Outlaw's Bride

by Lori Copeland

  He shook his head.

  “It’s back behind the rise, southeast of the church.”

  “Why do you wear that hat? That’s a man’s hat.”

  Ragan touched the brim of her high-crowned felt hat. “Because the sun’s hot, and I like it.”

  “Women should wear bonnets. Little frilly things with ribbons and bows.”

  “You might not have an opinion on much, but you sure have a preconceived notion about women.”

  He grinned. “Women. Not females who chop wood and wear men’s hats.”

  As they approached a simple wood-framed house, a young girl ran out to meet them. Racing down the lane, her long blond hair flew out behind her, a flashing smile lighting her face.

  Ragan caught her sister, laughing. “Hello, Jo!”

  Jo hugged Ragan’s neck, holding on tightly. “I’ve been watching for you.” Her eyes traveled to Johnny, her smile wavering.

  “Jo, this is Mr. McAllister.”

  Jo nodded solemnly. “The bank robber. I saw him at the town meeting yesterday.”

  “Jo!” Ragan reprimanded softly. She’d spoken the truth, but…

  The girl graciously extended her hand. “Good evening, Mr. McAllister. My name is Jo—short for Josephina. I hate Josephina, so please call me Jo.” She paused, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “What’s your given name?”

  “John.”

  She cocked her head. “John or Johnny?”

  Ragan was surprised to see a smile soften the corners of his mouth. “I answer to either one.”

  “I will call you Johnny.”

  Jo was young and sometimes talked too much. Ragan said, “Run along, and tell Papa I’m bringing mashed potatoes.”

  “He’ll be dee-lighted.” Giving Johnny a smile, she skipped off, calling ahead, “Papa, Ragan’s here, and she’s bringing mashed potatoes!”

  “I could have yelled to him myself.”

  They climbed the back steps and Ragan walked into the kitchen. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath. “Mmm—cinnamon cookies.”

  A dark-haired girl stepped away from the stove, grinning. “I knew you’d appreciate them. Where have you been? I was beginning to worry about you.” Her eyes shifted to the stranger.

  “Holly, this is John McAllister. Mr. McAllister, my sister, Holly.”

  “Nice to finally meet you, Mr. McAllister.”

  Setting the beans on the table, Johnny nodded. “Holly.” He shook the hand she extended to him.

  Holly turned back to the stove. “I thought you and the judge might be working late on the book.”

  Ragan bit into a warm cookie and offered the plate to Johnny. He shook his head.

  “No, but we finished chapter seven this morning.”

  “Seven? You’re coming right along.”

  “I’m sorry I worried you. We were delayed a few minutes.”

  “We heard the shooting.”

  Ragan nodded. “Another gang rode through.”

  “Well, the shootist will be here any day now. I talked with Minnie at the mercantile this morning. She said Everett sent the wire, and Mr. Mercer has already replied. Perhaps his presence can keep the gangs away.”

  “With the Lord’s mercy, we’ll pray that it’s so. It can’t be soon enough. I thought you’d be with Tom this evening.” Ragan lifted the basket to the cabinet.

  “No, Tom’s putting up hay. I don’t expect to see him all week.”

  Ragan gave her sister a quick hug. “How’s Papa tonight?”

  Holly sobered, shaking her head. “He’s been very quiet all day.”

  Ragan stepped to the parlor door and peeked in. A thin, stooped

  man sat in a rocking chair before an open window. Although the growing dusk was warm, a heavy blanket rested around his shoulders. Nine-year-old Rebecca read from the Twenty-first Psalm. She looked up, smiling when she saw the visitors.

  “Hi, Becca.”

  “Hi, Ragan.”

  Closing the door, Ragan said quietly, “I’ll ask Marta to stop by tomorrow.”

  Sighing, Holly stepped to the stove and removed another batch of cookies from the oven. “Wish the town could afford a real doctor.”

  “Marta’s as smart as any doctor…you know that.” She turned toward Johnny to explain. “She’s an old Cherokee woman who’s nursed the whole town at one time or another.”

  Holly frowned. “Is there enough money—?”

  “Marta will settle for canned goods. We can spare a few jars of peaches, can’t we?” Ragan handed a cookie to Johnny before biting into another one. What man didn’t like hot cookies? Unless he was being obstinate.

