Breaking Bad: 14 Tales of Lawless Love

by Koko Brown

  Not the least bit cowed, he lunged. Lonnie squeezed the trigger, putting two slugs into each of his knee caps. For good measure, she kicked his guns off the platform.

  “You just goin’ to leave me like this…like…like a dog? You and I ran the gauntlet together.”

  Lonnie hovered over him, but not too close. “It’s not personal, Lincoln. This is business and you’re bad for mine.”

  With the click clack of the train hammering in her ears, Lonnie leaned out to gauge a soft landing. Good thing this part of the country was mostly prairie or she’d end up minced meat. Squeezing her eyes shut, hugging her saddle bag even closer, she jumped.

  Finding her horse proved more difficult than jumping from a train. Bleeding and battered, it took her half the day to locate the non-descript sorrel she’d stolen from a cow puncher the week before.

  In the darkness, the chestnut appeared almost black. Scenting the blood, she shied away.

  “Shhhhh.” Lonnie placed a hand on the mare’s crest. “There’s no reason to be spooked, pretty girl. I need you to get me out of here.”

  Somewhat mollified, the horse stopped prancing. While whispering sweet nothings in her ear, Lonnie hoisted herself into the saddle and pointed the sorrel north.

  Lonnie opened her eyes and saw green. Green as far as the eyes could see. Sometime during the night she must have fallen off her horse. She turned her head toward the melodic bubble of a running stream and found the sorrel standing on the bank. She must not have been asleep for long. The sky still held hints of orange and pink.

  Yelling out in pain, Lonnie rolled onto her back. She needed to find some help and quick or she was going to be fodder for the vultures. She dug her nails into the dark earth and pulled herself upright.

  Slow as molasses, she mounted her horse. Unable to sit up right because the world was spinning on its axis, she flopped forward. She reached her hand out and gently stroked the mare’s neck, apologizing all the while for being a lame ride. Before she fainted, she wound her hands in the horse’s reigns, hoping it would keep them heading north.

  She died and gone to what the missionaries called heaven because the being staring back at her had to be an angel. She lifted her hand and ran a dirty fingernail against his high cheekbones.

  “Hello, handsome,” she murmured. “You finally found me.”

  The corners of his mouth curled. “More like you found me, little one. You fell into my garden.”

  “Am I pushing up daisies?”

  A frown creased his brow. “What makes you think you’ve died?”

  She blinked up at him, drinking in his chiseled features, closely cropped hair and exquisite dark skin. “You’re so beautiful, you couldn’t possibly exist on earth.”

  “I thought you were going to say because of the bullet hole in your side.” he said, chuckling. Her weakened pulse spiked like the temperatures in the Mojave. Mercy me! He was even more handsome when he laughed.

  “That’s inconsequential.” Lonnie tried to grin, but it hurt too badly.

  “Mind if I take you inside and have a look at you?”

  “You say that as if I wouldn’t want to. I’m dying here.” She attempted to laugh at her own joke and ended up gasping for breath.

  “Many people find it somewhat unsettling to step inside a china man’s home least of all allow me to touch them.”

  The thought of having his hands on her, sent a shiver trotting Lonnie’s spine. “I’d be mighty appreciative if you tended to me, mister…mister…um.”

  “No need for formality it’s just Chāo Fèng.” The way he pronounced his name in a whiskey-soaked vibrato made her toes curl. His accent was a mixture of wherever far-flung place he was from and the American west.

  “I’m Lonnie,” she breathed, her insides churning worse than a dust devil.

  “No last name?”

  She snorted then winced in pain. “My people,” she wheezed. “The Klickitat don’t have last names and I refused to keep the one the missionaries assigned to me.”

  For the briefest moment a flicker of something brightened his dark eyes and then it melted away. “Lonnie it is,” he said, edging closer. “How about we get you inside.”

  He lifted her and she gasped as a jolt of awareness ripped through her like a live wire. His touch made her feel so above ground, she’d probably sprout wings and fly. Wanting more of it, Lonnie rested her head against his shoulder.

