Outlaw Moon

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Suggestive snickers followed her along the carpeted center aisle of the lavish car. Amber knew damn well what they were thinking—let them! she told herself. When they saw her shuffling her deck, dressed in her low-cut peasant blouse, they’d succumb that much faster to a game of three-card monte or poker, assuming her too feminine to be a threat. She’d just bathe and change into—

  “You’s turned around, miss,” a melodic voice called out. “That be Mr. Jackson’s private car. Cain’t nobody go in there.”

  Amber looked back, smiling sweetly at the young, white-jacketed Negro porter. “Is that what he told you? No mention that he had a partner joining him?”

  “No’m, I—”

  “Well Mr. uh, Jackson, is the man I travel with,” she explained in a firm yet teasing voice. “He’s expecting me, so if I don’t show up quickly—”

  Muffled guffaws followed her out onto the platforms that bridged the two rolling cars, and so did the porter. Amber ignored him. She stepped carefully up to Jack’s door before setting her bags down to knock.

  “Miss, I’s sorry, but—”

  She pounded three times and then tried the handle. Locked! Damn him!

  “—gave strict instructions that he not be disturbed.”

  “Disturbed?” Amber exclaimed. “Of course he’s disturbed! He’s got so damn much money his brain’s half rotted!”

  A glance at the wide-eyed colored man told her she had his attention, and after pounding again—sensing Rafferty was doing this to humiliate her—she decided to make Jack look just as ridiculous. “Wealth is his disease, you see,” she continued above the roar of the train, pressing her ear to the door. “And Mr. Jackson has nothing better to do with himself than ride the rails—to anywhere—and play this insane little game.”

  “Game, miss?” The porter was beside her now, trying the handle himself, facing her as he listened through the carved mahogany door.

  “Yes, it’s a game. He boards the train—secures these lovely Pullman cars in the dead of night—and then rolls out of the station expecting me to find him. It’s like hide-and-seek on wheels. The sooner I make it into his new hiding place the more he pays me.”

  The porter raised one coal-black eyebrow in disbelief. “That’s quite a story, miss, but I hears snorin’. It seems Mr. Jackson ain’t expectin’ no company.”

  Was it snoring, or was Jack laughing so hard he had to wheeze for breath? Amber thought quickly, because if Rafferty wasn’t going to unbolt his door she had to find another way inside. The breeze created by the accelerating train blew her wavy hair into her face and the steady clackety-clack of the wheels sent tremors up her legs, forcing her to hang onto the door jamb.

  “You have to believe me!” she pleaded loudly, and then she directed her voice through the wooden door. “Mr. Jackson? Open up now! You owe me plenty for this one, because I found you before the first station!”

  Once again they both heard that wheezy sound, along with a dog’s yip, and the porter was looking at her suspiciously. ‘‘Ma’am, I hates to question your—”

  “Trouble, miss? Could someone else perhaps, uh, set you up?”

  Amber turned to see a portly man peering at her from the parlor car door, grinning suggestively behind his gold-rimmed spectacles. She waved him off. “I’ll get to you later,” she called out, and then she gazed steadily at the muscular porter beside her.

  “Did you notice the expensive clothes Mr. Jackson was wearing?” she demanded.

  “Yes’m, but—”

  “Then his financial status is obvious. But did you get a good look at his eyes?”

  The porter frowned. “I—I don’t rightly recall.”

  “He’s crazy, I tell you! One look into those wild brown eyes and you’ll understand why he thinks this game is such high sport! Some men hunt wild animals, but Rafe Jackson hires wild women to hunt him. And as long as he thinks you’re here, he’s not about to open the door and expose himself as a sex-crazed maniac, now is he?”

  The porter’s round eyes grew as white as his jacket. “I—I don’t suppose—”

  “Then let me handle him. You go on now—take care of those men in the parlor car,” she cajoled, “and I promise Rafe won’t hold it against you for interfering with his favorite pastime. Most porters get handsome tips for leaving him to his devices. If I had any money on me, I’d pay you right now, but I can’t collect until I get in here.”

