Abbie's Outlaw

by Victoria Bylin

  “And you’re not?” Abbie teased.

  Only in name, but that conversation had to wait. John kept his voice light. “Like I said before, there’s not a woman in the world who could put up with my bad habits.”

  “We really are cut from the same cloth,” she said lightly. “There isn’t a man who’d want to put up with me.”

  But through the teasing, John heard a note of wistfulness and wondered why. She wasn’t seventeen anymore, but she’d only grown more beautiful. Today her skin had a rosy glow, and the sun brought out the tinges of red in her hair. She had put it up in a loose knot, revealing her slender neck and a tiny mole just below her ear. He remembered kissing that exact spot. They had been lying hip to hip under an apple tree, and she’d giggled because his lips had tickled. He’d nuzzled her again, harder, and the laughter had turned into a moan.

  John swallowed hard and looked away. Marrying Abbie would be easy. Keeping his hands to himself was another story. He was going to need more than a touch of grace to resist the temptation to flirt with her, and that’s why he had picked a special place for today’s talk. Most people would have seen an oak tree, a creek and a patch of grass, but John saw a haven. He often came here to do business with God. Sometimes he dropped to his knees and prayed. Other times he skipped rocks across the stream and let his mind wander.

  “This is the spot,” he said, nodding at the oak.

  Abbie looked up and smiled. “It’s so peaceful.”

  John spread the blanket and sat against the trunk of the oak while Abbie opened the picnic hamper. Instead of Beth’s pie, she lifted out a photograph album. “It’s time to meet your daughter.”

  No, it was time for a smoke. But looking at Abbie’s bright eyes, John didn’t have the heart to stall. Holding out his hand, he said, “Let me see.”

  Instead of giving it to him, she scooted to his side and bent her knees to prop up the pages. “Robert insisted on a family portrait every Christmas. He didn’t know it, but I paid the photographer to take separate pictures of Susanna.”

  Tenderly she opened the leather cover, revealing a photograph of a young mother holding a baby in a fancy christening gown. Abbie’s young eyes brimmed with love, and the baby looked like all babies looked when they were tangled up in lace. She looked miserable.

  A lump pushed high into John’s throat. “I bet she started screaming right after the picture.”

  “How did you know?”

  He could tell by looking into her eyes, but that’s not what he said to Abbie. “I’ve dedicated a lot of babies. They all fuss.”

  Smiling with pleasure, she turned the page to reveal two more pictures of mother and daughter. John had been prepared for a single photograph of Susanna as she was now, something like a mug shot, but instead he was staring at a toddler with eyes that matched his own. Someone had told her not to smile. At least that’s what he hoped as Abbie turned page after page, bringing her daughter to life a year at time.

  He heard about the pony rides at her fifth birthday party, her first straight-A report card, her favorite colors and her friends. She liked blue dresses and hated pink ones. Lace made her neck itch, and she couldn’t walk by a stray dog without taking it home.

  John tried to make comments as Abbie spoke, but he couldn’t manage more than an occasional nod. In each photograph he saw more of himself. At the same time, Susanna emerged with greater detail until she turned into a dead ringer for the child in his dreams.

  She had put on pretty dresses and let her mother put up her hair, but John saw a wildness in her. She was a rebel at heart, a tomboy, a crusader who would do great things in life. She belonged in school in Washington, studying to be a doctor. Or maybe she’d want to study the law and lead the fight for women’s rights. God, he was proud of her. And yet he had no right to a father’s pride, only an obligation to protect her.

  When Abbie reached the last page, she smiled up at him. “The pictures don’t do her justice. She’s smart and funny and brave. You’re going to love her.”

  She took his hand and squeezed. Startled, John turned his head, putting their faces just inches apart. Her green eyes widened and her lips parted, as if she wanted to say something but didn’t dare.

  John felt the same yearning. He wished to God he’d hauled Abbie off to Oregon and been there for his daughter’s first step. As a sparrow chirped, he imagined singing his baby girl to sleep. He wanted to read her stories and to make her laugh with tales about Noah and his ark full of smelly animals. He wanted all the things he couldn’t have, including Abbie as his wife.

