Outlaw Moon

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “I know, Jack. Don’t fret about—”

  “Hear me out, honey.” He glanced through the window, to see Booth Watson reading a piece of paper with a bemused expression. With luck, he’d have a few more moments of privacy to empty his heart before it burst with his pent-up regrets.

  “I—I fully intend to serve my time and come home to raise my child, if you’ll still have me by then,” he vowed in a low voice. He shushed her protest with his finger, his insides tightening in agony when her huge brown eyes grew shiny with tears. “I know of a couple lawyers that might plead a convincing case for me. But if something goes . . . well, while I’m behind those bars, awaiting a decision, I want you to look up my mother in Kansas City. She’ll take care of you, once she knows who you are . . . always begged me to give her grandchildren. Here, give her this letter when you see her.”

  He was pulling an envelope from inside his shirt, looking like a prodigal yearning to do right and come home. Amber accepted it with a solemn nod. She didn’t dare raise his hopes by confessing to writing a letter already, and she prayed he wouldn’t notice that Mama’s gold locket no longer hung among the other chains she wore.

  “I’ll always love you, Amber,” he continued in a hoarse whisper. “I promise you that if it’s within my power, I’ll make all this up to you.”

  “I came along on my own free will, remember?”

  She was grasping his hand, but it was his heart that felt as though she were squeezing the life out of it. God, she was lovely, and if he never saw her after they left the train, he wanted to remember her exotic, sloe-eyed smile and the wonderful texture of her hair . . . all the times they’d made such glorious love passed before his mind’s eye and he desperately wished he could turn back the calendar.

  “Take care of yourself, honey. That’s part of me you’re carrying around, you know.”

  She nodded, sniffling loudly.

  “And for Chrissakes, don’t fall for any lines some handsome desperado might feed you about how

  he’ll—”

  “You fell for a few lines yourself, mister. But they all happened to be true,” she added with a weak attempt at a laugh. “You’ve been running from the wrong ghosts, I tell you. Should’ve been running from me all this time, and you could’ve made it to Canada—”

  “Nothing there I wanted. If this train wrecks and sends us into the hereafter, I’ll die a happy man.”

  His attempt at humor was suddenly too hard to take. Amber looked away, greatly relieved when Booth Watson folded his burly frame into the seat across from them. From down the track came the strident, steamy whistle of the train, and with a series of shudders and jerks, they were rolling toward Kansas City. Toward a future that was as unfathomable as the life that grew inside her.

  Chapter 30

  Booth let himself relax as the rhythmic clatter of the train cut off any immediate escape routes for his two prisoners—not that they looked likely to bolt. They were slouched together in their seat, heads touching as they held hands, and he was guessing they’d be asleep before long. Just as well. They’d be switching trains on several Minnesota feeder lines before they had a straight shot at Kansas City. A tiring ride still loomed ahead of them, along the Iowa-Nebraska border, before they reached Missouri.

  They made a handsome pair . . . damn shame Rafferty’s wild streak had gotten the best of him a couple summers ago. He liked these two—was wishing he could spring them, odd as that sounded for a man in his profession. But even the telegrams his partner Scott had wired him gave him nothing definite enough to dismiss the case. And what McConnell had told him only made him more determined to let this drama play itself out. Determined . . . and wary.

  When Rafferty and his woman were snoring a soft duet, he pulled the two messages from his coat pocket to ponder them again. Both had been transferred to the isolated depot they’d just left because it was the northernmost terminal for the commercial railroad, but unfortunate timing had rendered them useless. The first one, dated November fifth, had just missed him before he set out on horseback after Rafferty:

  HALT MANHUNT AT ONCE—STOP— RAFFERTY NOT GUILTY—STOP—MEET ME IN DODGE.

