The Outlaw's Wife

by Cindy Gerard

  With quiet wonder she climbed the loft stairs. The small light by the bed cast the room in a muted glow as she undressed and slipped into her gown. The sheets were cool—as was the summer night in the mountains.

  She lay awake and listened to its sounds. Always the wind murmured through the trees. In the far distance a homed owl called, “Who...who...whooo?”

  Below the loft, the back door opened, then closed with a low creak, signaling that Garrett had come back inside. The sound of bare feet on bare wood floors drifted upward. She heard a muted, shuffling sound, a click, a low whirring, then soft music playing.

  With a catch in her breast, she recognized the sounds of him undressing: the rasp of a zipper going down; well-washed denim sliding down long, muscled legs. And she could picture him in the dark, plumping a pillow beneath his head, cool sheets rustling over his lean, hard body as he settled onto the sofa where he’d chosen to spend the night.

  She turned to her side, curled into herself and tried not to think of his heat and his length and the fire he’d brought to a slow, burning flame with his good-night kiss,.

  “Who...who...whooo?” swooped into the darkness again, a lonesome, echoing reminder that she was still searching for who she was and where this was heading.

  The bay mare had a soft mouth and solid footing. Garrett had selected her for both reasons from the small herd they still kept at the home place—and for her size and her temperament. Without any fuss she went wherever he asked her to go and easily handled the weight of him and Emma riding double.

  He wasn’t handling things quite as well. With Emma settled behind him, every shift of the big quarter horse’s weight beneath them brought a bone-melting, blood boiling brush of her breasts against his back. Every change of direction, every descent downhill, had her slim thighs and hips cupping and hugging his like snug warm velvet.

  It was hell. It was heaven. Being this close to her and not being able to do anything about it was slowly, systematically driving him crazy.

  The horseback ride had seemed like such a good idea—a reenactment of their second date. After they’d showered and polished off a big breakfast this morning, he’d suggested the ride. She’d lit up like a shooting star.

  He’d congratulated himself on his choice of activities. That was before he’d mounted up, pulled her up behind him and realized his error. They’d covered miles of ridges and rills since they’d started. And he wasn’t in a congratulatory mood any longer.

  They’d basked in the dappled sunlight filtering down through the trees, shared silent pleasure at the breath taking beauty of the mountains and valley—while he’d died a thousand small deaths at every intimate encounter, at the hush of her breath at his nape, at her long, elegant fingers gripped at his waist.

  He was as tense as a string on a crossbow. As edgy as the cliffs they’d climbed and descended.

  In desperation he gauged the angle of the sun as they broke through the trees. “I’d say it’s close to noon. How about we find a place to rest the horse and tie into that lunch we packed?” he suggested with a concerted effort to keep his tone light.

  “Sounds good. I could use a little break myself. It’s been a long time since I’ve spent this much time on horseback.”

  When she stretched and resettled her weight behind him to emphasize her agreement, he nearly bit a hole through the side of his cheek.

  Looking around desperately, he spotted a site by the riverbank and kneed the mare into a fast jog.

  “This’ll do,” he said without asking for her opinion, and reined in. The mare had barely skidded to a stop when he swung his leg over the pommel and bailed off.

  Grim-faced, he turned back to her and lifted his hands to help her down. Though she looked at him with confusion, the natural, trusting way she leaned toward him and settled her hands on his shoulders was the catalyst he needed. It smoothed out the edges of tension and reminded him what this was all about

  It was about time. And trust. And slowly finding their way back to each other.

  He let out a deep breath, gave her waist an affectionate squeeze and set her away.

  “I’ll loosen the cinch strap and take off her bridle. Why don’t you set the table?” He handed her the pack that contained both a blanket and their lunch.

  “Sounds like a plan.” Arms full, she scanned the area for the perfect spot.

  She selected well. He told her as much when he walked back to her side.

  “How could I have missed? This entire valley—it’s so...accessible,” she said, finally deciding on the right word. “The Tetons are gorgeous, but except for all the public-park areas and the hordes of people who go with them, there’s no single spot where you can be a part of both the beauty and the solitude. It’s awesome.”

  So was she. The exercise, a good night’s sleep, some rib-sticking food, and the color had begun to creep back into her cheeks. A gentle light had also replaced the dullness of lost hope in her eyes.

  He’d like to think he was responsible for some of those slight, subtle changes. In truth, he knew the credit went to her. She’d always been a strong woman. In her soft, Southern way, she’d handled any obstacle that got in her path. It was only during the last few months before she’d left him that he’d sensed that strength ebbing. Then as now, he wondered at the cause.

  Soon enough they’d tackle that issue. Right now it was enough to see her pulling herself together. That effort, in his estimation, was what strength was all about. Phoenix rising from the mythical ashes. The transformation was stunning. The promise worth waiting for.

  “I can see why you and your brothers wanted to keep this to yourselves,” she said as they spread the blanket for their table.

  He was thoughtful for a moment. “The valley has always been magic for me. For the three of us boys playing outlaw and posse, it was a stage, a huge, wild amphitheater to play out our fantasies.”

