Outlaw Hearts

by Rosanne Bittner

  He drew his hand away. “That your name? Mellie?”

  “That’s it.” She licked her lips seductively. “What’s yours?”

  “Clarence. Clarence Gaylord.”

  She traced her fingers over his lips. “Well, Clarence Gaylord, follow me upstairs, but don’t expect to get any sleep tonight.” She pulled at his hand, guiding him to the stairway while men continued to call out lurid remarks. Mellie just laughed, not at all offended. Clarence eagerly followed the woman up the stairs, wondering how old she was. She was so painted and had such a hard look to her, it was difficult to tell. She could be twenty, or maybe ten years older than that. It didn’t much matter. Tonight he was going to do what he wanted to do. This woman wouldn’t turn him away, and there was no Uncle Wilbur here to preach to him about how this life was wrong. He didn’t see a damn thing wrong with it. All these people liked it just fine. If laughter and half-naked women and scraping in money from card winnings was sin, then where was all the sorrow and pain and repentance his uncle preached about? He saw nothing here but a good time. He followed Mellie into her room, and she closed the door, keeping her smile when she turned to him. She knelt in front of him and began unbuttoning his pants. “Let’s see what you’ve got in here,” she said softly.

  Clarence closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Yes, this was the life for him! This was where he belonged. He wanted some excitement out of life, and Virginia City held all the excitement a man could hope to find! Maybe after tonight he would never even go back to his uncle’s camp, except to get his clothes and leave for good.

  ***

  It was already getting dark when Jake led the wagon down the muddy main street of Virginia City. An early snowstorm in the Sierras had stranded him and Miranda and the Mormon supply train with whom they had traveled from Salt Lake, and he and Miranda were both weary from their struggle against the cold and snow. The duration of the storm had left them buried against the side of a mountain and had nearly starved them out. The supply train carried only hardware, no extra food, and it had been a harrowing experience.

  The same storm had frozen the dirt streets of town, and now a slight warming and the tremendous traffic of wagons and mules and horses, combined with the warmth of all the animal manure that was dropped onto the ground, had warmed the streets just enough to bring on a thaw that created a sucking, smelly mud. Both Jake and the oxen found it difficult to trudge through the muck.

  The Nevada desert had been beastly, and Miranda had gotten sick. Her illness had brought terror to his soul, for he’d been sure it was cholera, but she was better now. He had gotten a taste of what it would be like to be without her, and he didn’t like it at all. As far as he was concerned, she was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

  They had left the men of the supply train at a warehouse north of town, and now had the task of finding a place to stay for the night. The air was filled with screams and gunfire and piano music, and here and there a man could be seen lying on the boardwalk, out cold from too much whiskey. Jake thought how at one time he would have fit right in here among the wild women and smoking gamblers, and it still tugged at him a little, only because they had been so long away from any kind of civilization, which left him glad to see people and hear laughter. There had been times when they had both felt half-crazy with the tedious journey and the fear of dying either from the heat of the desert or the cold of the Sierras. Before that there had been the Rockies to cross, pathways along the sides of mountaintops that made a man dizzy.

  He glanced up at Miranda, who was gawking at the drunks and at whores who draped themselves over balconies, displaying their generous offerings. She had come through this journey with hardly a complaint, even when she had been so sick. She had shown courage and strength, and he hoped her worthless brother appreciated what she had been through just to find him.

  He shuddered at the thought of her actually trying to make this trip alone, and a feeling of intense relief spread through him at having made the decision to try to find her and help her get here. Knowing now what the trip was like, the heat, the mosquitoes, the snakes, the dangerous roadways through the mountains, the horrendous and unpredictable prairie storms, Indians, men like those who had taken her in back at that trading post… Being a woman alone, she might never have made it, although he knew she would have given it a hell of a try and would not have let on that she was the least bit afraid. He’d never known anyone so strong and determined.

