Outlaw Hearts

by Rosanne Bittner

  Jake groaned, and his kiss grew hotter, deeper. He moved his hands behind her, and she felt him pull a few blankets down, let him lay her down on them. Never had she wanted a man like this, with such wantonness, such an agonizing need. She returned his kisses with a fiery passion she had not known she was capable of feeling.

  His lips left her mouth for just a moment, moving to her throat while with one hand he pushed up her dress and felt along her thigh, up to the waist of her bloomers.

  “Jake,” she whispered, wondering if she had spoken his name with desire, or if it was just a feeble attempt at protesting. She felt the bloomers coming off, groaned when strong fingers moved into her intimately, drawing out the moistness that told him she needed and wanted him. He stroked and caressed her in magical, circular movements, his strong fingers much gentler than she thought they could be. It was so easy to let him touch her. She wanted and needed this so badly. There was no room for reasoning, only this burning desire to be a woman again. In seconds she was gasping his name in an intense climax, and somehow both of them knew that this first time was too urgent to even bother fully undressing. This was something they both had known was coming, something they both had been fighting uselessly.

  She opened her legs willingly, inviting him to take his pleasure in her. She boldly met his gaze to see a blazing fire in his own dark eyes, a fire that spread through her whole body when he suddenly surged inside of her, filling her to ecstasy. She cried out with the thrill of it, wondering somewhere in the back of her mind how he had so quickly gotten himself undone and inside her. He moved in exotic rhythm, and she found herself moving with him, arching herself up to him, grasping his arms and feeling his hard muscles. She groaned his name over and over, giving herself to him in sweet abandon.

  She felt as though she was floating in another world. His big hands covered her bottom, pulled her to him in perfect, exhilarating union. She had seen that most manly part of him, knew he was a man built to give a woman great pleasure. It was even more wonderful than she had dreamed it might be. He surged hard and deep, groaning with every thrust, meeting her mouth again and running his tongue deep as though claiming her mouth as he possessed her body.

  He was wild and hard and determined, just the way she knew a man like Jake would be. She wondered why it had been so easy to open herself to him, was surprised at her own boldness. He came down close then, kept one hand under her bottom and gently molded her breast with the other, kissing it through the material of her dress, arousing an ache to be naked so that she could offer him the breast fully, enjoy the feel of him tasting her nipple. Never had she had such lustful, near-sinful thoughts, not even with Mack. Was it because of the kind of man Jake was, dangerous, forbidden?

  “God, I love you, Randy,” he whispered, kissing her so fiercely it almost hurt. She felt his life surge into her then, and he uttered her name in a kind of whimper, as though in an agony of his own. When he was finished, he lay quietly for several long seconds, his face resting against her breasts.

  “My God,” he finally muttered. “What the hell have I done?”

  Miranda ran her fingers into his thick, dark hair. “Made love to me. That’s all. It wasn’t something terrible, Jake.”

  “Wasn’t it?” He rolled away from her, pulling down her dress and covering himself with a blanket. “Jesus, I’m sorry, Randy.” He put a hand to his eyes. “My God,” he repeated. “I’m sorry I talked to you like that. For Christ’s sake, I half forced you.”

  She raised up on one elbow and leaned over to touch his face. She kissed his cheek. “You have got to stop cussing, Jake Harkner.” She put her head on his shoulder. “If I had felt forced, I would have fought back and you would have stopped. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t. You’ve just never done this before when love was involved. You don’t understand what just happened to you, but I know what happened to me, Jake. I let the man that I love be a part of me. Just for tonight let’s accept the fact that we want to be together. Let’s not worry about how right or wrong it is, or what is going to happen tomorrow or next week or next month. I want you, Jake. It’s already dark outside. Why not just stay in here with me tonight? I’m so tired of sleeping alone.”

  He turned, pressing her shoulders into the blankets and hovering over her, searching the eyes he thought were so pretty, eyes that had cast some kind of spell on him. “I hurt every person who comes into my life, Randy.”

  She touched his face lightly, tracing her slender fingers over his eyebrows, his nose, his lips, studying the longing in his dark, fiery eyes. “Only because they hurt you first. I’ll never hurt you, Jake. We have a good six weeks of travel left, maybe longer, plenty of time to talk. Tonight let’s just be together.”

  He closed his eyes and stretched out beside her, kissing her hair. “I’m no good, Randy. There’s no future with a man like me.”

  She ran a hand inside his shirt and leaned closer to kiss his chest. “We don’t know that yet. And you are good, Jake.”

  He wrapped his fingers into her hair and rolled on top of her. “If I was really good, I would never have let things go this far with you. You mean too much to me, and if you stay with me you’re going to suffer, Randy. You’ll always be running, always wondering when someone might find out who I am and come gunning for me. Life is hell with me, believe me—”

  She touched his lips again. “Tell me you can take me to Nevada now and just leave me there and ride off without me. Can you do that, Jake?” His only reply was to meet her mouth in a savage kiss.

  Ten

  Miranda opened her eyes and stared at the saddle stored in the wagon. Jake’s saddle. She lay still, gathering her thoughts, realizing the strong arm that was secured around her from behind belonged to Jake; remembering then a night of heated, sometimes almost violent lovemaking.