  As he walked, she watched the jade talisman around his neck bouncing against his bare chest. Beneath her shoulder, she could feel his heart beat. She snuggled closer, hoping to deepen the connection.

  And why was that? She wondered. She didn’t know him from a bar of soap. Bewildered, she peeked up at him. Once again she was knocked sideways by his masculine good looks.

  “Have we crossed paths before?”

  “Why would you ask that?” he asked yet looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite put her thumb on.

  “I can’t right explain it, but I feel like we’ve met.”

  “Doubt it. I’d remember you.” He winked.

  Someone call a preacher! She had both a hole in her belly and butterflies!

  He carried her as if she weighed nothing more than a sack of grain. His gait easy, he treaded about fifty yards to a ranch house with a veranda.

  Her eyes widened. “All this yours?”

  “Last time I checked.”

  He plodded up the porch and went inside. Sparsely furnished, the main living area was clean and spacious. The kitchen was to the right and three shut doors lined the wall to their left. It was to one of these he walked. Lonnie sighed when he set her down in a bed large enough to fit two.

  “Will your wife mind me being in your bed?”

  Her eyes followed him moving around the room.

  “No one to mind. I don't have a wife.”

  For some odd reason, her heart soared at the news. “Do you want one?”

  The question even caught her off guard. Until now, she’d never cared one whit about matrimony either for herself or anyone else.

  “I've been waiting for you to fall into my garden,” he drawled, his tone honey sweet.

  Happy her dark skin cloaked her blush, she countered, “It’s not nice to pull a dying woman’s legs by raises her hopes up.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw as he opened her bolero jacket. Seconds passed with him not moving, not uttering a single word, and Lonnie knew why.

  She chuckled, taking distinct pleasure in his discomposure. “Cat got your tongue? I guess you've never seen tits before.” So she wouldn't bleed out, she'd taken her shirt off and wrapped it around her waist.

  “Go ahead. I don't mind if you squeeze ‘em.” In what looked like an act of submission, she slid her hands to her sides.

  “You're too much,” he murmured, while he appeared to take pains not to look anywhere above the waist.

  “I know. Are you going to keep me?”

  That glorious gaze of his lifted and held.

  “Well mercy be,” she exclaimed, struggling to her elbows. “You do want to keep me or at least do naughty things with me. It’s right there plain as day in those gorgeous, coal-black eyes of yours. If I didn’t have one too many holes in me, I’d probably let you have at my natural ones.”

  “The things that come out of your mouth are indecent." With angry, jerky movements he plucked at her makeshift bandages.

  “The things that go into it aren’t either." She cocked her head at him. "Why...you're blushing.”

  “I've never heard a lady speak as you do.”

  “First I’m not a lady,” she said, setting him straight. “Second, if you've lived the life that I’ve lived you wouldn’t hold your bite your tongue either.”

  He peeled away the final layer of bandage away.

  “Is it bad?” she asked, eyeing all the blood and suddenly feeling weak as a babe.

  “Can’t tell. I need to clean it.”

  He marched over to the washstand then re
turned with a beautiful porcelain basin and more linen.

  “Tell me of this life that’s made your tongue so colorful.”

  She couldn’t help but notice his accent had grown thicker. Was her wound worse than she expected? Maybe she should give him her life story, heck, it might be running out.

  NINETEEN

  “Not much to tell,” Lonnie began. “I was orphaned at three and sent to Fort Simcoe, a federal boarding school for native children. Did time there till I was sixteen.”

  “And," he coaxed, while gently wiping at her torso.

  “From there, I went to another prison called the Yakama Reservation. That didn't go too well. The school had done too good of a job. ‘Kill the Indian, save the man’ was their motto and they did by beating the Klickitat out of me. No knowledge of the mother tongue and no affinity to the culture, I stood out like a sore thumb. So my cousin and I set out on our own.”

  Pausing, she attempted to gather her bearings. “That didn't last too long. A rancher assumed we were cattle rustlers. Shot a bullet in him.”

