Abbie's Outlaw

by Victoria Bylin

  The men stayed on neutral topics until they reached the café where John directed the judge to a table by the window. After a quick word with Mary, he went to the kitchen and found Robbie washing dishes.

  The kid looked up at John. “I hate syrup. I’m never going to eat it again.”

  Robbie had grimaced, but his words were mild. John gave him an even stare. “Someone wants to see you.”

  “Is Susanna here?”

  He seemed pleased, a reaction that John took for a good sign. Considering the judge worshiped his grandson, Robbie would be either a persuasive ally or an effective enemy. If he was still a betting man, John would have given the outcome even odds. “It’s not your sister. It seems you sent a telegram to—”

  “My grandfather?”

  “That’s right.”

  John watched Robbie for signs and they were all there—pleasure, guilt and the realization that he’d started a chain of events he couldn’t control. John knew that feeling, so he gave Robbie a pat on the back. “Mary says you can take a break. Come have lunch with us.”

  Grinning, Robbie took off his apron and sped out the door. John followed, watching as Lawton Moore sprung to his feet and hugged his grandson. After Robbie squirmed away and sat, John returned to the table. Moore had already signaled Mary and was ordering ice cream for Robbie and fried chicken for himself. To keep things on an equal footing, John ordered a meal even though he wasn’t hungry.

  Moore got down to business. “Son, I’ve come to take you home with me. As you’d expect, your mother isn’t pleased with the idea, but she’s not thinking clearly. It’s what your father would want.”

  Using guilt from the grave struck John as a low blow, but he refused to turn Robbie into the rope in a game of tug-of-war. Instead he watched as the boy’s brows came together in a frown. “To Kansas?”

  “For now. Later we’ll move to Chicago so you can attend the Billings Academy. It’s an excellent school. Your father had plans for you, and I intend to see them fulfilled.”

  “But I don’t like school.”

  John almost felt sorry for the kid. He’d dug himself into a hole with that telegram. He could put up with his mother’s discipline, or he could let his grandfather run his life. John had to give Lawton credit. He’d dangled a luscious carrot in front of Abbie—and John, too. He wouldn’t have traded his tried-by-fire education for anything, but he would have enjoyed studying the Bible with real scholars. Later he’d share that thought with Robbie, but right now the boy needed support of another kind. He was looking across the table at John. “Is my mother mad about the telegram?”

  Another good sign. John saw a chance to add some timber to the bridge he’d been building between himself and Abbie’s son. “We’ll talk to her together,” he said mildly. “I suspect you had a good reason to do what you did. I’m also sure your grandfather is glad to see you.”

  “I’d be even happier to see him on the train to Kansas,” Moore added. “I don’t want him raised in this pitiful town.”

  Robbie looked confused. “Does that mean we’re staying here? Is it because of Susanna?”

  “What about her?” growled the judge. “I thought she was staying with friends.”

  Moore was eyeballing John when Mary approached. “The ice cream’s here!”

  As she set the plates on the table, John stared back, daring the judge to see a resemblance between himself and Susanna. When the old man didn’t speak, John took it as a reprieve and turned to Robbie. “This isn’t how your mother and I planned to tell you, but I’ve asked her to marry me and she said yes.” At least he hoped she would, but Robbie didn’t need that detail.

  The boy’s face reflected a mix of surprise and the superior knowledge that only a twelve year old could have. “She likes you.”

  “I like her, too.”

  Robbie gave a shrug and dipped into his ice cream. “I guess that’s okay. Things have changed since I sent that telegram. I wouldn’t mind staying here. Tim’s my best friend and I like Mary.”

  Lawton Moore slammed his fist on the table. “Over my dead body!”

  Robbie’s eyes popped wide. “Grandfather, don’t say that! Do you know who the Reverend is? He could shoot you dead. Tim told me all about it. He was in the Too Tall gang. They robbed trains and—”

  “I see.” The judge stared at John. “I should have put it together. You’re Johnny Leaf. You murdered those boys in Bitterroot. If I’d been sitting in that court, I would have hung you three times, once for each of them.”

