Outlaw Hearts

by Rosanne Bittner

  Peace. That was what Randy brought him. Away from her, life was vicious and dangerous for him; but in Randy’s arms he was safe, loved, free. Free of the past, free of the memories, free of his anger. He slipped the plain gold band he had purchased at the fort’s supply store onto Miranda’s finger. It was a little too big, but it was the only one available. He would get her something nicer, he vowed, either at Salt Lake or Virginia City.

  He watched those gray-blue eyes, as she accepted the ring; he saw the love there. He wondered if a woman any prettier existed, or a man any luckier than he was today. Did he really have any right calling someone as beautiful and kind and understanding his wife? Would he bring her only pain and sorrow? He had wanted so much just to ride out of her life and leave her to better things; but it had been impossible to see her again and not want her. She had made it all so easy, and he saw no fear or doubt in her eyes now as the priest pronounced them man and wife.

  He leaned down and kissed her lips lightly, and the people around them clapped, a few of the Mormon women actually crying. “Yo te quiero, mi esposa,” he told her softly.

  “I love you, Jake.” She saw tears in his eyes, and her own quickly misted. “We’ll be all right.”

  “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “I know that.”

  They embraced, and the orchestra broke into a snappy tune that put everyone in a party spirit. Miranda thought how she could tell their children that their parents’ wedding was even attended by a few Indians. Children. How would Jake feel about being a father? It would surely be a traumatic experience for him. She had not even thought about it until now. They had not discussed it. She set the thought aside as their Mormon friends surrounded them and congratulated them, hugging and kissing and laughing. The little band changed to a slower tune, and everyone urged the newlyweds to dance alone. “The first dance for Mr. and Mrs. Jake Turner,” someone shouted.

  Jake put a hand to Miranda’s waist, and they began to move in a circle. “I’m not very good at this—not much experience,” he told her.

  “Well, this farm girl who hasn’t gone out with a man in over three years is a little rusty herself.”

  He whirled her around to the music, both of them becoming less and less aware of those around them. Miranda wondered at how surprising life could be. She had shot this man, learned to hate his kind. Then there he was, lying in her own bed. How had she fallen in love with him? How had she known somehow, that first day in the supply store, that the tall, dangerous-looking stranger with the guns and wearing the canvas slicker would end up playing an important role in her life? Now here she was, Jake Harkner’s wife. The bride of an outlaw. No, not an outlaw. Not anymore. If only society would leave him alone now, they could be happy.

  They moved through the formalities in a near daze, both of them a little overwhelmed that they had really done this, both of them eager to prove it to themselves by consummating their vows. They visited, thanked those who had given gifts, ate cake, and drank lemonade. Jake drank a little whiskey given to him by the soldiers, but he allowed himself only two shots. As soon as it was dark, he whisked Miranda up into his arms and carried her off toward the waiting wedding wagon amid laughter and teasing remarks from those around them.

  The voices faded, and Miranda rested her head on Jake’s shoulder. “It was a perfect wedding, Jake, even without a church and all the fancy trimmings.”

  He set her on the gate of the wagon, bracing his hands on either side of her and leaning close to kiss her lightly. “Once we get settled, wherever that might be, you’ll have a place of your own, Randy. I’ll do the best I can.”

  She touched his face. “I know that. I’m just happy being your wife. When we do have a place of our own, we can make love whenever we feel like it. It gives us something to look forward to.”

  He grinned, kissing her harder then. He moved his lips to her neck. “If that’s the case, when will I get any work done? I’ll be in bed with you all the time.”

  She laughed lightly, savoring the feel of his tongue flicking at her throat. He climbed up beside her and they moved under the canvas and mosquito netting where they could see each other better by a dimly lit lantern. Jake drew her down into the feather mattress, glad the night was cooler than it had been for several weeks. He studied the trusting, gray-blue eyes, began pulling pins from her honey-blond hair, wondered at the perfect features of her face. How small it was. He could probably crush it with one big hand, and sometimes he wondered that he didn’t hurt her accidentally, her being so small-boned and delicate; but she wasn’t delicate on the inside. This was one strong woman who knew what she wanted and took any risk to have it.