  Booth chuckled. Humility wasn’t his young partner’s shortcoming, and neither was wordiness. He had no doubt that Scott McConnell had unearthed more evidence in Kansas than they’d ever need, but in his cocksureness he’d deprived Watson of enough to set Rafferty free. And the second message, dated only three days ago, was just as tantalizing:

  BAD ACCIDENT—STOP—WAIT FOR ME IN K.C.—STOP—DON’T LET NUNN GET AWAY BEFORE I ARRIVE.

  Watson sighed, refolding the telegrams. He and Scott would have to reach an understanding if they were to successfully run this detective agency. McConnell was the ideal partner when it came to poring over courthouse records and sifting through seemingly useless information to find the one detail needed to solve a case—paper-shuffling he himself detested. But, damn! While he was out in the wilds, Scott’s thoroughness would do him no good if the upstart only teased him with the information!

  He agreed with one thing, however: Felicity Nunn had damn well better show up at the Kansas City depot. She would not be leaving until he heard the rest of her story—even if he had to force it out of her by pitting her word against Scott’s. He had a hunch Rafferty might want to help with that.

  For now, though, he busied himself with reviewing what he knew about his sly blonde client, to make sure all of his conclusions fit. The steady rumbling of the train was making him drowsy . . . try as he might, when he brought forth all the incriminating things she’d told him, he kept recalling her more positive points: lips pressing his in a grateful kiss after he’d bandaged her head, slender arms wrapped so helplessly around him as he caught her fall in front of the boardinghouse . . . a long, shapely leg extended toward him in ribald invitation, revealing the tight feminine portal he’d dreamed of claiming for—

  Get your mind out of THAT gutter, he chided himself as he straightened in his seat. You’re about to find out what an ass she’s made of you. Buck up, Watson.

  But when he looked out the window at the endless, rolling snowbanks and considered the distance they had to travel yet, he decided a little daydream about the lovely Mrs. Nunn might be pleasant company for a few hours. He rolled a cigarette and lit it, thinking how Felicity was every bit as changeable and elusive as the wisps of smoke drifting around his face. He had to give her credit for successfully carrying her scheme this far ... and as he anticipated their rendezvous in Kansas City, he grinned like a kid. She’d taken him by surprise, all right. But he was going to take her by a bigger one.

  * * *

  Felicity tried to hide herself behind one of the depot’s pillars, but when Gideon Minnit’s face lit up with that prissy grin, she knew there was no escaping him. Countless times these past two weeks she’d wanted to see him swept onto—or in front of—a departing train by the press of the crowd. But then, he knew he’d damn well better appear each day to meet the incoming passengers, or she would destroy him.

  “Any luck?” she asked when he was standing beside her.

  Gideon brushed imaginary dust from the front of his fringed red jacket with an air of great self-importance. “They dang well better show up today,” he whined. “How long does Watson think we’ll stand for this waiting, wasting all this time in the cold to see if he’s going to show up? For all we know—”

  “I said, any luck?” She stared pointedly down her nose at him until he glanced up with a look that was equally peevish.

  “No!” he snapped. “Can I help it that men I’ve trusted with my life have disappeared like the wind with my livestock, and my tents, and—”

  Yes, Felicity fumed as he continued his familiar litany of troubles. But her impatience accomplished nothing: this sniveling bastard dressed all in red, like some Christmas elf, couldn’t repay his share of Watson’s fee and expenses until Amber showed up with his two diamond rings. It was that simple. And it was becoming extreme
ly difficult to tolerate this little man.

  “—and I’d think you’d show a little more understanding—a little compassion—for a friend who’s lost everything he owned,” the blond went on beseechingly. “Gideon Midnight’s Authentic Wild West Extravaganza is finished—my entire life stolen away by disloyal employees—and all you can do is harp about a measly thousand bucks!”

  “Twelve hundred,” she corrected coolly.

  “Might as well be twelve thousand,” he screeched. “I may own nothing but the clothes in my carpetbag, but I have my integrity, Mrs. Nunn! You will be paid—”

  “Oh, shut up!” she hissed, clapping her hand over his mouth. “Everyone’s staring at us.”

