With a grimace, she stared at the greasy bacon and beans in the tin plate on her lap. How could the men eat this slop night after night? She didn’t mind sleeping on the hard ground. She could live with the fact that she didn’t have a change of clothes, that she couldn’t brush her teeth or take a bath, that she had to relive herself behind a bush, but she sorely missed the luxury of a decent meal and a good cup of coffee, liberally laced with cream and sugar. She also missed hot running water, she mused. And lipstick, and hand cream. And Reeboks and jeans.
And her parents. And her home. And her pets… With a sniff, she locked those memories in a corner of her mind, knowing if she let herself dwell on all she’d lost, she soon be an emotional wreck.
Later, snug in her blankets, she let herself look over at J.T.. He was sitting with his back against the wheel. She couldn’t see his face in the darkness, but she knew somehow that he wasn’t asleep, that he was watching her, as she was watching him.
Somehow, she thought, somehow she had to find a way to help him escape before it was too late.
* * * * *
One of the wagon horses pulled up lame late the following afternoon. Lockwood turned the prisoners loose to stretch their legs while the driver checked the team. Hawkins and another deputy rode ahead in hopes of finding some fresh meat.
J.T. sat a little apart from the other prisoners, pondering the wisdom of trying to make a break for it. If he could just get his hands on a gun… He glanced at Brandy. If he made a run for it, he’d have to leave her behind. Casually, he looked around. Three of the lawmen were playing blackjack. The driver was examining one of the horses. Lockwood was leering at Brandy.
J.T.’s hands curled into fists as he watched the lawman saunter over to where Brandy was sitting.
“So, you’re a teacher,” Lockwood remarked. “Maybe you could teach me a thing or two.”
“Like manners, perhaps?” Brandy replied scathingly.
“No need to get uppity, girly.” He leered down at her, his hand caressing her arm, his fingertips brushing against her breast. “Maybe we can teach each other.”
“Get your hands off me.”
“Come on, gal, you put out for that thievin’ renegade.”
Brandy stared up at Lockwood, too angry for words.
“Come on,” Lockwood urged. He took Brandy by the arm and pulled her to her feet. “Just give me a few minutes, honey,” he drawled, jerking her up against him.
With a wordless cry, Brandy slapped him across the face.
Lockwood took a step backward, his face dark with rage as he slapped her back.
Muttering an oath, J.T. hurled himself at Lockwood, knocking the deputy off his feet. And then J.T. was on him, his shackled hands reaching for Lockwood’s throat.
Brandy screamed as the two men began to fight, afraid that J.T. might kill Lockwood, and more afraid that Lockwood would kill him.
Her cry drew the other deputies, who quickly ran forward and pulled the two men apart.
“What the hell’s going on?” one of the lawmen asked.
“You blind, Keenan? The man attacked me, that’s what’s going on,” Lockwood replied, rubbing his jaw. He glared at J.T.. “Just hold him right there.”
“Hawkins won’t like it,” Keenan said.
“Tough.” Lockwood smiled as he pulled on a pair of gloves.
“What are you going to do?” Brandy asked, alarmed.
“Keep her out of this,” Lockwood snapped.
“You’d best do as he says, miss,” Keenan warned.
Brandy stared at Keenan in disbelief. ”You don’t mean to just stand there and let him beat one of your prisoners?”
Keenan shrugged as he took hold of Brandy’s arm. “The ’breed asked for it.”
Helpless, she watched as Lockwood began to hit J.T., striking him in the face, the chest, the belly. The sound of Lockwood’s gloved hands striking J.T. made her insides churn.
“Stop it,” she begged, but to no avail. The deputy’s blows landed with the precision of a machine, callously inflicting pain, opening a shallow cut above J.T.’s left eye, and another across his right cheek.
She heard J.T. grunt as Lockwood’s fists continued to pummel his body. “That’s enough!” she cried, unable to bear his pain a moment longer, sickened by the blood dripping from his face.