  Of course, she left out the fact that the rancher had been spot on. They’d planned on selling the meat so they could survive through winter.

  “From that day forward, I’ve lived my life by my own terms and not some society’s–especially one I hate–customs.”

  “Seems like you've had a decent run of it except for this bullet.”

  “Not a virgin, sugar. This love bites my third,” she confessed, tapping his chin.

  His body stiffened.

  “I apologize,” she said, dropping her hand. “I guess I’m being too familiar.”

  “No offense taken.”

  “You're not from around these parts are you?”

  “That obvious,” he said, smiling.

  “And,” she teased when he wasn't more forthcoming.

  “I was born in Guangzhou province far, far away in a place called—”

  “China,” she interjected.

  “Heard of it?”

  She nodded. “More than my fair share. Came across a couple of history books.”

  She left it at that because she’d stolen the volumes from a stagecoach she and Lincoln held up. One of the passengers had recently returned from a three-year junket through the Far East.

  He paused to set aside the soiled rag then reached for another. “My life isn't half as interesting as yours. I came to America when I was eighteen. I found work building the railroad.”

  “Horse feathers,” Lonnie admonished with a roll of her eyes. “I've heard stories from plenty of gandy dancers. Pushing the iron horse through the west wasn’t a cake walk.”

  His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Everyone has hardships. I was born very poor. When I came to America, I faced the similar discrimination. Only here, my lineage didn’t matter and there were no obstacles to bettering my station if I worked hard.”

  Lonnie's gaze flickered over the carved bed posts, the polished floors and the fancy brocade chair in the corner. “You seem to have pulled your bootstraps really well, tied them in a bow too.”

  “I saved my money, floated a loan or two, found a some gold.”

  “You must have financed every china man on your line to be able to afford yourself a farm,” she deduced.

  He peeked at her. “I own a ranch.”

  “And you work it yourself?”

  “I have five vaqueros,” he drawled.

  Skeptical since she didn’t see anyone else outside, she asked, “Where are they?”

  “Where cowboys should be, on the range.” His smile was sunshine bright. A smile that made her think he could banish the gloom from the world.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Lonnie listened to his footfalls as he moved about the house. Tarnation! What’s gotten into me! Sure she could be frank to a fault but this man–something about him–made her feel like she could say anything. Like they'd skipped all the preliminaries, the etiquette of new acquaintance and known each other forever. Even now she anticipated his return and when he did, it felt like she'd been thrown a life line. Unaware of her racing pulse, he sat down on the bed.

  He shook the liquor bottle in his hands. “This is going to sting a little. Well a lot.”

  “Can I hold your hand?”

  He looked at her so intensely she suddenly wished he’d take off the rest of her clothes. Instead, he took her left hand in his then poured the liquor gingerly onto her wound.

  Lonnie bit down on her bottom lip. But other than that she was the ideal patient while he cleaned the area, washed away the caked blood.

  “How is it?”

  “They took a nice plug out of you. I’ll need to dig in and get it out. All goes well I’ll pack it with a poultice.”

  “Give me some of that joy juice,” she demanded, reaching for the whiskey bottle. He held it out of reach.

  “Not until you tell me why someone wanted to make worm food out of you.”

  Moaning, Lonnie’s hands dropped onto the bed. “I knew you were too good to be true.”

  “Just smarter than you expected me to be.”

  A lie coloring her tongue, Lonnie opened her mouth. “I…well…you see….”

  “Cat got your tongue?”

  Lonnie cut her eyes at him. She’d never had a problem telling a falsehood before. Well, not to anyone outside her tribe. It had to be because he was the most handsome cuss she’d ever seen.

  “I was robbing the No. 6 bound from Proctor at 1:55.”

  The only rise she got out of him was the slight arch of his eyebrows.

  “And I’m good at it. It’s better than lying on my back with my legs spread.”

  “I’m not judging you,” he said, holding up his hands in defense. “Have you killed anyone?”

