“We could slip back upstairs and . . . let our breakfast settle,” he murmured against her ear.
She laughed coyly. “That’s not what would happen, and you know it, Mr. Rafferty.”
“Just a thought,” he replied with a shrug. The other men were stacking their syrupy plates and expressing compliments to Mrs. Jorgensen as they rose from their chairs, so he used their domestic shuffling as a cover for his next thought. “I love you, Amber.”
Her face went hot as she glanced at the others. “I love you, too,” she whispered quickly.
“Shall we visit the mercantile? Time we bought some warmer clothes—and I bet they have pens and some paper we could put to good use.”
The way her eyes lit up filled him with joy. The way she held his arm as they strolled down the street made him wish they could walk this freely back home in Missouri or Kansas, and he prayed that someday they would. At the general store, they each chose a set of long johns and two flannel shirts, and he insisted Amber have a pair of Levi’s, with heavy socks and shoes, as well.
“Can’t have you getting cold feet in Canada,” he quipped.
“Not a chance. We’re stuck like glue, Jack. You’ll have to shoot me to get rid of me.”
He cringed at the thought, yet was glad she could tease him about such things. His gaze traveled over the cluttered display tables to the racks on the far wall, and he smiled slyly. “If you’ll wait outside for a bit, I have some other shopping to do.”
Amber eyed the plate glass window, and the place across the street. “So do I. Meet me beside that jewelry store when you’re finished here.” She looked up at him and lowered her voice so the men milling around in the store wouldn’t hear. “Do you need any money to pay for—”
“Nope. Karl didn’t find the stash in my boot. And I’ve got plans to replace it and earn us some more, come tonight.”
She smiled and ambled out the front door, enjoying the tinkle of the bell as it echoed behind her. Jack had his pride about paying their way—and she’d felt a wave of curiosity cresting ever since she’d spied the pawn and jewelry shop upon entering Bemidji. In a town teeming with loggers, it wouldn’t be smart to draw attention to herself by hustling poker or telling fortunes, but there might be a way to come into some quick cash if Rafferty’s ideas fell short ....
Jack watched her enter the seedy little shop, and then quickly selected a few dime novels and magazines from the racks on the mercantile wall. Most of the pulpy publications were outdated, but for his purposes that didn’t matter. He couldn’t imagine what Amber would want with more jewelry—her neck, wrists, and ears were glittering with every golden bangle Minnit had ever bought her, plus her mother’s locket, as well. Just another of her female whims, he speculated, and as he strolled across the street he whistled and looked down the road coming into town. Still no Maudie.
When Amber emerged from the store, she was chuckling. He noticed nothing new among her necklaces, and she carried no packages, either. “Didn’t find what you went after?”
She looked up at him with snapping brown eyes. “Oh, I got what I wanted, all right—an estimate on Gideon’s diamond rings, should we ever need to hock them.”
His eyes widened. “You’d get a better price back in Omaha or Kansas City . . . but a man would wonder what those two little sparklers are worth.”
“You’d be stunned, Jack. Absolutely stunned.” Her grin was winsome as she wound her arm through his. “Let’s get back to the room now. I’d like another reading lesson, if you’ve got the time.”
“For you, I just might.”
They passed the rest of the day in pleasant chatter, seated side by side on the bed as Jack coached her with her letters. She was quick to catch on that several words could be pronounced, and therefore spelled, by figuring them out one sound at a time. Her handwriting was much more confident now, and her interest never waned as he challenged her to read simple phrases and write out other ones as he dictated them.
When they came back upstairs from Mrs. Jorgensen’s ample supper of venison stew with dumplings and thick wedges of apple pie, Rafferty reached for one of the new plaid shirts hanging in the armoire. “I’m going to try my hand at the game tables tonight,” he told her as he dressed. “Thought about sprucing up in that pin-striped suit, but these lumberjacks might not take to that so well.”
Amber nodded from her seat on the bed. As always, the sight of his flexing muscles and graceful movements made her infinitely aware of him . . . of how beautiful he was, in a very male way. Yet his rakish mustache and powerful build would make the loggers he gambled with think twice about fleecing him. “What if you’re not back before eleven?”
