Once an Outlaw
Page 8
“No! The thought never crossed my mind.” She spoke with such conviction he had no choice but to believe her.
“I didn’t want any misunderstanding. I do intend for you to have part of the money. No, wait,” he demanded when she rounded on him. “I need a horse, boots and a gun. I can’t go into town and buy them for myself. You need to do that for me. Whatever is left is yours.”
As much as she had dreaded hearing the announcement of his intent to leave, Jessie knew it was for the best. But she wasn’t about to do it his way.
“Logan, I trust you to bring Adorabelle back to me despite what you think about her. Take her and buy your gear tomorrow—”
“I can’t ride your horse into town, Jessie. Think for a minute. Your reputation will be in shreds if folks learn you’ve had a man staying with you. For your own protection, you do the buying.”
She had the strangest feeling that while he spoke the truth, there was a lie buried within the words. And he had forgotten what she had told him about her reputation.
“If I take your money it will raise questions about where I got it. Buying a horse wouldn’t be a problem. I’ll just look for one that won’t remind you of Adorabelle. But buying a gun, oh, Logan,” she said with a laugh, “what I know about guns would fill a teacup. And boots—what reason would I have to buy men’s boots if I’m protecting my reputation? End of the matter. You’ll have to go yourself.”
Have to go. Saying the words brought home the fact that by this time tomorrow night he would be gone. The need to be off by herself so he would never know how painful it was for her to turn away from him and the chance to discover passion in his arms grew powerful. Jessie knew she had to get away from him now.
Logan gripped her upper arm and stopped her. “I can’t go.”
“Can’t go?” she repeated, slowly raising her head to look at him.
It pained him to crush the hope he saw flaring in her eyes. “To town, Jessie. There are…Damn, I didn’t want to get into this with you.”
“Tell me. I know there’s more to it.”
“You’re a woman made for sharing with a man, Jessie. I had forgotten how soft a woman could be and—”
“I’m not soft. I’m strong. So just tell me why.”
“There are men looking for me.”
“The men who shot you?”
“Yeah, those men. I can’t let you get tangled in the mess I’m in. That’s why I need to pull out fast.”
“You think they know you’re here with me?”
Another omission to expose. Logan rubbed the back of his neck with his injured arm, needing the pain’s distraction from the cold knot forming inside him for hurting her.
“The kid wasn’t the only one around. A man caught him. A man asking questions about me. I don’t know why the boy lied to him. Said his folks weren’t here and he’d seen no strangers around.” His gaze was bleak as he searched her face for understanding. “What if he’d found you alone? I don’t want to think about it, but I do. I can’t risk having something happen to you, Jessie.”
“You’re so sure—”
“Hell, yes, I’m sure. They’d rape and kill you and never give you a second thought.”
She reached up and covered his hand still gripping her arm. “You’re not like that. I don’t understand why you’d be in the company of such men.”
“Don’t ask. I can’t, no, I won’t tell you. The less you know the safer you’ll be. I’m a danger to you. Now will you agree to go to town and buy what I need?”
“All right. I don’t have a choice.” She glanced away. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you. I can’t seem to do anything else.”
She tugged her arm and after a few seconds Logan let her go. He found the act of releasing her difficult. He wanted to sweep her up into his arms, despite the dull ache in his shoulder, and not let her go until the sun rose. He’d asked her about temptation, but wondered why Jessie didn’t see how tempting she was. If he had time…But he didn’t. Unless he found a way to get the man behind the stealing, he never would. Who had reason to want revenge against his family?
And when he left, who was going to protect Jessie?
Chapter Eight
Logan woke late to find a gun and holster beside him in the bed and no sign of Jessie in the cabin. The day was overcast, as gloomy with the threat of rain as he’d seen, and suited his mood.
Once more he’d lost the argument with Jessie about sleeping in her bed. She had reminded him that it might be a long time before he slept in one again. Regret that he couldn’t tell her the truth added to his dark mood.
