a man’s sense of loyalty.”

  “I’ll get them to come with me, back into Texas. Then you do whatever. As long as you don’t hang me with them.”

  “Well, I give you my word and you give me yours. Interesting. But I’m not called Judge for fun. I judge you’re telling me the truth.”

  “I am, yes sir. You can count on me.”

  “Cut the rope down, boys. We got us a new member. Damn it when duty calls. I can’t help but confess I am sorely disappointed there’ll not be a hanging. It’s such a lovely summer day.”

  Part Three

  Chapter One

  Brandi twirled in front of the mirror. Not wanting anything constrictive, as she expected all women’s clothing in the Dry Goods Store to be, she had chosen a wine colored ankle-length dress and it was as comfortable as it was attractive.

  “The color suits you.” Mrs. Farrell and her husband ran the busy store in the center of town and Brandi suspected the poor woman was becoming exasperated at her precision of choice.

  “This one is just right,” Brandi said, throwing another admiring glance in the mirror. “I’ll take it.”

  “Could I interest you in a bustle?” Mrs. Farrell asked.

  “No, the petticoat is fine.” Brandi stuck out her chest. Pin tuck bodice and dropped waist complimen
ted her figure. If she liked it she was certain Devon would.

  It hadn’t taken Devon as long to pick out a new suit. He waited outside, leaning against a post, smoking a cigarillo. As she paid for her outfit she caught a glimpse of him standing there and sighed. Black frock coat, gray trousers, cotton pullover shirt with three pewter buttons at the neck: they both looked every inch the high society couple they now pretended to be.

  Brandi stuffed her old clothes into the new carpetbag, along with the wallet she once carried in an inside pocket. The counterfeit money was readily accepted in every shop they visited. The way they spent, the merchants must have believed them to be wealthy Easterners. She didn’t feel the least bit guilty about the bogus bills. She was having too much fun for that. Devon hadn’t asked her where such a wad of bills had come from. He readily participated in spending the money, saying the new clothes would help portray them as respectable people, not the wanted outlaws on the several posters he had spotted. He even went to a barber and had his stubbly whiskers shaved and his hair slicked back.

  And in public they would refer to each other as Frank and Edna Reilly.

  “What do you think?” she asked, giving him a twirl on the boardwalk.

  Devon straightened and threw the cigarillo into the dusty street. His eyes danced over her, from head to toe and back again. “Why, Mrs. Reilly,” he said. “I believe yer the prettiest girl to grace this state.”

  Pleased with the assessment she crooked her arm to be formally assisted in their stroll. “I thank you, Mr. Reilly,” Brandi said, practicing a southern accent. “Shall we proceed to a restaurant now? All this shopping has left me with a ravenous appetite.”

  He winked. “I fear my appetite is fer finer delights than food.”

  She tutted, playing her new role as a respectable lady, tapping him on the arm that had wound around hers. “I declare,” she teased. “Are all you Texas men so crude? There are times you are too uncultured for me.”