  Last time she cut him off that way, he bit her finger, so Felicity removed her hand the moment he’d gotten the message. “We have this same asinine conversation every day—”

  “Because you bring it up!”

  “—and we’re going to stand here like sensible adults and wait for this next train,” she continued. “Surely you can behave like a grown man for ten minutes.”

  “You invited me to join this goose chase, remember?” he jeered. And then he stuck out his tongue, waggling his hands beside his ears to further disgust her.

  What had she ever seen in this undersized twit? She turned her back on him, hugging herself against the bitter wind that whistled around the depot building, straining to see if the train was coming down the track. Surely Watson would be on it today! Why, he’d been right on Rafferty’s heels, not an hour behind those two con artists, when he galloped away from Bemidji—

  “Of course you realize,” Minnit’s voice crept stealthily up her back, “that if Amber managed to escape, you and I will have to work off my debt another way.”

  Felicity whirled around to jab a finger into his chest. “You cannot work this off in trade, mister! You’re not the big star anymore—and even when you were, your equipment was pretty damn piddly. Now hush! Not another word until they get here.”

  Jesus, would she have any sanity left by the time the detective arrived? Thank God the train on the nearest track was beginning to huff and rumble expectantly. Blue-coated conductors cried “all aboard!” as most of the people around them moved toward the doors of the waiting cars. With all the commotion, she’d at least have a few moments free from Gideon’s childish whining ....

  A few moments to pull herself together before the next train from the north came chugging in, belching smoke and throwing ice pellets and cinders. As she did every day, she composed herself by thinking about Booth Watson . . . his rugged face came to mind, with that thick mustache that tickled when he kissed her . . . hands that grasped her with a firm, knowing strength that made her melt against his powerful body.

  Of course, Jack would be with him. And when he appeared in the doorway of the passenger car, the moment she’d planned and awaited for nearly a year would be at hand! Her heart sang with anticipation. She knew exactly what to say, had imagined Rafferty’s awe and delighted response when he realized—

  Was that a whistle in the distance? The handful of people who’d remained out here in the cold were looking down the tracks. Gideon was already strutting across the platform, his thin blond hair blowing back in the breeze, like Buffalo Bill Cody taking center stage. Maybe today was the day! She’d get her money from Gideon and be free of him. She’d surprise the pants off Jack Rafferty . . . and if luck was still with her, she’d stroll away from the station on the arm of her handsome western detective, Booth Watson, right into paradise.

  Putting on her prettiest smile, Felicity went to stand beside Gideon, waiting.

  “Fifteen minutes and we’ll reach Kansas City,” the conductor announced as he strolled down the aisle of the railway car. “All passengers disembarking will please check around their seats to see that they have all their personal belongings. We’ll remain in the station approximately ten minutes before continuing on.”

  Booth shook himself fully awake at the sound of the man’s sonorous voice. He stretched carefully, sticking his long legs into the aisle after the conductor passed, so he wouldn’t interrupt Amber. She was reading Rafferty the dime novels from her carpetbag, and doing a fine job of it. Watson caught a flicker of apprehension when their arrival time was called out, and he smiled. Miss LaBelle had kept her word: Jack thought they’d be getting off only because they had to switch trains. He had some things to tend to, so he put his Stetson on and smiled at them.

  “I don’t know about you folks, but my backside’s had about all it can take of this train seat,” he commented. “What say I get your dog and the horses, and instead of meeting the next westbound train, we take a room for the night? A real bed and a decent meal sound pretty good to me.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Amber gushed, and then she looked at Jack . . . well, at his chin, anyway. “I—I think I’d feel much better after a solid night’s sleep. And a bath!”

  Rafferty nodded. “Fine by me. I’m in no hurry to see Dodge again.”

  Watson sensed their little lie might remain undetected longer if he wasn’t around, so Amber couldn’t stare at him like a scared doe. “Meet me on the platform, then,” he said, and he rose to brush his pant legs down before proceeding up the aisle.