  “But, Grandpa—”

  Moore pushed to his feet. “Robbie, come with me. I won’t have you associating with a child-killer.”

  Being called that name never got easier, but John had learned to hold his head up. God’s forgiveness demanded it, so he stood and looked the judge in the eye. “Sir, I wish you’d been that judge. You’d have spared me the hell of prison and a guilt I’ll never put down. I should have hanged, but the good Lord had other plans. Whether you like it or not, those plans include your daughter.”

  “Take her,” said the judge. “And her bastard daughter, too.”

  John itched to claim Susanna, but Abbie’s pleas were echoing in his ear. Nor did Robbie need to learn the truth in this manner. The boy had stayed seated across from John, oblivious to the dot of ice cream on his chin.

  “I know all about Susanna,” John said to Moore. “It’s a story for another time.”

  “It’s a shame that should be buried.” Moore looked at his grandson. “Robbie, come along now.”

  “No, Grandpa. You’re wrong about the Reverend. He’s nice now. We’re making a train out of wood. He knows all about engines. And you should have seen it when he saved my ma from that man with a knife.”

  “A knife!” Moore turned red enough for apoplexy. “What the devil is going on here?”

  “My ma was being brave.”

  In lurid detail, Robbie described the incident at the boardinghouse. He hadn’t witnessed the fight, but he’d heard talk in town and the story had grown legs. He made John sound more righteous than Wyatt Earp and Christ combined. By the time Robbie finished, Moore’s eyes were bulging and John was speechless as well.

  “So, Grandfather,” Robbie said, “I’ve changed my mind. I’d like to stay here after all. Since my ma’s getting married, maybe you could, too.”

  John glanced at the judge whose scowl was melting faster than the ice cream. When Moore sat, so did John. Their gazes met in the middle of the table. “Mr. Leaf, what else do you have to say to me?”

  Knowing the judge had made a huge concession, John decided to make one of his own. “We’d be honored if you’d perform the ceremony.”

  Robbie nodded. “My ma would like that.”

  John had his doubts about Abbie’s appreciation, but they would all be happier if Moore accepted the changes in his daughter’s life.

  After a long pause, Moore turned to John. “If it will make Robbie happy, I’ll do it. But we’re not done with the discussion about my grandson’s future.”

  “I understand,” John replied. In the judge’s world, one good turn deserved another, but what mattered most was Robbie. When the time came for a decision, they’d have to talk it out. Until then, John had other priorities, namely convincing Abbie to marry him again—this time for keeps.

  Abbie leaned against the oak tree with her hands behind her back, trying to steady her nerves as she waited for John. The evening with her father had been awful. John had steered the conversation to the judge’s glory days as a lawman, but she’d been a bundle of nerves.

  She’d also been mildly furious—at her father for not asking about Susanna and at John for buying the two prettiest dresses she had ever owned. When she’d tugged the gold bow off the first package and seen the red linen, she’d almost wept. The fabric had smelled new and freshly pressed. She had held it to her chest and looked down at the skirt, imagining herself as truly alluring for the first time in years.

  But what was th
e point of a courtship? Being a wife to him wasn’t a matter of willingness. Every time she looked at him, she felt a deepening of her love. She also knew that she had kissed him twice and panicked both times. The pretty dresses were a kind of lie. They covered her scars, but they couldn’t heal the hurt.

  Needing to play the part of his wife-to-be, she had worn the red one and still had it on. She had wanted to change into something old, but she couldn’t risk a conversation with Beth by going upstairs. Nor had she wanted to deal with Robbie, though his apology had done much to soothe her irritation.

  I’m sorry, Ma. I was mad when we first came here.

  Like mother, like son. Abbie was a tad bit mad herself, and she intended to stay that way until she convinced John to set a fake wedding date in December. With a little luck, her father would tire of Midas and head home. She and John would finish their business with Hodge and be done with their foolish marriage.

