Wilda's Outlaw

by Velda Brotherton

  She sniffed. Nodded. His hand fumbled about, found her arm, closed around it. He was strong, with fingers like steel. If he wanted, he could hurt her.

  “Isn’t there someone, anyone you can appeal to for help? There are other people here, maybe one of them would help you.”

  “No, you don’t understand. I promised I would marry him, and in return he took my sister, my cousin and I from a charity house where we worked for our keep. If I don’t honor my vow, he will cast us all out. We have no wherewithal, nowhere to go, no one to go to. Besides, if I try to get someone here to help, he will only bring me back. What he wants is not a wife, but a dutiful servant…and a bed partner.” She cringed at having said such a thing to this stranger.

  “Which is what you were in England,” Calder said. “Servant, I mean,” he added quickly. His tone had softened somewhat, as if at last he had some compassion for her situation. “So, you leaped out of one frying pan into another.”

  “What a clever way to put it. Yes, I have done just that. I am sorry to have bothered you. Under the circumstances you have been quite nice about the entire thing. You had better go now, before someone misses me and we are caught out here together. That would only serve to make my situation that much worse.”

  He was silent for a long while, and she made to leave. “You aren’t going to threaten to expose me for the train robbery? If I don’t do this, I mean.”

  “No, why would I do that?”

  He thought for a while longer, and this time she remained still, ears clogged with the beat of her heart. “If I kidnap you and it’s not your fault you can’t marry him, you think he’ll continue to care for your sister and cousin.”

  “Yes, I do. It would be a matter of honor. But—”

  “All right, then. I’ll do it. We can figure out what to do with you later. But we have a problem.”

  Joy cut short she stared at him. “A problem?”

  “How do you propose to convince him that you’ve been snatched rather than simply run away? Do we leave a note, or maybe I could go knock on the door and say, ‘Hey, in case you didn’t notice, I’m kidnapping your fiancée, or whatever.’ Maybe that’d work.”

  Pondering on that a moment, she frowned. “Oh, you cannot do that, and I’m afraid he would not believe a note…I mean, would he not think I wrote it and ran off?”

  “Yeah, you may be right. Okay, let me think.”

  She did, glancing occasionally toward the house. The lights had been extinguished on the lower floor, but some still burned in the bedchambers. Suppose someone went to her room, found her gone, raised the alarm? This was taking far too much time.

  “Can you scream?” he asked finally, startling her.

  “Why, yes, I suppose I can.”

  That said, he grabbed her around the waist and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of feed. “You can scream anytime now.”

  Chapter Eight

  Hung upside down over his shoulder, the outlaw’s arm snugly around her thighs, Wilda cried, “Wait, wait. I need some things, I can’t… We can’t…”

  Suddenly she wanted to escape from this man who had just agreed to help her, who’d lifted her off her feet with such ease. It was really happening. Now what?

  “Hey, I’m kidnapping you. We can’t stop to pick up a spare dress. Scream, and make it loud.”

  He’d really gotten into the plan, so she opened her mouth and screeched as loud as she could. A decent shout was difficult to maintain while being joggled stomach down over his shoulder.

  “Not good enough,” he grunted, trotting from the barn. “Too ladylike. Give it all you’ve got. Lord God, how come you wear so much garb? There may not be room for all of this on my horse.”

  When her second scream did not suit him, he pinched her hard through folds of the skirt. It really didn’t hurt, but had the needed effect. Vexed that he should take such liberties, she raised her voice an octave and let out a mighty wail that disturbed the horses, who in turn set up their own clamor.

  “That’s better. Once more.” He set her down, mounted up, then kicked a foot free and reached a hand down to her. “Put your foot there, in the stirrup, and up you come. And don’t knock me out of the saddle with that fandangled wad of skirts.”

  Caught in mid-scream and driven by the impetus of the moment, she didn’t slow to consider what she was doing, simply followed instructions. Found herself hauled astraddle of the horse, her voluminous skirts billowing out all around them both.

