Once an Outlaw

by Jill Gregory

  All week he’d stayed away from her, every damned night, when the only thing he’d wanted to do was ride out to the ranch and find her—her family be damned. He hadn’t wanted much—only to see her, hold her, kiss her.

  And make love to her.

  The depth of his need for this woman stunned him.

  “Don’t you wonder, Emily?” he asked, as he pressed his mouth to the pulse at her throat. “About what it is—between us.”

  “I… don’t want to know,” she insisted. Yet her hands slid down his back, her nails clinging to him. The truth was, she’d wondered constantly, but hadn’t found any answers, and all of this was just confusing her more. Despite common sense, and Pete and Lester’s warnings, it felt so delicious to lie here with him, knowing that at any moment he might kiss her again.

  “It’s wrong, whatever it is,” she whispered. Her breasts felt hot and achy as they pressed against his hard chest.

  “Yeah? Who says it’s wrong?”

  “Pete and Lester. And Uncle Jake would too … if he knew…”

  “Maybe they’re the ones who are wrong.”

  “But what they say—warning me about you—makes sense. This doesn’t.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” he muttered. Leaning down, he licked the corner of her lush mouth. “Not a lick of sense,” he said softly.

  A delicious shiver ran through her. She arched her head back and laughed. “Let me up,” she murmured breathlessly, “so I can think.”

  “Thinking’s no fun. This is.”

  She ought to be pushing him away, but she didn’t want to. She was too fascinated by those warm, glinting eyes, by the way her own body was responding to his hands and his lips.

  “This … is … wrong …” she tried to insist again, but he cut her off.

  “Why, Emily? It sure doesn’t feel wrong.”

  “You’re a lawman and I’m—”

  “Beautiful. You’re so damned beautiful.”

  There was a catch in her throat. She couldn’t take this anymore. “Stop sweet-talking me … It’s not fair, you only want to seduce me.”

  A chuckle burst from him. He ran his tongue around the shell of her ear. “You got that right, sweetheart.”

  “Because … I’m not respectable enough to court or to … m-marry and so you know you’re safe …”

  “What did you say?” Clint drew back, bracing his arms on either side of her and staring down into her face.

  “Not respectable? Who ever said that?” he demanded, all the teasing gentleness gone from his voice.

  “You did. Sort of. You think because I’m a Spoon that I…”

  “I said you wouldn’t want to marry me. Because you’re proud and you hate lawmen. Damn it, Emily, I didn’t say I didn’t respect you. And as for being safe with you,” his voice grew harsh, “that couldn’t be further from the truth. Right now, if you want to know the truth, I feel anything but safe.”

  Trembling, she reached out and touched a hand to his jaw. The late-day stubble felt rough against her fingers. “That makes two of us,” she whispered, unsure if she was asking for mercy, understanding, or release.

  Suddenly a voice broke the stillness of the clearing—a loud, childish voice calling her name.

  “Em-leeee! Em-leeee!”

  Joey.

  Next came her uncle’s sharper, deeper voice. “Emily! Where are you, girl?”

  Clint let out a stream of oaths and rolled off her, and Emily bolted up to a sitting position. “Oh, no!” she gasped.

  Frantically she began smoothing out her crumpled gown, her hands fumbling over the wrinkles in her skirt.

  “Em-leee!”

  Clint pulled her to her feet and she pushed her hair back desperately just as Uncle Jake and Joey appeared at the top of the gully.

  “What is it… what’s wrong?” she called out, hoping her voice sounded calmer than she felt. “Is everything all right?”

  “That’s what I wanted to ask you.” Frowning, Jake stalked toward the picnic blanket, Joey trotting at his heels.

  “Just heard who bought your box lunch, Emily. Didn’t think you’d want to be alone with him.” He jerked his head toward Clint.

  “It’s perfectly fine with me, Uncle Jake,” Emily said quickly. “It’s to raise money for the schoolhouse. I don’t mind—”

  “Neither do I.” Clint spoke easily, returning her uncle’s hard glare with a steady gaze. “Your niece is an excellent cook. We enjoyed the lunch—as you can see.” He glanced down at the repacked basket, and Jake and Joey followed his glance.

