Outlaw Moon

by Charlotte Hubbard

  The coarse hairs of his mustache tickled her through the silk. The warm, wet trail of his mouth made her acknowledge—at least to herself—that Watson was indeed a skilled, caring lover, a man worth growing closer to. A man who might find a way to forgive her if she blurted something too telling while under his spell.

  The touch of his tongue between her legs sent her straight to the ceiling. Felicity cried out for more and then remembered that others in the house might hear her. She clenched her teeth, reeling with the added intensity of her silence. A glance at Booth, who crouched before her with closed eyes, enjoying this as much as she was, sent her into the final stages of a cataclysmic awakening like she’d never known. Again and again the waves of pleasure pounded inside her until she fell forward, spent.

  Booth caught her, let her rest against his shoulder after he rose to his full height. He was rock-hard again. The tickle of her damp curls against his manhood was enticement enough to take her a second time, yet he hesitated. Downstairs he heard a door slam . . . then voices raised in excitement, followed by the clatter of footsteps on the stairs.

  “Felicity, let’s get you down from here,” he murmured, sensing that all hell was about to break loose. As he lifted her and stood her on the floor, he heard pounding on the bathroom door and Ilsa’s strident, Norwegian lilt demanding a response.

  “Jesus, that’s Gideon with her! Stay behind me, in case—” He barely got his pants tugged up before the door across the room vibrated with the force of someone’s pummeling.

  “Open up, Watson!” came Minnit’s high cry. “Don’t pretend you’re not in there! Rafferty and Amber just hightailed it out of town and we should be after them!”

  Booth stood so Felicity’s half-naked form would be hidden behind him, bracing himself for the inevitable bursting in of the bantam rooster who was squawking loudly enough to raise the dead. Sure enough, the door flew open and Gideon entered with his eyes wide and his hair flying back from his animated face.

  “Watson, I’m telling you—”

  “So I heard. Hand me that blanket off the bed.”

  Gideon sputtered incredulously. I’m giving you the biggest lead yet, and you ask me—”

  “Just give it to me, dammit!”

  Cowed, the willowy blond did as he was told and then hid a knowing grin when Watson slipped the blanket to the woman hiding behind him. But he contained his excitement for only a moment.

  “I’m telling you, when I went to the livery, the hostler was going on and on to another fellow, about two gypsies—one of them really odd-looking—who took out on a gray gelding and a bay—and a black and white dog hopped onto the strange one’s lap!” Minnit said in a rush. “What more do you need to know? Let’s move!”

  Next door he heard Mrs. Jorgensen’s angry prattle—she’d slipped into her native Norwegian she was so upset—and then the stout little woman was storming in behind Minnit, shaking a finger at him. “If there’s some connection between you and those two conniving—they locked the water closet and left it like a sty! And they took off without paying me!”

  Watson could feel that Felicity had donned the blanket, so he ignored the landlady’s scathing stare at his bare chest—at his very presence here—and assumed his businesslike detective’s mien.

  “Believe me, Mrs. Jorgensen, you’re better off without that murderer and his con artist companion under your roof,” he assured her as he strode to the next bedroom. ‘‘I’ll be glad to pay for any damages—and of course, their lodging. It’s the least I can do for not telling you the nature of our business here.”

  His promise to pay her placated the woman, and a quick look around the room revealed that Rafferty and Miss LaBelle had indeed departed in a hurry. The armoire doors hung open, the bed was badly rumpled . . . and the bathroom sink was smeared with dried shaving lather and hundreds of black hairs. Out of habit, Booth quickly opened the cabinets and drawers in the room they’d occupied, letting out a short laugh when he realized they’d left nothing behind.

  “Looks like our unexpected arrival rattled them, if Rafferty shaved on such short notice. But they managed to take all their—”

  “Would you quit this yammering and dress, already?” Minnit whined. “Do you think I brought our horses back, saddled and ready to ride, just to watch you—”

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  Gideon’s mouth dropped open. “Come again? I’ll have you know—”

  “You’re staying here with Felicity until she’s rested enough to travel,” Booth stated, his gaze boring into the shorter man’s wild, pale eyes. He walked quickly back to his client’s room, forcing Gideon to follow like a puppy as he continued his instructions.