  “We can, if necessary,” Holly murmured.

  Johnny handed the cookie back to Ragan. “If you’re through with me, Miss Ramsey, I’ll be going.”

  Becca burst through the kitchen doorway, almost bowling Johnny over. “Papa refuses to eat. He says he isn’t the least bit hungry. He wants me to keep reading to him.” She took a moment to catch her breath. “Oh, hello. You must be Mr. McAllister.”

  Johnny nodded.

  “I’m Becca. It’s very nice to meet you.”

  Ragan reached in the cabinet and took out a plate. “I’ll see if I can tempt Papa with my mashed potatoes.”

  “May I walk Mr. McAllister to the end of the lane?” Jo asked.

  Ragan set the plate down with a bang. “No!” She carefully tempered her voice at Johnny’s quick look. Although he had so far proved himself trustworthy, she could not allow Jo to be alone with him. “No, Jo. It’s getting dark. It isn’t safe—not with the renewed gang activity.”

  Jo’s face fell.

  Johnny stoically met Ragan’s gaze. “Your sister’s right. A young lady shouldn’t be out after dark.”

  The girl left the kitchen with an unhappy sideways glance at Ragan. Smiling her apology, Holly excused herself and followed her sister.

  One look at Johnny’s dark features and Ragan felt compelled to explain her refusal. Resentment burned deep in his eyes. “Mr. McAllister—”

  He cut her off coldly, brushing past her. “Judge McMann is expecting me back.”

  Ragan trailed him outside and watched as he stepped off the porch and started off down the lane. She kept an eye on his tall frame until it faded into the darkness. Leaning against the porch column, she wondered if she’d hurt his feelings. Well, of course she had; she couldn’t miss the offense in his eyes. Perhaps he’d keep on walking. He wouldn’t go back to Procky’s…no, he wanted his gun back. Somehow, Ragan knew that gun meant more to John than freedom at this point.

  Resting her head against the post, she gazed at the darkened sky. It was a beautiful night. Millions of stars shone overhead, and fireflies flickered in the field. She didn’t want to cause anyone unhappiness. With the exception of a sour disposition, Mr. McAllister had stayed in line. Yet it was better to hurt his feelings than endanger Jo.

  She made a mental note to speak to her sisters, to warn them to stay away from Johnny McAllister. He was young, good looking, and brash. Her heartbeat quickened at the memory of his body shielding hers. She wondered what Papa would say…

  This man was a convicted felon. How did these strange feelings she was having make sense? Emotions tugged at her heart, and yet she felt a sense of restraint.

  She was surprised how often she had to remind herself of that, and at fourteen Jo was much more impressionable. Johnny McAllister could easily steal a young woman’s heart.

  Best she remember that fact, and often.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The sounds of hammers and saws filled the air on Saturday morning. The town had assembled in full force to work on restoring the church. Johnny, Ragan, and Judge McMann arrived a little nine o’clock.

  “It will be nice to have Sunday services again.” Ragan shaded her eyes from the sun to watch the activity. Men crawled around on the rooftop, assessing the damage.

  “Indeed it will. Before the day’s over, the church will be a fitting place of wor
ship.” The judge twisted in his wheelchair to address Johnny. “Don’t you agree, son?”

  Johnny shrugged. Ragan smothered a spark of irritation. She’d like to shake the indifference out of him. But it wasn’t his town, and it wasn’t his problem. She had grudgingly conceded that point. If circumstances were reversed, and she was the detained and he the keeper, she would be feeling a bit constricted.

  “We could use a hand over here!” Austin Plummer called from the roof. He and two of his older boys were already soaked with perspiration.

  “I’ll be glad to help!” Judge McMann called back.

  Plummer grinned good-naturedly. “Come on up!”

  Proctor swiveled his chair to join the effort, but a large, iron hand reached out to block him.

  Johnny shook his head solemnly. “Maybe you ought to hand up nails.”

  The judge’s face fell. “Oh, fiddle-faddle.” He feigned disappointment, but still, Ragan thought Proctor seemed downright smug over what he’d just accomplished. He’d gotten Johnny McAllister to respond in a positive manner.