  “Enjoying the picnic, Joey?”

  Joey’s head bobbed. “Sure am. Sheriff Barclay, you saved Em-ly from the storm, right?”

  “I guess you could say that.”

  “It’s a lucky thing you found her,” he said. “She could have been eaten by a bear or a mountain lion. But that’s a sheriff’s job—to help people. That’s what Em-ly told me.”

  “She’s right.” Clint knelt down so he was closer to eye level with the boy and met his gaze directly. “I’m just glad I was there when she needed me. I’ll be here if you need me too, Joey.”

  “Thanks, Sheriff.” A grin broke over his face, but it faded as he glanced up to see Jake frowning.

  “Why’re you mad at Sheriff Barclay, Uncle Jake?” he asked.

  The older man looked down then into that small, uncertain face. He cleared his throat. “Me and Sheriff Barclay don’t see eye to eye.”

  “We should go back to the schoolhouse.” Emily hurried forward and took Joey’s hand. “I wanted to ask Margaret for her corn bread recipe.”

  “Go on ahead.” Jake’s eyes were fastened upon Clint. “Reckon I’ll have a word alone with Sheriff Barclay here.”

  “Uncle Jake, I don’t think that’s a very good idea.” She glanced uneasily between the two men, but her uncle spoke curtly.

  “Take Joey back. This won’t take long.”

  “No. I’m not going without you.”

  Clint saw the shadow of fear—and determination—in her eyes. Something twisted inside him. This slender, beautiful woman was afraid for him.

  Amused, yet moved in a way he didn’t understand, he shook his head.

  “Go back, Emily,” he heard himself saying, and kept his tone even. “Take Joey with you—it should be time for the potato sack races. We’ll join you soon.”

  Uncertain, she stared at him, then at Uncle Jake. She might as well have been staring at two mules, she thought. The same flinty determination was stamped upon both of their faces.

  “C’mon, Em-ly, let’s go.” Joey tugged at her hand. “Bobby Smith told me that Mrs. Phillips always gives out sugar cookies after lunch. I want one!”

  She let go of his hand and gathered up her silk-decorated box, then threw one last glance at her uncle and at Lonesome’s tall, hard-eyed sheriff, trying to still the fear in her heart.

  “Don’t do anything foolish, either one of you,” she ordered, before she let Joey pull her away, leaving Uncle Jake and Clint alone, facing each other in the shade of the cottonwood tree.

  “Well?” Clint’s eyes narrowed. “Say what you have to say, Spoon.”

  “I damn well intend to.” Jake’s lip curled. The still spring air around them vibrated with a keen, high tension. Even the hot sky above seemed to quiver with a dangerous electricity.

  “But if you know what’s good for you, Barclay, you’ll listen real careful. Because I’m only going to say this once.”

  MILY COULDN’T SLEEP. THE CABIN was quiet, her room dark and fragrantly cool with wafts of mountain air floating through the open window. Outside, the moon-silvered darkness was alive with the chirping of crickets and the rustle of countless unseen creatures—soothing sounds that normally lulled her.

  But not tonight. Or last night.

  It was two days since the town picnic and Joey hadn’t been able to stop talking about his new friend Bobby Smith, about Miss Crayden, the schoolteacher, who’d given him a slate and piece of chalk
, about Nettie Phillips’s sugar cookies, and about the way he’d almost fallen into the creek.

  And Emily hadn’t been able to stop thinking—thinking about how it had felt to lie upon the thick spring grass with Clint Barclay’s arms around her, the sun glinting off his hair, the sizzling taste of his kisses sending wave upon wave of heat all through her blood.

  She tossed and turned as the stars burned brighter and deeper in the sky. Deliberately she turned her thoughts elsewhere, letting other matters crowd through her head. She thought of Pete, who’d headed into town after supper—to visit Florry Brown, she guessed. Lester had turned in early, and she’d never been able to find out much about the box lunch he’d shared with Carla Mangley, or why he’d bought it. Uncle Jake had refused to tell her one word about what he’d discussed with Clint Barclay—not that she really needed to ask.