  “Then the two of you are heading back south, eventually catching the train to ... Kansas City. Stop at Omaha and check on your Wild West show, if need be, but be there when I pull into the Kansas City depot with Jack and Amber. I’ll try to notify you of my arrival time, but that might not be possible. Understand me? You’re in charge, so if things get mucked up, you’re to blame.” He watched questioning glances pass between Minnit and Felicity as he shrugged into his shirt. Her face was twitching with resentment as she gripped the edges of the blanket to keep herself covered.

  “Mr. Watson, may I remind you who’s paying your fee?” she asked archly. “And we agreed that I would accompany you to—”

  “Changed my plans,” he cut in, feeling a strong sense of destiny, of success surging through him. “Should’ve done this weeks ago. And if you’ve changed your mind about wanting Rafferty, you better damn well speak up now, woman.”

  Felicity’s eyes narrowed, and Watson was secretly pleased to see her squirming this way. “Nothing’s changed,” she spat.

  “You want him dead or alive? I need to know your decision before I have to make it.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Alive, of course! There are things only I can explain. And I want to see the look on his face when I do.”

  He finished tucking in his shirt and nodded to the two of them and Mrs. Jorgensen. As he descended the stairs, an easy confidence filled him and he mentally listed what he had to do before riding after Rafferty: had to telegraph Scott about this new plan, had to check his food and supplies . . . had to reassess his strategy, now that he’d only be about an hour behind his quarry.

  He slipped into his duster and then crammed on his ebony hat, acknowledging the curious glances of a few other boarders with a broad grin. Then he stepped outside and grabbed up his reins.

  “Hot damn, Butch, it’s you and me again, buddy,” he crooned to the huge black. “Just like it should’ve been all along.”

  From her window, Felicity watched the detective canter off, a study in dark, masculine power that left her quivering beneath her blanket.

  Then she turned to Gideon. “Well?” she demanded, disguising the tremor in her voice with the condescension Minnit tended to inspire in her. “I guess this means you’re rooming here until I’m well enough to travel. But I get that other room, so you won’t hog the bathroom. Take our horses back while I dress. It’s all up to Booth now.”

  She saw resentment shadowing his pale blue eyes and laughed to herself. The little runt had been panting around her, begging for her favors ever since she humored him on the train, and now that he realized he’d never claim the prize Watson had just won, Gideon seemed to shrivel into a scrawny little gnome before her eyes. What had possessed her to bring him along, anyway?

  When he was gone, Felicity dressed in fresh clothing, her mind drifting to her abandoned lovemaking with the hero of her fondest fantasies. He was better than her wildest imaginings . . . Booth knew she’d faked it, yet he insisted on bringing her the deepest, most complete pleasure she’d ever known. What a man he was! Rafferty had never acted so authoritative, so . . . animal.

  And when she carried her things to the room Jack and Amber had shared, Felicity let her thoughts wander. Rafferty had shaved that devilish mustache—disguised himself as a female t
o escape Booth Watson, private investigator. He’d shared this very bed with another woman . . . still cared enough to take the little fortuneteller with him, after all this time. Such details told her he was a changed man from the intense young attorney determined to fight crime and corruption in Dodge City.

  Perhaps she didn’t really want Rafferty anymore. Perhaps she’d met a better match in Booth ....

  Something drove her to lock her door so Minnit wouldn’t barge in. Then she dug to the bottom of her valise, to retrieve the object she hadn’t dared to pull out in anyone’s presence, wrapped in layers of yellowed underwear.

  The photograph she held was all that remained of Bitsy, who, in a rare buoyant mood had sat for a traveling photographer. She was now preserved behind the framed glass forever, a huge, dimpled, feckless thing—seated beside a clean-shaven Jack Rafferty.