  The judge sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

  Johnny rolled the chair to rest in the shade of the building. As he handed the judge a fistful of nails, Ragan overheard him say, “Your Miss Ramsey gets upset easily. Let’s not ruffle her feathers by having you climb up and down those ladders.”

  Judge McMann chuckled. “You’ve noticed she flies off the handle once in a while, have you?”

  The very idea! Ragan felt her cheeks grow hot. Procky would be climbing up and down ladders and all over the roof if he had his way. Then, if he didn’t kill himself by falling, she’d have to listen to him moan and groan for a week about his joints.

  “Hey, McAllister!”

  Johnny straightened to look up when Austin shouted his name.

  The sun-browned Swede with twinkling blue eyes grinned. “Got enough work for everyone!”

  Ragan joined the other women setting up long rows of food tables, but her eyes refused to leave Johnny as he scaled the ladder. The slight breeze ruffled his hair and made him look boyish. Her gaze fastened to the back of his sweat-soaked shirt, stretched over powerful shoulders. She swallowed hard. Had Johnny McAllister ever needed anyone?

  On top of the roof the men gathered, hands on hips, and took stock of the damage. It was a mess, all right. It would take more than a day to repair this kind of destruction.

  “The last fire took most of the old roof,” Rudolf Miller said. “The gangs have about finished it off.” He tested a section with his foot, kicking aside some broken shingles.

  Miller’s fourteen-year-old son, Clayton, frowned. “Not much sense fixin’ the old thing if it’s only gonna be shot up again, Pa.”

  “Well, the reverend thinks it bears fixin’, son, so we’ll repair it. Could be it’ll hold until we can afford a new one. Besides, Mercer is going to rid us of the problem.” He glanced at Johnny. “Ever hear of Lars, McAllister?”

  “I’ve heard of him.”

  “What do you think? Can he do the job?”

  “His reputation says he can, if killing is what you’re looking for.”

  “Don’t hold with killing. The Good Book says ‘thou shalt not kill,’ but unless we hire Mercer, we will be killed.”

  “Yes,” Austin agreed with a solemn nod. “Hate the thought of violence, vile as those gangs are, but we have to protect our women and children.”

  When Ragan realized others were watching her shamelessly gawk, she quickly averted her gaze, surprised at how giddy the sun made her feel. She should have worn her hat, as the judge suggested.

  A tall, thin, intense-looking man joined the conversation. “Roberta’s all the time talkin’ about calling the town Paradise again. That sure would be nice. It would do us a world of good to take back our rightful name.”

  The men readily agreed. Johnny McAllister contributed nothing except another nail.

  Ragan could hear the men’s banter as she set dishes of food on the long, cloth-covered tables. Crisp fried chicken, biscuits, and jars of pickles, corn relish, and spiced peaches scented the thick air. Nearly every able-bodied soul in Barren Flats had turned out to help with the reconstruction.

  The workers set upon the repairs as if with personal vendettas. Children worked diligently grooming the grounds. They piled debris to be burned later, and even the smallest tikes picked up tinder and hauled it away.

  The clock hands inched slowly toward noon. Finally, Mazilea Lynch reached for the dinner bell and swung it in a wide arch, and the workers quickly laid down their hammers and saws and migrated toward the food area. Children scrambled toward the tables and were taken in tow by their parents.

  Ragan poured lemonade and watched Johnny, who was helping the judge fill his plate. Procky seemed to be unusually picky about his food today, and she realized with a sinking feeling that he was actually enjoying Johnny’s attention.

  For a moment she struggled with a disturbing thought. Procky’s only son lived hundreds of miles from Barren Flats and rarely got home for a visit. The judge missed him terribly, and she prayed Procky wasn’t beginning to see Johnny as a substitute for Blake. That would only complicate matters and end up hurting Procky. She stole another glance at Johnny—whose thick, soft-looking hair gleamed in the sun—and realized she was the one in danger, not the judge. Their weeks together had mellowed her, and she had begun to look forward to her duties, to working with this man. She knew him well enough now to feel that when he said he wasn’t guilty of the bank robbery that he was telling the truth. Either that or he was a skillful fraud.