  Never mind that the scent of her made him hard and the touch of her shoulder burned through his sleeve. He couldn’t let his mind dwell on that attraction, nor could he let himself relive the kiss that had burned through his dreams. He wanted to give Abbie so much more than his name—his heart, his love, the best of everything.

  Annoyed with his foolish ramblings, John pushed to his feet, walked to the creek and lit a cigarette. After inhaling a lungful of smoke, he stared upstream at the ribbon of water. High in the mountains, a lake had filled with melted snow. The runoff had traveled miles down a canyon to this spot, curling around boulders and passing through forests filled with deer and wolves.

  The flowing water matched the love spilling out of his heart, but he was just as aware of hidden dangers. He took another drag on the cigarette. The first gulp of smoke had calmed him. The second made him nauseous because he knew that a sudden storm would turn the stream into a torrent that ripped at trees and moved boulders. All hell would break loose when his past caught up with him, and that’s what he was risking by marrying Abbie—torrents of longing and dangerous storms.

  He already wanted her in all the ways a man wanted a woman. The force of that lust was enough to make him forget his cursed blood, but then he flashed to Ben Gantry swearing revenge outside the Bitterroot courthouse.

  You’re gonna suffer, Leaf, like I’m suffering…

  Since there wasn’t a thing Gantry could have done to hurt him, John had dismissed the man’s ranting. But Susanna had changed that landscape. Blinking, he imagined Abbie dressed in black again, weeping while he preached their daughter’s funeral. The picture turned his blood to ice. He had to put Abbie and the kids on a train to Washington as soon as he could.

  After tapping the ash from the cigarette, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Abbie leaning against the tree with the picture album in her lap. She looked mad enough to tear him in two. The urge to charm that angry pucker off her face hit him low, but instead he took another drag of tobacco and blew the smoke through his nose. After tossing the butt into the stream, he faced her.

  As if he were in the pulpit, he put his hands on his hips and rocked back on his heels. “I asked you here today so we could talk about the future. I have a plan that will secure your income without involving your father.”

  “How?” Her eyes widened with hope.

  Tenderness welled in his chest, but he didn’t dare let it show. “What I have in mind is strictly a legal arrangement. I don’t want anything in return. I’m just righting a past wrong.”

  While he waited for his words to sink in, he watched her eyes for signs of interest but saw a scowl instead. “If you’re offering what I think you are, please don’t.”

  How could he not? He wanted to protect her—no matter the cost. John put iron in his voice. “A marriage in name only is a perfect solution. We can take a train to Raton, see a judge and be home before dark. I’ll write to Hodge immediately. When the legal matters are settled, we can get an annulment.”

  Abbie set the album on the blanket and pushed to her feet. They were at least ten feet apart when she gave a soft shake of her head. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ve been down that path before. Marrying without love is a mistake I’ll never repeat.”

  But he did love her. That was the whole point. He loved her enough to send her home to Washington, to protect her with his name and to deny himself the pleasures of the marriag
e bed. That seemed pretty damned loving to him. Annoyed beyond reason, John said, “Who says I don’t love you?”

  When she gasped, he had to hurry his words. “Love is more than all that romantic stuff. It’s friendship. It’s a commitment to put your well-being before my own. That’s what I’m offering.”

  Her eyes faded from the green of dewy grass to a grayish slate. Shaking her head, she said, “Friendship is what got us here in the first place.”

  “Don’t fool yourself, Abbie. That was lust, pure and simple.”

  Irked at having to explain himself, John lit another cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke. Through the haze he saw her blinking fast. Ah, hell, he thought. He’d hurt her feelings and he'd been lying to boot. “Abbie, I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. That time in Kansas was more than lust, but—”

  “I know what you meant.” She turned sideways to hide her eyes. “We were foolish kids who got carried away. We’re not kids now, but the answer is still no.”