  Even now, Jack’s eyes pierced her with his betrayal—he was hers, dammit! The thought that her hero Booth would catch him and bring him back to face her made her laughter echo around the little room, sounding brittle and off-key.

  What sport it would be to see the two dark-haired men together, captor and captive, awaiting her judgement! Few women had such an opportunity in this life—such a choice! She could chastise the one and choose the other, or—if she were in a particularly benevolent mood—she could make them both kowtow to her whims. Her money talked, and these men would have to listen!

  The thought of Watson and Rafferty jumping at her every command made her laugh so hard that the photograph slipped from her hand and shattered against the plank floor. Shards of glass flew in every direction, sobering her for a moment.

  Never mind. Now that Booth’s sure to catch him, you don’t need this reminder anymore.

  Felicity picked up the picture, looking around the small room with a furtive eye. No sense in further arousing Mrs. Jorgensen’s suspicions—and she certainly didn’t want Gideon to find Bitsy’s picture! Quietly she pulled the night stand away from the wall . . . no good. She couldn’t stuff the bent frame between the mattress and the bed ropes, either. And someone would surely find it in the bathroom or in a drawer ....

  Her eyes settled on the vanity, and with silent finesse she eased the awkward, mirrored piece away from the wall just enough to see if—perfect! The decorative ledge that ran around it, right below the drawers, was just wide enough to set her little memento on. No one would find the photograph until time for spring cleaning, when she and Booth and Rafferty would be long gone from here and forgotten.

  The picture hidden, Felicity quickly pushed the vanity to the wall again and brushed the slivers of glass beneath the braided rug, confident that these, too, would go undetected until April, at the earliest.

  Then she envisioned herself at the Kansas City train station, watching Watson disembark—probably holding Jack and Amber at gunpoint, if the little bitch was loyal enough to stick with him rather than run.

  Not that it mattered. It was Watson and Rafferty she craved, in the worst way! And soon, very soon, she would have them right where she wanted them.

  Chapter 24

  “We’ll stop here. We’ve got to rest these horses.” Rafferty glanced at the woman who rode alongside him, fearful of the pallor lurking beneath her wind-burnt cheeks and the too-determined lift of her chin. They’d pushed themselves and their mounts as hard as he’d dared these past two days to stay ahead of that detective, Watson. Amber’s early words about being chased by the wrong ghosts came back to him as he considered their predicament. Like Ebenezer Scrooge, he would be haunted by the spectral, frightening images of a misspent past, as well as a future full of woe, if he didn’t change his ways. Now that their predator had a name, he seemed much more real . . . much more ominous.

  But they were so close to freedom! He couldn’t stand the thought of Ma learning her boy was being stalked like a rabid animal . . . didn’t want to see Amber’s disappointment if he decided to turn himself in. They’d been through so much together—by her choice, granted—and the fresh start he’d promised her in Canada still seemed the best opportunity he could ever offer her.

  Out of habit, he looked over his shoulder as they slowed the horses to a walk. After following a packed-down trail through miles of cut-over timber, they’d re-entered the forest this morning. White pines, standing shoulder to shoulder in a thick maze of green, whispered in the icy wind. Their branches were fringed with fresh snow—another reminder that the detective on their trail might be the least of his worries. The sky hung low and gray, heavy with the promise of more weather that could be the death of them before the law brought him down.

  Maudie’s insistent barking brought him out of his thoughts. The dog loved snow, and had spent the day circling gleefully with her nose down in it as they loped along, but now her tone warned Jack of something up ahead. “What is it, girl?”

  She shook herself, sending a cloud of white powder into the air, and then sat down to look at him as though he should know what she was trying to say. Her long pink tongue was hanging comically out of her mouth from all her frolicking, and Rafferty longed to dismount and play with her. But this was no time for games.

  “Is that smoke I smell? Food, maybe?” Amber asked wistfully.

  Rafferty sighed when he saw how she was trembling. Her New Orleans upbringing hadn’t prepared her for northern winters, and even in her long johns, jeans, shirts, and heavy footwear, she was constantly shivering.