He grinned and gave her a quick kiss. “I was hoping you’d let me in through the balcony door. And,” he continued as he handed her the package he’d secreted in the vanity drawer, “I bought you some things to entertain yourself with while I’m gone. I—I hope you like them.”
The thought that he’d bring her a gift touched her, and when she tore off the brown paper wrapping she giggled aloud. “Dime novels—and a magazine!”
“Read me the names on them, honey.”
She cleared her throat, her lips silently forming the words before she answered him. “ ‘Go-dey’s . . . Lady’s Book!’” she chirped. “And this one’s . . . Bufff-AYE-lo—buffalo! ‘Buffalo Bill and the S-silk Lasso!’”
Rafferty hugged her close in his excitement. “I saw some children’s primers in that store, but I thought these’d be more fun for you. Maybe you can read to me when I get back,” he murmured against her hair. “And someday real soon we’ll have you reading me Fanny Hill, I imagine. I can’t wait for that.”
“Only a true lecher would put such reading matter in the hands of his innocent, trusting pupil,” she teased.
Jack gave her a wicked grin and left to play cards.
He had a successful turn at the tables—got an early enough start that after he won big at the first saloon, he slipped into the place next door and raked in another killing. By this time, most of the men were skunk-drunk, too bent on pinching the barmaids’ behinds to play serious poker.
As each of his opponents went bust, they bellowed out an order for another round and left the table in search of female company. Except for the one rather surly fellow who now remained across from him.
“Ain’t you the one’s got that purty little filly with the big brown eyes?”
Rafferty shuffled, meeting the man’s gaze. He was huge and built like a bear, with a nasty scar denting one cheek and tobacco juice dribbling from one side of his mouth. “What of it?”
“I’ll play you for a go at her. Beats anything this town’s got to offer for—”
“No deal. She’s my wife.”
The logger guffawed. “So? Don’t you know that woman could be makin’ you a fortune, just doin’ what she’s naturally born to—”
Faster than thought, Rafferty was up and grabbing the man’s lapels. “I repeat,” he said in a low, warning growl, “that she’s mine, and she’s not available. Now, do we play this out, or do I take my winnings and go?”
The man jerked out of Jack’s grasp, eyeing him malevolently. “Whatever you want, pretty boy. It’s for damn sure I could keep her beggin’ for it all night, and still have strength enough to whip the shit outta you—with a hand tied behind me—when I finished with her.”
Noting that the tavern had gone ominously quiet, Jack decided retreat was his best option. Several of the lumbermen were grinning as though spoiling for a fight. They’d eyed him all night, as though they knew he wasn’t one of their own kind despite his clothes . . . and he didn’t have to weigh or measure to know he was the shortest, lightest man in the room.
He stacked his money, feeling several sets of eyes watching his every move. A conciliatory gesture seemed wise at this point, so as he stood up he slid fifty dollars across the table. “Buy your buddies a round and keep the rest,” he said. “I’ve got a sudden urge to keep that br
own-eyed lady company.”
One of the men at the bar chortled, and his mirth spread to his companions, who were already making good on the drinks he’d bought them. As he turned to leave, however, the challenged lumberjack’s ridicule was ringing around the crowded room.
“Buhk buhk buhk-AHHHHk—you little chicken-shit! Go home, girly! You wouldn’t last an hour in the woods with us real men!”
Laugher followed him out the barroom door, but he didn’t really care. He’d won enough tonight to get them to Canada—so all that remained was to wait for that black and white dog he’d thought of a hundred times since he got here.
Out of habit, he searched up and down the snow-packed street for Maudie’s familiar form. But the lights from the saloon windows revealed only a few horses at the hitching posts and a couple of revelers who’d passed out against the front of the post office.
He glanced toward the boardinghouse, his spirits lifting when he saw the glow in the second-story window. He shinnied up the porch pillars to the balcony, gasping, aware that he’d lost the agility for these covert entrances he’d had as a kid. Amber was waiting for him, radiant with her reading accomplishments, and he choked on the thought of some overgrown, loudmouthed lumberjack having his way with her.