  Had she really let it all happen, even welcomed it? A dull, yet pleasant ache deep in her belly told her she had, and now she lay here naked, her back snuggled against this man she once thought any decent person should surely hate. She had let Jake Harkner make love to her, not just once, but several times and she had responded. He had tasted and explored and claimed and invaded her, and not once had she felt it was wrong or sinful. Maybe to others it would look that way, but not to her. She had fallen in love with a man who desperately needed to be loved, even if he didn’t know it himself.

  There was no going back now, no changing what she had let happen, no denying how she felt. She couldn’t worry about the future or the past, or about the danger of being an outlaw’s woman, for now it was impossible to think of not being at his side. She had never felt more beautiful, more daring, more alive. She moved slightly, grasping his muscled forearm and kissing it.

  “So, you are awake,” he told her, kissing her hair then. “I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to move and disturb you.”

  She smiled with sweet satisfaction, glorying in once more experiencing the ultimate pleasures of being a woman. “Yes, I’m awake,” she answered, keeping her back to him. Now that morning light made its way through the canvas, she felt suddenly shy about her nakedness. It had all been so easy in the dark of night. She pulled a blanket farther over herself. “Have you been awake long?”

  He sighed, nuzzling her neck. “Maybe a half hour.” He smoothed her hair back from her face and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “Do you know how beautiful you are? I’ve never seen a woman who could hold a candle to you, except maybe my mother, but she was dark and you’re fair.” He kissed and licked at her satiny shoulder, gently massaging her breasts as he did so. “Thank you for last night, mi querida.”

  She smiled. “What does that mean?”

  He moved his hand to gently massage her belly then, thinking how small she was, how he had worried last night at times that he might bruise her, or break something if he held her too tightly. Surely he had hurt her when they had intercourse, yet she had taken him with a wild passion he never dre
amed she had in her. In his whole life he had never wanted a woman like he had wanted Miranda Hayes, or ever gotten so much pleasure with one.

  “Something I’ve never said to a woman,” he answered. “Something I never thought I was capable of saying…too mushy for somebody like me.” He kissed her shoulder again. “It means ‘my darling’ in Spanish. My mother used to say it to me and my little brother, but certainly not the way I mean it with you.”

  Miranda rubbed at his arm. “It’s a pretty language. Do you remember much of it?”

  “Sure. I just haven’t used it in years because it makes me think of her, how good she was. It is a beautiful language, maybe too gentle for a man who raids and kills and has his face on wanted posters all over the state of Missouri.”

  He reached past her to get something out of one of his saddlebags, and Miranda studied the hard lines of his upper body, still having a little trouble coming to terms with what had happened last night. Why hadn’t she stopped him? It had all seemed as natural as breathing. He moved back beside her, leaning down to kiss at her breasts. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, relishing the ecstasy of letting him lick and taste at her nipples. She had never been this bold with Mack, but Jake had a commanding way of touching her that destroyed all her inhibitions.

  “I got us some peppermint,” he said then, showing her a pink stick of candy. “I want to kiss you,” he told her, “but I don’t feel like getting up just yet and looking for the baking soda to clean my teeth, so the candy will have to do.”

  Miranda smiled, watching his dark eyes, thinking how handsome he looked even in the morning when he needed a shave and his hair was a mess. He put one end of the candy in her mouth, put his own mouth over the other end, and moved his mouth to her lips. He bit off his end of the candy, and they both sucked on it while their lips brushed.

  She felt his hardness, closed her eyes when he entered her again. This time he took her slowly, gently, quietly. She tried to remember how many times he had drawn from her the exhilarating climaxes that left her feeling weak this morning. Little was said between them. They simply enjoyed the quiet morning, the feel of warm bodies touching, the joy of their union. He swallowed the candy and leaned down to taste at her nipple again, enjoying seeing her in the light of morning, thinking how ripe and beautiful she looked. He wanted to see more in the light, wanted to explore other parts of her, taste her again. Maybe they would just stay here all day. He could teach her all the things he knew about pleasuring a woman, show her there was more than one way to enjoy a man.

  But then maybe not. Maybe none of this was right. God, he loved her, but what could he really give a woman like Miranda? Only unhappiness. He shuddered when the life flowed out of him once more, tried to remember if he had ever taken another woman this many times in one night.

  He relaxed beside her, and Miranda snuggled against him. “You should use your Spanish more often, Jake. I like to hear it. Maybe you can teach me some.”

  “Maybe.” He rubbed her shoulder, thinking how good it had felt to be with someone who really seemed to care. Her response to him had fed a long-buried need, but had any of it been right, or fair to her?

  “Randy,” he said softly, turning on his side to meet her eyes. “This whole thing.” He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, Miranda saw the pain there. “If last night is all we ever have, I’ll have to be satisfied with that, and I’d never blame you one damn bit for deciding it was a mistake.”

