Wilda's Outlaw

by Velda Brotherton

  He regretted the fear that crossed her features, but it couldn’t be helped. This little game had gone far enough and they needed to skeedaddle. Now.

  “It fastens in the back. You’ll have to undo me.” Though she sounded meek, he remained on guard.

  Undoing her was something he’d be pleased to do. Be his pleasure to undo her seven ways from Sunday. Instead he went to work on the dainty buttons with fingers that felt like tree stumps. Tight together, all in a row, the blamed little things went from the neckline plumb past her waist. This could take all night. “Does someone have to help you dress? Why do they make these so danged small and put them down the back?”

  Without answering, she went all trembly under his touch. For a minute he thought she might be crying, but realized she was laughing again.

  Good, he never had known what to do with a bawling woman, especially when he was the cause of it. Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure what to do with one hysterical with laughter, either.

  He thought things couldn’t get any worse, until her pale and delicate hand peeled the cumbersome dress off one creamy shoulder, then the other, and down both arms. She still had plenty on underneath, but he was getting this feeling she might as well be naked. The white blousy thing tied up under her chin was wet and clung to her luscious breasts exploding from the top of the corset. A lady’s corset was one thing he’d become acquainted with during his prowling days. He leaned forward to get a better look at the outline of her nipples. His whacker crawled around in his groin like a great snake. If he wanted to keep from going stark raving mad, he ought to avert his eyes. He tried, he really did. No luck. Might as well enjoy the sight and learn to deal with the madness.

  Without turning to face him she caught at the dress to hold it at her waist. It was might near impossible to forget about those delicious mounds of flesh hiding under her crossed arms long enough to help her.

  Hands shaking, he fisted up handfuls of the skirt.

  “Do not touch me.” Laughter had changed to fear.

  “Not you, just the dress. I promise.”

  Oh, God, he’d promised. He swallowed, his throat clicked, and he slowly pulled the dress down until it lay in a muddy puddle around her feet.

  Eyes downcast, arms hugging her bosom, Wilda stared at the ruins of her once beautiful toilette spread around her feet. Having made such a fool of herself, she wondered if she would ever be able to face Calder Raines again. When he spoke in an amused voice, she cringed.

  “Well, that didn’t do a whole lot of good. You’ve still got on more clothes than three women ought to wear. What is all this folderol?” He lifted a layer.

  She skittered out of reach. “My uh...” She cleared her throat, tried again. “That is my crinoline and petticoats, and I will not discuss my unmentionables with you.”

  “Why is that?”

  “It is not something a well bred lady does.”

  “All the same, you’re going to have to take off that hoop gadget. All them straps and buckles, looks like something a team of mules might wear. We’re not much better off than we were before. And you’d better get moving. Night’s burning fast.”

  Warily, she peeked over her shoulder. “Mister Raines, you certainly do not expect me to completely disrobe.”

  Brows raised, eyes sparkling wickedly, he repeated, “Mr. Raines?” He fingered a strap holding the boned and paneled fabric of the crinoline together. “After all we’ve been through together? Maybe if we put out the moon so I couldn’t see you. Would that work?”

  She slapped at his hand. “We are only together in the loosest term of the word, unless it means something else in your unusual language. And there’s no way to put out the moon, as you so colorfully suggest.” Once more attempting to stumble out of reach, she caught a toe in her discarded clothing.

  Hand on her elbow, he steadied her. “Whoa there, be careful.”

  His hand felt hot against her flesh.

  “There’s a bunch more stuff under there, looks like to me. Where does this thing unhitch?” He moved around her studying the circular hoops and strips of material. “Ah, ha. What happens if I pull this?”

  Before she could reply, he tugged and the crinoline billowed to the ground, hoop nesting into hoop, until she was surrounded by a mound of ballooning silk. Two more petticoats, a knee length chemise, drawers with embroidered scalloped hems, a corset, and its cover still clothed her body, but she felt completely exposed. She might as well be naked. With a shiver, she hugged her bare arms even tighter.

