He moaned with his own throbbing climax as she finally drew the life from him. He let out a deep sigh, and stretched out beside her.
“This is not the way to get chores done, Jake.”
He grinned, rolling to his side and tugging at her honey-blond hair. She’d brushed it out long and straight today. He liked it that way. “Maybe if you’d put your hair in a bun and wouldn’t wear this yellow dress, I’d just come in to eat.”
She touched his lips. He smelled of sweat and leather and out-of-doors, but it was a good smell, the smell of a man who worked hard to make a good life for his family. She supposed there was a time when he smelled only of liquor and smoke and cheap perfume…and maybe blood. “When you have a need, I doubt it would matter what I was wearing or if I was bald.”
He laughed lightly, then noticed Lloyd standing in the doorway to the room staring at them. “Hey, you, what are you doing out of bed?” The boy grinned and ran on chubby legs to the bed, tugging at Jake. “Wait a minute!” Jake rose and quickly washed. He tucked in his shirt and buttoned his pants, then whisked the child up, holding him in the air so that he giggled. “Come on, let’s walk around outside a minute while your mommy washes.”
“Daddy pooay,” Lloyd said, grasping Jake’s nose.
“Yes, Daddy play, but we also have to eat.”
Miranda watched them walk out of the bedroom, her heart full of a sweet joy. It had been just as she had suspected between Jake and his son. The man doted on him every free moment he had. In fact, the child had been a source of a few arguments when it came to the subject of discipline. Jake would not lay a hand on the child, and around his father Lloyd got away with any naughty thing he wanted to do. Since he had started walking, he got into endless trouble. He was spirited and daring, everything his father was. The older he got, the more he looked like Jake—dark, wavy hair, snappy, black eyes, a winning smile.
She got up to wash, thinking about that smile. Since they had come here, Jake had become more relaxed about not being followed by anyone. She realized it had been months since she saw that old look of wild anger in Jake’s own dark eyes. He seemed to be healing emotionally, and most of the time he wore that smile that had nearly startled her the first time she saw it on the old troubled and unhappy Jake Harkner. That smile just seemed to totally change his looks. He seemed to feel better about himself, had learned to read and to work with his hands, even discovered he was a good farmer. It was good to see him so happy.
She washed herself and straightened her dress, then brushed her hair and tied it at the back of her neck. She went back into the main room to finish preparing lunch, cutting a few pieces of ham and thinking how good life was here in California. The weather was nearly always perfect, except for occasional earthquake tremors, to which they had become more accustomed. Their neighbors had explained that it was those who lived in bigger cities who had to be afraid, and that it seemed the quakes were more often and more violent farther north. Last year just about the only topic of conversation had been the devastating earthquake in San Francisco. For weeks the newspapers out of San Diego ran bold headlines about the loss of lives and property. The destruction and fires had been terrible, and Miranda was glad Jake had decided to come south.
She set the ham on the table, thinking about some other headlines that for several weeks had changed her Jake back to the old, restless, scowling man she had first met. In the north, especially along the winding mountain roads to mining camps, there had been several stagecoach and payroll robberies by an outlaw gang whose leader, according to surviving victims, was called Bill. Another of the outlaws was described as a scarred Mexican called Juan who had done horrible things with his knife and had raped several women.
Jake had stormed about, had hardly spoken to her, and would not play with Lloyd. He had even threatened to head north and “wipe out” Kennedy and his gang before they could come here and do the same to them. The words had struck fear in her heart that he would never come back, that he would be gunned down and she would never see him again.
Jake had no doubt it was Kennedy and his men who were the culprits. His worst fear, that Kennedy would come west, had been realized. Miranda had finally convinced him that it was most likely they had come to California only because things were too dangerous for them back in Missouri. They were wanted there, and now that the war had been over for four years, lawless men could no longer enjoy the freedom they once had. She had finally convinced him and herself that Kennedy’s coming west had nothing to do with hunting Jake. How could the man possibly know Jake had come west? Even if he did, he would never find them in this peaceful little valley few people frequented. Jake’s last name was Logan, now, and he was a farmer and a rancher. He never even wore his guns anymore, except to carry his rifle to go hunting for meat or to protect himself from wild animals when he rode into the foothills. That was certainly not the Jake Harkner Kennedy would be looking for. And how could he know? The regular trail to California did not go through Virginia City, and that was the only place Kennedy might have heard about Jake and put things together.
