THE OUTLAW AND THE LADY

by Lorraine Heath

  Cartwright chuckled low and shifted in his chair. "Did you see the look on that sheriff's face when we strolled in last night? When he caught sight of you, his jaw came unhinged."

  "I thought Sheriff Evans looked afraid."

  "Yes. Like a man who knew Judgment Day had walked through the door."

  * * *

  Weary from too many miles riding in the saddle, Kit walked into the hotel at Emilia. He'd been scouring the countryside for three days, asking questions, and searching for answers. Unfortunately he'd uncovered nothing of significance.

  He noticed a man—with his head bent and his wide-brimmed hat hiding his features—sitting in a chair. Kit thought it odd that he was in the lobby at midnight. He considered investigating, but his desire for sleep was stronger than his interest in the stranger's presence. He went straight to the front desk. "My key."

  The clerk retrieved it from a small cubbyhole, handed it to Kit, and tilted his head toward the front. "That man's been waiting two days to see you, Captain Montgomery."

  "Who is he?"

  "He wouldn't say. He just sits there like a turtle with his head hidden."

  "Thank you."

  With his curiosity aroused, Kit walked over to the fellow. "Excuse me. I hear you've been waiting for me to return."

  The man snapped his head back, and his dark walnut-colored eyes grew round. "You are Kit Montgomery?"

  "That's right."

  Slowly he came to his feet. "You are the one who arrested Lee Raven?"

  "Yes."

  The man straightened his stance and met Kit's gaze squarely. "You made a grave mistake."

  Kit arched a brow. "Indeed."

  "Sí. I am Lee Raven."

  * * *

  Boredom was settling in with a vengeance. It made a man tired, made his mind wander. Lee moved to the other end of his cot. Leaning his back against the bars of the adjoining cell was slightly less comfortable than leaning against the wall.

  The faint moonlight poured through the narrow window above his head. He could almost see the stars. He wondered how Angela wished on a star—was it enough to be told one twinkled in the sky? Or did a person actually have to see it to wish upon it?

  As hard as he tried, he couldn't stop thinking about her. He was desperate to know if she remained in town or had returned to Fortune, but he refused to ask Cartwright. He didn't want anyone to know he still cared for Angela.

  Memories of their time together made his chest tighten until it ached. Before Angela had stumbled into his life, he'd forgotten how wonderful it felt to smile and laugh. He'd stopped appreciating the beauty of the sunrise. He'd ceased to dream of a life that held the promise of love.

  He'd become like an empty vessel filled with holes, unable to contain anything of substance. He'd found it easier to face the prospect of hanging when he had little to leave behind.

  Now the nights were more lonely without her to warm his body and soothe his soul. He was grateful no one had brought her here. He didn't want her to hear how every sound echoed with emptiness or to touch the cool metal bars and envision his cage.

  He didn't want her to remember him as a trapped animal. Terrified, alone, and completely at the mercy of others.

  That aspect of this intolerable situation gnawed at him. He no longer had control of his life.

  The far door opened. He looked around and shot off the cot. "Alejandro, what are you doing here?"

  "I do not know that name," Alejandro said, as he averted his gaze and stepped into the cell that Montgomery had unlocked.

  "What nonsense is this?" Lee asked.

  Alejandro held his head high and thrust out his chest. "I am Lee Raven."

  Lee settled for slamming his palm against his brother's cell since he couldn't reach his head. "Are you loco?"

  Montgomery's mouth twitched. "Sean, it seems we have two Lee Ravens. You're responsible for both."

  "Yes, sir, Captain."

  "Un momento!" Alejandro cried, pointing at Lee. "You can let this one go."

  "I don't think so."

  Lee waited until Montgomery had quit the room before turning on his brother. "I cannot believe you did this."

  "What did you expect me to do? I told you the woman would get you hanged."

  Shaking his head, Lee dropped onto the cot. Alejandro sat as well and pressed his shoulder against the bars. "Perhaps if we keep saying I am Lee Raven, eventually they will believe us."