  “Good God almighty,” he said, swatting at the yards of fabric and springing hoops. “Put your arms around my waist and hang on, and you might yell help once or twice, just for good measure.”

  He whirled the horse and galloped to the top of the rise, her clinging to him while her skirts ballooned out in the wind. There the animal reared on its hind legs, and she hung on and screeched, this time in fearful earnest. Back on all four feet, the horse pranced and chuffed.

  Letting out a sigh of somewhat frantic relief, she glanced at the house. “Do you think they heard?”

  “Yep, they heard. See the lanterns? Everyone’s popping out of the place, running circles, shouting. Look like a bunch of overgrown, drunken lightning bugs. You are definitely kidnapped by one of the meanest, baddest outlaws in Kansas.”

  With no warning, he kicked the mount and they fled through the moonlit night, her arms clamped around his waist. She bounced about on the animal’s wide back. A wonder she didn’t sail off into the night. The escape wasn’t quite as romantic as she had imagined, but it would do.

  With her hoops looped around the horse’s behind and sticking straight up between them, her body and his rubbed together with each bounce. As if that weren’t disturbing enough, the sensation of riding astride created quite a reaction in her most secret places. No wonder women were forbidden to ride in such a manner. Tyra had it right. So this was the way a proper lady was not supposed to feel? At least, not according to the sisters at St. Ann’s. But then their viewpoint might be somewhat skewed, considering the life they had chosen. They would not dare desire what they had forsaken.

  Hard as it was to concentrate on flight and not his nearness, she managed by remembering Prescott’s dark scowl and gruff voice.

  “What do we do now?” she asked after a while.

  He slowed the animal. “Damned if I know. I never kidnapped anyone before. I guess I should take you to our hideout. That is if no one follows us.”

  Calder figured he’d have to first make sure no one was on their trail, so he headed into the Smoky River valley to cross and re-cross the wide stream before heading toward the hidden shack. Deke and Baron would have plenty to say about him hauling this lady in to their secret hideaway, and he didn’t relish that a bit. Deke hardly ever said anything, just went off by himself until he decided what to do about a situation, then did it without discussion. No matter what anyone thought. Baron, though, was getting meaner and meaner, and harder to control. Lately, everything they tried to do to right the wrongs of the war met with failure.

  Though Baron had kept him alive at Palmito, he wasn’t exactly the smartest man when it came to choosing the best way to go in any situation. His decisions often lacked common sense. Worse, he’d be madder than a roped bangtail, and just about as wild, when he found out that Calder hadn’t yet cased out the bank but was fooling around with this woman instead. He didn’t know how much longer he could ride with the man who had saved his life. Sure wished he could come up with someplace else to take her but to the hideout.

  Well, one thing at a time. The woman clung to him so tight he thought she might break a rib or strangle him so he couldn’t breathe. And he’d like to rip out those loops in her skirt every time they bounced down over his head and up again. Good thing Gabe could see where they were going.

  Urging the bay gently back into the river yet again, he said, “You can loosen up there, ma’am. We’re not running anymore.”

  Making a funny little sound down in her throat, she eased up h
er grip. Before he could get a handle on the situation, she bounced, her arms lost their grip and she slid sideways. With a whoop and a holler she fell into the water. From a distant hill, a coyote answered her call of distress.

  On her hands and knees, trying to get up with that soaked wad of a dress dragging her back down, she froze and looked up at him, eyes wide and reflecting the bright moonlight. “What was that?”

  “I think you just called you up a mate.” He hoped she didn’t take offense that he laughed at the sight of her and her fancy outfit all soaking wet.

  Dismounting, he couldn’t decide what to grab to help her, settled on taking her hands. But she and that damned dress weighed so much he couldn’t get her up. One boot slid forward on the slick clay bottom, the other went sideways, and before he knew it he was sprawled on top of her, covered in heaps of soggy fabric. Screeching like a drowning hen she flapped her arms around and gave him a thorough cussing. At least he figured she did, he couldn’t understand most of it.