  He paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “Even as we’ve grown older, it’s been a source of memories and reflections—kind of like an old friend who was always here, waiting.”

  For a man fighting for his marriage, Garrett mused, it was also a courting ground to win back the woman he loved. As well-known turf, the advantage and the odds were in his favor here.

  Yet even as he spoke, he knew he wasn’t playing for advantage. He was speaking from his heart. And with all his heart he believed in the magic of love. “Now that you’re here I know it’s been waiting for you, too.”

  In a silence they both used to absorb the significance of his words, they settled on the blanket. Only then did Garrett take a moment to look—really look—around him.

  “I know this spot,” he said, a little taken aback that he hadn’t recognized it right away.

  “You know every spot in this valley.” She handed him a sandwich and an apple.

  “What I mean is, this was a special spot when we were kids. See that big boulder over there—the big brown one that looks kind of like a bottle lying on its side?”

  She looked at the boulder, engaged her imagination and decided that yes, in a stretch, it could look like a bottle.

  “If you look close enough you can make out where we scratched out our initials.” He grinned at the memory. “We used to spend hours here searching for the gold.”

  Following her lead, he sat cross-legged beside her, doffed his Stetson and accepted the can of soda she’d dug out of the pack.

  “Gold? What gold?”

  “Frank and Jesse’s.”

  She considered him over her sandwich. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought Frank and Jesse James terrorized the good folks a little farther east and south of here—as in Arkansas and Missouri.”

  “Oh, they did. But you forget—they are my great, great uncles. And every family has secrets that it keeps.”

  He smiled, remembering how much stock he, Clay and Jesse had taken in the legend and lore. “Dad used to love to tell stories about them and how only the family knew abo
ut this place and the fact that they’d hidden out here because no one would expect them this far west.

  “Supposedly they stashed a gold shipment—from a train robbery in Arkansas—here in the valley. We spent a good part of each summer up here looking for it.”

  “But you never found it.”

  “Not a trace. We did find a few clues—an old gun handle, a rusted hinge that could have come from a lockbox. Some fired shell casings. Enough to keep us on the trail.”

  “It must have been fun.”

  He turned his head. Considered. “Yeah. Yeah, it was. It was fun looking. Fun believing.”

  “And now? Do you still believe?”

  He looked out over the river. It was shallow here, as it usually was in July, no more than knee-deep and as clear as the day was warm. As clear as the feelings he had for this woman.

  “I never stopped believing. In a lot of things,” he added, and allowed himself the luxury of looking deep into her eyes.

  She believed, too. He could see it. She believed in them, and she’d decided she wasn’t going to give up. Not yet. If things went the way he planned, not ever.

  “It’s been too long since I’ve come up here,” he said, and heard the contemplative regret in his tone.

  “You’ve missed it.”

  “Yeah. I have.” His sandwich gone, he eased back on his elbows, stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles in front of him on the blanket. In the enfolding warmth of the July sunshine, he watched the mare graze peacefully fifty yards away and thought not of serenity but of loss.

  “You miss your father.”

  Her quiet statement brought his head around. Her insight was frightening. And a little numbing. He’d been sixteen when his father died. It had been years after his death that he’d finally felt he had the strength—and the right—to come back to the valley. It had taken all the boys a long time to return—and they rarely came together. It was too hard. Alone it had been a little easier to make peace with the memories. And in his case, to struggle with the guilt.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Her soft voice slipped into his thoughts like a gentle hand. Still, his body tensed.

  “You miss him,” she repeated. “Yet you’ve never talked about how losing him affected you. As a boy. As a man.”

  She was right. And it was probably a mistake to deny her access to those feelings. He did it, anyway. After all these years, they were still too difficult to share—even with her. Especially with her.

  “It’s too pretty a day to spend it sifting through dark memories.” He smiled to take the edge off his rebuff.

  Her face grew solemn, and he knew he had just put every inch of ground he’d gained at risk. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t open his own wounds and succeed in healing hers.

  He touched a hand to her cheek. “I promise—someday we’ll talk about it. Just don’t ask me to do it today. Today is too special. And I’m a man with a mission,” he finished before she could voice a protest.

  Emma wrestled with the weight of disappointment, but got sidetracked when he sat up and started tugging off his boots and socks.

  “A mission?” she asked suspiciously. “What kind of mission?”

  His smile was wicked and utterly irresistible. “One that involves water. We used to wade in this stretch of the river for hours—building dams, trying to catch trout with our hands.”

  When he reached for her feet, she completely forgot about his evasive tactics and shifted into self-preservation mode. She scooted to the edge of the blanket, tucked her feet beneath her. “What are you doink?”

  “What? You forgot about my foot fetish?” Laughing, he tugged her feet onto his lap.

  She squirmed, gave in to a nervous laugh and fought valiantly to get away. He was too quick. And too strong. He made fast work of peeling off her shoes and socks.

  “You don’t have a foot fetish,” she sputtered as he rose to his bare feet, hauled her up beside him then scooped her into his arms.

  “I don’t?” Pretending to consider, he walked barefoot toward the riverbank. “You know, I believe you’re right. I must have been thinking of Jesse.”

  “You were launching a diversion,” she accused, then let go of a startled shriek when he hefted her higher.

