THE OUTLAW BRIDE

by Maggie Shayne

  She felt like a lamb in a den of lions for a moment as they all stared at her. But then she reminded herself of who she was. She was Esmeralda Montoya. She was the lion. They were the lambs. She had not been afraid to take on their bloodthirsty, ruthless ancestors. What had she to fear from them? They were soft. The men could not bear the thought of raising their voice to a woman, much less killing one. They strove to be honest, honorable, all of them. She could conquer this entire family if she used her mind. She had no qualms about doing whatever was necessary—and that, combined with the fact that she had nothing to lose, made her the certain victor in this battle.

  Elliot had defended her. Against his own family, he had stood on her side. A quiver of guilt threatened her resolve. But then she met Jessi Brand's eyes and chased that guilt away. The girl hated her, suspected her of the very worst, automatically. Without cause or reason.

  She might as well live up to the chiquita's expectations.

  "What's out there, Esmeralda?" Adam Brand asked. He looked so much like the banker who had swindled her father that Esmeralda nearly snapped at him. She had to remind herself that this was not Allen Brand. He was not a banker. And might even be a decent human being in spite of the sinners' blood running in his veins.

  "The graves of my parents," she said softly. "So overgrown with neglect that at first I thought they'd been destroyed. But we found them, among the brush and saplings, covered in vines and weeds. Elliot … he brought tools. And we spent the day clearing out the spot." She shook the sadness from her mind, met Adam's eyes, then Jessi's. "You can go out there right now with a lamp and see for yourself. The names and dates on the tombstones are right there. You can still make them out."

  "Oh, I'll do that. Don't you worry," Jessi said.

  Her husband put a hand on Jessi's arm. "You're gonna feel really rotten if it turns out she's telling the truth, hon."

  "Yeah, but I'll be too busy watching the pigs fly overhead to notice," she replied, her words dripping ice.

  Wes shook his head slowly, glanced at his wife. Taylor held his gaze and slowly nodded. Esmeralda blinked. So Taylor and Wes were believers. And Ben, the large, quiet one, he seemed to believe, as well. Garrett the lawman, and Penny, the pregnant wife of Ben, seemed skeptical. Not disbelieving, but needing proof. Adam seemed wary, Jessi downright hostile, Lash, uncertain but leaning toward doubt. Adam's wife, Kirsten, was almost as quiet as Ben, but she also seemed doubtful. Chelsea was just accepting. Maybe not even caring if it were the truth or not. She would be kind to a rabid dog, should one show up slavering at the door, Esmeralda suspected.

  The one person she could not read was the young woman—Sara. Sara was timid, thoughtful, and showed nothing but amazement on her face. Every other person seemed to feel one way or another about Esmeralda's story, her very presence, but Sara was either a master at hiding her feelings or truly didn't know yet how she felt.

  "I don't know what you're planning," Jessi said, interrupting her thoughts. "But I'm warning you, Esmeralda, don't mess with my brother's feelings. You can try your damnedest to take this ranch, you can sneak out in the night and rob us blind, or you can burn this place to the ground. But you hurt my brother, and I promise, I'll come for you."

  Esmeralda swallowed hard. "Your brother is a grown man, Jessi Brand. A strong man. A smart man. I do not think you need to stand over him like a mother over her little child, do you?"

  Elliot came back down the stairs, a flannel shirt over his T-shirt and another one in his hand. He looked at Jessi, then at Esmeralda, and back again. "Jessi?" he said.

  She snapped her eyes to his, then rolled them, shook her head and looked away. Just for an instant, Esmeralda thought she glimpsed tears in those angry brown eyes. But then Elliot was slipping the shirt over her shoulders, followed by his arm, and then he eased her through the room and out of the house.

  The moment the screen door creaked shut behind them, she felt the tension begin to ebb. And as Elliot walked beside her, down the porch steps and out across the lawns, it ebbed more and more. Cicadas whirred and nightbirds cooed as the stars glittered from a cloudless black-velvet sky. The breeze was cool, bracing, fresh. Esmeralda stooped once, to take off her shoes, and then walked on, the cold green grass cushioning her feet.

  "Are you all right?" Elliot asked her softly.