  The young man finally shook his head and crossed over to the other car, scowling at her before he disappeared inside it. Amber had no doubts that her story had amused Rafferty—she could just see him in there laughing—but she also sensed he wouldn’t forgive her for seeming to follow him. If he had food and water, she might stand here until Doomsday—or until a crewman caught her loitering. There had to be another way in ....

  Windows! Amber grasped the metal railing around the car’s platform and leaned out to study the side of the private Pullman. She knew the windows opened, but as she gazed at the rectangular plates of glass, she realized that getting through one was impossible. Nothing to hold onto while she pounded until Jack gave in ... the overhang of the moving car’s roof made it dangerous to even think of knocking—or breaking the glass—from there.

  But if she was very careful, very quiet ....

  With a grin, Amber swung her leg over the railing and grabbed onto the metal ladder that led to the roof. The speeding train created a wind that whipped her hair and clothing around her, and would no doubt knock her flat if she stood upright on top of the car.

  So when she reached the uppermost rung, she made a shallow dive that landed her on her stomach, and then crawled slowly toward the opposite end of Rafferty’s hideaway on wheels. The fierce breeze blew her skirts back over her shoulders but Amber inched forward, chuckling to herself as she reached the edge above the other door.

  Sooner or later Jack had to let his dog out. And when he did, he was going to get a little surprise.

  Chapter 8

  Jack lolled in his bed, drifting between sleep and a wakefulness that allowed him to listen for signs that Amber was going to keep pestering him. Deep down he admired her ability to think on her feet—that outrageous story about hide-and-seek had him chuckling so hard he could barely continue his fake snoring! But she had to realize that no amount of cuteness or cunning would get him to unbolt his doors.

  He supposed Thomas, the porter, had spread that tale about his lewd, demented pastime to others aboard the train, but that was all right, too. If people suspected he was crazy, they’d keep their distance. He’d remember Amber’s line about his wild brown eyes and put it to use, if anyone got too curious about him or Maude. But for now, he was just damn glad Amber knew her place—and that it wasn’t in here with him. She deserved to be jostled and stared at in a crowded, uncomfortable third-class car, for lying to him about staying behind with the Wild West show!

  And why the hell had she stolen Miss Blanche? No doubt Minnit would pursue his beloved horse—which would stick out like a white rose in a manure heap—and that meant there might be two men on their trail already. That was the trouble with women: they didn’t think of the consequences before acting on their wild-hair ideas.

  But Jack had to admit that for just a moment, the sight of Amber LaBelle racing along on a horse that glowed like an angelic vision in the predawn light had stirred him. He could recall the texture of her hair, the softness of her curves beneath her flowing, cream-colored gown as he kissed her, and the way her exotic brown eyes snapped when she threw impertinent remarks at him.

  Amber was a lady made for fantasy, and as Rafferty eased back into his dreams he was holding the palm reader’s naked body in his arms, reveling in her caress. She returned his kisses eagerly, moaning deep in her throat, which produced an erotic growl that made his senses run wild. He rolled over to lie on top of her—

  And awoke face to face with Maude, whose purposeful, brown-eyed gaze met him at the edge of the mattress. She let out a low wuf and pawed
the side of the bed.

  Jack shook the webs of his dream from his head. “Why can’t you learn to use a chamber pot?” he muttered. “You’ve got to hold it until the next stop, girl. That’s the best I can do for you.”

  The collie blinked, thinking about it, and then curled up beside the door. She had this way of refusing to be ignored, rather like another woman he knew, so Rafferty forced himself to remain awake until he felt the train slowing down for the next station.

  “All right now—ten minutes is all you’ve got,” he told her as he unbolted the door. “The train won’t wait, you know.”

  Maudie bounded down the platform steps as the car jerked to a stop, running through the lush grass like a prisoner set free. Jack laughed, enjoying the sight of her compact, athletic form darting to and fro, sniffing for just the right spot. It was a fine autumn day, and as he stretched and scratched his bare chest, he almost wished he were traveling on Smoke so he and his dog could roam at will through the countryside.