  But when Johnny’s time was up, he’d be gone, and neither she nor the judge would ever hear from him again.

  Remember that, Ragan, and don’t make me keep repeating the warning.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Johnny finished the last of his potato salad and leaned back against the tree trunk. Tipping his hat over his eyes, he dozed during the temporary respite. The sun was hot, and his belly was full. His mind wandered back to the day of his trial.

  The crowd was tight outside the building, and they booed when Johnny came through the doorway.

  “Clear the way,” the sheriff yelled, pushing bystanders aside.

  A burly onlooker pressed closer as Johnny was led from the courtroom.

  “McAllister.”

  Johnny turned at the harsh whisper, and a man stepped in close. His eyes narrowed, and a set of rotting teeth flashed beneath a bushy red beard. An evil smile widened on the man’s ruddy features.

  “You’re a dead man, McAllister.”

  Puet. The man who robbed the bank. Johnny halted and turned to say something to the deputy, but the officer shoved him ahead.

  “Get on,” he ordered.

  Johnny stumbled and righted himself. Turning to look over his shoulder, he searched the spectators for the outlaw.

  There wasn’t a person who looked remotely like him in the crowd.

  Johnny shook his head. If Puet wanted him, he’d have to come to Paradise to get him.

  “More lemonade, Mr. McAllister?” Johnny cracked an eye to find Jo Ramsey standing over him, a pitcher in her hand.

  He checked a smile. He didn’t know what it was about Jo, but Ragan’s younger sister reminded him of his sister, Lara. She’d have been a few years older than Jo now. And like Jo, Lara’d be so pretty she’d steal every boy’s heart that looked her way. Pain twisted his gut, and he looked away. “I’ve had enough, thank you, Jo.”

  She set the pitcher aside and smiled shyly. “Mind if I join you?”

  Johnny glanced in Ragan’s direction. That probably wasn’t a good idea; he didn’t want her riled at him today. He’d rather have her smiles than those looks she could give him. “I’ll be going back to work shortly.”

  The young girl’s face fell. “But not for a while.”

  She looked so disappointed he didn’t have the heart to refuse her. What could a few minutes hurt? He nodded.

  Flashing a quick
smile, she sat down beside him. “Did you enjoy your dinner?”

  “Too much,” he conceded. It would be real easy to get used to this lifestyle. Good food, clean sheets, a good-looking woman looking after him. Sweet-smelling Ragan, serving him breakfast every morning. He clamped down on that thought, hard.

  His mind wandered to the one time he’d seriously thought about marrying. Her folks owned a spread next to Grandpa’s. She was young, pretty, and mad as a hornet when he rode away without asking for her hand. At the time he knew it was the right thing to do. He might have loved her. He’d at least been mighty attracted to her. Maybe he should have married her, started a family… But the shadow of Dirk Bledso covered him.

  “Don’t you think, Mr. McAllister?” Jo’s question brought him back to the present. He lifted his head to meet her questioning eyes.

  “Sorry, did you say something?”

  “Don’t you think that a girl has the right to tell a boy that she likes him?” Morning glory blue eyes gazed adoringly at him. “Ragan says—”

  “Jo!”

  A flushed Ragan stood over them, her eyes snapping, a wooden spoon clutched tightly in her hand. Jo looked up at her sister expectantly. “Yes?”

  “Roberta needs your help cutting desserts.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The girl obediently got up, brushing dried grass off the back of her dress. She turned and gave Johnny a smile that would melt the devil’s heart. “Thank you, Mr. McAllister. It’s been nice visiting with you.”

  Ragan’s left foot tapped impatiently. “Hurry along, Jo.”

  Johnny waited until the girl joined Roberta at the dessert table and was out of earshot before he turned to confront Ragan, his features taut. “I’m not going to hurt your sister.”

  Crimson burned her cheeks as she thrust a plate toward him. “I brought you a piece of pecan pie.”

  “No, thanks.” He thrust it back, his earlier good mood gone. She sure knew how to take the fun out of a picnic.

  Expelling a deep breath, she extended the pie again, insistent that he take it. “Minnie’s real proud of her pies. Just because you don’t like me doesn’t mean you need to hurt her feelings.” She motioned toward the row of tables. “She’s watching to see if you eat it.”