Outlaw Moon

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Jack gripped her hips to keep himself from surging too fast. She was a vision of rare loveliness, with strong shoulders that tapered to a waist he could span with his hands, and then she flared to the lush fullness that was rocking against him with a maddening slowness that nearly drove him insane. She was smooth and slick inside, and he could feel the tension building within her again as surely as his own need was about to burst wide open.

  “Do you like this, honey?” he whispered.

  “Yessssss.” And then damned if she didn’t reach around for his hands and guide them over the firm, rounded globes that made for such satisfying handfuls.

  “Amber, I love you so much.”

  His words settled over her with a precious warmth that made her sing inside, and she suddenly wanted to draw this moment out for as long as they could possibly stand it. She turned her head so he’d run his tongue along the shell of her ear. “Does that mean you’ll always want me this way, even if I get wrinkled and fat?”

  “Yep. Neither of those things would make you any less lovely, you know,” he murmured. “Women tend to get lustier and more alluring as they age, if they’re cared for properly. Which must explain why men wear out sooner.”

  His answer pleased her. She could feel the springs tightening again, warning her that she was in for yet another splendid firefall soon. “Will you keep teaching me to read, even though I may not need to know, once we get to Canada?”

  Jack sensed her questions were stall tactics, yet they were too important to ignore in favor of his own satisfaction. “Absolutely,” he assured her in a tense whisper. He ran his hand down her stomach and found her cleft with a finger, hoping to urge her aboard a more sensual train of thought. “Everyone needs to grow, to become the best they can be, and I can help you do that. You’re driving me absolutely crazy, woman.”

  She squirmed in response to his doubly-intimate caress. Her head rested against his as she arched to better avail herself of all his attentions, and he knew by her rapid, shallow breathing that Amber, too, was teetering near the brink again.

  Yet he had to know one more thing. “Honey?” he asked her, keeping his need for release at bay. “Will you love me even if we get caught? Even if I go to prison for Bitsy’s murder . . . or have to hang for it?”

  Intense anguish made her blink back sudden tears. “Of course I will,” she choked. “But that’s not going to happen! I can feel it—I can—”

  Rafferty grabbed her and gave his passions free rein. His pulse pounded with joy as he surged into her, feeling her inner spasms wrapping around his own for a sweet, suspended moment that would live forever in his memory. She loved him. She’d vowed to stick by him, even to a bitter end.

  And when they could see straight again, Amber turned to look at him, holding his face between her small, trembling hands. “What I’m saying,” she began in a tremulous voice, “is that even after we straighten this murder business out—even after this nightmare’s over and those posters are gone from the storefront windows—you’ll still be a wanted man, Rafferty. It’s your fate, now that you’ve met me.”

  Laughter welled up inside him and he crushed her close. Luck had sprung from misfortune, after all! Had he not been running from the law, he would never have met this lady of wicked innocence. Would never have known more love than his heart could hold.

  Chapter 21

  Rafferty opened the door to six inches of fresh snow and sighed loudly. “Damn! She’ll never find our scent now. We may as well shove on.”

  Amber nodded sadly. With those few words he wiped away the euphoria of a night spent in impassioned splendor, and there was no use trying to console the man who’d lost his closest friend. It seemed Jack had met more than his share of fiendish women—women who’d tried to kill him and had stolen his dog—and she wouldn’t join their ranks by becoming a nag.

  As they rode north and east along the logging trail, the sun floated high in a bright blue sky. The snow sparkled like a blanket of tiny diamonds, dazzling their eyes, but when she remarked at the morning’s beauty, Rafferty grumbled that it gave him a headache. So she kept quiet, riding behind him on Smoke, wondering how long it would take the teasing, light-hearted Jack Rafferty she loved to return.

  Her own head was throbbing, too—probably because more than twenty-four hours had passed since their supper at the farmhouse. Amber caught herself dozing now and then and had to shake herself awake to keep from toppling off her horse. As the sun rose higher, she wondered if her head was spinning in loose, wobbly circles or if the intense glare from the snow was affecting her balance. When Rafferty let out a sudden whoop, she snapped to attention with a startled gasp.