  "Sí," she said. Then he stopped walking, turned her to face him and lifted her chin in his hand so he could search her eyes. And she said, "No." Her throat hurt; it felt tight and raw, and her eyes burned.

  "I didn't think so."

  "I can not go back there, Elliot," she whispered. "They hate me."

  "No, they don't. They feel threatened. And … and they tend to be a bit overprotective of their own. They'll come around."

  She shook her head. "I don't think they will." And why should they? she thought. They were right. "I can not sleep in that house, Elliot."

  "Then where do you think you're gonna sleep?" he asked gently. "Hmm?"

  She took a breath that stuttered into her lungs and stuttered out again, in spite of her efforts to contain it. "I don't know … in the stables … with the horses."

  "Esmeralda—"

  "Please don't argue with me, Elliot. I would not be able to close my eyes in that house tonight. I will be fine in the stables. Perhaps even get some rest, no?"

  He looked at her, his face sad. "I'm sorry they made you feel so unwelcome. Maybe … maybe I was wrong to tell them the truth."

  She shook her head. "It had to be done."

  "Yeah, but it didn't help matters any." He reached out a hand, stroked it through her hair. "I'm so sorry you had to go through this. After everything else…"

  "Do not feel sorry for me, Elliot Brand. I am strong."

  "So you keep telling me."

  "I will survive. I always survive."

  He nodded. She was trying very hard to hold her tough shell in place. Not to let him in. And yet she could not help but feel all sorts of emotions bubbling up inside her. Physical longing for this man. It burned in her every time she thought about her mission—to bed him and wed him as fast as possible. To make love to this man—the images in her mind would not leave her alone. It would be more than a means to an end. It would be … it would be madness. Passion. Fire. Yet she must do it.

  And more … more troubled her soul. That he was so good to her, that he had first risked his life to stand by her in the face of his murderous ancestors … and that now he had stood against his own beloved family for her sake. It was more than any man had ever done for her. No one had shown this much concern or compassion for her since her own father. No one.

  Until Elliot Brand. Her enemy.

  Somehow, he felt like her only friend.

  "I need to be alone, to think," she told him, in all honesty. "I need … oh, Elliot, please, just let me go to the stables for the night. Please."

  Searching her face, he finally nodded. Reluctantly, though. "Do you promise you'll still be there in the morning?" he asked her. Their walk had brought them to the front doors of the stables, and they stopped outside them. He held both her hands in his now.

  "I promise that much to you," she said. "I will be here. I will not run away. Oh, Elliot, but I could not run even if I wanted to. Where would I go in this world that is so strange to me?" Her voice broke a little on that last sentence.

  She saw him swallow hard. "Nowhere," he said. "You stick by me and I promise, you'll be fine." He dipped his head, brushed a soft kiss over her mouth, drew away.

  Esmeralda trembled, and her hands crept around his neck.

  Closing his eyes, Elliot swayed forward again, almost as if he couldn't help himself. He kissed her slowly, deeply, and for a long, long time. Her body was held in a gentle, possessive, protective embrace. His was warm and solid and strong. He wrapped her up tight in his arms, and he kissed her like a man would kiss a woman he loved.

  And finally he straightened, pulled away, tipped his hat and rasped, "Good night, Esmeralda."


  Her lips formed the words, "Good night, Elliot." But no sound emerged. Or if it did, she could not hear it beyond the frantic beating of her own heart.

  "Jeez-Louise, would you look at that?" Jessi swung away from the window and stomped a foot.

  "What's the matter with him, anyway?"

  Several others heads were crowded around this window, and several more at the next, and those who wouldn't fit had gone into the dining room or kitchen to peek out those windows. Jessi had no doubt every single member of the family had witnessed that passionate kiss her brother had just bestowed upon that con artist out there.

  As he headed back toward the house, they all moved away, curtains fell back into place, and the strays regrouped in the parlor. "I thought you were the resident expert on such things, Jessi," Wes said. "Looks to me like Elliot's in love."

  "Oh, hell, that's not love. That's heat."

  "Yeah," Adam said. "Seems like Elliot's always behaving this way, bringing home strays, defending them against the family." He was being sarcastic, and Jessi knew it. Truth was, Elliot had never acted so damned oddly in his life.