“You all right, Rafferty?”
Her voice soothed him. Her hand alongside his face told him all he needed to know. “Amber . . . Amber, just make love to me, honey.”
She opened her robe slowly, letting it drift down over her proud, bare shoulders as she gazed up at him with the lamplight shining in her wide brown eyes.
He got lost in her for the rest of the night.
Three days later, though, Jack was a changed man. He had traveling cash, and supplies to last them to the Canadian border. He’d posted his letter to his mother, including a generous gift from his winnings. He talked ceaselessly about how they should be moving on, because they were now further north than the railroads ran. Traveling on horseback would make sitting ducks of them if a heavy snow blew up, and that detective was getting close enough that they could smell him by now—
But Maudie hadn’t shown up yet.
Amber watched her man pace like a caged tiger, feeling his tension squeezing her own heart with each passing hour. He’d bought her more dime novels, but Rafferty scarcely listened while she read them aloud ...his gaze often wandered to the balcony door, and sometimes in the middle of one of her sentences he’d step outside to study the street again. At odd moments he’d take his harmonica from his pocket and play songs so wistful they wrenched at her soul, all the while watching the road they’d ridden in on.
Jack’s agony was a terrible thing to endure. But he believed in his dog—told her stories of his days on the Colorado ranges, his brown eyes shining with deep devotion. She knew better than to destroy his faith in Maudie by suggesting that they’d better ride on out of Bemidji. She felt their captors coming nearer, but she didn’t have the heart to pack their things and push him out the door to fetch the horses. Amber sometimes wondered if Rafferty wanted to get caught.
His startled cry on the fourth morning made her rush out onto the balcony beside him.
“Look! Look!” he gushed in a hoarse whisper. “Didn’t I tell you? She’s gotten loose and followed us!”
Amber felt herself being lifted in Rafferty’s exuberant embrace, her own joy soaring, too. Sure enough, the black and white border collie was trotting confidently toward town, pausing at the end of the street to take in the bustle of wagons and men on horseback. Over Jack’s shoulder she saw the dog’s gaze linger on the boardinghouse as though Maude sensed they were here—could see them waiting for her!
And then her heart stopped. “Jack,” she whispered urgently. “Rafferty, put me down. We’ve got big trouble.”
Knuckling his eyes, he set his woman on her feet and looked again toward the street. There was no mistaking the proud, white mare prancing several yards behind his dog ... no mistaking the scrawny blond who rode Miss Blanche, or the burly, mustached man on the black, a few paces behind him.
“Jesus! Get inside before they spot us!” he gasped, pushing Amber ahead of him. His heart, so newly revived, was now pounding up into his throat until he could hardly get his breath. His faithful dog had led that damn detective right to their doorway!
Rafferty stared frantically at Amber, who returned his frightened gaze. “What the hell do we do now?”
Chapter 22
Amber blurted the first thing that came to mind. “We’ll have to sneak out the back alley! Pack your things, before—”
“I’m not leaving my dog again!”
“And if you waste any more time, Maudie’ll sit on the steps of this house, barking to get in,” she replied as she snatched her skirts from the armoire. ‘That detective was smart enough to follow her, and he’ll be on us in no time. And with Gideon helping him, we don’t stand a chance. Now move! Get your bedroll ready!”
Rafferty felt torn in two. Amber was right: he’d outfoxed the law for too long to let himself be captured so easily. And with the help of his own dog! But as he grabbed his clothes and gear, he knew damn well he couldn’t leave town without Maudie, no matter what the consequences.
“Help me think!” he implored Amber as she stuffed her colorful clothing into her carpetbags. “There’s got to be a way we can catch Maudie and disappear before Minnit or that investigator spots us.”
His desperation gripped her, and as she hastily rolled up her red and gold skirts, she had an insane idea. “Disguises!” she cried. “If we look different, nobody will recognize us, but Maudie will still catch our scent. Get out your razor.”