  Abbie was thinking about her backyard in Washington when she heard John walking down the path. When he reached the oak, he parted the low branches and stepped beneath the canopy. Moonlight streamed through the leaves, striping him with silver light. The shadows hid his expression, but his posture belonged to a confident man—hands loose at his sides, chin raised, boots planted a foot apart.

  The darkness concealed Abbie against the trunk of the tree, so he hadn’t seen her. As rude as it was, she stayed hidden. Just looking at him gave her a spark of pleasure that shot from her heart to her toes. She wanted to enjoy it, because it was all she could have.

  Peering into the dark, he said, “Abbie? Is that you?”

  His voice washed over her as she pushed away from the oak. It would have been easy to step into his arms, but she had no hope of tolerating more than a kiss. Needing to be direct, she stepped into a patch of light and faced him. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me, but we can’t take this marriage charade any further.”

  “Why not?”

  His whiskey voice took her back to his bed where she’d downed the alcohol to soothe her nerves. She could have used a shot right now to slow her pulse. Surely it was sinful for a preacher to sound so…desirable. At the very least, it was a trick of the devil, giving her good feelings that would turn bitter if she acted on them.

  He had asked a direct question, so Abbie decided to give him a direct answer. “I meant what I said about having scars you can’t see. I can’t give you the affection a man needs from his wife.”

  “You’re talking about sex.”

  “That’s right.” She fought to steady her voice. “You saw what happened in the bathing room. That same panic comes over me every time we kiss.”

  As John closed the space between them, Abbie pulled the shawl around her shoulders and turned away. A branch brushed her hair, almost like a hand. Her heart jumped into her throat.

  John stood right behind her. “What I saw last night was courage.”

  But she wasn’t the least bit brave. Last night she had been a trapped animal defending herself because she’d had no choice. Needing to put space between them, she stepped to the edge of the stream. It had rained that afternoon, turning the trickle into a rush that matched her pulse.

  John moved with her, positioning himself so that his breath grazed the nape of her neck. “I love you, Abbie. I want to make this marriage real.”

  Like a man testing ice to see if it would hold his weight, he put his hands on her upper arms and stroked. She could smell his clean shirt, traces of soap, the heat of his skin. Overwhelmed, she looked down at the skirt of her dress. In the dim light it looked black, reminding her of the mourning attire she’d worn on the train. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped back and faced him. “You should be having this conversation with Emma Dray.”

  His eyes glimmered. “I don’t love Emma Dray.”

  When he took a step forward, she took a step back. She was scared that he’d kiss her. But instead he bent at the waist, dipped his hand into the stream and lifted a smooth stone the size of her palm. Moonlight glistened on the granite as John pressed it into her palm and wrapped her fingers around the weight of it.

  “What’s this for?” she asked.

  “It’s a promise. At one time that rock was nothing but broken edges. It probably got knocked loose in a rockslide caused by a storm. More rain dragged it down the mountain. Over and over, that stone got bashed against other rocks until the rough edges were gone. Now it’s smooth to the touch and big enough to be useful.”

  Tears pressed into Abbie’s eyes. That stone could have been her heart.

  “That’s how God changes us,” John said quietly. “I’m not afraid of rough edges, Abbie. Time and Mother Nature will take care of what’s worrying you.”

  Abbie weighed the stone in her hand. A smart woman would have dropped it into the stream, but she couldn’t do it. Instead she put it in her pocket—another souvenir to go with Julio’s ring. She gave John a wry smile. “It’s a nice story, but I doubt you have as much patience as God.”

  “I don’t, but I have the faith to believe I won’t need it.”

  He raised his hand to her cheek and traced a line from her ear to her chin. Then he stared at her lips. Just stared. No movement. Not a whisper. Just his eyes on her lips, forcing her to remember the silk of his mouth on hers. She inhaled sharply, dragging in air so that her lips felt parched. To relieve the chapping, she touched the bottom one with her tongue and hoped he wouldn’t notice.