  "She's no good for him," Jessi said. "Dammit, she's gonna break Elliot's heart right in two. I'm telling you, I can see it coming."

  Chelsea got to her feet. She was nowhere near old enough to be the family matriarch, but as Garrett's wife, she'd taken on the role all the same. "Jessi," she said, "you know you and Elliot have always been closer to each other than to anyone else. Always took each other's part against the grown-ups. Always covered each other's butts in times of trouble."

  "So what's your point?" Jessi asked.

  Chelsea shrugged. "Well, couldn't it be that you're feeling a little bit … jealous right now?"

  Jessi made a disgusted noise and rolled her eyes.

  "I have a husband, a baby, a business and a home of my own, Chelsea. You think I don't have anything better to do than chase off my baby brother's girlfriends so I can keep him all to myself?"

  Chelsea shrugged, eyeing Jessi, as if to say, you tell me.

  Jessi stomped a foot. "You're wrong."

  "Maybe," Garrett cut in. "And maybe not. But I'm still head of this family, and I've got something to say."

  "About time," Ben muttered.

  Garrett eyed him, but said nothing. He returned his attention to the whole group of them, glancing toward the kitchen and the back door every once in a while in case Elliot should return. "Sure as shootin' this all sounds flat-out impossible. But stranger things have happened. Hell, Wes and Taylor both experienced stranger things than this! Now, I know it's hard to do, but … but Elliot's one of us. A Brand, dammit, and I say we give him the benefit of the doubt. It's what's right. We ought to be supporting him here, not doubting him. And I'll tell you something else, too—if he loves that woman, then throwing around accusations about her is just the same as kicking Elliot right in the belly. You think about it, Jessi. You remember how you felt when we were all ready to string up Lash for getting you pregnant."

  Jessi lowered her head, a hint of shame creeping through her.

  Lash said, "If it's all the same to you guys, I'd prefer not to think about that."

  Everyone laughed, but it was uneasy laughter. Then Sara rose. "I know I'm the newcomer here, but maybe that makes me a little more objective." She shrugged. "I like her."

  Jessi felt her own eyes widen. "You what?"

  "I like her," Sara said. "And I think Garrett's right. Why not assume she's telling the truth until you have proof otherwise? Trust your brother. Hell, I lost my brother once, and I'll tell you, I'd rather believe any tall tale than have that happen again."

  Garrett nodded.

  Penny spoke up then. "That's not to say we can't do a little checking in the meantime. I mean, it wouldn't be hard to verify some of the things she mentioned. Like the names of those alleged Brands, and who owned the ranch back in 1881. And if it changed hands that year, and if so, under what circumstances."

  "And those gravestones," Ben said softly.

  "Yeah." Wes nodded. "I have a feeling we're gonna verify everything she told us. And I'll tell you something else … what she said about the legend surrounding that pendant. What were her exact words? 'It restores human beings to their rightful place'?" Wes lifted his brows. "I think you'd all better prepare yourselves for the chance that's exactly what it did."

  "What are you saying, Wes?" Jessi asked.

  "I'm saying that if some ancient artifact with mystical powers put that girl here, then maybe there's a reason. Maybe here is exactly where she belongs." He gave a nod, slammed his hat onto his head and, taking Taylor's hand, headed for the door. Leaving the others staring after him, wide-eyed, contemplating and confused.

  Elliot knew damned well someone would hear him. Oh, Wes and Taylor had gone home, as had Jessi, Lash, and the baby. Adam and Kirsten headed out, and Ben and Penny shortly after them. Only Garrett and Chelsea remained, and little Bubba and Sara. And he thought they'd taken to their bedrooms, but he wasn't sure, and he didn't care.

  He wasn't going to lie warm and snug in his bed, under his roof, while Esmeralda slept in the cold, in the dark, all alone outside.

  She didn't even have a nightgown.

  He located one, a nice heavy one of softest fleece. White. Something Jessi used to wear in the wintertime. He snagged the blankets off his bed, rolled them up, tucked them under his arm and grabbed a couple of pillows for good measure. It all made a pretty large bundle, but hell, he didn't have to walk far.

  He walked down the stairs with his gear, through the kitchen to the back door.

  "You got a free hand there, cousin?" Sara asked him just as he gripped the doorknob.