  “Jake—”

  He touched her lips with his fingers. “I’m not a man to think any the worse of a woman who has needs. One thing we sure as hell have become is good friends, but considering who I am”—he sighed deeply—“the way you look at me, I don’t ever want that to change, and if we take this further, stay together, it will change. I’ll see hatred in those eyes, remorse, despair. You know damn well what life with me would be like. If you want to just pretend last night didn’t happen and feel like you ought to think twice about sharing your bed with somebody like me—”

  She grasped his hand. “Do you really think I could go on now as though nothing has changed? Do you think I could forget you, Jake? Pretend that I don’t love you?” She scooted slightly away from him. “I didn’t lie with you just out of some lustful need, Jake. I wanted you, not just that way, but all of you. I wanted to belong to you, give you pleasure in return, make you happy. I wanted to love you, teach you how to love me in return.”

  He closed his eyes and turned onto his back, putting an arm over his eyes. “You’d better think real deep on this, Randy.”

  She lay on her back, staring up at the canvas and pulling the blanket back up to her neck. “I didn’t come this far without thinking about it, much more than you know. I know what I want, Jake. I know that I love you.”

  He let out a kind of hiss. “You’ve had enough tragedy in your life.”

  “And so have you!”

  “The difference is, there are always going to be men looking for me. I’ve brought on a lot of my own tragedy.”

  “No one will know you in Nevada. We could even go all the way to California. You can start over, Jake. I know you want to. You talked about it once. The tragedy in your life—your father brought it on, not you. You’ve got to let go of the past, Jake.”

  He sat up, keeping a blanket around his waist. He rummaged through his things to find a cheroot. He lit it, moving then to sit up against the sideboard of the wagon. He smoked in silence for a moment, watching her eyes. “I don’t know if I can let go. It eats at me, Randy, like rust slowly eats up metal. It haunts my dreams at night, brings out the worst in me when I feel threatened, warns me never to allow myself to have feelings.”

  Miranda turned to her side to face him, supporting her head with one arm. “Maybe if you talked about it, it would help. I have a right to know, Jake. You started to tell me last night.”

  He glanced at her exposed arm, noticing the bruises on it. “Good God, I left marks on you,” he said, disgust in his voice. He stuck the cheroot in his mouth and angrily threw off his blanket. He grabbed his long johns and began pulling them on.

  Miranda felt a disturbing heat move through her at the sight of his naked splendor. She wanted him—and she wanted to cry. Again his anger and defense had taken over at the mention of talking about things that hurt.

  “I’m sorry about that part of last night,” he was saying. He jerked on the underwear and began buttoning it. “I had no right talking to you like that, grabbing and threatening you that way.”

  “Jake, we have a lot of things to talk about, some decisions to make. We can’t do that until you get that anger out of you and open up to me. Please tell me about your father. Talk to me, Jake.”

  He grabbed his pants and began pulling them on. “The horses have to be tended to. The poor things have been tied to this wagon all night in that rain.” He pulled up the back canvas flap and looked out. “At least the sky is blue. I’ll get a fire going and heat some water so you can wash and dress.” He climbed out of the wagon.

  “Jake, wait!” Miranda held a blanket around herself and scooted to the back of the wagon, where he was untying the horses. “You aren’t going to shut me out again, Jake Harkner, not after last night! I suppose you think it’s all right to get as close to me as you want physically, but that you don’t have to share yourself emotionally! It doesn’t work that way, Jake, not for a woman, anyway. Why don’t you just tell me all of it and let me decide what’s right for me, who I want to share my bed with, as you so crudely put it! Is that how you think of it, as just sharing a bed? I love you, and you said last night that you loved me. Was it a lie, Jake, just to have your way with me?”

  “No!” he yelled. He let go of the horses’ ropes and let them wander to graze. “Damn it, woman, it’s got nothing to do with whether or not I love you! It’s got to do with who I am, the things I’ve done! For Christ’s sake, Randy, I’
m a wanted man! I have killed and I’ll probably kill again! I’ve robbed trains, stolen guns, robbed banks; I’ve run with some of the worst, gambled with them, drank with them, slept with their whores, and shot down men just for cheating at cards! I killed my own damn father!”

  “Why, Jake? Why did you kill him?”

  “Because,” he roared, “he was raping her! He was raping Santana! She was my friend, and she was only twelve years old and he was raping her!” His eyes suddenly teared, and he turned away. He put his hands on his hips and threw back his head, breathing deeply. “I’ve got to get a fire started.”

  Randy let him go, wishing there was some way she could erase the memory, but knowing there was not. She was glad to have gotten this much out of him, knew he would tell her more when he was ready.

  For the next hour she said as little to him as possible. She straightened the inside of the wagon, folded the blankets. Jake brought her some hot water, and she washed and dressed. She climbed down from the wagon to see a pan of bacon and beans cooking over the fire, thought how self-sufficient he had learned to be, living on his own over the years. She longed to make a home for him, cook nice meals for him, create a whole new life for him, and with him.

  She stirred the food, watching him in the distance rounding up the oxen and goading them back to the wagon, where he hitched them. He told her then he wanted to wash too, and he climbed into the wagon, emerging several minutes later wearing clean denim pants and the blue shirt he had worn the night before. He carried his Winchester and laid it beside him when he squatted near the fire.