  “Well, ma’am, that sure took the lady right out of you.” He struggled not to laugh, but it was no good. There wasn’t much else to do while he wrestled around in the water with a furious woman turned wildcat.

  “Please get your knee out of my stomach,” she gasped between water filled coughs.

  “I would if I could.” He wiggled around some more until he knelt astraddle of her and that monstrosity of a dress. Propped on both elbows, wet hair covered half her face, which was probably a good thing, because she was one pissed lady. The quicker he could get out of her reach, the better. But it wasn’t easy in this slick mud.

  Scooting backward, he rescued his hat before it floated away, crammed it on his head and hauled himself to his feet. Gazed down at his boots, correction Jim Johnson’s boots, filled with muddy water that oozed out the tops. Dammit. All of a sudden not feeling disposed to laugh, he glared at her like it might be her fault, which he decided real quick it was.

  She had the gall to swipe her undone hair off her face, take a look at him and go half hysterical. Now she was laughing at him.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Your hat…it’s wet. I mean…” Gesturing helplessly, she gave up and sputtered some more, this time in merriment.

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice. You ain’t mentioned it, and I hate to say anything, but you look like a drowned rat yourself. No, that’s not right. A rat wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that outfit.” He reached down, grabbed her hand and started dragging her toward shore, her butt sliding right along in the slick mud, her yelling, “Wait, stop. Help.”

  It wasn’t easy, either, lifting the water-filled boots and slogging along, her kicking and struggling, his feet squishing around and making sucking sounds. Borrowed boots. Dammit.

  She might be kicking and struggling, but she kept laughing, so he ignored her objections until he had plopped her out onto the bank like a landed fish. Slithering about, he found his footing, took her under the arms and pulled her up onto the grass, sank down beside her to decide what he’d best do about getting the water out of the boots. On his back, he poked one leg at a time up in the air in the hopes he could drain them without taking them off.

  Water ran from a boot, up his pant leg and into the bend of his knee. To show her how displeased he was, he shot her a sour look. “There, now. I’ve saved your life. But don’t you worry none, it’s okay if you don’t thank me.”

  One eye glared at him from under the cascade of dripping hair, and she sputtered. “Thank you? Thank you when you almost drowned me? Not likely.” Once again, she broke into spasms of laughter.

  He reckoned he did look sort of silly himself, laying there with his legs stuck up in the air while water ran down them, or was it up them?

  “What are you doing?” she managed to ask.

  “Draining my boots. What’s so danged funny about that?”

  “Why not take them off and dump out the water?”

  “I thought of that,” he said impatiently. Didn’t she know anything? “I’d never get ’em back on. I ain’t riding in to the hideout sock footed. Bad enough I’m half-drowned. And they ain’t even my boots. I borrowed ’em.”

  He locked his fingers over the sole of one boot, still up in the air, and tried to squeeze the water out. “I reckon they’re ruint.”

  “Ru-ant? What is that?”

  Without waiting for him to reply, which he wasn’t about to do too quick, dumbfounded as he was over her question, she slithered about trying to stand. The dress was too heavy.

  He allowed her to struggle while he made one final effort to drain the boots, then staggered to his feet and gave her a hand. It was no mean feat, getting her upright, and it didn’t stop her giggling either.

  “It ain’t funny.”

  “Oh, no? It was funny when you laughed at me.”

  “Well, you ought to see yourself.”

  Dripping water, the beautiful skirts mud streaked and limp, hoops bent and broken, hair soaked and stringy, she dared laugh at him. He didn’t tell her she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. But dammit, he wanted to. He ached to laugh with her, or take her in his arms and give her a big kiss. Probably best if he didn’t do any of those things, though. Considering.

  She gestured once more, managed to speak. “Your hat, you need…need to…I think it might be ruined. It’s all lumpy and the brim is hanging down.” Her beautiful eyes widened and she covered her mouth. “Oh, ru-ant. Ruined.”