  Dire warnings, no doubt, for the sheriff to keep his distance from Jake’s niece.

  And then there was Lissa, from whom, surprisingly, there’d been no word yet… not even a single letter. That was a worrisome fact that was beginning to gnaw at her.

  But most of all, she thought about Clint Barclay …

  Suddenly she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She couldn’t stay in this room another moment. She needed air, space. A chance to think.

  Taking time only to toss her shawl around her shoulders, she left her room and crossed the darkened parlor, clad only in her shawl and thin white nightgown. Outside, the chill wind stung her skin as she huddled on the porch for a moment, gazing at the full glistening curve of a crescent moon. Her heart was full of questions, full of longing. She’d never felt so alone.

  Taking a deep breath of the night air, she started toward the barn, oblivious of the chill, of anything but the turbulence within her. She was halfway there when she became aware of movement by the corrals. Startled, Emily froze, her heart jumping in her chest.

  Through the glow of the moon, she saw her uncle. Jake Spoon was mounting his horse, ghostly gray in the night. As she stared at him, shock coursing through her, he paused in the saddle, perfectly still, a dark, lone figure outlined against the distant hills.

  • • •

  Clint had left his horse tethered well beyond the trees and stood beside an aspen, watching the Spoon cabin. A frown creased his face and every muscle was coiled with tension.

  He had a bad feeling in his gut. A feeling that things were going to get real ugly before this was finished.

  He’d sensed from the first that the Spoons would be headed for trouble, but he hadn’t known then just how deep or in what direction they’d wade in. Now he did. Or at least, he would know it all, after he met with Marshal Hoot McClain in Denver tomorrow and found out everything he needed to know about what ornery Jake Spoon was up to—and all about his prison pal, Ben Ratlin.

  Right now, all he knew for certain was that things were going to heat up fast around here—and they were about to turn dangerous.

  And he knew that even though her entire family was involved up to their grimy necks, Emily Spoon hadn’t the faintest idea what was about to happen.

  With any luck, Clint hoped he could keep it that way.

  When Jake first led his horse from the barn beneath that slip of a moon, Clint hadn’t moved a muscle. He watched and waited in the shadows. Until the cabin door opened. Until Emily stepped out.

  Jake never even saw her, but Clint did. He saw the wind lift and flutter her hair, saw her pull the shawl around her shoulders as she stood silent and lovely, bathed in moonlight. He swore under his breath. Damn, she was so gorgeous. And completely unaware that she wasn’t alone out here in the vast blackness of night.

  What the hell was she doing? Clint wondered, his chest tightening. And why did she have to be wearing only that shawl and a nightgown so flimsy it revealed every luscious curve?

  The thought of her so close to this dirty business made his blood run cold. He forced himself to stay silent and motionless as she stepped off the porch as gracefully as a wraith and made her way across the shadowy yard.

  He saw the exact moment that she spotted Jake just as the old coot mounted his horse.

  Damn it all to hell.

  What in heaven is Uncle Jake doing out here? Emily wondered in shock even as her uncle lifted the reins. Before she could call out to him, he spurred his horse forward. She stared after him in stunned silence as he rode out of the yard and took off at a gallop, disappearing like a wisp of mist in the gloom.

  Dismay surged through her. Whatever he was up to, it wasn’t anything good. Memories pricked at her, uneasy memories of things that hadn’t made sense. That time she’d seen him coming out of the telegraph office in Lonesome. The night of the storm when he’d claimed he was rounding up strays near Beaver Rock, yet there had been no sign of him anywhere.

  And now tonight, riding out in the darkness—to do what?

  He promised he wouldn’t go back to holding up stages, he promised he’d go straight, she thought desperately, but a terrible suspicion clawed through her.

  I have to find out what he’s up to. She ran toward the barn with some vague idea of saddling her mare and following him, but suddenly strong arms grabbed her and a hard male voice spoke into her ear.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  She was spun around, and found herself staring into Clint Barclay’s hard eyes.