  “I can’t believe you’re really my wife.” He traced his fingers over her face, her lips. “I’m not saying I’ll be perfect. It’s not easy pulling out of a past like mine, and trouble hunts me down like a wolf after a rabbit; but I’ll do what I can, short of robbing a bank, to make sure you’re taken care of and have a place of your own.”

  She smiled and touched his hair, liking the feel of it, painful urges pressing at her insides. She did not doubt his love for one moment. Jake Harkner had been starved of loving and being loved nearly all his life. He had a lot to make up for. “I’ll be a good wife, Jake. Wherever our home ends up, I’ll make it nice for you.”

  In the distant foothills, wolves began their nightly songs to each other. Tonight the wailing seemed strangely ominous. They both felt it, and Jake met her mouth in a savage kiss as though to make sure she really was there and really was his. Miranda felt the same sudden need. She told herself she must not think about all the problems a woman might have being married to a man with Jake’s past. It was the future that mattered, only the future. She had told him that, and she must believe it herself, for Jake’s sake. He wanted so much to do this right. He needed her love, and she in turn had a mad desire for this man of danger and loneliness. Sometimes she felt that through loving the man she could also bring some love to the little boy in him who wanted so much to be held and comforted.

  For now, at last, they could recapture the ecstasy of that first night he had taken her. It had been so hard being together, looking at each other, and not being able to sleep in each other’s arms these last few weeks. Now they had all night, but this first time they needed to dispel the odd fear the wolves’ howling had awakened in them, needed to make sure this was real and nothing could change it, needed to revel in the glory they had found in being united.

  Jake’s kisses grew deep and hot, his tongue slaking into her mouth suggestively, something Mack had never done. It made her feel wild and wanton. She thought about the kind of women he had been with before her, realized now there were probably things he knew that she had never been shown. His lips left her mouth and trailed to her neck. He pulled her to a sitting position and began unbuttoning her dress at the back. She closed her eyes and rested her head against his strong shoulder as he opened the dress and ran his hand under her camisole over her bare skin.

  “I want to know all of it, Jake, all the things I don’t know yet. I want to be as good as the women who do this just to show a man a good time.”

  He grinned at the mere thought of her being anything like the kind of women he had known. She leaned back, and he pulled her dress off her shoulders, untied the camisole and pushed it open, reaching inside to gently close his hand around a soft, full breast. “Just looking at you excites me more than anything those women did.” He laid her back again, kissing her deeply, running his thumb over her taut nipple. “I’ll gladly teach you anything you want to know, mi querida,” he whispered, his lips moving down to taste at the pink fruits of her breasts.

  The words stirred a passion in her that made her draw in her breath with the ache of it. In moments her dress and camisole and slips were pulled away. Jake sat up and pulled off her shoes and stockings, removed his shirt, boots and pants. Miranda lay there naked, on f
ire at how his dark eyes raked over her while he stripped off his underwear. She drank in the sight of his firm body, and that part of him that left no doubt he was all man. She touched the scar at his left side where her own bullet had come close to killing him.

  Her own bullet. He had come into her life a wanted outlaw who had gunned down a bounty hunter, and now he was her husband. She leaned up and kissed the scar, as well as the one at his shoulder, at his neck. There were other tiny ones; Jake was a man battered physically and emotionally most of his life. She could hardly bear to set eyes on the faint scars on his back, knowing they’d been put there when he was small and defenseless.

  He leaned over her, grasping her knees and parting her legs. She closed her eyes and let him drink in the sight of what now belonged to him. He ran his hands along the inside of her thighs, over her privates and belly. Then he leaned closer, licked at her neck, her cheek. “There are many things I can show you,” he said softly. “Right now all I want is to be inside you, to make sure this is real.”