  Something close to admiration swelled in his chest and he nodded an affirmation. “At least you’re learning to speak our language. Anyway, I can still wear my clothes. Look at you. We gotta do something about that, and fast.”

  Good God, what had he let himself in for? With a bank robbery in the near future, he’d had to go and get himself mixed up with some foreign woman who could very well get him hung before this was over with. Worse, they hardly spoke the same language, and all he wanted to do was throw her down in the grass, strip her free of her clothes and do all sorts of manly things to her. Even in her less than tidy condition.

  To distract himself, he looked around for Gabe. The bay stood in the shallow water, a quizzical expression on his freckled face. Probably thought this a great joke. It might be, but it was time to get serious, so he turned to the woman.

  “You know, I don’t think poor old Gabe is gonna want to carry the both of us. I’ll bet that garb you’re wearing weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet. How come you wear so blamed many clothes anyway? A few months on the run and you’ll be getting rid of some of that outfit.”

  She stared forlornly down at the bedraggled dress. “I don’t think it will take that long.”

  “Well, then, let’s get it off now. What you got on under it?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Okay, fine. You’re pardoned.” He gestured toward the skirts. “Couldn’t you just maybe take off one or two layers? Ole Gabe may throw hisself a fit if you try to get back on his back wearing all that wet stuff. Look at him, he don’t even want to come out of the water.”

  “That disgusting animal threw me in the river. On purpose. And now you want me to get back on him?”

  “He wouldn’t do that. You just turned loose and fell off, which I can see has hurt his feelings. He don’t take well to folks doing that. It puts him in a bad light.”

  “Going without clothes was not a part of this bargain,” she insisted. “I will walk. How far is it?”

  “Farther than you can walk…like that.” It was his turn to gesture and chuckle. That earned him a dirty look.

  He whistled and Gabe came forward slowly, head bobbing, eyes on the ground, like he didn’t want any part of this crazy situation. Before the bay could get any ideas, like lighting out and leaving them stranded, Calder grabbed the reins.

  “We need to get shut of this place, ma’am.”

  “Is it possible that means we need to leave?”

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s about what it means.�
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  Her gaze darted from him to Gabe, then back to him again. Blue eyes squeezed half shut, she worked those full lips into an attractive pout. “You are not going to allow me back on him unless I disrobe, are you?”

  Poking the toe of his ruint boot into the stirrup, he swung onto Gabe’s back, gave her his orneriest scowl. “No, ma’am, I’m not.”

  “Then I will walk.” She clambered up the slope away from the river, stumbled and nearly went to her knees as she struggled to drag along the yards of wet material.

  Calmly he rode along beside her. “Just the top two or three layers. I ain’t asking you to get naked.”

  “And I am not taking off my dress so you can see m-my—”

  “Underdrawers,” he supplied.

  “Sir.” She stumbled again, righted herself and stuck her pretty nose in the air so she could glare up at him. “They are called unmentionables for a reason, and I would kindly ask you to remember that.”

  He grinned, hoped it was disarming. “Unmentionables. Hmmm. I won’t look. Neither will Gabe, will you old fellow?” He gazed across the empty prairie cupped by the blackness of sky aglow with glittering stars and that chunk of silver moon. “I think they’re coming. You’d better make up your mind quick or you’ll be back with that old fart and married quicker than you can say bobcat scat.”

  She followed his gaze. “I don’t see anyone. Do you always speak that way, or are you doing it to shock me?”

  “What way, ma’am?” he asked and grinned. Damned if he wasn’t having a high old time at her expense. In fact, he couldn’t remember having so much fun since he and that pretty little black haired Osage squaw…but, this was no time for reminiscing. It was time they got on their way before riders actually appeared. Someone was bound to come looking for her, and he could only hope he’d outfoxed them riding in and out of the river.

  With a firm conviction he didn’t feel, he dismounted and took her by both arms. “You are the kidnapped, I am the kidnapper. You’ll do what I say, and I say that wet dress goes. Now. You understand? Take it off or I rip it off.”