“What?”
Amber gazed up at Rafferty’s rugged face, at the black mustache that curved with dark allure down the sides of his mouth and chin. “I’m going to dress you like a woman, Jack. That mustache has to go.”
“The hell it does! I—”
A glance out the window made her gasp. “They’re headed right this way!” she insisted. “This is the first place they’ll stop, and—just do what I say, Jack! I’ll dress you, and—”
“But what’s the point? If you dress in clothes like mine and I’m in yours, they’ll still know it’s us!”
“But they won’t be looking for two women! Mrs. Jorgensen and her boarders won’t see us slip out— unless you keep hem-hawing around and get us caught! I’ve got a stake in this too, you know.”
Her plan wasn’t the best, but he couldn’t come up with anything better, so Rafferty hurried into the bathroom with his straight razor. He chided himself for not anticipating this turn of events, for spending his days bemoaning his lost dog instead of plotting an emergency getaway.
“Ouch!” he cried when the blade bit him. “You could at least wait until—”
“No time!” Amber grunted, tugging his jeans down over his long johns. “If we tie my longest skirt around your hips, and a second one at your waist, your boots should be covered—”
“And if I trip on the hem, it’s all over.” Rafferty tried not to cry as he watched the thick, dark hairs fall away from his face in the lather he’d hastily brushed on. It was difficult enough to part with this long-familiar piece of his identity, let alone remove it while a frantic woman was undressing him. “Get yourself ready, dammit. Pack our other things,” he muttered between short strokes of his blade. “Nobody’ll believe I’m a woman if my lip’s nicked all to hell, either.”
He had a point. Amber scurried back into their room to cram her dime novels, pens, and their other belongings into their bags, her mind racing. This was a weak plan, but it had to work! She could imagine the confrontation with Gideon Minnit—didn’t want to hear how he’d reclaimed Miss Blanche, or see his superior sneer when he demanded his diamonds. Rafferty’s footsteps made her turn, and then her jaw dropped.
My God, what’ve I done to him?
His face looked baby-naked, except for his dark brows. The skin around his mouth was paler than the rest of his face. But
she didn’t dare tell him how drastically shaving had altered his appearance—that was the point, after all.
“Sit down,” she ordered, pointing to the chair. “I’ll use a little cream and rouge to—you can wear some of my necklaces, and—here! Put these inside your undershirt!”
Jack sat down, but the sight of Amber’s white, round money pouches made something snap inside him. “I refuse to stuff my chest like some under-endowed hussy—”
Voices and footsteps on the stairs made them freeze, holding their breath as they strained to hear.
“. . . we’ve only got the one room vacant, on the other side of the washroom,” Mrs. Jorgensen was saying. “I’m sure your Mrs. Nunn will be comfortable here, and there’s even another woman guest she can visit with. But I’ll have to ask you and the other man to find lodging elsewhere, Mr. Watson. I won’t allow unmarried couples to room together in my home.”
Rafferty stared at Amber, who looked as desperate as he felt, while the heavy, booted tread passed their room and went beyond the bathroom. “Watson,” he breathed. “Wouldn’t you know that damned detective’d have the same name as Sherlock Holmes’s sidekick?”
Amber scowled. “Who’s Sherlock—”
“Never mind. I’m guessing Minnit and that woman are in the parlor,” he speculated in a low voice, “which means we can’t go down the stairs until they all three leave.”
Her eyes widened. “What if they don’t? What if Ilsa wants to introduce me to—”
“We’ll have to shinny down the balcony posts and make a run for the alley from there. Finish up here— fast!”
Moments later Rafferty sported enough rouge that he looked like a prostitute, and he had a gawdy silk turban tied around his head to conceal his hair. Amber had helped him into her loosest blouse, and then into her cloak to cover his definitely unfeminine form, while she finished stuffing the rest of her belongings into her two bags. From a distance, Jack might fool a drunken lumberjack, but Minnit and Watson would see through his disguise immediately.
Outlaw Moon Page 24