“She’s right,” Keenan said.
Lockwood nodded. He looked immensely pleased with himself, Brandy thought.
The two deputies holding J.T. released him, and he dropped to his knees, his head hanging, his breathing ragged.
Lockwood grinned at Brandy. “Now, about you and me.”
“Don’t touch her.” J.T. forced the words through clenched teeth.
“Damn,” Lockwood exclaimed, “ain’t you learned your lesson yet?”
J.T. didn’t look up. It hurt to breathe, to think. He could feel his left eye swelling shut. There was blood dripping from his nose; he could taste it in his mouth. “Keep your hands off her.”
“She ain’t nothing but a squaw. Anyway, it ain’t none of your business, what goes on between me and her.”
J.T. spit the blood from his mouth. “She’s a decent woman,” he said, his voice hoarse, “and too good for the likes of you.”
Lockwood flushed. “Why, you dirty sonofa….”
“What’s going on here?”
Brandy glanced over her shoulder to see the wagon driver walking toward them.
Keenan shrugged. “Cutter attacked Lockwood.”
“So Lockwood beat the shit out of him,” added one of the deputies who had held J.T..
“That right, Lockwood?” the driver asked.
“Yeah. You got a problem with that, Quint?”
“Damn right. Go get some wood for a fire. I’ll take care of things here.”
Lockwood scowled at Quint, then stalked off.
“You all right, Cutter?” Quint asked.
“Get the hell away from me.”
“I’ll need to look after those cuts.”
“Go to hell.”
“Excuse me, deputy,” Brandy said quietly, “but maybe he’ll let me look after his injuries.”
“Suit yourself, lady.” Quint handed Brandy a canteen and a strip of cloth. “Be careful. If he tries anything, give a holler.”
“I will.”
The lawmen went back to what they’d been doing, leaving Brandy to look after J.T..
“Why’d you do it?” she asked, kneeling in front of him.
J.T. looked up, his expression hardening when he saw the ugly bruise on Brandy’s cheek. “Why do you think?”
She gazed into his eyes, her heart swelling with tenderness. Like a knight in shining armor, he had come to her rescue.
Throat choked with emotion, she soaked the rag in water and began to clean the blood from his face. He was an outlaw. He was supposed to be a hard man, one who cared for nothing and no one, yet he had come to her defense even when his hands were shackled and he had no way of really protecting her. And what had he gotten for his act of heroism? A terrible beating.
When she’d wiped the blood from J.T.’s face, she rinsed the cloth, then laid it over his left eye in hopes of alleviating the swelling.
“Best use that rag on yourself,” he muttered.
“I’m all right,” Brandy said, lifting a hand to her throbbing cheek. It hurt like blazes, but it was nothing compared to the nasty cut over J.T.’s eye.
J.T. watched Brandy’s face as she cared for his injuries, touched by her concern. She had winced each time he did, making his pain hers. And he loved her for it. He loved her. The thought hit him harder than Lockwood’s fists.
Brandy sat back, her head cocked to one side. He was going to have a heck of a shiner. “Do you think anything’s broken?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry, J.T..”
“It’s not your fault.” He glanced around the camp, then took one of Brandy’s hands in his. “I’ve got to get away from here,” he said
urgently.
“I know. I’ve tried and tried to think of a way, but it seems impossible. Even if I could get hold of a gun, we’d still be outnumbered seven to two.” She shook her head. “The odds are too long, J.T..”
“I’m willing to take that chance,” he said, then frowned. “What do you mean, we?”
“You don’t expect me to stay here, do you?”
“Damn right. The driver keeps an extra pistol under the seat of the wagon. See if you can get hold of it tonight, then slip it to me tomorrow when they pull up for dinner. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“It’s too dangerous…”
“Dammit, Brandy, I’m not going back to Cedar Ridge. Now, are you gonna help me or not?”
“All right, J.T..”