He examined the gun, an old Remington army pistol, with its plain handgrip and well-oiled barrel. This, too, must have belonged to Harry.
He wondered what Harry would have made of all this. Logan was living in his cabin, sleeping in his bed, wore his clothes and boots, and now had his gun. The only thing he hadn’t done was sleep with Harry’s wife.
His mood changed from dark to foul in a moment. He rose from the bed and found his mended shirt and newly repaired pants folded on the table next to a box of cartridges. The money was gone. Raking back his hair, he knew it was a waste of time to go outside to look for Jessie, but he did it anyway.
The corral was as empty as the cabin. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to get rid of him as quickly as possible.
But there was something he intended to do for her before he left there. Returning inside, he eyed the departed Harry’s narrow-toed boots as if they were filled with scorpions. The way they pinched his toes, they might as well have been home to the stinging critters. As he struggled to pull them on, he cheered himself with the thought that the pinch of the boots didn’t have any venom.
Fire streaked out from the wound in his shoulder. Logan ignored it. When a man lived with a brother like Conner, who could roust you from bed after a night of drinking left you feeling as if the entire Apache nation had set up camp and played their war drums in your head, you had to learn to work through any pain.
Outside he doused himself with water from the bucket, shaking it off like a hound after a rain, grabbed one of Harry’s shirts and headed out. He was going to find that boy.
A fine dust rose from Adorabelle’s hooves. Jessie believed she had swallowed every particle. Early as it was, she felt the humidity of the summer’s oppressive heat. As the horse plodded up the street, Jessie wiped the sweat from her forehead. She’d forgotten how much cooler her cabin high in the mountains was, compared to town. With her felt hat pulled low, Jessie didn’t look at the clustered, weather-beaten shacks lining the street.
She stopped outside Beeson’s, dismounted and tied Adorabelle’s reins to the hitching rail. A few months ago the sign above the old trading post had been painted over with Silas’s last name in large red letters that covered the faded words Trade Goods, Livery and Saloon. Silas had never announced that he served as undertaker, too.
Sliding her canvas sacks from the saddle horn, she admonished herself to overcome her reluctance to go inside. The upturned keg where Silas usually sat in the morning was empty. Only a customer would make him leave his place.
The door stood open, and she stepped up to the wooden sidewalk, then to the doorway. Even if the sun had been shining, it couldn’t help dispel the darkness of the interior. Two walls were lined with shelves, crowded and cobwebbed with unwanted goods. Silas had told her that most of the items had been taken in trade by the previous owner.
Peering inside, Jessie, overcome by the smells, wrinkled her nose. The odors of brine, oil and leather were rank. Like Silas himself. He never cleaned, and reasoned that sooner or later someone would buy his stock if for no other reason than his was the only store within a day’s ride. Crates and barrels were stacked in a haphazard manner wherever there was room, and, working her way to the counter, Jessie feared one of the piles would topple.
Jessie didn’t know the man purchasing a tin of tobacco. She waited until he walked away from the counter before she appro
ached Silas. Balding, squint-eyed, sober as a hanging judge and miserly, Silas brought with his attention a feeling of revulsion. His pasty skin and yellowed teeth turned the smile he offered into a leer.
“Miz Winslow, ain’t seen you in a time. Bet you’re runnin’ low on supplies.”
“Good morning to you, Silas.” Determined to remain cheerful, Jessie forced a smile to her lips. “I do need supplies. Here is my list. I would also like to buy a horse.”
“Well, now, a horse, you said?”
“That’s right. Do you have any?”
“I might. Ain’t gonna take no trade. Hard cash only. Or gold? You got gold, Miz Winslow?”
“I can pay for whatever I buy, Silas.”
“That so?”
Jessie knew he wouldn’t fill her order or show her the horses unless he was assured that she did have money. Stripping off one of her leather riding gloves, she reached for the small sack tied to her belt and tugged it open far enough to allow two fingers to slide inside and remove one coin. Holding the twenty-dollar gold piece in front of the man, Jessie gritted her teeth for the time he took to study it.