  He turned, glancing her way. Then he had no choice but to smile. Sara stood by the stove, a recently filled Thermos in her hand. The aroma of hot cocoa reached him, and he noted the roll of blankets sitting in a kitchen chair nearby. "Looks like we had the same idea," he said.

  "Not exactly the same idea," Sara said. "I was planning to deliver the care package and then come back to my own bed."

  Elliot felt his face heat, averted his eyes. "She's not what Jessi thinks she is, you know."

  "I know," Sara said. She crossed the kitchen, slipped the Thermos's handle over Elliot's fingers. "Besides, I think you look cute together."

  He sighed. "I wish Jessi thought so."

  "She'll come around."

  "I don't want to lose her over this."

  "Don't worry," Sara said. "I'll talk to her. She doesn't want to lose you, either, you know."

  "Yeah, well…"

  "Go on. Poor Esmeralda's probably freezing by now." Sara reached past him to open the door, then held it as he went out.

  "Thank you, Sara," he said.

  She smiled at him. "You have a good night, Elliot," she said, eyes twinkling. Then she closed the door.

  She lay in the hayloft, wide awake, burrowed in the hay but still cold, and jumping at every sound. She half expected one of those Brands to come out here and try to slit her throat in her sleep.

  And part of her wouldn't blame them for it.

  Dios, what was she doing here? She'd been rescued from death not once but twice by Elliot Brand. He'd taken her into his home, welcomed her, defended her against his own family … and what was her thanks to him? This ongoing plan to wrestle the ranch from his grasp? To take from him that which he loved?

  She wasn't even certain she could go through with it now.

  But if she did not, then what would she do? Where would she go?

  The door below creaked softly, and her thoughts ground to a halt. Esmeralda sat up straight, eyes straining in the darkness as she tried to see. But she couldn't. The stable was inky. But she could hear … the soft shuffling and munching of the horses below. She could smell the hay, the sweet molasses-scented grain, and the aroma of horseflesh. Good, all of it. And she could feel the itchy hay and chilly night air on her skin … and the gooseflesh rising on her arms because of the fear.

>   What was that? Footsteps?

  "Who's there?" she demanded, trying to sound fierce.

  The footsteps stopped. "It's just me, Esmeralda. It's just me."

  Elliot. Oh, what was he doing out here?

  His movements brought him closer. Up the ladder, into the hayloft. "Where are you?" he asked.

  "Over here," she told him, and he followed her voice. In a moment he was beside her, sitting down in the hay.

  "I should have brought a light," he said. "But I had all I could carry as it was."

  "Why did you come, Elliot?" she asked, and if she sounded disheartened, she was. He should not be here. Not when she was still so torn, so confused about what she should do.

  "Hell, Esmeralda, I couldn't leave you out here all alone. I brought you a nice warm nightgown. Here." He pressed the soft cloth into her hand. "And blankets and pillows, too," he added. "Go ahead, get changed."

  She sat perfectly still, not moving a muscle.

  She could hear the smile in his voice when he went on. "It's not like I can see you, Esmeralda. Go on, change. I'll make you up the best hay-bed you've ever seen. And then we'll have some hot chocolate, okay?"

  She felt her lips pull into an unwilling smile. "You are a very strange man, Elliot Brand."

  "Am I?"

  "Sí. I am a grown woman, tough as a grizzly bear and twice as mean. And yet you … you comfort me as if I were but a frightened little girl."

  He reached out a hand, unerringly cupping her cheek. "You're not fooling me in the least, you know. Part of you is a frightened little girl. And the rest of you—that tough, mean part—I think its sole purpose for existing is to protect that little girl in you from being hurt again. But you know what?"

  She blinked, glad he couldn't see the sudden moisture in her eyes. My God, why did those words seem to pierce her so deeply? "What?" she asked.

  "I'm not gonna hurt you, Esmeralda. I promise you that."

  A sob welled up in her throat, so huge she nearly choked on it, and she averted her eyes, even though she knew full well he couldn't see the tears. "You are so full of mud, Elliot Brand," she muttered in a voice almost too hoarse to speak. But in some dark corner of her soul a frightened little girl seemed to smile softly and sigh in long-overdue relief.