  Lee glared at his brother. "I do not want them to believe you. Did you not take a good look at the man who brought you in here?"

  "Sí. I almost swallowed my tongue when I saw him. He looks like you."

  "No, Alejandro. I look like him. He is my"—he had yet to say the word out loud—"my father."

  "Kit Montgomery is your father?" Alejandro asked, clearly stunned.

  "Sí," Lee answered.

  "The Kit Montgomery? The man you admired from a distance?" Alejandro asked.

  "Sí. The man whose adventures I longed to read about. Ironic, heh?" Lee shifted on the cot. "Not only that, but his family has an estate in England. Ravenleigh."

  Alejandro's eyes widened. "That is your name all mixed up."

  "Sí."

  Alejandro slumped forward. "Then he will not believe me."

  "Why are you not still in Mexico?"

  Alejandro shrugged. "When night came and you were not home, I figured something was wrong. So I went searching for you."

  "What about the others?"

  "I told them to stay with Juanita."

  The far door opened again. Montgomery walked in looking not only extremely tired, but irritated. At his side, Roberto looked as guilty as sin.

  "It seems we have another one," Montgomery said, as he escorted Roberto into a cell. He slammed the door shut and scrutinized Lee. "How many more can I expect?"

  Lee darted his glance between his brothers. "Jorge?"

  "Oh, no," Roberto said. "Jorge said he had another plan."

  "What plan?" Lee and Montgomery asked at the same time.

  "He would only say that it was magnificent, but knowing Jorge, I figured whatever it was, it would not work."

  "We can only hope," Montgomery said. "Sean, stay alert."

  "Yes, sir."

  Montgomery turned away.

  "Montgomery?"

  He stopped and glanced over his shoulder. Lee felt the heat suffuse his face, but he couldn't bring himself to call the man "Father." "Jorge is reckless, but harmless."

  "Splendid. Let's hope he stays that way." Montgomery left the room.

  Roberto pressed his face against the bars. "Lee, Montgomery looks like you."

  "He's Lee's father," Alejandro told him. Roberto's mouth dropped open, and he blinked before asking, "What is he like?"

  "Fair. Honorable. He has promised me he will look into your claim that you own the land near Emilia. Alejandro, do you know if you had a deed?"

  "If we ever had one, it would have burned in the fire."

  "I was afraid that would be what happened, but there should be a record somewhere. Montgomery will find it."

  "And then what?" Roberto asked.

  "He will see that the land is given back to you."

  "I do not understand, Lee," Alejandro began. "How did you come to get lost all those years ago?"

  "I was playing with Angela."

  "Angela?"

  "Life is funny, is it not?"

  "That first morning when you said her hair reminded you of something."

  "It was a memory that taunted me but would not take hold. I think I must have been thinking of her."

  "So finish the story," Roberto urged him.

  "There is not much more to tell. Renegades stole me. Perhaps I got sick or was too much trouble. Whatever the reason, they decided not to keep me."

  "Their loss was our gain," Alejandro said.

  Standing on the other side of the door, listening intently, Kit thought his son did not sound like a man who would shoot another in the back without
a good reason.

  Bone weary, he strolled out of the sheriff's office into the night. Several minutes later he walked into the hotel and up the stairs to the second floor. He rapped softly on the door to Angela's room. "It's Kit."

  She opened the door, her eyes swollen, but he doubted that it was from sleep. "I'm sorry to disturb you," he began.

  "I wasn't sleeping. Did you want to come in?"

  "No. I just wanted to let you know that I haven't been able to learn anything significant."

  She slumped against the doorjamb, clearly disappointed.

  "It gets worse. I have two of Damon's brothers in jail. Alejandro and Roberto."

  "But you promised him—"

  "I put them there for their own good. They were both claiming to be Lee Raven."

  She smiled softly. "They love him, Kit. From the beginning I was confounded because I couldn't understand why they had so much admiration for a murdering thief."

  "Do you know why Damon killed Floyd Shelby?"

  Slowly she nodded. "I'll tell you what I've learned. I won't risk losing Damon again."

