Outlaw's Bride

by Lori Copeland

  “And what we want you to do,” Buck continued, ignoring the jeers, “is for each family to come up with a barrel of lime and a rake.” He paused, making a dramatic, wide-armed sweep of the area. “Line those barrels up and down the street—the whole street, both sides—and dump the lime in piles from north to south. Then everybody rake the lime until it covers the whole street. That will take care of the smell and the flies.”

  The crowd fell silent.

  Buck, who apparently sensed confusion, went on. “The sooner you get back here with the rakes and lime, the sooner we’ll get rid of the stink. Once we get rid of the stink, then me and my crew can get on with another plan.”

  “We’ve had enough of your plans, Buck,” someone called.

  “Go back to Brown Branch!” Timothy Seeden yelled. “Thanks to you, we live in Manure Hollow.”

  Buck’s hands shot to his hips resentfully. “I said we’re going to clean this up. You’ll get your money’s worth.”

  Jesse Rehop approached Judge McMann and his party. “I think I’ve had about all I want for my money. How about you, Judge?”

  “Disgraceful,” the judge snorted. He nailed a fly on his knee and brushed the squashed remains aside. “We can’t have Sunday services this week. No one could stand it.”

  Carl Rayles moved to the front of the crowd. “People! Listen! Buck’s suggestion isn’t a bad one. The lime will quell the odor, and when the manure is covered, the flies will quieten down. I say we bring in the lime and take care of this disgusting problem as quickly as possible.”

  The town finally agreed they had little choice. The flies were eating them alive.

  The barnyard stench imprisoned Barren Flats as the citizens set to work. The first barrel of lime arrived, and the men raked it from boardwalk to boardwalk. Flies scaled walls and clung to screens and windows.

  An occasional “Those stupid Hostetlers” marked the strained silence.

  By late afternoon, some progress was noted. The flies still buzzed, but the lime made it possible to walk without the aid of a handkerchief blocking the nostrils, even though it caked trouser cuffs, skirt hems, and boots.

  The judge, Ragan, and Johnny stood at the edge of town, watching the cleanup.

  Everywhere they looked, a thick layer of white dust crusted the ground. “Looks like a summer blizzard,” Ragan murmured.

  “Doesn’t smell like snow.” Johnny’s observation made her smile.

  Mazilea was in front of the general store, sweeping the porch in a mad frenzy. Leaving Johnny and the judge to their own devices, Ragan approached the harried shopkeeper.

  “Can I help, Mazilea?”

  Mazilea shot her a hopeless look. “President Grant couldn’t help with this one! Just look at this. That…that stuff is everywhere. On my floors, in my curtains, clogging the air. I can’t sweep it out, dust it off, or mop it up.” To prove her point, she picked up a broom and attacked the white substance marring the porch. Her efforts merely rearranged the white powder. “Someone ought to tar and feather those Hostetlers.”

  “What are you doing now, Buck?” The judge stood up in his wheelchair, a vein throbbing in his neck. Buck and Billy were digging a hole in the middle of the road.

  “Easy, Judge,” Johnny said.

  Buck glanced up and swiped his shirt sleeve across his sweaty forehead. He flashed a toothless grin. “We’re diggin’ a ditch clean ’ cross here, so when the raiders come, they’ll fall into it. Then we’ll all run out and capture them.”

  Johnny laid a hand on the judge’s shoulder. By now, Proctor’s face was red, and the blood vessels pounded in his forehead.

  “A ditch doesn’t stink,” Johnny reminded him in a low undertone.

  The judge looked at him, aghast. “You can’t mean you think any of this nonsense will work!”

  “No, it won’t work. But you’re already out a hundred dollars. What do you have to lose?”

  “Buck,” the judge began again, “that is about the dumbest idea I’ve ever witnessed. And I’ve witnessed some dumb things lately. How will the stage or our own wagons get through?”

  The boy paused, scratching his head. Billy looked blank as he considered the question.

  “Have you given any thought to the damage this ditch will cause to animals? If a horse hits that hole, it’ll break its legs. If you think cow manure stinks, wait until you have a ditch full of rotting horse carcasses.”