She was offering J.T. a drink from the canteen when Martin Hawkins rode up, a deer slung over his horse’s withers.
“What the hell happened here?” Hawkins demanded.
J.T. sat back, his expression impassive, as Brandy related what had taken place.
“It won’t happen again,” Hawkins said tersely. “Quint, how’s that horse?”
“She picked up a stone. Should be fine by tomorrow.”
Hawkins nodded. “All right, we’ll rest here for tonight.”
J.T. remained awake long after everyone else had gone to bed. His face hurt, his ribs ached. He swore under his breath as he glared at the chain that bound his right arm to the wagon wheel. Wild animals had been known to chew off a foot in order to escape a trap. He knew just how they felt and thought he might willingly sacrifice a hand to obtain his freedom.
Heaving a sigh, he gazed up at the night sky. “A year, Gideon.” Closing his eyes, J.T. rested his head against the wagon wheel. “You promised me a year,” he muttered. “Hell of a thing, when even angels can’t be trusted.”
Don’t lose faith in me yet, J.T. Cutter.
J.T. opened his eyes and glanced over his shoulder, fully expecting to see Gideon standing behind him. But there was no one there, only a dust devil stirred by the wind.
Muttering an oath, J.T. closed his eyes again. Faith, he thought ruefully. He’d never had faith in anyone but himself.
And look where that got you.
J.T. snorted softly. Just what he needed, a guardian angel with a wry sense of humor.
Have faith…
The voice again, louder this time. The wind stirred. A moonbeam moved over J.T. and settled on his right arm. He stared at the light, swore under his breath as the handcuff on his right wrist opened with a quiet click.
“What the….”
Faith, J.T..
J.T.’s gaze moved over the camp. The lawmen were all asleep; he could hear their snores. Even the night guard was sleeping soundly.
His gaze lingered on Brandy. He’d been a fool to suggest she help him escape. And he was a fool to stand there wishing he could take her with him.
Moving quietly, he stood up and crossed the camp toward the horses. Moments later, he had the bay saddled and ready to go. Tiptoeing toward the nearest deputy, he took the lawman’s rifle, then helped himself to a couple of canteens and a sack of provisions.
“I know, I know,” he murmured as he slid the rifle into the saddle scabbard and hung the canteens over the horn, “thou shalt not steal.”
He had just buckled on the gunbelt when he realized he wasn’t alone. Gun in hand, J.T. whirled around. And came face to face with Brandy.
“J.T.!” she exclaimed. “How’d you get loose?”
“There’s no time to talk about that now,” he whispered, knowing she’d never believe him if he told her. He glanced over his shoulder. “And keep your voice down.”
“I’m going with you.”
He squashed the quick surge of joy he felt at her words. “No, Brandy. It’s too dangerous now.”
“I said I’m going with you.”
“Yeah? Sure you don’t want to stay here and help Hawkins settle the West?”
“What?”
“You heard me!” J.T. whispered furiously. “He’s been hanging on you like a wet blanket.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“It’s true, and you know it.”
“We really don’t have time to stand here and argue about this,” Brandy remarked.
“No, we don’t. I’m leaving.”
“You might need this.”
Her voice stopped him in mid-stride. Turning, he stared at her outstretched hand. Moonlight glinted off the barrel of a Colt revolver.
Without a word, he saddled the pinto and tossed her the reins. He didn’t help her mount, didn’t look back to see if she followed him. He just gathered up the lead ropes of the deputies’ horses and rode into the darkness.
He knew, without looking back, that she followed him.
They rode until dawn, then took shelter in a small cave cut into the side of a rock-strewn hill. J.T. had turned the other horses loose long since. Now, he tethered the pinto and the bay out of sight, then went back and brushed out their prints as best he could. A good tracker would have been able to pick up their trail without much trouble, but Hawkins didn’t have a good tracker with him.