  Hearing a gasp, Kit turned and froze at the sight of his wife standing in the hallway, with tears welling in her eyes and her slender hand pressed against her throat. "Ashton, what in God's name are you doing here?"

  * * *

  Chapter 20

  « ^ »

  Stretched out on the cot, one foot dangling on the floor, Lee jerked out of his light sleep at the sound of keys.

  "Come on," Cartwright said, holding his rifle in the crook of his elbow as he swung the door open.

  "Where are we going?" Lee asked.

  "The hotel."

  "What for?"

  "Captain's orders."

  "Why are you taking him?" Alejandro asked.

  "Will you fellas relax?" Cartwright asked. "We just need to get this done before folks are moving through town."

  "Get what done?" Roberto asked.

  Sighing, Cartwright took Lee's arm. "Let's go."

  Lee strode into the sheriff's office. "Where's Evans?"

  "Comes in late, leaves early."

  Lee stepped outside. Fog had rolled in and dawn lay beyond it. Cartwright tightened his grip and led Lee across the street, along the boardwalk, to the hotel. They went in through a back door and walked down a dark corridor. Cartwright opened a door. "In here."

  Hesitantly, Lee entered the room. Cartwright followed him in, closed the door, brushed past him, and headed for the window.

  "Just forget I'm here," he said as he eased the curtain aside and gazed out the window.

  "Expecting trouble?" Lee asked.

  "I always expect trouble." He glanced over his shoulder and nodded toward the tub of steaming water. "Get to it."

  "I'm to bathe?"

  Cartwright turned his attention back to the window. "Yep. Captain's orders."

  Eagerly, Lee stripped out of his clothes, dropped them on the floor, and got into the tub. The heat of the water immediately seeped into his bones. Moaning low, he sank until the water lapped at his throat. He looked toward the bed. It was so clean that he wouldn't mind taking a siesta afterward, just a short one.

  Three rapid knocks sounded at the door.

  "It's all right, you can come in," Cartwright called out.

  The hinges moaned. Lee's gut clenched as Angela glided into the room and closed the door. Although she was blind, even though she had caressed every inch of him—or perhaps it was because she had—he slid farther down and hoped Cartwright wouldn't notice his face burning bright red.

  Her hair was piled on her head much as it had been the first night he saw her. She wore a shimmering dress of green that matched her eyes. She looked incredibly lovely, and for a while, she had been his.

  Angela set a box on the bed. "Kit thought you might like to shave." She laid out towels and clean clothes. Holding a comb and scissors, she turned toward him.

  Based on the accuracy with which she knelt beside the tub, he knew she'd been in this room before. "You arranged all this?"

  "No, I just told them how to arrange things for my convenience. Would you like me to cut your hair?"

  He looked past her to Cartwright. The man was staring intently out the window. Lee shrugged. "If you want."

  She scooted behind him and repeatedly combed her fingers through his hair. Closing his eyes in sweet surrender, he hated to admit how soothing it felt, how much he had missed her touch.

  "You're not going to question my ability to cut your hair?" she asked.

  "I've learned, Angela Bainbridge, that you can do anything you set your mind to."

  "It's gotten long," she said.

  The comb's teeth scraped his scalp, over and over. Then he heard the snip of scissors.

  "I always pictured it as dark," she mused. "Why didn't you tell me it was blond?"

  "Because my family was Mexican. I always regretted that I did not favor them. I could not see the harm in not revealing everything."

  She moved his hair aside and placed a kiss in the curve of his neck. "I love you, Lee."

  "Are you trying to tempt me into breaking a vow? Is that what all this"—he swung his arm out in a wide arc, sending droplets spraying—"is about?"

  "No, this royal treatment has nothing to do with us."

  She began to work diligently, snipping away his locks. Leaning his head back, he wondered vaguely what it did have anything to do with, but decided that it didn't matter. Besides, he liked the way that her fingers fluttered over his hair.

  "How short do you want it?" she asked.