  Looking around, he realized that all the activity was on the east side of the train ...no reason why he couldn’t walk barefoot in the grass and take care of his own needs on this side of the tracks. If someone glanced out the window, all they’d see was the back of a man in his long-john bottoms, admiring the view to the west.

  Amber, however, could see exactly what Rafferty was doing, but there was no time to ogle him. She quickly clambered down from the roof and ducked inside the luxurious private car, her thoughts racing. The slept-in bed looked heavenly after more than twenty-four hours without any real sleep, and if she snuggled beneath the covers Jack wouldn’t realize those lumps were her until the train was moving. He was probably peeved at her for showing up here, but he wouldn’t draw attention to himself by booting her out . . . especially if she was wearing no more than he was.

  Amber quickly slipped out of her blouse and skirt and kicked them under the bed. Through the open door she heard the conductors calling “all aboard!” and the powerful release of steam and strength as the locomotive prepared to haul its load again. She also heard Jack hollering at Maudie to leave that rabbit alone and get back into the car.

  It was working out so perfectly! As she burrowed beneath the rich, quilted comforter and the sheets that were still warm with Rafferty’s bracing scent, Amber grinned in anticipation. Her host would explode when he discovered a stowaway, and she couldn’t wait to see that malevolent mustache curving around his mouth as he glowered at her. This sort of hide-and-seek was almost as wicked as the game she’d conjured up for the porter.

  The train gave a shuddering jolt that echoed along the tracks as each car began to roll. Holding her breath, Amber heard Rafferty’s calls to his dog become more strident. She gripped a fistful of sheet, listening for the slap of his bare feet on the metal platform, staring wide-eyed into the velvety grayness of her hiding place. Her heart was pounding frantically. Jack was surely running alongside the train by now, with Maude racing ahead of him—

  Yet the desperation in his cries made her fling back the covers and pad out onto the platform to see if she could help. His dog was indeed running furiously beside the accelerating private car, hesitant to hop onto its stairway.

  “Jump, girl!” Amber hollered, and when she opened her arms the black and white dog made a leap of faith that sent both of them sprawling onto the platform.

  Rafferty’s face registered his displeasure, but the train was now moving too fast for him to argue with her. Swearing and panting, he lunged toward the handrail and landed against the stairs with a grunt of excruciating pain. Damn that little bitch for—

  “Jack, hang onto me! You’re bleeding!” Amber cried. Running along the rock-strewn ends of the railroad ties had taken its toll on his bare feet, and all teasing left her as she reached down to steady him.

  “No cussing me, now!” she challenged. “I caught your dog and I’ll fix your feet, but only if you promise I can stay in your private car. Think about it before you refuse me, Rafferty. I could go inside and bolt the door, you know. From this position, I could just as easily push you off as play nurse.”

  And from his position, standing on very unstable legs aboard a high-speed train, with his head cushioned between two pillowy, camisoled breasts that smelled of Madame LaBelle’s perfume, Jack knew better than to challenge such a stroke of luck. For the moment, anyway.

  As she helped him slowly into his car, Rafferty’s feet felt like he’d been running on brick bats and shattered glass. All this so a damn dog could take a nature break—and when he glanced murderously at her, Maude had the good sense to slink into the corner behind a chair.

  Amber eased him onto the edge of the bed and knelt to examine his battered feet. The thrill of being so close to this half-naked outlaw was quickly diminished by the sight of angry red welts and blood oozing over her hand. “Got any whiskey? I’ll have to clean these cuts to see if you need stitches.”

  “I don’t drink.”

  She stared up into dark eyes that shone with anger and the pain he was trying to hide. “Well, sit tight and I’ll see what I can find.”

  Rafferty watched her warily, determined not to encourage this bloomered, camisoled Clara Barton by acting grateful. Where the hell had she come from? He could only guess at her reasons for appearing in her soft, lacy underthings, and as she rifled through the car’s storage compartments Jack reminded himself how underhanded this little con artist could be when it suited her purpose.

  “Aha! Lucky for you the previous rider was acquainted with John Barleycorn,” she crowed when she pulled a fancy bottle from the cabinet beneath the window. “Grit your teeth. This’ll sting.”