Brandy had a small fire going when he returned to the cave. She turned at his approach, her black hair swirling around her shoulders like a fall of ebony silk. She looked like a creature of the forest dressed in doeskin and firelight. J.T. stared at her, his throat tight, his hands clenched at his sides. Right or wrong, for an hour or a lifetime, he wanted her, ached for her. Yearned for her, as he had yearned for nothing else in his life.
“Brandy…”
She took a step toward him, hesitated a moment, and then held out her arms. And he went to her. Willingly. Eagerly.
She gazed up at him. “Does it hurt very much?”
He stared at her blankly. “What?”
“Your face? Does it hurt?”
“A little.”
She started to back away, but he pulled her into his arms, the pain caused by Lockwood swallowed up by his need for Brandy.
He murmured her name as he caressed her cheek, and then he bent his head and claimed her lips with his.
Her arms slipped around his neck to draw him closer, and he felt the softness of her body press against the hardness of his.
“I think I love you,” J.T. murmured.
“Do you?” She looked up at him, her pleasure at his words evident in her smile.
“I tried not to,” J.T. confessed. He drew her closer, basking in her warmth. “There’s no future for us. You know that, don’t you?”
Brandy nodded, mesmerized by the desire she read in his eyes. She could feel his body pressed to hers, hard and muscular.
“It doesn’t matter.” Nothing mattered but now, she thought, this moment, this man.
Rising on tiptoe, she invited his kiss, reveling in the heat of his mouth on hers, the velvet touch of his tongue as it slid over her lower lip. His hands cupped her buttocks, drawing her closer, leaving no doubt in her mind that he wanted her. And she wanted him.
His hands moved over her, gently possessive, as his kiss deepened. Her eyelids fluttered down and she leaned into him, wanting to be closer, closer. His tongue was like fire, searing, shattering, until she trembled in his arms, mindless, breathless.
He whispered her name over and over again as he drew her down on the bedroll spread beside the fire. He peeled off her moccasins, his hands sliding sinuously along her calves, massaging her instep. His tongue laved her neck, the sensitive skin behind her ear as he unfastened her tunic and slid it over her shoulders, revealing the scrap of black lace that had so often played havoc with his thoughts. Slowly, wanting to savor the moment, he slid the soft doeskin over her hips and down her legs, disclosing the other half of her outlandish undergarments.
His gaze moved over her honey-hued flesh, lingering on her lace-covered breasts. “Beautiful,” he murmured, “so beautiful.”
Murmuring her name, he drew her into his arms, his hands skimming lightly o
ver her back, marveling at the softness of her skin, the way she melted against him. Every whisper, every move, encouraging him as he tucked her beneath him.
Thou shalt not!
Gideon’s voice, as loud as thunder, rumbled in J.T.’s mind.
J.T. groaned. “Not now, Gideon.”
“Gideon again!” Brandy exclaimed, and putting her hands on J.T.’s chest, she pushed him away. “Who is Gideon?”
J.T. blinked at her. “What?”
“You heard me. Who is Gideon?”
“Later, Brandy.”
“No, now. You’ve mentioned him before, and I want to know who he is.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
J.T. let out a deep breath, and then, knowing the mood was broken, at least for the moment, he eased away from Brandy. “He’s an angel. My guardian angel.”
“Angel!” Brandy rolled onto her side, drawing one of the blankets over her nakedness as she glanced around the cave. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I wish I was.”
She started to say it was impossible, but the words died unspoken in her throat. She had always thought time travel was impossible, too. Until now. “What does he look like? Does he have wings?”
“No wings,” J.T. said. “He was tall. Dressed all in white. He was…” J.T. shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know, it’s hard to describe. He kinda glowed, if you know what I mean.”
Brandy nodded. “Where did you see him?”
“I don’t know where I was. Heaven, maybe, though it seems unlikely. I saw this white light, and then I heard his voice. It was spooky as hell.”
The Angel and the Outlaw Page 13