  She gasped when he quickly entered her then, filling her to ecstasy. His shaft was hot and hard, searching her depths. She leaned her head back, arching up to him and groaning at the way his penis teased her as he moved erotically, in moments bringing her to a delicious climax. He rose up then, grasping her hips and drawing her to him, thrusting himself deep. For several glorious minutes there was nothing but to enjoy the man and let him claim her. His hands gently massaged her bottom while he continued to fill her body in a sweet rhythm that made her forget everything else. There was only Jake, invading her, touching her everywhere, bringing out passions and desires she was hardly aware existed in her soul.

  He pulled her closer then, met her lips almost savagely, and groaned as his life finally surged into her. He stayed inside her and took her into his arms. “We’ll do it again in a minute,” he whispered. “I’ll never get enough of you, Mrs. Harkner.”

  She liked the sound of that name. To others and on paper she was Mrs. Jake Turner, but in her heart she did not mind being Mrs. Jake Harkner. If not for the danger for him, she would shout it to the world.

  “Once we get someplace where we have more privacy, I’ll teach you anything you want,” he was saying. Already he was beginning to move inside her again.

  Miranda met his eyes and was suddenly embarrassed at what she had said earlier. “You make me feel totally wicked and daring.”

  He grinned, leaning down to lick at her lips. “I want to see you and touch you and taste you all over,” he promised.

  “Jake,” she whispered. Neither of them was about to let their weariness from the long, hard journey, or worry about the danger that might lie ahead interfere with this special night. It was done now. They were man and wife, and nothing could change that.

  In the distant hills, the wolves continued their mournful wailing.

  Twelve

  October 1866

  Clarence looked up and down the street to be sure none of his relatives was anywhere near. It had been easy to sneak away from his Uncle Wilbur’s tent camp. They had been in Virginia City only two weeks, and his uncles were all busy building a log church, deciding the church must come even before a cabin would be built for Aunt Opal and the children. Within the religious camp he slept alone in his father’s wagon, having taken over his father’s possessions since the man’s death from cholera in the mountains of Utah.

  His eight-year-old cousin David, his uncle John, only twenty-eight, and his grandfather had also died from the dreaded disease, all before reaching the Nevada desert. The trip through the desert had been hell, and now that they had arrived at their destination, Clarence could not help wondering what kind of a God would put them through such hell when they were on their way to bring God’s teachings to others.

  Not that he believed much in God anyway. He had never really considered himself a missionary, never quite understood why God was so important to some people. He had hated having to be a part of the trip, hated the boring life his uncles led, always praying and reading the Bible, never having any fun. He had come along because it was expected of him, but now that he was here and his father was dead, he was not so sure he had to remain with the family and join in all that holy stuff. He was a man now, had been for longer than any of his family knew, ever since he’d lain with that farm girl back in Missouri before they’d left. He should be old enough to make his own decisions about life and how he wanted to live it.

  It seemed ever since that farm girl, his appetite for women and the inability to be with any because of his family had been near painful. He had been so sure that widow woman, Miranda Hayes, would be hurting bad enough for a man that she’d let him under her skirts; but she had surprised him. God, how he hated her for embarrassing him the way she had! He hoped she had died from that snakebite, slowly and painfully. It would serve her right for acting so uppity around him when he knew damn good and well she was hungry for a man between her legs.

  He stepped up onto the boardwalk. He liked Virginia City at night. It was wild and noisy and dangerous, a place for a man to prove himself. He pushed his way past drunks, glanced into each saloon to see smoky rooms full of men gambling and drinking, painted women hanging over them. Raucous piano music and wild laughter filled the night air, along with an occasional gunshot.