  Amber caught the slightest wink as Watson tipped his hat to her. Her heart began to pound and she suddenly felt queasy. In only moments Jack would realize she and the detective were in cohoots—that they’d kept some very pertinent information about this Kansas City stop from him. She busied herself folding the dimers back into her bag and checking the seat for anything she might’ve misplaced.

  “You all right, honey?”

  She looked up from her fussing, wondering if he already suspected her little act. “F-fine. Why?”

  “You look a little peaked. But then, I don’t imagine this hard seat, or the jerking when the train stops and starts, has been too comfortable for you, in your condition,” he continued kindly.

  His quick kiss seemed as sincere as ever, so she forced a smile. “Well, I’ve felt better, but there’s no need to worry. It’s nothing a little sleep and hot food won’t take care of.”

  Rafferty sighed and glanced out the window at the parade of telegraph poles across the snowy landscape. They were passing through the outskirts of town now, past outlying settlements and rutted roads and the winter profile of bare-branched trees against the bright blue sky.

  “I...I feel like I should contact Ma,” he said quietly. “But after all these months, I’d feel pretty damn low going to the house with Watson tagging along as my warden. Promise me you’ll look her up, once they take me in?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course, Jack,” she murmured. They were only moments from the depot now, and the thought that Mrs. Rafferty might be there—she hadn’t been able to specify their arrival date in her letter—made her hands sweat. What if she’d done exactly the wrong thing by contacting Jack’s mother? What if Jack wanted nothing more to do with a woman who’d twice gone behind his back—with their captor’s help, no less?

  And yet, as the train slowed for its approach to the station, each car’s coupler ramming the one behind it as the brakes were applied, Amber was acquiring a whole new set of worries. The depot was in plain sight now. She could see people milling around on the platform, stamping their feet in the cold as they looked expectantly toward the creeping, hissing train. And one of them wore tight red leggings with matching boots, a red fringed jacket, and a red cowboy hat.

  Only one man in the world dressed that way.

  Her stomach lurched. She felt as cold and clammy as the window glass she was peering out of. Did Watson know Gideon would be here to meet them? Had he duped her, just as she’d kept certain facts from Rafferty? There was a fashionably-dressed woman beside him—

  And when Jack caught sight of the blond pair, standing right in front of their car as it jolted to a halt, his first impulse was to bolt. What the hell’s Watson trying to pull? He glared at Amber, ready to demand
the meaning of this as other passengers started toward the doors, but her pale, shocked expression told him she was as startled by this turn of events as he.

  “What do you make of this?” he asked in a terse whisper.

  “Amber, be very careful if we get separated,” Jack instructed. He took her hand in a purposeful way, as though to prevent any such disaster before it happened. “Minnit’s up to no good. Let him have those damn rings! I’ll buy you diamonds when we—”

  She looked him square in the eye for the first time all day. The appearance of Gideon Minnit, that pint-sized pissant who’d goaded her for her favors and degraded her the whole time she’d worked for him—who’d forced her to either marry him or run these hundreds of miles to escape his lewd treachery—made something snap within her. Something positive and powerful.

  “I know just how to handle him, Jack,” she replied with a sudden calm reserve. “I have something he wants, and he’s never, never going to get it. The man himself won’t change in a hundred years, but I already have.”

  Jack’s heart swelled with her bravado, but her triumphant announcement didn’t help his own confidence. That was Watson’s woman staring through the window at them . . . he’d wondered where the detective had stashed her and Minnit during his cross-country hunt, but he hadn’t asked. Didn’t want the investigator thinking he was concerned about them popping up again when they could wreak the most havoc.

  That time was obviously now.

  And Watson must be having himself a helluva laugh while he was getting the horses and Maudie from the stock car.

  “Let’s get this over with,” he muttered, stepping ahead of her into the vacant aisle. No telling what Minnit might do. The other passengers had already gone into the depot with the people who’d met them, so the showman had a clear shot at her unless Rafferty acted as her shield.