  Rafferty gasped at the fiery agony engulfing his feet when she dipped them into the washbowl filled with whiskey. Good thing she’d poured the rest of that bottle out to wash him with, because the fumes suddenly had him wanting to guzzle some down . . . which led to memories of his regrettable behavior with Bitsy after the last time he imbibed. To take his mind off the pain, he concentrated on Amber’s tender thoroughness as she washed his wounds, and on the glimmer of gold necklaces and a locket Minnit must’ve given her . . . and the way her lush breasts bobbed beneath the filmy fabric of her camisole. Her skin was the color of the whiskey, and the darker areas around her nipples showed through as dusky, alluring circles he couldn’t seem to take his eyes from.

  “You’re in luck. These cuts are only surface wounds,” she said, smiling up at him with sincere relief, “so I’ll find something to bandage them with—”

  “Why the hell did you steal Midnight’s rings?” he demanded when he realized what that sparkle on her hands was. “It was stupid enough to ride off on—”

  “I won them fair and square!” Amber protested. “Gideon was losing our strip poker game on purpose! When his diamonds were all he had left on, I told him to quit, but no—he insisted they’d be my engagement

  rings! Even when I dealt him five aces, he ignored the rules and—”

  The young woman kneeling before him spoke in a torrent that further proved how devious she could be: dealing Midnight five aces and calling it fair! Gideon was just the sort of spineless twit to corner her into matrimony, too. Yet the sight of those sparkling gemstones made Jack’s throat so tight he could feel the noose being fitted around his neck.

  “Miss LaBelle,” he interrupted in a low, purposeful tone, “this makes you not only a horse thief but a jewel thief, as well! Sure as I’m sitting here, Gideon’ll send the law after you—”

  “So?” Amber crossed her arms beneath her breasts, gazing haughtily at him. “The little pissant deserves to suffer, after the way he’s treated me! I got a huge head start, and he was too drunk to think about sending anyone after me. And I would’ve seen them at the depot, if I were being followed.”

  “I suppose you told him you were going with me?”

  “How could I do that?” she retorted, lightning striking in her eyes. “You rushed out without saying so much as ‘kiss my ass,’ Raffe
rty! And how could I have possibly guessed which train you were on?”

  “It’s part of my demented little game, remember?” he taunted. “I’m the sex-crazed maniac and you’re the wild woman I’ve hired to find me. How shameless can you get, telling Thomas such a lie?”

  Amber returned his unwavering glare, his battered feet forgotten as the dark-haired, mustached marauder awaited her response. She hated the way her insides seemed to squeeze and let go, squeeze and let go beneath his relentless gaze, because this was a man she had no business feeling anything for. Hadn’t he told her that as he kissed her in the grass? And then proven it again by running off without a goodbye?

  The flicker of his mustache sent a surge of relief through her, and then she felt herself quivering with pent-up giggles. Rafferty was as shameless as she, letting on like he despised the very sight of her. And sure enough, that broad, muscled chest with the ebony swirls of hair began to shake as Jack’s laughter joined her own.

  “Had you going there, didn’t I?” he said, his eyes lingering on her grin and the tempting, womanly way she still knelt before him.

  Jack sobered, and carefully placed his hands on the tops of her shoulders. “I had to be sure you didn’t come after me on purpose, Amber. I—I can understand why you ran off like you did, but it puts us both in a bind. You see, I took out like a scalded dog because I spotted a man in the audience who’s got to be tracking me. Did you notice anybody asking questions at the station? A big, brawny fellow with a thick mustache?”

  Amber scowled, thinking. “No. Hardly anyone was at the station—but by that time I’d found out this train was the only one leaving for a while. Rather than be there when Minnit’s men came looking for me, I chased after it.”

  Nodding, Rafferty sighed. “A good move, but it could mean that if that detective got detained long enough to hear about Gideon’s rings and horse being stolen, we’re both in trouble, honey.”

  It was a slim chance that his pursuer had waited around the fairgrounds, but stranger things had happened . . . and if he made his case sound dire enough, he could convince Miss LaBelle that parting ways was the only plausible thing for them to do.