Impatient now, she asked, “Satisfied, Silas?”
His gaze went from the coin she held to the small sack. “You got more. Horses don’t come cheap.”
“From you, I wouldn’t expect anything cheap. But tell me how much you’re charging for a horse these days?”
Stroking his pointed chin, he took his time answering her. Jessie resisted the urge to tap her foot, just as she resisted the urge to look away from the greedy, speculative gaze in his eyes.
“Twenty dollars for a horse, ten for a saddle.”
Now it was her turn to mull over what he named. It was a pity that Logan had never bothered to tell her how much to spend. Well, she had tried to tell him.
“You still interested, Miz Winslow?”
“I might be. But the price seems steep. Now, if you were including a bridle, canteen and saddlebags, Silas, I would be inclined to think we struck a fair bargain. Providing,” she added, sliding the coin back into the sack, “that the horse isn’t as old as I am.”
“Miz Winslow, you wound me sayin’ such a thing. I wouldn’t try to cheat you. That stock is young an’ sound. Was thinkin’ of keepin’ one for myself. But I can’t see my way to agreein’. Now, if you was offerin’ forty—”
“No. I can’t pay that much.”
“Thirty-five dollars an’ not a penny less.”
Jessie eyed the bony hand he held out, palm up and waiting for the money. “I want to see the horse first.”
“Sure thing. Help yourself. There’s two out back in the corral. You go on, an’ I’ll jus’ fill your order. When you’re ready, you com’on in.”
He waved her toward the narrow pathway between goods that led to the rear door. Jessie shook her head. Silas had attempted to corner her once, and only the appearance of his Indian woman had sent him scurrying back to the counter. Jessie chose to go out the front and walk around to the corral.
Heavy as the air was, Jessie took a deep, cleansing breath the moment she was outside. Sweat pooled between her breasts and rolled down her back. She plucked up the shirt and camisole that were stuck to her skin. Untying the reins, she led Adorabelle around to the back.
There was a film of dust on the water in the horse trough. Jessie labored with the squeaking pump until a thin stream of water overflowed the wooden sides of the trough. Leaving her horse to drink, she walked closer to the corral. Two horses stood beneath a slanted roof. It was the only form of shelter the animals had.
“At least Silas wasn’t lying about the horses,” she muttered. “They’re not as old as me.” Shooting a look over her shoulder at her horse, she added, “No offense, girl. But you’re near a grandma to those two.”
The sound of her voice brought a white-and-black paint trotting over to the pole fence. Large irregular black patches mixed with smaller ones of brown across the back and rump of the horse. The horse’s clear eyes and friendly manner piqued Jessie’s interest. But she had to remember that the horse was for Logan, not herself.
The other horse, brown with black tail and mane, stood quietly watching her from the shelter. Jessie had the funny feeling that she was being studied in return.
Even as she patted the paint’s muzzle, Jessie kept her gaze on the brown horse. The longer she looked, the more certain she became that that was the one to buy for Logan. She knew there was more to buying a horse. She should be examining their teeth to make sure that her eyes and Silas’s claims weren’t lying about the horses’ ages.
She reminded herself that she didn’t have more places to go, not if Logan was to leave today. She had the foolish thought that the brown horse’s quiet manner was a clue to the animal being stable. Jessie laughed to rid herself of the strange thoughts. For all she knew, the brown’s quietness might mean the animal was ill.
The paint was showy, and very determined to have Jessie stop ignoring her. She tossed her head and bared her teeth. Jessie withdrew her hand.
“That does it. I’m afraid you’re likely to nip my sweetheart on her rump. Your friend over there is a lady all the way.”