  “You cold?” he asked.

  “No. It’s just that I’m…practically naked.”

  Heat spread from her chest up her throat, and her entire body burned, chasing off the chill bumps. This man was a terrible influence on her. Before meeting him she would never have come right out and said the word naked in front of anyone, let alone a male. And worse, she was beginning to talk like him, combining words that certainly did not belong together. It is and I am. How he could butcher the English language, and now he had her doing it as well.

  “Let’s get moving before they ride over yonder hill and swoop down and haul your butt back to the arms of your intended.”

  “Mister Raines, please do not refer to m-my body parts—”

  “Aw, hell, ma’am. A butt’s a butt, not a body part. Though, I’ll have to admit…” He tilted his head to get a good look at her posterior. “Some butts are…”

  “Mister Raines.” She drew herself up ramrod straight, but could think of no further retort save a huge sigh.

  With a grin he removed his damaged hat, whacked it on his thigh a couple of times, reshaped the brim and crunched it down on his head. He moved his feet about in a curious shuffle and muttered something under his breath. She did not want to know what he said.

  “That did no good at all,” she told him.

  “Thanks.” He eyed the heaps of fabric around her feet. “I’ll have to hide those.”

  She kicked her way out of the wet, muddy mess, which he gathered in both arms and bundled against his chest. She could hardly bear to see him holding her clothing in close proximity to himself in such a manner. It caused unusual but very pleasant feelings to slither through her.

  As if he were completely oblivious to her discomfort, he headed for a nearby grove of trees. She watched him move out of sight, glanced around nervously. No one was around but Calder’s horse, who eyed her boldly. The warm kiss of the night wind felt surprisingly good on her bare shoulders, and she closed her eyes to enjoy it a moment longer. Evidently impatient, Gabe whickered, then touched her with his velvety nose. Startled, she yelped and moved away. Nodding his head he bumped her forward again, took a step and bumped her again.

  “What are you doing, horse?”

  In reply, he shoved her in the direction in which Calder had gone.

  “Stop that.” She slapped at him. He threw his head aside and exhaled between vibrating lips to expose great yellow teeth, eliciting another squeal from her. He could easily bite her hand off with those. She fought an urge to race away from the rude animal.

  Calder came out of the grove. “Gabe, behave yourself. Don’t push the lady around.” Walking past her, he smiled, gathered the reins and mounted with an ease she envied. Kicking loose from the stirrup he offered his hand.

  A nervous glance at the horse’s head, which swung so he could continue to look at her out of one eye, she placed her hand in Calder’s and poked a toe in the stirrup. Her shoes had filled with water, too, and her feet were cold and clammy. The petticoats hiked up when she straddled the filthy animal’s back. How easily she mounted without the constricting clothing. And how intimate were the outlaw’s muscles pressed against her without all that padding between them. Her nipples tingled, her loins burned along with her face.

  The horse moved before she was settled, and she wrapped both arms around Calder’s waist to keep from being pitched off again. Doing so pressed their bodies close enough to start another fire. The altogether pleasan
t experience kicked her fantasy to life. This was much more like what she’d imagined. It was no wonder the sisters at St. Ann’s kept this a secret. Such sensations could completely undo even the staunchest of celibates. She would enjoy it while she could.

  The wind whipped her hair and caressed her bared flesh like a dream lover. Such a feeling of freedom and sheer joy was a new experience that unleashed a passion she’d never known. The sensual touch of horseflesh between her legs, the fragrance of the prairie blended with Calder’s erotic male aroma, the silence broken by the high screech of a night bird, the endless bowl of purple sky lit by the waning moon all fed an unknown desire Nestling her face against his back, she resisted the temptation to put her tongue to the flesh of his neck, taste him so all her senses would be appeased. That would be going too far, much too far. She began to understand why her mother had done such a foolhardy thing as running away with the man she loved, rather than give him up.

  Some time later they arrived at the small shack the outlaw referred to as his hideout. It was certainly well hidden, for though he pointed it out, she could not spot the structure until they actually rode up on it.