  “Tell me why not. You’re a widow and I’m single. You need a husband and I owe you. It makes perfect sense.”

  Abbie shook her head. “I know you’re trying to help, but a marriage in name only is a kind of lie. I won’t let you compromise yourself.”

  John smelled victory. He had never been married, but he knew all about promises. “So how many weddings have you performed?”

  She glared at him. “Not a single one, but I’ve taken the vows. I know what they mean.”

  “So do I.” They were on his turf now. “I’ve performed a dozen weddings. People get married for all sorts of reasons.”

  “Of course, they do. But that doesn’t make it right.”

  “Nor is it wrong. I’ve married lovestruck kids who couldn’t wait to start making babies, and I’ve said the words for older folks who wanted nothing more than companionship. What happens in bed is no one’s business but theirs. What doesn’t happen in ours is between you and me.”

  Abbie turned away from him, dropped to a crouch and lifted the picture album. John hoped she was thinking about what he’d made clear—that he’d keep his hands off her no matter how much Judas complained. But he couldn’t see her face. The silence was close to killing him when she set the album in the picnic hamper and closed the lid. Pushing to her feet, she said. “I won’t compromise. Marriage is a vow before God. I take it seriously.”

  John had considered that part of his offer carefully. “I intend to keep the vows, but as a friend. The annulment offer is for you. As long as we don’t consummate the marriage, in God’s eyes you’re free to walk away. In fact, you’d be smart to do exactly that.”

  She looked at him skeptically. “That cuts both ways. Someday you’ll meet a good woman and fall in love.”

  He already had, but she didn’t need to know. Instead he made his voice somber. “I made a promise to myself the day I left prison. Marriage isn’t in my future. That leaves me free to help you now.”

  With the cigarette dangling between his fingers, he watched as Abbie ambled down to the creek. With the toe of her shoe, she tapped a pool of water between two boulders. A dozen circles expanded like a target. When they faded to nothing, she peered downstream where a doe and her fawn were drinking. The mama stood still, staring at them with eyes full of trepidation. Oblivious to the human threat, the fawn raised its head to a branch and nibbled leaves.

  Abbie whispered. “I wish we could tell her we mean no harm.”

  John needed to convey the same message to Abbie. “She’ll have to sense it.”

  He had kept his voice low, but the deer still spooked. The mama bounded into the trees with the baby running at her side.

  Abbie sighed. “At least she has someplace to go.”

  “So do you. Let me help you.”

  She crossed her arms at her waist. “I can’t understand why you don’t want a wife. She could reach out to women like Beth and organize a Sunday school. She could help with all sorts of things—even the bookkeeping.”

  John had thought of those things and more. Most people thought men made the best ministers, but he knew that women gave a church its heart and soul. A wife would be a full partner, someone who could share his burdens and tell him to straighten up now and then. Bending low, he picked up a rock and skipped it down the stream. It ricocheted four times and sunk. His record was five. Keeping his eyes on the stream, he said, “I like living alone.”

  “I don’t believe that for a minute,” Abbie replied. “You and Robbie talk all the time. I’ve never heard so much boring chatter about train parts.”

  John pulled his eyebrows together in feigned shock. “What’s boring about connecting rods?”

  “Everything!”

  “Not when you’re twelve years old. He’s a smart boy.”

  “And you’re great with him,” she said. “Face it, Johnny. You have a good life, and a wife would make it better. That’s why I can’t marry you. I’d be in the way.”

  Or worse, he thought. He’d come to need her more than he did now. After tossing another rock, he looked up at the towering sky where two condors were riding a thermal. Lucky devils—the birds mated for life and didn’t think twice about predators and eggs falling out of nests. But John did. That was the whole point of today’s offer—to give Abbie and her children a nest in Washington. Lowering his eyes from the sky, he focused on the needs of the day. “We’re not talking about me. I have no interest in marriage.”

  “You’re lying,” she said quietly. “All men want sex.”