  With elaborate winces, clenched teeth and the occasional “Ouch, dammit” that had her smiling despite herself, he picked his way across the rocky river’s edge and waded out into the water.

  “Holy horse dung,” he managed through huge, sharp breaths as the icy cold river washed over his ankles. “It’s freezing.”

  “You are out of your mind.” Charmed and taken with his antics and his efforts to make her smile, another burst of laughter sneaked out. “And if you think for a minute I’m wading in that river of ice with you, you’re beyond treatment.”

  “It’s invigorating,” he managed between careful steps as he splashed deeper into the current.

  “I can see that,” she agreed, clinging to his neck like a lifeline. “It’s invigorating the heck out of your teeth. You’re going to chip a tooth with all that chattering.”

  “You’ll love it,” he assured her, refusing to be swayed.

  “You can love it for me. I’m not going in.”

  “What? No spirit of adventure?” His eyes danced with a hint of challenge.

  “No wish for pneumonia.”

  “It’s only a shock for a little while,” he insisted. “I hardly notice the cold now.”

  “That’s probably because your feet are numb. Does the term hypothermia strike any chords?”

  His grin developed into a full fledged dare. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were chicken.”

  Instead of denying it, she clucked loud and long, then screamed lustily when he let his arm slip out from under her legs and her toes skimmed the top of the water.

  As nimble as Sara, she tightened her hold around his neck, wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her ankles.

  Surprised by the quickness of her countermove, his hands moved instinctively to her bottom to steady her.

  “This is getting interesting.” The glint in his eyes hinted at the focus of that interest.

  She felt the blush all the way to her bare toes. “I repeat—I’m not going in.”

  He cocked his head, still grinning. “Tell you what. I’ll trade you one thrilling experience for another.”

  She loosened her grip on his neck long enough to brush the hair out of her eyes. “Now we’re playing ‘Let’s Make a Deal’?”

  “Now we’re just playing.” His beautiful features had relaxed. His tone was intimate and rich with memories. “Like we used to. Remember?”

  Oh, yes. She remembered. They used to play and tease and just plain have fun. Until last night she’d almost forgotten what it was like. She hadn’t let herself acknowledge how much she’d missed this foolishness, this childlike nonsense. Just like she hadn’t let herself admit how much she’d missed his kisses.

  “I remember,” she whispered as his gaze lowered to her mouth and his hands swept the length of her back in long, lazy strokes.

  “I’m going to kiss you, Em.” His voice was gruff with intent when he lowered his mouth to hers. “I thought you’d like to know that—but this time, I’m not going to ask for permission.”

  Seven

  His kiss was warm and tender. Her response was electric and hot. It took her by surprise. Took them both by storm. Fueled by the sunshine, hastened by the summer breeze, tentative and sweet became in a heartbeat demanding and dark...and she dragged him along for the ride.

  Need, full and pulsing, rushed through her blood with the recklessness of the river. It flowed wildly, ran rampant. Clinging to him, she knotted her fingers in his hair, tightened her legs around his waist.

  With a groan of surprise and pleasure, he deepened the kiss, tasted her with his tongue when she tempted him, then welcomed him inside.

  His hands were suddenly everywhere. His breath slogge
d out, ragged and rushed. He crushed his arms around her, spread his legs wide for balance—then stumbled on the rocky riverbed when she squirmed, shifting her weight to get closer.

  And then they were falling. No amount of scrambling footwork, no abundance of his physical strength could stop the inevitable pull of gravity.

  He twisted at the last second to take the brunt of the fall. Fast, furious and explosive, they hit the water with a thrashing splash.

  The cold blast doused the heat of their kiss like a bucket of ice. They landed with her on top of him. Though a foot and a half of water cushioned their fall, the shock was still bruising. She rolled off him with the speed of a rocket and landed on her butt beside him.

  Spitting water, she gasped for air that the fall and the brittle cold had stolen. When she could take a breath that didn’t feel like it was her last, she dragged wet hair from her face—then felt her heart skid into a rare panic. Garrett lay flat on his back, as still as death.

  She scrambled frantically to stand. Planting her feet on either side of his hips, she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and pulled. He reared up so quickly she lost her balance and landed on his lap, straddling him, while he laughed like a loon. Laughed, damn him, when she’d been afraid he was hurt—or worse.

  Temper shot through fear like a bullet. “This is not funny!”

  He threw back his head and roared, his shoulders heaving with laughter.

  Royally miffed now, she rapped him a good one in the chest She got fresh gales for her efforts as he wiped a hand over his wet face.

  “You fool. I thought you were hurt.”

  His eyes sparkled, those beautiful pearly whites gleamed whiter in the sunlight. “Oh, I am. I definitely am. I’m betting there’s a bruise the size of Texas on my left cheek.”

  She didn’t want to respond to that grin of his that not only lit his face with mirth but did its best to coax a smile out of her.

  “Are you okay?” he managed around a chuckle.

  “Yes,” she admitted with a sniff to let him know she was still angry, even as the insistent twitch of her lips curved into an answering grin. “I’m fine. If you don’t count the fact that I’m freezing to death.”