  “Let me go!” She was so furious she forgot the need for quiet, and Clint quickly shoved a hand over her mouth.

  He began dragging her toward the barn, as Emily struggled to escape him. But she might as well have struggled against a grizzly bear for all the good it did her.

  “Shut up and calm down,” he growled in her ear, as he yanked open the barn door and without ceremony pushed her inside.

  Then he stepped in after her, pulled the door closed, and they were locked together in the opaque, hay-scented darkness.

  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness, and then she could just barely make out Clint’s face.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Spying on me? On my family?” Frantically she wondered if he’d seen Uncle Jake ride away.

  “I’m here doing my job—keeping the peace.” Those polished eyes gleamed at her through the darkness. “Any idea where your uncle went?”

  “No, not that it’s any of your business. I’m sure he’s just going … for a ride. Sometimes people like to do that when they can’t sleep—”

  “I suppose that’s your excuse too.”

  Emily’s eyes flashed and her chin lifted. “I hardly need an excuse, Sheriff. And neither does he. You have no right to come on our property, skulk around in the dark—”

  “What if I told you I wanted to check on you? That I came here just to make sure you were all right?” Clint’s voice was hard, but his hands suddenly gripped her shoulders, surprisingly gentle. “To hell with your uncle, Emily—maybe I was just worried about you.”

  “You expect me to believe that?” She wrenched free of him. “I don’t.”

  “No?” His jaw set, Clint studied her, fighting impatience. Ironic, he thought, that he was telling her the truth, partly the truth, at least, and she didn’t believe him. She had no idea of the effect she’d had on him, of how he thought about her every day, damn near every moment. And even in his dreams. No idea how much he wished they hadn’t been interrupted yesterday in the clearing.

  There was just enough light to see her pallor, to see the panic and distress in those luminous eyes. It tore at him. And at the same time it set off something fierce and protective and powerful inside him—something he was getting tired of fighting.

  “You’re a tough woman to convince, Emily. You think the worst of me every chance you get. But maybe you’ll believe this.”

  His arms closed around her before she could do more than gasp, and he hauled her up against him. One hand cupped her chin. And the next instant he was kissing her, a hot, powerful kiss that, li
ke those of yesterday, held no gentleness, no hint of gentlemanly ardor, but was pure need, raw and angry and blinding in its intensity.

  She tasted too good to let go, and Clint didn’t. He held her ruthlessly, his arms tightening, as if he would crush her to him, leaving no space between their bodies for any of their differences to come between them. Emily was kissing him back, her soft mouth pliant and eager upon his, and he was on fire.

  Need pounded through him, and his loins tightened as he drank from those sweet, giving lips and tangled his hands in the fine silk of her hair.

  When he lifted his head, her eyes were closed, her face flushed, her mouth still parted. God, she was beautiful.

  “Emily.”

  She swayed against him, her hands gripping the front of his shirt. She could barely think, much less stand. Warmth and wanting flooded her. Passion flowed like wine through her body, and when she opened her eyes, staring into that coolly handsome face, she wanted to pull his head down to hers and kiss him again… and again…

  But there was a gulf between them, one that could never be breached. If he had the chance, he’d arrest Uncle Jake in a heartbeat… and Lester and Pete as well.

  Worse, if what she suspected were true, Uncle Jake was on the verge of giving him that chance.

  The barriers between her and Clint Barclay were too high, she reminded herself, and something splintered in her heart. They always had been, always would be, she thought. The yearning that filled her made her quiver.

  She couldn’t bear to face him. Couldn’t bear to be this near to him, not knowing what she knew, not if what she suspected about Uncle Jake was true.

  “No,” she whispered. “I can’t do this. I won’t.” Her heart breaking, she pulled away. “Just go back to town and leave me alone!”

  On pure instinct she bolted for the hayloft, her favorite childhood place of safety, and flew up the ladder. Even as she spun around in the darkness she heard Clint coming after her and she yanked at the ladder in an attempt to pull it up after her, but he held fast to the other end.