  He liked the frank talk but not the angry tone. What was wrong with wanting sex? Not a thing that John could see, and he was sure the Almighty agreed. John clamped down on a smile. He’d been reading through the Bible for the first time when he’d stumbled across the Song of Solomon smack-dab between Ecclesiastes and Isaiah. His eyes had almost popped out of his head. The poetry about streams filling wells and a bride inviting the groom into her garden wasn’t exactly subtle. John didn’t have to read between the lines to know the good Lord wanted husbands and wives to enjoy each other.

  More stirred up than he wanted to be, he considered lighting another cigarette but discarded the idea. Instead he reminded himself that he’d worn his black coat for a reason. With a wry smile, he said, “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not a lustful kid anymore.”

  “That’s true. You’re a grown man who should have a wife. You can’t tell me you don’t have desires.”

  If she wanted to be direct, he’d oblige. John looked her square in the eye. “You bet I do. It’s the way we’re made, but men can control those urges.”

  John figured he’d been controlling his urges just fine and he’d keep controlling them. What mattered was securing Abbie’s future. He watched as she dipped her toe in the water, making more circles in the pond. The motion reminded him of the girl who had hiked up her skirts and waded in. “Go ahead and take off your shoes,” he said. “The water’s ice-cold.”

  “I haven’t done that since Kansas.” As she stared longingly at the water, a frightening thought kerplunked to the pit of John’s stomach. The girl he had known in Kansas had been wild enough to bed a drifter. He didn’t doubt for a minute that she had matured into a passionate woman who knew her own whims. And then there was the matter of children. She was young enough for more babies, and she had a mother’s heart. John decided to be direct. “If you want more from a marriage than I’m offering, you should find a man who wants a houseful of children. That’s not me.”

  Abbie shook her head. “I’m not interested in anything but raising the two kids I have.”

  “Then a marriage in name only is a perfect solution. My heart’s right, Abbie. I want to help you.”

  She was standing at the edge of the pond as still as the deer. The sun had dropped in the sky, casting shadows through the branches so that she seemed to be standing in a cage. He could sense the tug and pull in her soul. She wanted to accept his offer, but she wouldn’t do it for herself. Knowing he’d regret the words
as soon as they left his lips, John pulled out his best argument.

  “Say yes, Abbie. Do it for our daughter.”

  Chapter Nine

  Abbie’s heart fluttered against her ribs. The owl had flown over this exact spot, daring her to follow it into the dark. John was asking her to do the same thing. With his black coat snug on his shoulders and loose over his hips, he reminded her of the ravens that visited her backyard. They were confident birds, all-knowing and all-seeing. The sparrows watched the ravens, and when the ravens took flight, they followed.

  Abbie wanted to be one of those tiny birds, but how could she put aside her feelings for this man? She didn’t want a marriage in name only. She wanted to be seventeen years old again, walking along another stream while Johnny Leaf talked about Oregon.

  But the risk… Abbie hugged herself. She didn’t believe for a minute that John was dead to desire. She had seen him in all his naked glory, aroused and dreaming. She ached to make the marriage real, to touch the only places she hadn’t bathed with cool water. She had even tested herself with that foolish kiss and ended up in a panic.

  She couldn’t be John’s wife in the truest sense, and that made accepting his offer akin to walking into a burning house. She’d get singed, maybe even scarred again. But Lord Almighty, she didn’t want to live like a chicken in Kansas, nor did she want to deny Susanna the chance to know her father. If Abbie accepted John’s offer, she could stay in Midas as long as she wanted.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw him skip another rock across the pond. She guessed that he did it often, just as she sat in her backyard and watched the birds when she needed to calm herself. The thought gave her courage.

  Forcing a smile, she said, “I’m trying to figure out who’s crazier—you for making this ridiculous offer, or me for wanting so badly to say yes.”

  “You’re crazier,” he said with a grin. “We decided that in Kansas.”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks. They had been watching a thunderstorm. John had been standing behind her with his arms laced around her waist, and she had nestled against his throat. Her clothes had been damp with humidity, sticking like a second skin as she’d dreamed of another life.