At least, she thought they were both mares. Just as she turned away the air was filled with yells and whoops. Jessie ran a little way and saw the flash of horses go by. There was only one place they’d be going, and that was into a saloon attached to the store. It was too early for decent men to be in town drinking. Forewarned, she chose to use the rear door this time. She wouldn’t have to see or be seen by anyone inside.
Before she stepped into the shadowed store, Jessie removed three of the double eagles from her sack. No doubt Silas had heard the jingle of coins when she had taken the one out to prove that she could pay him, but she didn’t want him to know exactly how much she had after paying for the horse, gear and supplies. She knew the man too well. Silas would raise his prices the next time she came in, and Jessie had no intention of keeping any of Logan’s money. Most of the supplies that she had ordered were items that she would split with Logan, at his insistence—coffee, flour, beans, bacon and a piece of sugar loaf. Jessie had taken it upon herself to add the last, remembering that he had a sweet tooth.
Still, Jessie found herself hesitating by the door. Part of her was in a hurry to get back and spend whatever time was left with Logan. The other half—the foolish, lonely woman she’d been trying to hide—wished to delay his leaving.
No matter how many times she had told herself, as the long hours of the night passed in restless tossing, that she didn’t want Logan, she had come to the conclusion that she was lying to herself.
And to him.
She regretted those moments when he had held her, teasing and tempting by turn, and she had refused him. Regretted, but not enough to overcome a lifelong belief that it was wrong to sleep with a man without the blessing of marriage. Logan had traveling on his mind, not settling down.
What she couldn’t understand was why this decision plagued her. Never before had it been difficult to make a moral choice, the right one for herself, and have the matter ended.
But you’ve never met a man like Logan before.
Shouts and howls of male laughter from inside the saloon snapped her from her thoughts. A shiver of distaste raced through her and she had to force herself to go inside.
Silas wasn’t at the counter. His Indian woman was.
“You pay. Go quick.”
Her voice, like her dark eyes, held no emotion.
Jessie, despite her discomfort, carefully checked to see that her list had been filled. She loaded foodstuffs into the large canvas sack she’d left on the counter. A glance showed that Silas had circled the total due on the bottom of her list.
Always unsure of how much the woman understood, Jessie pointed to the amount and revealed the three twenty-dollar gold pieces on her palm. “I will need change. Please tell Silas that I want the brown horse. He promised me a saddle, bridle and saddlebags, too.”
“And tell Silas that I’m in a hurry, please.” Jessie shoved the canteen into the sack. For a few moments more the woman stood there, dark eyes staring at her. The woman’s skin was the color of desert mallow, deep, rich and warmly hued against the greased blackness of her long, braided hair. Looped around her ear were pretty colored beads, and in the open V of her red shirt Jessie saw a large, bright blue stone set in silver hanging from a strand of smaller beads. When the woman finally moved, her broad hips sent the yellow-and-red-striped skirt swaying as she went to fetch Silas from the saloon.
Sliding the wrapped coffee beans into her sack, Jessie felt the bulky shape of the sugar cone, but she suddenly realized that Logan would need a coffeepot. Harry’s old battered one counted among the items that had disappeared from the shed. She wasn’t going to think about that boy now. Once Logan was gone, she’d have time enough to find him.
Leaving the counter, Jessie paused, then slowly walked down the aisle looking at the crowded shelves. As she drew nearer to the arched opening that led to the saloon, she was appalled to hear the coarse remarks directed at Silas’s woman. She found herself waiting to hear Silas silence those men. Moments passed, but she didn’t hear his voice raised in protest. How could he let them argue about who would bed her first?
She knew Silas wouldn’t appreciate her interference. If anything, he’d be likely to yell at her. She spotted the coffeepot and brushed aside a small cobweb to take it from the shelf, still bothered by what she was hearing.
Just as her hand closed over the enamel handle, she grew aware of the silence. At the same time a creeping sensation shivered up her spine. The air she breathed was filled with the foul odor of an unwashed body. She knew the smell from all the times Harry had come home from one of his long treks into the mountains.