  “At damn long last! Maybe ole Karl’s not as bad as he smells, after all,” he said almost cheerfully. He turned to Amber, finding his first smile of the day. “He warned me, though. This place’ll be filling up with loggers getting in one last drunk before heading to the forests for a long winter, so stick close to me, honey. None of those boys need a pretty little palm reader nearly as much as I do.”

  Amber’s smile looked wan. He chalked it up to hunger, and to the fact that they’d gotten little sleep, as he motioned her up to ride alongside him. Now that they’d come to a semblance of civilization, he was determined to take care of her for a few days . . . find work that would restock their supplies for the remaining trek to the northern border, since he damn sure wouldn’t ask her to buy their food.

  She found herself concentrating on the streets and the two-story storefronts in the near distance to keep from thinking about how rubbery she felt. They’d slowed the horses to a walk, and as they passed a wooden sign posted at the side of the road, she squinted at the strange arrangement of letters to sound it out, as Jack had taught her.

  “It says Be-MID-ji,” he offered gently. “Probably an Indian name. We’ll find a place to stay, buy some warm clothes, and take a hot bath. By tonight things’ll look a whole lot better.”

  Nodding absently, Amber noted that a lot of the establishments on this end of town seemed to be saloons and rough-looking places where plaid-shirted men watched her with speculative curiosity. Some of them tipped bottles to their lips, while others elbowed each other and snickered—probably at the motley assortment of skirts they saw hanging below her cloak. Or maybe they were murmuring about what they’d like to do if they got her cornered someplace . . . she was the only female in sight, and the whiskeyed glitter in their eyes suggested that she’d best heed Rafferty’s advice about sticking close.

  She had not, however, planned to fall at his feet when they dismounted in front of a boardinghouse.

  “Amber! Honey—” He grabbed her cloak before she hit the snow-packed street and then scooped her up against him. “What’s wrong? Why didn’t you say you were feeling poorly?”

  “I . . . didn’t know I was.” His face, darkly-stubbled and urgent, swam above hers as he shifted her up into his arms. “Hungry. So tired . . . and thirsty.”

  Guilt squeezed at his heart as Rafferty stumbled through the door of the two-story frame house. “I need a room—fast!” he said to the aproned woman who was entering the stuffy little parlor. “My wife’s taken sick all of a sudden, and I—”

  “Right this way, sir.”

  Thank God the lady didn’t argue. By the time he hefted Amber’s bulky, cloaked figure up the narrow stairway and into an open room, her head lay limp upon his shoulder and she was moaning softly. He stretched her out on the narrow bed, seized by panic. “Honey, what hurts? What can we do for you?”

  “I’ll be right up with tea and some fresh bread. She looks half-frozen and exhausted.” With an accusing glance, their hostess bustled back down the stairs, leaving him to stare at Amber. She’d seemed fine—hadn’t complained about hurting anywhere, or—

  “Rafferty?”

  Jack stopped unbuttoning her cloak. “Tea and bread are on the way, honey. I’m so damn sorry, I could just—”

  “Not your fault. I...get this way sometimes,”
came the weak, wavery voice that couldn’t be Amber’s. “About . . . every month or so, you know?”

  The pinkish tint in her pale cheeks made him clear his throat and glance away. “Well, maybe the lady in the apron can help you while I sign for this room and stable the horses. You think this place’ll do?”

  She forced herself to focus on the simple furnishings and a narrow door that apparently led to a small balcony. Aromas from dinner lingered in the air, bringing her hunger to piercing reality again. She nodded.

  “All right. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  He brushed her forehead with a kiss, and as he clattered down the wooden stairs, he chuckled with nervous relief. If she was only suffering from the monthlies, she’d feel fine again in a few days . . . and it meant she wasn’t carrying his child. Her timing was perfect. He’d planned to stay here, watching for Maude while he earned them some food, and by the time Amber was her usual chipper self again they’d be headed for Canada. He could never expect her to make that treacherous trip if she were in pain ... or pregnant.