  “Well,” Billy viewed Judge McMann as if he were the simpleminded one. “The horses will jump over the ditch. Jest the riders will fall into it. I think. Least ways, that’s the way I have it ciphered.” He looked at Buck, and they both nodded.

  “Yep. That’s how I got it ciphered too,” Buck agreed.

  The judge looked at Johnny, who shrugged. “Maybe the gangs are also idiots.” He looked around at the townsfolk. They didn’t deserve this. These were good people.

  Mazilea and Shorty were trying hard to eke out a living in this forgotten little town. Their trade was affected by the marauders. Jim and Polly Ann, down the street from the judge, were trying to raise their boys to be upright citizens, and as far as he could tell they were doing a good job of it.

  The Homers, the Plummers, Widow Keeling, Julia Curbow—all were suffering. Maybe it was time to step in.

  “Now see here, Judge.” Billy was clearly getting put out. “We got us a job to do, and we intend to give Barren Flats its money’s worth. You’re jest gonna have to step back and let us do what we was paid to do.”

  Closing his eyes, the judge took a deep breath. “Billy, with all due respect, I believe it is time for you to go home.”

  A few bystanders stepped forward, ready to back up the edict.

  “Yeah, Billy. It’s time for you to go on back to Brown Branch,” Mayor Rayles said loudly, and others joined in.

  Austin Plummer nodded. “Go home, Billy. And take your adolescent ideas back to Brown Branch.”

  All eyes switched to the road as the sound of approaching hoofbeats interrupted the conversation. Billy, waist deep in the ditch, turned to see what was causing the ruckus. Horses bore down on the town in a swirl of dust.

  “The stage! It’s the stage!” someone yelled. Wide-eyed, Billy scrambled out of the channel and took off running down the middle of Main Street, his boots kicking up manure and lime behind him. Johnny reached for the judge’s chair and moved it to safety as the stage approached. The crowd scattered, ducking for cover.

  Buck threw his shovel aside, dirt flying as he tried to climb out of the ditch. He turned toward the stage, wildly gesturing at the vehicle bearing down upon him.

  Stumbling, he went down on one knee, still frantically signaling the driver. But the team didn’t slow. When the driver finally spotted Buck, he sprang to his feet, throwing on the foot brake as he frantically hauled back on the reins.

  The coach whipped past Buck, knocking him backward into the ditch as the horses bounded over the trench. The animals whinnied and the old stage threatened to break apart as it slammed to the ground, rocking wildly side to side until it ground to a halt in front of the mercantile.

  A passenger’s head popped up in the window, hat askew, his eyes bulging with fright.

  As the dust settled, Johnny calmly rolled the judge’s chair to the gaping hole, and the two men peered over the rim.

  Buck slowly pulled himself up out of the ditch, his dirty, sweatstreaked features clearly shaken. He looked at the judge and then broke into a lame grin. “Didn’t I tell you? Those horses jumped that ditch clean as a whistle.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Lantern light spilled from the livery doorway. Mellow rays fell across the white-covered ground, softening the thick coating of lime. Johnny rubbed warm oil into a saddle, listening to the activity outside.

  The Hostetlers had cleared out, and Barren Flats was settling down for the evening. Haleen’s annoyed voice drifted to him, fussing at Alvin for tracking lime on her clean floors. If the smell of potatoes and onions frying in some
one’s skillet hadn’t reminded him it was past suppertime, his stomach would have. Home life. Family. Funny how he’d forgotten how good it could be.

  The Brown Branch boys’ fiasco had left an impact on Barren Flats but life went on. The familiar was taken for granted—unless you didn’t have a home to go to or a mate to fuss at. Your own table to sit down to at night.

  Johnny glanced up when he heard a sound. Jo stood in the doorway, framed by lantern light. The warm rays caught the red in her hair, and he was struck again by her resemblance to Ragan. Like her older sister, Jo was going to be a beautiful woman.

  He turned back to his work. “Shouldn’t you be home for supper?”

  She crossed the hay-strewn floor, pausing in front of a buckskin’s stall. “I’m on my way there now. I saw the light and hoped it might be you.” She reached out to pat the mare’s nose. The animal whinnied her appreciation, nuzzling the offered hand for a treat. “Aren’t you eating supper with the judge and Ragan?”

