The Last Outlaw

by Rosanne Bittner

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  Copyright © 2017 by Rosanne Bittner

  Cover and internal design © 2017 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover art by Jon Paul

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

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  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Foreword

  Part One

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Part Two

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Part Three

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Part Four

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Thirty-five

  Thirty-six

  Thirty-seven

  Thirty-eight

  Thirty-nine

  Forty

  Part Five

  Forty-one

  Forty-two

  Forty-three

  Forty-four

  Forty-five

  Forty-six

  Forty-seven

  Forty-eight

  Forty-nine

  Fifty

  Fifty-one

  Fifty-two

  Fifty-three

  Fifty-four

  Fifty-five

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  Dedicated to the best, most supportive writers’ group around—Mid-Michigan Romance Writers of America. Check out their website.

  Wonderful writers—good friends—sponsors of a wonderful “Retreat from Harsh Reality” every spring here in Michigan.

  Foreword

  When Outlaw Hearts was published in 1993, I wanted to write a sequel, but because of circumstances involving the publishing industry, it just didn’t happen. Sourcebooks finally gave me the opportunity, and Do Not Forsake Me came pouring out of my heart where it had rested for all those twenty-plus years. When I finished that book, I knew I wasn’t ready to leave my beloved Jake Harkner, outlaw, lawman, and (in the third book, Love’s Sweet Revenge) rancher.

  His story wasn’t finished. Jake needed closure over the fact that he’d killed his own father, the driving emotional force that had affected every decision and reaction in his life—the powerful event that sent him floundering into a world of lawlessness in the first book. Then came Miranda, the woman who awakened Jake’s longing for a normal family life. Miranda handed him that gift, and two children, but that dark past always haunted Jake—that incredible abuse that caused him to overprotect his own children and eventually his grandchildren, which led to a near-hanging in Love’s Sweet Revenge.

  In this fourth book, The Last Outlaw, Jake still wrestles with his past. The trauma still keeps him on that thin line between sanity and insanity, between peace and chaos, between his incredible love for his family and equally incredible hatred for the man who murdered his mother and brother. I knew Jake had to come to some kind of reckoning to live out his elder years in true peace with the woman he loves beyond words—his rock, his salvation, his hope.

  To Jake, Miranda is forever twenty years old, forever beautiful, forever gracious and sophisticated. He will feel forever that she’s too good for him. She is the antithesis of all he’s been and has stuck by him in spite of all the heartache, all the reckless living, all the running, years in prison, and all the times he tried to leave her because he thought she’d be better off without him.

  If this is the first book you pick up in this series, you can certainly read it on its own. But you will want to read Jake’s story from book one, Outlaw Hearts, through Do Not Forsake Me and Love’s Sweet Revenge. I hope you enjoy the entire series, and I suspect you will have trouble forgetting these characters. They will always live in your heart, representing all the emotions humankind can both suffer—and celebrate.

  —Rosanne Bittner

  Part One

  Prologue

  June 1897

  There were nine of them that day. All hard men, all on a mission. They were dead set on getting rich off of someone else’s money—money they would steal from the City Bank in Boulder, Colorado. Their horses panted and snorted from the hard ride, and a mixture of dust and sod rolled from under the horses’ hooves.

  The riders wore long canvas coats over shirts and jackets in the cool spring weather, and under it all they wore gun belts packed with cartridges. Some held one gun, some two, and everyone carried rifles on their saddles. Some were clean shaven, others were nothing but filth and beards and unwashed hair. All wore wide-brimmed hats against the bright, spring Colorado sun, and all were filled with anticipation for the ways they would spend the money they were going to take today. Women and whiskey—those two came first.

  They rode up toward the foothills of the Rockies and right over farmers’ fields, avoiding the main roads. They were coming from the Santa Fe Trail in New Mexico, leaving behind robbed stagecoaches and freight wagons. Trains were their specialty, and always they were trying to avoid the Pinkertons, the relentless railroad detectives who hunted them.

  Their leader, George Callahan, figured Boulder to be a peaceful, unsuspecting, little-guarded mountain town. They wouldn’t be ready for nine men to ride in and take over a bank. They wouldn’t be ready for men who didn’t care who might get killed in the process. Tomorrow they would ride out of Boulder with a fortune in railroad and mining money, and head for Mexico.

  There was only one problem with Callahan’s plan. He’d picked the wrong day to rob a bank in Boulder. Neither he nor any of his men knew Jake Harkner happened to be in Boulder, and he would still be there…tomorrow.