  They were barely halfway down the street when the doors to one saloon burst open and two men charged out, fists flying. They were followed by a swarm of men who were taking sides and rooting for one man or the other, and the wagon itself was quickly surrounded. The oxen balked and the horses tied at the rear of the wagon whinnied. Two men climbed onto the wagon and began pulling at Miranda, who began batting at them with her fists.

  “Hey, honey, you’re new!” one of the men bellowed, holding up a whiskey bottle with one hand.

  In a second, Jake was up in the wagon beside Miranda. On the way up he grabbed one of the men by the collar and threw him off in one powerful movement, then raised a booted foot and kicked the second man in the chest, knocking him into the mud with a splat. The man just lay there sprawled on his back and grinning. Another tried to climb into the wagon from the back, and Jake pulled a revolver and shot at him, deliberately splintering a piece of the wagon gate beside the man’s hand to warn him. The man jumped down, and the fight nearby suddenly stopped at the startling crack of Jake’s gun.

  “Get behind the seat!” he ordered Miranda. She quickly obeyed, her ears hurting from the firing of the gun so close to her head. She thought of another time that gun had been fired, its roar pounding against her eardrums, the weapon used against a bounty hunter who had had no chance against Jake Harkner.

  Jake holstered the revolver and reached under the wagon seat to retrieve his shotgun. He waved it at the crowd of men, who had quieted. They stood all around the wagon now, just staring. “The next man who climbs on this wagon and touches my wife gets his guts blown out!” Jake roared. “Don’t test me!”

  Miranda could hardly believe how silent it had become in the immediate area. She could still hear laughter and piano music, but no one around the wagon moved.

  “Sorry, mister,” one of them finally spoke up. “We thought you was bringin’ us a new woman. Ain’t a whore in town pretty as your woman there.”

  “You’ve got it right. My woman! Now somebody tell me where one of the better hotels is in this goddamn town!”

  Miranda peeked from behind the seat to see a short, dirty-looking, bearded man step forward. “Up at the other end of town. The International. You’ll be lucky to get a room, though. I know a woman runs a real nice boardinghouse only a couple of buildings south of the hotel, a Mrs. Anderson—yellow house with white trim and roses out front. Friend of mine just moved out. You might could find a room there. It’s nicer than the hotel on account of you can eat your meals all together at one big table, just like home, good food too.”

  They all stood staring, and Jake leveled the shotgun. “Thanks for the information. Now get out of my way so I can get my wife a decent place to stay.”

  They all hesitated. “Can you have her come out?” another one of them asked. “Just so’s we can have another look?”

  “No disrespect, mister,” the bearded one told Jake. “Around here we don’t see many young, pretty women who ain’t…you know…we don’t see many proper ladies.” He removed his hat. “We just want to have a look, give your lady our apologies, that’s all.”

  “Forget it!”

  “Jake, it’s all right,” Miranda told him. “Maybe one of them knows Wes.” She climbed back into the seat, her cheeks turning crimson at the stares. Several more of them removed their hats.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” the bearded man told her. He looked down and kicked at the man who still lay sprawled on his back.
“Get up, Hoot, and apologize to the lady.”

  The one called Hoot just groaned and rolled over. The other two men who had tried to climb onto the wagon stepped forward. “Sorry to upset you, ma’am,” one of them spoke up.

  Miranda glanced at Jake, who looked ready to fire the shotgun at the slightest wrong move. She looked back at the rest of the men. “Do any of you know a Wes Baker? He came here almost two years ago from Kansas City. He has light hair and blue eyes and would be twenty-two now. He’s my brother. I came here to find him.”

  They all looked at each other, shaking their heads. “No, ma’am,” the bearded man answered. “Fact is, men come and go so much around here that we don’t hardly ever get to know their names. Nobody really cares, I guess. A man is here today and gone tomorrow. You might have your husband there check at the mines. Most mine owners keep a list of the names of their workers.”

  “Thank you.” She looked at Jake again. “Let’s go, Jake.”

  Jake scowled at the crowd, climbing down and keeping his shotgun in his left hand.