  "Doesn't matter." As long as she kept brushing his hair back, she could do it forever.

  "How's this?" she asked, nudging his shoulder. Lee opened his eyes with a start. Had he fallen asleep? He took the mirror she offered and studied his reflection. He grazed his knuckles along his earlobes. His hair fell to that point evenly on each side. The back skimmed the nape of his neck. "It looks good."

  She smiled softly, and he wished he had more compliments to give her. "I like that dress."

  Her cheeks blushed a becoming pink, obliterating her freckles. "Do you? My father bought me a few outfits to wear while we were in town."

  "You should go home, Angela, to Fortune. There is nothing for you here."

  "That's not true."

  He looked back toward the window. Cartwright stood there like a statue. "Angela—"

  "Dunk your head under the water, and I'll wash your hair."

  The thought of her fingers circling his scalp was a temptation he could not resist. He slipped under the water, then came up, water dripping in his face. "You should not be here. You are an unmarried woman."

  Taking the soap, she began lathering his hair. "In medieval England, the oldest daughter often washed gentlemen guests."

  "This is not medieval England."

  "No, I guess it isn't."

  "You look tired."

  Her fingers stilled. "I haven't been sleeping well."

  She started rubbing his head again. He relaxed. "My hair is very dirty. We may have to wash it many times."

  But she washed it only twice. When she was finished, she knelt beside the tub, took his hand, and began to scrape what looked like a very small board across his fingernails. "What are you doing?" he asked.

  "Your nails are rough. I thought I would smooth them."

  He leaned toward her, inhaling her flowering fragrance. "You do not like the way my hands feel?" he asked quietly, silkily.

  Her face flushed, and she began to buff more quickly. "You know I like it."

  "Where do you like my hands best?"

  She stilled with her mouth slightly open, her flushed cheeks growing darker. "We're not alone in here, you know."

  "He cannot hear me."

  "Why are you doing this?"

  Why indeed?

  "To hurt me?" she asked. "Well, you're too late."

  She went to work.

  "I am not the one who betrayed one of us."

&nb
sp; "Aren't you? I'm supposed to accept and understand that you'd rather die for Juanita than live for me?"

  "You do not understand."

  "What I understand is that I lost you once. It's my fault that you're here."

  "Angela, you were a child," he whispered harshly.

  "You were my responsibility that afternoon. I was supposed to watch you. If I had stopped those men—"

  "How many were there?"

  She hesitated. "Five."

  "You could have done nothing but what you did."

  "I hid." Her disgust with her actions was evident in her voice.

  "To have done anything else would have meant your death … or worse."

  "But everything you've suffered is because I was too scared to do anything."

  "You are not to blame," he ground out.

  "Yes, I am, Damon. If you hang, I'll never forgive myself."

  She flung his hand away from her. "Give me the other one."

  "Do you plan to scrape it raw, as well?"

  She sat up straighter. "Did I do that?"

  Ignoring the stinging of his fingers in the water, he placed his other hand in hers. "No."

  He studied her closely as she attended the task diligently. She looked more weary than he remembered her looking while they'd traveled to Mexico. Or perhaps he only paid more attention now. He was not choosing Juanita over her.

  When she'd finished smoothing his nails, she held the mirror so he could shave. His gaze kept drifting to her and he nicked himself more than usual. After he scraped away the last of the lather, she skimmed her fingers along his cheek, her eyes wistful, and he wondered what she was thinking.

  "I'll let you finish up now," she said as she rose to her feet.

  "Angela?"

  She stopped, her eyes honing in on him as though she could see him.

  "I appreciate your help."

  "You never call me 'querida' anymore. That says everything, doesn't it?" Quietly she slipped out of the room.

  * * *

  Lee gazed at his reflection in the cheval glass. The black britches fit him snugly. The white shirt was soft against his skin, loose and billowy. Angela had done a fine job with his hair. Every time he thought of her, he felt as though he'd fallen into a vat of emptiness, with pain roaring around him. He'd loved her so deeply, so profoundly … and the truth was that he still did.