  One

  Jake trailed his tongue over his wife’s skin, trying to ignore his fear that she could be dyin
g. Her belly was too caved-in, her hip bones too prominent.

  She’ll get better, he told himself. The taste of her most secret place lingered on his lips as he moved to her breasts, still surprisingly full, considering, but not the same breasts he’d always loved and teased her about, with the enticing cleavage that stirred his desire for her.

  He would always desire her. This was his Randy. She was his breath. Her spirit ran in his veins, and she was his reason for being. God knew his worthless hide had no business even still being on this earth.

  He ran a hand over her ribs, which were too damn easy to count. Sometimes he thought he’d go mad with the memory of last winter, the reason she’d become more withdrawn and had nearly stopped eating.

  He met her mouth, and she responded. Thank God she still wanted this, but something was missing, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. He thought he’d made it all better, thought he’d taken away the ugly. He’d feared at first she might blame him for what had happened, but it had been quite the opposite. She’d become almost too clingy, constantly asking if he loved her, asking him not to let go of her and not to go far away.

  He pushed himself inside of her, wanting nothing more than to please her, to find a way to break down the invisible wall he felt between them, to erase the past and assure her he was right here, that he still loved her. How in hell could he not love this woman, the one who’d loved him when he was anything but lovable…all those years ago. She’d put up with his past and his bouts of insanity and all the trouble and heartache he’d put her through…this woman who’d given him a son and daughter, who couldn’t make a man prouder, and who loved him beyond what he was worth. She’d given him six grandchildren who climbed all over him, full of such innocent love for a man who’d robbed and killed, and worst of all…killed his own father.

  He moved his hands under her bottom, pushing himself deep inside her, relishing the way she returned his deep kisses and pressed her fingers into his upper arms in an almost desperate neediness.

  That was what bothered him. This had always been good between them, a true mating of souls, teasing remarks back and forth as they made love. But now it was as though she feared losing him if she didn’t make love often, and that wasn’t the sort of man he was. It had always been pure pleasure between them. He’d taught her things she would never have thought of, helped her relax and release every sexual inhibition. He knew every inch of her body intimately, and she’d loved it.

  This was different. And it was harder now, because not only did he hate the idea of feeling like he was forcing her, but he was also terrified he would break something. She was so thin and small now. He outweighed her by a good hundred and fifty pounds by now; she couldn’t weigh more than eighty or ninety.

  He surged deep in a desperate attempt to convince himself he wasn’t losing her. And through it all, he was screaming inside. Sometimes he wanted to shake her and make her tell him what else he could do to bring back the woman he’d known and loved for nearly thirty-two years. He missed that feisty, bossy woman, the only person on this earth who could bring him to his knees. He’d faced the worst of men as a lawman in Oklahoma, and run with the worst of men the first thirty years of his life. He’d spent four years in prison under horrible conditions. He’d been in too many gunfights to count, taken enough bullets that he had no right still being alive. He’d ridden the Outlaw Trail and defied all the odds. His reputation followed him everywhere, and a reporter had even written a book about him—Jake Harkner: The Legend and the Myth. Myth was more like it. And the legend wasn’t one he was proud of.

  And this woman beneath him…this woman he poured his life into this very moment…she’d been there for most of it.

  He relaxed and moved to her side.

  “Don’t let go yet, Jake.”

  He pulled her against him. “Randy, I can’t put my weight on you anymore. You’re too damn thin. You’ve got to gain some weight back or we’ll have to stop.”

  “No!” She shimmied closer, pulling one of his arms around her. “I like being right here in your arms. Don’t stop making love to me, Jake. You might turn to someone else. You’re still my handsome, strong Jake. Women look at you and want you.”

  Jake sighed, the stress of her condition making him want to tear the room apart. “You have to stop talking that way.”

  “That you’re handsome and strong?” She turned slightly. “Since when does the magnificent Jake Harkner hate compliments?”

  There it was—a tiny spark of the old Randy in her teasing. Every time he saw that spark it gave him hope. “I’ve always hated compliments. You know that. The only thing magnificent about me is my sordid reputation. I’d like to wring Treena Brown’s neck for putting that label on me in her letter.”

  Randy traced her fingers over his lips. “Peter’s wife was totally taken by you when they visited the ranch last summer.”

  “She’s a city woman full of wrong ideas about what she considers western heroes. God knows I’m sure as hell not one, and right now your magnificent Jake needs a cigarette.” Jake pulled away and sat up. “You okay?”