  A half smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “You have the loveliest lips I’ve ever seen. Did you know they’re bow-shaped? It’s like there’s hope inside of you trying to get out.”

  Abbie shook her head. “You’re being silly.”

  “I’m a man who loves his wife.”

  He lowered his head to hers, slowly, until she closed her eyes. She felt his mouth just a breath away and then the touch of his lips. He was kissing her as if she were delicate, testing her reactions, daring her to open her lips and her heart.

  How could a man express all those feelings with just his lips? Abbie didn’t know, but she could feel her body yearning for his. Holding back from him was nearly impossible. It was also a bald-faced lie. She wanted to be his wife, but allowing herself to melt into his arms would have been cruel. A kiss by its very design shadowed the intimacies to come, and she couldn’t make that commitment.

  She kept her lips sealed until he lifted his head and went back to staring at her mouth. His gaze alone made her tremble, but he was touching her, too. She felt his fingers following the nerves running down her neck, her shoulder, her wrist. Clasping her hand, he pressed his lips against her palm and feathered the flesh with kisses. She needed to pull back, but she didn’t want to break the spell. The stirring in her belly gave her hope. But the desire in her heart would shrivel if John did more than kiss her. She was like the dogwood blossoms in her backyard. They thrived in the mild Washington spring but wilted in the summer heat. Sad beyond reason, she took back her hand. She had to focus on her problems, not a dream that wouldn’t come true.

  She made her voice firm. “What will you do if I say no? Will you tell my father we’re not engaged? I could lose everything, even Robbie.”

  John looked up like a man lost in the fog. She saw the confusion clear in layers, revealing first irritation and then conviction. “Did you just ask me if I’d blackmail you into marrying me?”

  “No!”

  “Good, because that thought is repulsive. No matter what you say tonight, I’ll keep the promise I already made. If you want to fake an engagement—fine. But I don’t think that’s what you want.”

  “You have no idea what I want.” But she was afraid that he did. As the weight of the promise rock pulled at her dress, she lifted it out of her pocket. She wanted to believe her broken parts could be made smooth, but doubts were tumbling through her mind. Toss it in the water… Heave it across the meadow…

  As she gripped the stone, she looked up at John and saw a challenge in his eyes. “Go ahead a
nd throw it,” he said. “I’ll just hand you another one.”

  To make his point, he gathered a handful of smaller rocks. Stepping back for leverage, he hurled the first one so far across the meadow that she didn’t hear it land. “That was for your father,” he said. “In some misguided way, he loves you. But the man gives me a headache.”

  “Me, too.”

  He hurled another one into the night. “That was for Robert, who should have been horsewhipped.”

  “And this one—” he tossed it farthest of all “—is for that fool kid in Kansas who left you pregnant and alone. If he had to do it again, he’d buy you a ring, find a preacher and whisk you off to Oregon.”

  Abbie tightened her grip on the promise rock. She’d spent the past fourteen years wondering what her life would have been like if she’d gone with Johnny Leaf to Oregon. The thought of spending another fourteen years wishing she’d taken a chance on a real marriage made her miserable, and that was unacceptable. After putting John’s rock in her pocket, she bent low, picked up a rock of her own and threw it as hard as she could.

  Facing him, she said, “That was for regrets. I don’t want any more of them. I’m scared to death, but I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” he said in a throaty voice. “I always have.” He took her hands in his—nothing more—and then tenderly kissed her forehead. He meant well, but the caress made her feel like a child. Her insides started to churn. John was expecting a church wedding. How could she make this marriage public without being sure of herself? She knew the feelings she had to fight. They lived low in her belly, swimming in murky water and sucking at her courage.

  Until now, Abbie had fought the fear by becoming angry. Rage at Robert’s cruelty had given her the courage to start a new life. Without those strong feelings, she felt vulnerable and afraid. But they had no place in a future with John. Hoping that love would be enough, she clasped his shoulders, pushed up on her toes and gave him a bold kiss.