  Jack inhaled deeply. “I believe you’re right. That’s probably what Maudie’s trying to tell us.”

  As though knowing her cue, the collie jumped up to lead them through the forest, her bushy tail arching in anticipation as she circled back now and then to urge them along. Within a quarter of a mile they came to a clearing where a new logging camp had been constructed. The cold air was redolent with the scent of recently-cut pines, which were notched and fitted to make the six low buildings that huddled here in the forest’s embrace. The aroma of roasting meat made Rafferty shift hungrily in his saddle. A pillar of pale smoke rose from one building, and although it was apparent many men swinging axes had been required to raise this camp, the place looked deserted.

  “Must be dinner time. Let’s go over to that cook shack and see if we can charm them out of a night’s hospitality.”

  He didn’t need to suggest it twice. Amber clucked to her bay, crossing the camp like a woman who’d spotted an oasis in the desert. She dismounted and waited for him in the doorway, looking eager yet shy.

  “You all right? You’ve been awfully quiet today.”

  “I’m f-fine. Just so damn c--cold!”

  “Let’s step inside, then,” he said as he shoved the door open, “and be prepared to get gawked at.”

  Rafferty didn’t know the half of it. The protesting creak of the hinge brought the dining hall full of men to rapt attention—not even the scraping of forks broke the silence! Jack slung an arm around his woman and returned the expectant gazes of several dozen men. They were sitting elbow-to-elbow at long tables covered with huge bowls of beans, potatoes and gravy, loaves of bread, and platters that now showed only the juices from what must’ve been beefsteaks. Just the thought of such a feed made his eyes water.

  A man in a smeared apron studied them from beside a huge black cookstove, but it was a tall, bearded fellow in a red shirt who rose from the head of one table to take command of the situation. “You folks lost?”

  “Not entirely. We need a night’s rest, though,” Jack replied cautiously, “and we’d be happy to earn our keep and move on before we got in your way.”

  The man’s size gave Rafferty pause, yet he appeared more curious than threatening. Not to be ignored was the way he looked Amber up and down as he approached them with a muscled hand extended.

  “Name’s Todd Carnahan, and this here’s my camp,” he announced in a voice that filled the crowded hall. His grip dwarfed Rafferty’s as he assessed them with eyes the color of a Minnesota lake. “You got the right attitude. Me and the boy
s got no time to entertain company. What’d you have in mind for work?”

  After enduring the lumberjacks’ crude remarks about his appearance in the Bemidji barroom, Rafferty couldn’t presume to do any logging. “Well, I could tend to any repairs—”

  “Buildings’re brand new.”

  “—or help here in the kitchen—”

  “Sam’s got plenty of help.”

  “—or I’m a fine hand with animals.”

  The foreman shook his head. “Sorry. The boys just got here—we set to work in the woods first thing tomorra—so our stock’s in good shape yet.”

  An uneasy silence was broken by a remark from the far table. “How ’bout the lady? Hell, we’d pay just for the chance to eyeball her for a while!”

  The hall suddenly came to life with boisterous male laughter, over which the cook was ordering the lumberjacks to shut up or leave.

  “Now you know why we insist on a no-talkin’ rule at meals,” Carnahan said as he rolled his eyes. “One remark’s all it takes to set off mouths and then fists. You’ll have to excuse these boys, ma’am, because they get a little rowdy—”

  But Amber wasn’t listening. She walked out from under Rafferty’s protective embrace, looking out over the rows of men on either side of the long tables, noting that except for their burly builds, nothing was particularly menacing about them. They were men who had to earn a living—a situation she certainly understood. And with Jack and Todd Carnahan nearby, she saw no harm in offering these loggers an evening’s entertainment.

  “What do you say, gentlemen?” she called out above their murmurings. Spotting a stack of wooden produce crates near the kitchen area, she stepped up onto them so she could see the lumberjacks at the far tables—and they could see her. As she hoped, the gesture brought them to a curious silence again.