  Johnny massaged oil into the finely tooled leather. “Ragan will keep a plate warm for me. I wanted to finish up here before I went back.” The smell of hay and saddle leather mingled with the scent of fresh lime.

  “You work for Rudy now?”

  “No. Just lending him a hand.” There were only so many widows’ sheds that needed painting, and he welcomed the chance to keep occupied.

  Giving the mare a final pat, she moseyed over to sit close by. “Got a minute?”

  He had more minutes than she could count, but he didn’t think Ragan would want him spending them with her little sister. “Better run along home, Jo. Your family will be worried about you.”

  “I won’t stay long.” Settling her skirts, her gaze skimmed the stable. “I’ve got a problem, and I need a man’s advice.”

  Johnny continued to polish the leather. “Can’t be much of a problem at your age.”

  “I’m fourteen, and it’s a boy problem.” She turned doleful eyes on him, and sighed. “Benny Dewayne Wilson.”

  He flashed a grin. “Benny Dewayne, huh? What’s Benny done other than set you to thinking about things a girl your age shouldn’t be thinking?”

  “Benny doesn’t even know I exist.” She sighed again, crossing her hands in her lap. Her hangdog expression tugged at his heartstrings. Ragan had the same look when she had to do the mending.

  Dipping his fingers into the oil, he gazed at her. “How do you know he doesn’t?”

  “I just know. He never looks at me, and if he does by mistake, he makes a horrible face, or does something mean like yanking my hair.”

  “Sounds to me like he’s noticed you.”

  She exhaled noisily. “Not the way he notices Emma Tracy. He eats lunch with Emma. I hear them laughing sometimes.”

  “Laughing doesn’t mean anything.” He thought about how he laughed with Ragan. She could put him in a good mood real easy. “Just because a man spends time with a woman doesn’t necessarily mean he’s got his eye on her.”

  Jo brightened somewhat. “Emma is quite homely. I don’t mean to be spiteful, honest. She’s my very best friend, and I truly love her. She’s funny and thoughtful and doesn’t have a mean bone in her body, but I suspect you’d have to tie a pork chop bone around her neck to get a dog to play with her if you went solely on looks.”

  Johnny listened to her worries, smiling on the inside. Lara and Elly would have had these problems by now. And a hundred more.

  He was aware of Jo’s eyes dissecting him as they talked. How was he going to discourage her interest without hurting her feelings? Jo brought out his brotherly instincts, and he felt partial to her, protective.

  When she continued to gaze at him, he asked, “Do I have lime on my face?”

  “No.” She smiled. “You’re very handsome, you know.” Her eyes went all dreamy. “Almost as handsome as Benny.” A heavy sigh escaped her.

  Aha. So that’s the way the wind blew. Johnny chuckled and pushed the stopper back in the oil bottle. “Well, I have a confession to make, Miss Jo. I thought you might be getting a crush on me. Guess I was making a mountain out of a molehill, what with Benny Dewayne and all, huh?”

  She started giggling, the snickers ballooning until she was in the grip of a full-blown laughing fit. Holding her sides, she laughed until his stern look finally halted her.

  Did she find the idea that amusing? “What?”

  Pointing at him, she laughed until tears coursed down her cheeks. “You thought…you thought I was smitten with you?”

  “Well…” He colored, setting the bottle of oil back on the shelf. Ragan was the one harping on him to discourage Jo’s attention. It clearly wasn’t needed.

  Jo doubled over, and her youthful shoulders shook with mirth. “I think you’re a wonderful man, but I’m not smitten with you! You’re so…”

  “Old,” he guessed.

  Grinning, she said, “I want you for Ragan, not for me.” Her pretty features sobered. “I want Benny Dewayne.”

  He felt three times a fool. He’d been sweating bullets over her, taking all kinds of heat from Ragan, and she was wanting him for her sister!

  Women were all alike. A man didn’t stand a chance around them.

  “I have only one concern regarding you,” Jo confessed.

  “And what’s that? That I’ll have store-bought teeth before I marry your sister?”

  “No.” She turned pensive. “Are you a man of God, Mr. McAllister?”

  Johnny reached for a bolt. “Isn’t a man’s belief private?”

  “Well, it shouldn’t be.”

  “No?”