  Seeing her so wan and helpless sent a strange quivering through him, though. He suddenly wanted to protect her, wanted to spare her the agony and dangers of giving birth, and yet—

  Rafferty let out a shaky laugh as he mounted Smoke and then grabbed the reins of the bay. Visions of Amber with a child—his child—at her breast as she gazed lovingly at its tiny, perfect face nearly knocked him off his horse. It was way too soon to be thinking such thoughts! They had miles to go, new lives to establish . . . and if that damn detective caught up to him, he’d be roasting in hell before the gallows trapdoor dropped below him, if he’d gotten her with a child she’d have to raise alone.

  He settled their two horses in the livery barn, and then shook off his disturbing thoughts by paying close attention to Bemidji’s shops on the way back. As with most towns, the saloons and whorehouses were relegated to one end to keep the riffraff—randy loggers, in this case—separated from the more civilized residents. Their boardinghouse was located where he’d catch sight of his dog if she managed to follow them, and it seemed clean enough, considering the section of town it served.

  He passed a mercantile and thought of the long johns, matches, and other supplies they’d need . . . maybe a new dress, or a scarf for Amber’s hair, if he came into enough cash. There was a small pawn and jewelry shop, where a sign in the window advertised easy loans, and numerous taverns that were crowded even now, before sunset. Muscled men with beards and knitted caps nodded as he walked by. The tinkling of old, off-key pianos drifted into the street, with an occasional outburst of male song and laughter. Aromas of frying beefsteaks and coffee assailed him, and he hurried past the cafe, hoping that the disapproving woman who’d taken them in would set a hearty table tonight.

  “I’d like that room for the next three or four days, please,” he told her when she came from the kitchen to greet him. “By then Amber should be ready to ride again.”

  “And your name is—?”

  He hesitated for only a moment. “Jack Rafferty.”

  A flicker of disbelief crossed her wide brow as she scribbled his name in the registration book. Out of habit he’d considered giving her an alias, but who was he fooling? If that detective and Gideon Minnit were still on their trail, there was little point in hiding an identity those men knew well by now.

  “I truly appreciate your concern and attention to my wife,” he said in his most cultivated voice. “Believe me, we don’t usually make such dramatic entrances, and we won’t cause you any trouble. I—I didn’t catch your name, ma’am.”

  “Ilsa Jorgensen.” Her voice had a foreign lilt to it, probably Norwegian, and her eyes were the pretty blue he associated with fine china, but she was clearly suspicious of him. Her broad, reddened hand found the curve of her hip as she studied him. “I’ll have no drinking or carousing in this house, Mr. Rafferty,” she stated, “and the door’s locked at eleven, sharp. We’re full up tonight. Your wife’s the only female boarder here, so act accordingly. Understood?”

  Jack nodded. “Got to have rules in a town like this, I imagine. I hope those loggers don’t raise any cain once they come in, because Amber and I plan to rest up and mind our own business for the next few days.”

  “Fine. She’s better now, but if she needs something stronger than that tea, I’ve a few things in the larder. Or I’ll direct you to the druggist.”

  “Thank you.” He gave her a grin and was starting up the stairs when Ilsa’s straight-laced voice made him pause mid-step.

  “The water closet and bathtub are next to your room, Mr. Rafferty. See that your wife doesn’t keep the other boarders waiting while she uses them. They get boisterous when there’s more than one in the hallway at a time.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And you, sir, should put the tub to use before you’re seated at my table. Supper’s at seven, sharp.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  With a sheepish glance at her, he recalled his mother’s lectures of long ago, and then continued up to the room. Ma would have the scissors out the moment she saw his long hair, and he no doubt smelled as beastly as he looked after these several days without a shave or a bath. It was a wonder Amber hadn’t complained about his whiskers scraping her delicate skin. But then, she wasn’t one to nag at him.