  “Of course I’m okay. You just made love to me. How could a woman not be okay after that?”

  Jake took a Lone Jack from a tin on the hotel’s bedside table. “You know what I mean.” She didn’t answer as he lit the cigarette. He took a long drag. “Did I hurt you?”

  “Of course not.”

  Jake ran a hand through his hair. “Randy, I mean it about your weight. If you don’t start eating, I’m not making love to you anymore. Sometimes when I’m on top of you I envision every rib breaking. We made this trip to Boulder because it was time you started getting away from the ranch, doing a few things amid strangers without being glued to me.”

  Be patient. Don’t yell at her. She might go to pieces.

  He heard a sniffle, and it felt like his heart was breaking. He took another long drag before setting the cigarette in an ashtray and turned, moving back in beside her. “Baby, I’ve done everything I can to help you. When you’re like this, it makes me sick with guilt. I should have realized what was happening when that barn caught on fire…the way it burned so rapidly. Lloyd suffers with the same guilt. We shouldn’t have left the house unguarded.”

  “No! No! No!” Randy threw her arms around him. “Don’t ever blame yourself. You blame yourself for everything bad that happens to this family, but you never asked for any of it, Jake.”

  He held her close, being careful not to use too much strength. “Randy, I want my wife back. The woman I’m holding right now isn’t her.”

  “I will be. I promise. Tomorrow, Teresa and little Tricia and I will go shopping. I won’t be quite so terrified without you at my side if I at least have Teresa with me. Thank you for bringing her along.”

  Jake was grateful for the Mexican woman who was such a help with the cooking as well as cleaning the big log home he’d built for Randy. It was still filled with noise at meals, some of the grandchildren or all of the family gathering, especially for Sunday meals. Before last winter, Randy had been a vital part of those gatherings—the one most in control, who loved all the cooking, who loved teaching and reading with Evie and the grandchildren. Living on a remote ranch meant no schools nearby, after all.

  Randy now left it all to Evie. She was no longer her joyful self at the dinner table, although she put on a good show. He knew her every mood, and he could tell she was still suffering inside.

  “Tell me what you need, Randy. How else can I help? You aren’t here with me when we make love anymore. I can sense it in your kisses, in the way you respond when I’m inside you. I won’t make love to a woman who’s doing it out of duty.”

  She buried her face in his neck. “Jake, I still love it when you make love to me. It’s just…” She hesitated again. How many times had he come close to getting out of her what was really bothering her?

  �
�Just what? Talk to me, Randy.”

  She curled into a little ball against him. “That…ugly thing they did. That ugly thing. I can’t…get past it. I’m so sorry, Jake.”

  Jake struggled against insane rage every time he thought about it. His precious Randy. Of all the intimate things he and his wife had done, asking her to perform oral sex on him had never been one of them. She’d never suggested such a thing or made an attempt, and he’d never asked. What they had together was enough for him. His first desire was always to give her pleasure, and that alone gave him pleasure in return. It would be disrespectful to ask this beautiful woman to do something he knew in his gut she wouldn’t want to do. He still had the blazing memory of his father forcing himself on his mother that way right in front of her sons while she resisted. Sometimes, such childhood memories still made him wake up with screaming nightmares.

  It all came down to his father…his ruthless, brutal, drunken father…the man he hated worse than all the dredges of humankind, more than the filth he used to run with when he believed he was the worthless sonofabitch his father had always told him he was.

  “Don’t be sorry.” God help keep me sane. “We’ll work it out.”

  “Don’t stop making love to me.”

  “I won’t stop.”

  “You do still love me, don’t you?”

  “Stop asking me that. You know better.” He wiped at her tears with his fingers. “Get some sleep, Randy. Tomorrow is a big day.”

  “You won’t ever be too far away, will you, even when I leave you to shop?”

  “I won’t be too far away.”

  “You’ll watch for me?”

  “You know I will.” He’d never felt so alone. Ever since he’d found and fallen in love with this woman, he’d always had her to lean on, to keep him from the abyss of blackness that beckoned. Tough and able as he seemed to others, she was his strength. And now that strength was gone. The tables had turned, and he had to be strong for her. He secretly begged God to help him remember that. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to last much longer this way. “Randy, when you figure out what more I can do, or what it is that will help you get better, you tell me. Don’t ever be afraid to tell me—anything—all right? You know I’ve seen it all and done it all and nothing surprises me. And I love you. I’ll do whatever it takes. Understand?”