  “Hey, mister, you a lawman or somethin’?” one of them asked. “You look like you’re right good with them guns.”

  “Good enough to kill any bastard who touches my wife.” It was obvious this town was packed with men from every walk of life, mostly the wrong side of life. Jake hoped he wouldn’t run into anyone here who knew him. The crowd of men parted, and he moved through them and headed up the street.

  “Jake, that last remark was rude. They were perfect gentlemen once they realized I was your wife.”

  Jake gave Miranda a dark look. “You think anybody in a place like this cares about somebody being rude? You can’t be too nice to men like that, Randy. You give them an inch and the gentlemen, as you called them, would turn right back into the animals that they are. I ought to know. I was just as bad.”

  A prostitute called down to Jake then, making a lewd remark about his size and asking him to come up and show her if he was big all over. Jake glanced at her, but said nothing, and Miranda felt a burning jealousy over all the other women who had touched him. Again a lack of privacy traveling with the suppliers had kept them apart, as well as the agony of the desert and the bitter cold of the mountain storm. They were both weak and spent, Jake obviously irritable; yet the sight of the prostitute made Miranda yearn to have her husband beside her in a real bed so that she could make sure he knew she could please him as much as any of the women who hung around these streets. Most of those outside wore coats, but the one who had called out to Jake as well as a few others braved the cold just to display bare skin.

  She thought how this place fit a man like Jake. If not for her, he would probably already be inside one of the saloons, raising hell along with the rest of them. She wished it was not so far into winter. A town like this could mean trouble for Jake, and it was obvious they would have to stay here now until spring. They could not risk the danger of going on to California when the worst of winter storms in the Sierras was yet to come. She wondered if there was a decent doctor in this town. She hadn’t told Jake, yet, didn’t want him to worry while they were traveling; but she was sure now that she was carrying his baby. She wasn’t quite sure how Jake would react to the news that he might have a child of his own. Just being married and thinking about honest work to support them was still new to him. Knowing his own childhood horrors, how would he feel about being a father himself?

  One thing was certain. He loved her with a great passion, would defend her with his life. She had felt sorry for the look of terror in his eyes when he thought she had cholera back in the desert. She realized she should have told him then that she was just sick because she was pregnant, but she knew that knowledge would be a great burden to him for the rest of the journey. She didn’t want to be pampered, and she didn’t want to tell him he would be a father until they had reached their destination and settled in, if settling in was possible in a place like this.

  They made their way through more rowdy miners and gamblers and drunks, all of them taking a step back when Jake threatened them with his shotgun. When they came closer to the International, the street became quieter. The worst of the wild nightlife seemed to be behind them, and Miranda breathed a little easier. Now if they could only find a decent room, either at the hotel or the boardinghouse; warmth, a real bed, perhaps a hot bath and hot food.

  They approached the boardinghouse first, neither of them aware that they were being followed by Clarence Gaylord. The crowd of men who had first surrounded them had been so confusing, and it had been just dark enough that Miranda had not noticed Clarence standing among them.

  Clarence himself grinned at the realization that Miranda had not recognized him. After all, he had longer hair now, and had grown a mustache, was trying to grow a beard too, but it was a little too thin for his liking. He was shocked to see Miranda Hayes had survived, even more surprised to see her traveling with a man who called himself her husband! When in hell had she met him? And who the hell was he? He didn’t remember a man who looked like that at the trading post where his uncle had left her.

  He kept to the shadows to see where she would end up staying, waited several minutes while the wagon was tied in front of Mrs. Anderson’s boardinghouse. Finally her husband came out and began unloading the wagon, telling Miranda he had gotten them a room. Clarence watched the man lift her down from the wagon. Just looking at her brought back all the hate he still felt for her, and he wished he could find a way to get back at her now that she was in town.

  The bitch! Acting like she didn’t need a man, and here she shows up married to some stranger she must have met along the trail. She had let him get into her easy enough! Who the hell was he, anyway, brandishing that shotgun like he did? He figured the uppity Mrs. Hayes would have married some farmer or a banker or the like. The man with her now was no ordinary man, that was sure.