  And the sight of her sitting up against the pillows, tucked beneath a quilted comforter as she sipped tea from a chipped cup, was further incentive to improve his appearance. “Must be strong stuff, that tea. You look a whole lot better than when I left.”

  Amber smiled and set her cup on the night table. “Mrs. Jorgensen’s very nice. She loaned me this robe, and took my clothes downstairs to wash them. And said she’d send my supper up, so I wouldn’t have all those men leering at me while I ate.”

  “Probably glad to see another woman.” Rafferty eased onto the edge of the bed, noting how the thick pink flannel made her look so soft and inviting. Her hair fell in damp waves about her shoulders, and he had to restrain himself from thinking about how he’d brushed it beside their campfire . . . the love they’d made on that splendid day. “Glad to see this particular woman myself,” he whispered. “Does this mean you’re naked under that robe?”

  “What do you think?”

  Lord, but it was good to hear her teasing him again, after catching her in that faint only an hour ago! He kissed her temple, taking in her freshly-bathed scent. “I think you’re one helluva woman,” he whispered. “And I think I’d better clean up for supper, before I forget you’re not feeling well and I rip that robe off you.”

  Her giggle held promise. “It seems Ilsa has some definite ideas about proper behavior in her boarding-house, Jack. Better keep those wayward thoughts to yourself.”

  “I told her you’re my wife. Which means our behavior is our business, honey.” He kissed her again and slipped out of his coat as he glanced around the small, threadbare room. “That door lead to the bathroom?”

  “Yes. My water should still be warm.”

  Rafferty glanced rakishly at her, but thought better of inviting her to join him. Most women preferred more privacy at these times. “Don’t run off. I’ll be out soon enough that we can talk a bit before I fetch your supper up.”

  He bathed and shaved quickly, wondering if the sounds of his washing piqued Amber’s interest as much as thinking about her body, all warm and pliant under the covers, aroused him. Some women felt they were undesirable during their monthlies, yet he’d found that when most of them got past that notion they were at their randiest—almost insatiable—during those few days. If he approached her right, he could assure her that he found making love to her every bit as enticing now as it had ever been.

  But when he swung the door open and stood there with the towel draped around his neck, he got no response. Amber was fast asleep.

  And when he came upstairs with a plate of fried chicken and biscuits swimming in milk gravy—a meal he knew she’d devour—Jac
k didn’t have the heart to waken her. He lit the lamp on the vanity, walking softly. Her shadowed features, so serene and angelic in repose, stirred something deep within him and he gently tucked the quilt around her slender shoulders. He’d seen plenty of women in his bed—some of them sleeping off a wild night, and a few he couldn’t wait to get rid of—but Amber’s quiet, steady breathing soothed him. Made him realize it was time to reassess his priorities and become the man she deserved.

  Rafferty took out his pen and paper and began another letter to Ma. He’d hold onto it until he could include some money, but he sensed he’d better get his thoughts together before Amber distracted him—better come up with a convincing story about what sort of justice he was serving here in Bemidji, Minnesota, hoping Ma still believed in him with the faith a child had in St. Nicholas.

  Even as he wrote the first lines, telling her he was fine and staying busy, he knew these well-intended lies would have to end. Soon.

  The young woman sleeping so peacefully across the room from him would see to that.

  * * *

  Saturday, the tenth of November, dawned cold and clear. Amber appeared more rested than she’d been for days when she stepped onto the balcony for a breath of fresh air, and Rafferty felt his smile returning. He’d figured his woman would bounce back, but a night of checking on a lover who slept like the dead had made him worry a time or two.

  How would he get by without her bright eyes and sweet, reassuring smile?

  She flashed both of those assets at him over breakfast, and as the other boarders sneaked glances at her between passing plates of sausages and flapjacks, Rafferty swelled with pride. Few men were as fortunate as he, to be blessed with a comely companion who favored only him with her attentions. Amber’s natural coloring was enhanced by some lash-blacking and a little rouge today, but he didn’t mind. She was doing it for him, showing him she felt proud and pretty again.