  Tucked back into a deep recess in a fold of land above the river valley, it was nearly invisible. In the moonlight, so bright scraggly branches of the giant trees cast dancing shadows on the earth, she made out a hulking shadow with sagging roof and porch, the darker maw of a window with no glass and a door.

  “Looks like no one’s about,” Calder said. “Take my hand and slide down.” He lowered her to the ground, kicked free of the stirrups and dropped to the ground.

  A breeze set the leaves to singing, cooled the perspiration that plastered the damp clothing to her body. Long coils of hair lay heavily on her neck and shoulders, and she ran both hands upward through the curly mass, forgetting her state of undress for the moment.

  “Ah, that feels wonderful.”

  “Looks a might wonderful, too.”

  The tone of voice, somewhere between disbelief and awe caused her to peer at him through slitted lids. In the moonlight she could not make out his expression, but he was definitely staring at her. Glancing down she saw her breasts spilling over the top of her corset and clearly outlined against the damp chemise. For a moment, she didn’t move or blink. She wanted his eyes on her, wanted his hands there, wanted to arouse him too, and was shocked and dismayed by the depth of that desire. It wracked her hard down to her toes.

  Her only experience with a man’s touch was when a wretched deliveryman at St. Ann’s brushed his dirty hand across the bodice of her dress and drooled on himself. She had almost vomited. While Prescott had admired her with his eyes, he only touched her hand when he placed it to his lips. An abominable experience.

  A forbidden feeling for which she had no words, erupted in the company of this deliciously frightening outlaw and the dangerous circumstances. It was as new to her as the kiss of the gentle night breeze on her bare arms. English ladies never went out so exposed to the elements or to the eyes of men. Her sensitivity to his open admiration and the embrace of the elements, was strangely gratifying. Much more so than she had experienced in the presence of Lord Prescott. But she had no idea what to do about it. A sexual alliance with this man was unthinkable. Yet, she remained in the alluring pose, both arms thrust upward to hold her hair off her back, her breasts shoved into prominence by the corset and her stance. Daring to allow him a good look. Teasing him. Enjoying his reaction.

  What had come over her?

  Behaving like a slut, Marguerite would have said. The thrumming of her heart, a trembling somewhere in the pit of her stomach, his awed expression, added to the hazard of her fantasy.

  Of course, this would never do. She was trying to escape one man, and had no need to fall into the clutches of another. And especially not an outlaw and rowdy. What had she been thinking, instigating such a liaison? Still, she was free of Prescott, at least for the time being. Now if she could get through this situation unscathed. Vaguely, she realized that this was not the way to accomplish that. She was all but inviting him to ravage her. Whatever had come over her?

  Though Calder continued to study her, eyes gleaming in the moonlight, as silvery green as the sea on an early morning, he made no move to reach out, touch her. Actually, he appeared dumbstruck.

  She was both disappointed and relieved.

  They might have remained in such a pose forever, enjoying a silent intimacy neither of them understood, but for the sound of approaching hoof beats. Calder tensed, hand going to the pistol on his hip while he stepped in front of her. Protecting her, she supposed, but from what she dared not imagine.

  Chapter Nine

  Rowena’s Journal

  June 5, 1875

  Blair and I talked again last evening, but he will not sway from his determination to tame my sister. Oh, how I wish it were me in his thoughts.

  I fell asleep with that dream, and was awakened by an uproar, screaming and shouting from the direction of the barn. I went to the window in time to see a horse race away in the moonlight, and I could tell there were two people on him, one a woman. I learned later from Tyra that an outlaw had stolen Wilda right out of the library. Left part of her dress hanging where it caught as he dragged her outside.

  Blair was livid, as well he should be. Who would do such a thing? And why?