  He put a cigar between his lips and lit it, turning and walking away. He wore a gun himself now, knew how to gamble, had slept with lots of whores. Uncle Wilbur was near to having a heart attack over his behavior, had even come into a saloon one day to beg him to give up his sinful ways. But Uncle Wilbur didn’t know how good this life was. He was damn proud of himself for what he’d learned in such a short time. Real men didn’t go around preaching and abstaining. Real men knew how to take care of themselves in a place like Virginia City. They knew how to bluff at cards and hold their whiskey. They knew how to chew and spit and cuss; and they knew a woman had her place, which was underneath him in bed, begging for more.

  He decided he had better get back to his work at the Silver Shoes Saloon, where he did odd jobs for the owner, unloading crates of whiskey, cleaning up the place whenever the crowd thinned out enough to allow it. He liked it there, had learned a lot from the whores and the gamblers. Mellie worked there, and he liked Mellie, although sometimes she seemed a little irritated with him. Hell, she was a whore, wasn’t she? Why wouldn’t she just let him sleep with her whenever he wanted? Sometimes she made him really angry, and once he’d had to punch her. He almost got fired for it, but Toby had let him stay on.

  He made pretty good money, had even won some at poker; and late at night, there were always the drunks to steal from. Mellie had taught him about that. Men often passed completely out in her bed, and it was easy then to sift through their pockets, after which the bouncer in the Silver Shoes carried them out to the alley. Clarence often roamed the city at night looking for other drunks who lay in the streets or in the alleys, and in this town most men carried a good amount of money on them. It seemed like in Virginia City everybody was rich. He didn’t have to steal from Uncle Wilbur’s collection plate anymore, hardly ever saw the man now, and that was just fine with him.

  Thirteen

  Miranda stretched, then snuggled back into the clean blankets that covered the feather mattress. She moved against Jake’s warm, naked body, luxuriating in the reality that they had found
a room at this pleasant boardinghouse, a place where they could shut themselves away from the danger and the reckless life of Virginia City only a block or two away. Even with doors and windows closed, a person could hear the rowdy yells and gunfire coming from the saloons and gambling halls, as well as the rumbling explosions at the mines in the surrounding mountains; but the coziness of the boardinghouse made Miranda feel safe and protected.

  The owner, Virginia Anderson, was an aging widow woman whose husband had been killed in a mining accident two years ago. In spite of the rough-and-tumble life that went on in the streets of town, the woman kept a tidy, pleasant home, renting rooms only to married couples or single men who appeared clean and respectable. Her cooking was wonderful, and everyone sat at a big table in the dining room and ate off lovely china set out on a lace tablecloth. It was as close to home as she and Jake had been, and she thought how nice it was going to be to truly have a place of their own, where she could do the cooking and the decorating.

  At least for now she could get a taste of being settled again. She needed something to do here for the winter and she wanted to make this place feel as much like home as possible. Yesterday morning she had offered to help Mrs. Anderson with the cooking and baking and kitchen cleanup, and to her relief the woman had agreed, explaining that she was getting a little too old to keep up with all of it. In return for her help, she and Jake would not have to pay for their meals, and they would get two dollars a week off the cost of their room. With what they had already learned about living expenses in this silver town, and with their own money reserves getting low, Mrs. Anderson’s offer was a welcome relief. It would make the winter’s stay here much easier.

  She turned and put an arm across Jake’s middle, moved a leg over his own legs. Last night had been their third night here, and the first time both of them felt settled and rested enough to make love. They were finally beginning to get their strength back and get their bearings after the arduous journey. Once they located Wes and Jake found a job, life could be almost normal for them, except that they wouldn’t have a place of their own until they reached California. By then Jake would have a son or a daughter, and they would truly be a family. Maybe Wes would want to come to California with them and help Jake build a cabin, start a ranch or a farm. She so looked forward to seeing Wes again, even though she could not quite forgive him for leaving her and their father when they both needed him most.