  “I’ve never shot a soul.” Lincoln and the rancher who killed Nathan didn’t count.

  “And you see nothing wrong with taking what’s not yours?”

  “No qualms at all if it’s emptying the pockets of railroad barons and the settlers they brought. They came across this land, pillaged and raped it. Just desserts, I say.”

  “What about the men who feed their families on that money?”

  Lonnie shrugged. “No one cared if my tribe ate or starved. Or if we kept our culture, our land. It was all about taming the savages,” she spat. “Forcing us to be like them but not treating us as equals. If you expect empathy for the United States of America and its citizens you’re wasting your time.”

  Silence stretched between them. A heavy silence that pricked her conscience.

  “I’ll best being going. I can get some help from a rancher named Palmer in Carson Valley.”

  “Lay back. You aren’t going anywhere.” He commanded, pushing her back down. “I’m going to patch you up.”

  “Glad to hear it cause I have a feeling Carson Valley’s pretty far from here.”

  “More than a fifty miles south.” He stood. “I’m going to fetch a lantern. Don’t move your rump off this bed.”

  Chāo gathered more clean rags, another bottle of whiskey and filled the basin with fresh water. His eyes kept going to the bed, making sure she followed his orders. A sheen of sweat dotted her forehead resembling morning dew. Her black hair was haphazardly braided into a long plait and hung over the side of the bed. Even convalescing, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Matter of fact, his mind went blank when he tried to conjure up another woman’s face for comparison.

  “You’re back,” she whispered as eased onto the bed. She looked up at him with wonder and a neediness that made him feel twenty feet tall.

  “Where’d you think I was going?”

  “I’d thought hearing about my past sent you running for the hills.”

  “Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.” He meant every word. Being by this woman’s side felt like the need to breath. She made him all the colors of the world appear fresh and new. And when they touched, he realized he’d been sleepwalking all this time, jus
t going through the motions before he discovered her sprawled in his garden.

  “This is going to hurt,” he warned, fingers hovering over her wound. “Better drink up.”

  Eyes locked with his, she slurped in three deep breaths. On the last one, she nodded her head.

  “Do it!” she barked, tilting the bottle to her lips.

  Gritting his teeth, Chāo dug into the wound. She winced and his insides twisted, physically feeling her pain rather than speculating. Hurry! Hurry! Sweat trickled from his temples. Every second, nothing short of an eternity. His fingers closed around the metal ball. Almost hysterical with relief, he pulled.

  Not exactly out of the woods, he swished the warped pellet in the washbowl, cleaning it. Carefully, he inspected the bullet for missing fragments. Not finding any, he tossed it into the fireplace. He quickly uncorked the second bottle of whiskey and poured the contents into the empty wound, hoping to flood out any impurities. Half expecting her to slug him, he braced himself. Not one curse or even a peep.

  Curious, he peeked at her. She was out cold.

  TWENTY

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Belvidere,” Margarita purred, striking an alluring pose. “What brings you out from the sticks? I assum—”

  She pushed away from the back door frame, concern coloring her expression. “Querido, what’s wrong?”

  He’d ridden on fear all day, and it clutched him still as he struggled to form a sentence.

  She cupped his face in her hands, her gaze searching.

  “I need help. A friend’s in a bad way.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Must be pretty dire if you came all the way into Carson.”

  “Fever,” Chāo barely managed to choke the word out, so upset was he by the thought of the woman dying. “I wouldn’t ask but I don’t know anyone else who’d help me.”

  Don’t you say another word, cariño. I’ll pack a bag.” She held the back door open in invitation. “Want to come inside and wait. You’re not going to catch anything in a brothel by just standing in it.”

  “Big Puss amend the rules?” Chāo asked, referring to the bigoted Madame’s rule of not allowing her girls to service anyone with black, red or yellow skin. Margarita’s change of employment from a cat house on the outskirts of town to this one had effectively put an axe in his weekly standing appointment. In truth, he’d also grown tired of her hounding him to save her by putting a ring on her finger. Telling from her expression, the rule still applied.