  He immediately sent Simmons to town to gather some men to ride out in search of her. All his friends who ride to the hounds with him. What excitement. He had food prepared to carry with them, and when the men showed up they were all armed with guns. Blair took his hunting rifle from his room, his face purple with rage that someone would dare do such a thing. I heard him tell Simmons that if he caught the rounder who made off with his property, he would personally put a bullet through his head.

  Tyra acted strangely, almost as if this were a lark of some sort. Marguerite and Mister Chesshire came downstairs in their nightclothes, they were so excited.

  “I will not return without her,” Blair shouted to the Chesshires before he led the others off in the direction the thief was seen to go.

  I love my sister, I really do, and I fear for her safety. But should she not return, I shudder to think what will become of Tyra and me. I can only pray that if that should come to pass, Blair will accept me as second best and continue with the bargain he struck with Wilda.

  I did not sleep a wink last night thinking about what our fate might be. No one has yet returned from the hunt, but I must go to breakfast. Perhaps someone has heard news about my sister.

  ****

  Whatever had been about to happen between her and the outlaw Calder Raines was interrupted by approaching hoofbeats. It would not happen. At least not yet. And that was a good thing, but Wilda regretted it nevertheless.

  After he stepped between her and the riders, she peered around his shoulder at two mounted and quite scruffy men. No doubt they had ridden hard, she could smell the sweat from their horses in the wind. It must be the outlaws from the train, the ones Calder referred to as “the boys”.

  One spoke Calder’s name, and she recognized him as the one who had gathered everyone’s valuables. The other was surely the man who had never come on board but handled the horses for their escape. Getaway, the man on the train had called it. A renewed fear grew in her chest.

  “Deke, Baron. Good to see you.” Calder said without moving forward.

  Both dismounted after a round of greetings in which she sensed a certain tension.

  “Fellas, this is Wilda.” He reached back, took her arm and tried to draw her up beside him.

  “No. I’m not dressed,” she hissed into his ear.

  “It’s dark, besides you’re wearing more than the women they know ever wear.”

  “Well, I am not the women they know,” she objected, but reluctantly allowed him to draw her forward when he coiled one arm about her waist.

  The message had been sent to these men that she belonged to him, and though that was very disconcerting,
she preferred it to any ideas they might have. For the time, she would have to trust him to protect her.

  Though both responded in kind to Calder’s greeting, they appeared far from satisfied with the situation.

  The taller, dark one, Muddy Eyes, the one Calder called Baron, glowered at her, then turned to Calder. “And just what in the hell are you thinking, bringing a fancy girl up here?”

  “I am not a fancy girl.” She quickly darted behind Calder, wished she had a blanket to cover herself.

  “Hush up, Baron. She’s in trouble and I just said I’d help her out. She fell in the river.”

  Baron snorted. “That accent. A Limey. You the knight of the plains, or what? And what in hell happened to your hat? You fall in with her? Must’ve been downright cozy.”

  “For your information, he rescued me,” she blurted.

  “One of those English gals from Victoria City. What’s she doing out here only half dressed? They could string you up, boy. Don’t you know that?”

  Calder stiffened. “Hung for a sheep, hung for a goat,” he muttered.

  His attitude gave her the sense that something was wrong between these two, something much deeper than this little conflict.

  The one called Deke laughed, but didn’t say anything.

  Clearly, Calder wasn’t going to tell his friends about the kidnapping deal, and that was probably just as well. What he did have in mind, she had no idea. Remaining here with these three ruffians for any length of time was certainly not appealing. She tugged at his sleeve. “Could we go now?”

  He ignored her, spoke to Baron. “We’re going to have to put off that other thing for a while, just till I get this matter taken care of.”

  “Yeah, you do that, you take care of this little matter,” Baron said. “And do it quick, or Deke and I will take care of the other thing without your help.” He glanced quickly at the quiet one, who nodded. “Or maybe this chippie’d give us a hand. In that outfit, she’d shore be a distraction, wouldn’t she, Deke?” Both men laughed.

  A change came over Calder. His stance altered and his palm once more went to the butt of his pistol, as if he were preparing for a fight. “Baron, that’s enough.”