  He could not help wondering if these were the people his family had come to “save.” They sure didn’t seem to think they needed it. What was so bad about this life? People were dancing and laughing and drinking, having a good time. He had felt drawn to the wilder side of this town since they had first arrived, felt a keen hunger to learn about this side of life. He wanted to taste whiskey, sleep with a whore and learn about all the ways women like that had of making a man feel good. He wanted to learn how to play poker, shoot pool; wanted to taste tobacco, smoke a cheroot, roll his own cigarettes.

  These were his decisions to make now, not his uncle Wilbur’s. Maybe he would find a job up at one of the mines, or working at one of these saloons. Until then, he would continue using the money he managed to steal bit by bit from his uncle, most of it from the collections the man took after giving a sermon, collections turned over to Clarence to count. And count it he did, after taking out a portion for himself. He grinned at the thought of how stupid and trusting his uncle was.

  He walked into one of the saloons where he spotted a young, blond-haired girl moving around the tables. She was pretty, reminded him a little of that Mrs. Hayes. Her bright green satin dress sported a neckline so low he was sure her entire bosom would spill out of it. An edging of lace was all that hid her nipples, and he felt a rush of excitement at the thought of being with a woman who would let him do anything he wanted with her. That farm girl, she had been a little resistant at first, but she had given in once he told her that he’d tell her father about her if she didn’t cooperate. He had made her cry, but he supposed that was how it was for a girl’s first time. She’d get over it.

  He edged closer to the prostitute, excited by the shortness of her dress, the hemline just above her pretty knees. He had never seen so much leg exposed on a woman before. She wore black net stockings and silver shoes, and her hair hung long and loose, unlike the tight buns worn by his Aunt Opal and most of the other women his family had known. He wanted to touch that hair, to see that slightly hidden bosom. “Hello,” he spoke up, touching her arm.

  She turned, and a bright smile parted her full, red lips. “Hello, kid.” Her eyes moved over him. “Something I can do for you?”

  Clarence grinned, already feeling an urgent pressure at his privates. “Maybe. You, uh, you one of those ladies who take money for showing a man a good time?”

  She laughed lightly, tossing her head to flick her hair behind her shoulders. “A man? Is that what you are?” She came closer, moving her hand to his privates. Her eyes widened. “Well, I guess maybe you are at that.”

  Clarence reddened, on fire for
her, already sure that this was all he wanted out of life, women like this, the smell of smoke and cards. “I’m man enough for you,” he told her. “I’ve had my share of women,” he lied.

  “Have you now?” She gave him a teasing look and took his hand, pulling him to the bar and ordering a shot of whiskey “on the house” for him. Clarence thought of protesting, but he figured if he was going to learn about this life, he had to taste all of it. The bartender set a shot glass on the counter and poured the whiskey, and Clarence picked it up and slugged it down quickly. He could not help making a face then at how it burned going down. He shuddered, and the woman laughed.

  “Pour him another one, Toby,” she told the man behind the bar. “He’ll get used to it quick enough.” She touched Clarence’s chest, pressed her fingers across his nipple through his shirt. “For five dollars, I’ll take you upstairs and show you all you want to know about women, honey. You got the five dollars?”

  Clarence swallowed, wondering if he would explode with desire. “I’ve got ten dollars you can have if you let me stay all night.” He grinned, imagining how his uncle would react if he knew his collection money was being spent on a whore.

  “Let’s see your money, kid.”

  Clarence quickly dug into his pocket, pulling out eight single-dollar bills and a two-dollar gold piece. The woman pulled the bodice of her dress away from her breasts so that he could see them fully. “Drop it in, honey.”

  He stared at the taut nipples eagerly, then shoved the money into her dress, his hand lingering there a moment to enjoy touching one nipple. Men sitting close by who had seen the display hooted and whistled and began teasing Clarence, asking if he really thought he was man enough for what he was about to do.

  “You don’t know Mellie, boy,” one of them said with a laugh. “She’ll eat you alive!” The others laughed with him, and Clarence reddened deeply but maintained a manly stance.