  “No, and I only ask because I know that as much as Ragan cares for you—and she truly believes you are innocent of the crime you’ve been convicted of—she would never marry a man and be spiritually unequally yoked.”

  “She wouldn’t, huh?”

  “No.” She turned grave eyes on Johnny. “You do believe in God, don’t you?”

  Smiling, Johnny eased her fears. “I believe in God. I just happen to be a little upset with him at the moment.”

  Releasing a pent-up sigh, Jo wilted. “That’s perfectly acceptable. I get mad at him myself at times, but I always know if anyone steps away, it’s me, not him.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Ragan rounded the corner, high-stepping through the lime as she made her way to the stable. Supper was on the table, but both Johnny and the judge had wandered off. She’d had to come clear to the other end of town in search of the men. You’d think they’d have enough sense to stay close when told supper was five minutes away.

  Her footsteps slowed as she neared the livery. Jo’s laughter drifted from inside. What was she doing here at this time of day? She should have been home an hour ago. Stepping closer to the doorway, Ragan listened to her sister’s and Johnny’s low voices.

  “You should let your sister pick her own men,” Johnny said.

  “She won’t do that. She’s so busy taking care of the judge and Papa that she forgets all about herself.”

  “Still, it’s not your place to hustle men for her.”

  Ragan couldn’t stand it any longer. She risked a peek around the door corner.

  Jo touched his arm. “Don’t be upset. I like you a lot. And you’re just perfect for Ragan.”

  Jo trailed Johnny to the back of the livery, where he hung a bridle on the far wall.

  “She’s never going to find a man she loves in Barren Flats. Have you heard how the town whispers about her being an old maid, and how she’ll always have to put her life on hold so she can take care of Papa and the judge? But I see how she looks at you, all starry-eyed and love struck.”

  “You want Ragan marrying a bank robber?”

  “Did you do it?”

  Stepping around her, he moved to the back stall.

  “Did you rob that bank, Mr. McAllister?”

  He stood in the silence, listening to the gelding shuffle in its cubicle. An ache settled around his heart, a pain so hurtful he wanted to tea
r it out and get rid of the constant reminder. Jo made him want family, want a life of his own where his every thought wasn’t consumed with hatred.

  “Did you, Mr. McAllister?”

  Johnny closed his eyes. “No.”

  A soft breath left her. “I knew it! You’re exactly the kind of man I want for my sister.” A delicate hand came up to touch his shoulder. “And though you won’t admit it, even to yourself, I believe you’d like to be that man. I’ve also seen the way you look at Ragan. All soft and needy-like.”

  Shaking his head, he said softly, “Your sister deserves more than I can give her, Jo.”

  “My sister deserves love, Mr. McAllister, and I’m bettin’ you could love her better than any other man could even think about.”

  How simple her trust was. How much he wanted to deserve it.

  “You remind me of my sisters, Jo.”

  “I take that to be real special. Where do they live?”

  Johnny sat down on a bale of hay, removing his hat. “My sisters are dead. They were murdered, along with my ma and pa.”

  Jo’s face registered shock. “How dreadful for you.” She reached for his hand. “That must be powerful hard to accept. Do you know who killed them?”

  “I know. Dirk Bledso and his gang.”

  Jo shook her head, wordlessly sharing his pain. “They must be awful, vile men. Do you have any other family?”

  “None.” He stared into space. Bledso’s ugly face swam before him. “Bledso took them all but my grandpa. He’s gone now too.”

  “You must be very angry at God about that.”

  Getting up, Johnny adjusted his hat on his head. “Yes, I am. I’m going to kill Bledso.”

  “And his gang?”

  “If necessary.”

  Jo’s eyes widened. “Mr. McAllister!”

  “Sorry. That’s what I intend to do.”

  Her pretty features knitted with concern. “But…then you would be hanged.”

  Johnny tossed a forkful of hay into a stall. “That’s why you can’t be getting your hopes up about me and your sister.”

  “The Good Book says ‘thou shalt not kill.’ ”

  He turned to look at her, his features tight. “I don’t claim to be perfect. I’m just telling you not to get any ideas about Ragan and me. Even if I’m cleared of the bank robbery, I still have a score to settle. I’ll never be free to marry your sister. And even if I were, she deserves better than me.”