She sliced some bread and went to the door to call out to Jake to draw some water from the well and come in to eat. He was walking around with Lloyd on his shoulders, and she smiled at the sight. After several days of going out every afternoon with his guns strapped on, practicing his draw over and over, target practicing, Jake had finally hung up the weapons again and decided it was highly unlikely Kennedy would ever find him here or even know he was in California. The Kennedy gang finally faded from the headlines, and a growing law enforcement in the San Francisco area was having its effects on thieves and murderers. The last article they read about Kennedy had said it was believed things had gotten too hot for him and his men. A trap had been set for them in which four of Kennedy’s men were killed.
“Brad Helmsley, Luke Stowers, Frank Smith, Bert Jackson,” Miranda had read aloud to Jake.
I knew all of them, he had answered. Bert Jackson was called Buffalo by his friends, if men like that can be called friends.
The article had said the rest of the gang had headed farther north, a couple more of them believed to be wounded. They were most likely headed for Canada.
There had been no more word of Bill Kennedy and his gang, and Jake had finally begun to return to the new Jake she loved even more than the old one, a hardworking man who had built this ranch on land purchased from their closest neighbor. Joe Grant lived two miles distant and wanted to sell off part of his land to reduce his workload now that he was getting old.
The people they had met in the little town three miles to the east called Desert, were some of the kindest, warmest people Miranda had known, even friendlier than the people she had known back in Kansas City. Some of them, as well as ranching neighbors, had helped build this lovely cabin she called home, as well as the barn and two sheds out back. Life was good, better than she had ever known it to be. She realized this was the happiest she had been since her mother died nine years ago. It seemed life had been a matter of turmoil and wandering and loss ever since then.
Her family was gone, but she had a new family now, a beautiful son. She hoped there would be more children. She suspected she might finally be pregnant again, but she didn’t want to get her hopes up too much, so she had said nothing to Jake yet. Maybe she would tell him today. She had been trying for two years for a second child but had had trouble conceiving after Lloyd’s difficult birth.
She walked over and opened the door for Jake, and a sweet fragrance from the rose bushes she had planted around her front porch penetrated the air. Lloyd toddled in ahead of his father, and Jake followed behind, setting the bucket of water on the counter he had built along one wall for her. “I took Lloyd to see the foal, set him on Outlaw for a few minutes. The kid isn’t afraid of a damn thing. I swear he’d take off riding if I let him.”
“Like father, like son,” Miranda teased.
She picked Lloyd up and glanced at Jake whose eyes had quickly changed from joy to a look of deep hurt. “Don’t ever put it that way, Randy,” he said, scowling.
“Oh, Jake, I only meant that you aren’t afraid of anything either. If our son is daring and full of adventure, it’s because you’ve put that spirit into him. It’s a good thing, not bad. I want him to be like his father. I’m proud of his father.”
Jake walked over and took Lloyd from her, setting him into a high chair he had made himself. “He’ll be a thousand times better than me,” he said quietly. He leaned down and kissed the top of the boy’s head, and Miranda turned to retrieve a pot of coffee from the stove, realizing how delicate the subject of fatherhood still could be for him sometimes. “How many horses will you take to the auction at the fair next month?” she asked, deciding to change the subject. She poured the coffee and set a little plate of boiled and buttered potatoes in front of Lloyd, then served more potatoes to Jake.
“I don’t know. About ten, I guess. Next week I’m going hunting for more mustangs, now that the crops are in. I’d like to catch that black stallion that keeps getting away from me. He’d make a hell of a stud horse if I could ever get a rope around his neck and get him back here.” Jake stabbed three pieces of ham and laid them on his plate with the potatoes, cutting into the meat zealously. He was a big man who always had a big appetite, and Miranda enjoyed cooking for him. He always made her feel appreciated, made anything she did for him enjoyable because it was all so new and pleasurable to him. “Joe Grant wants to go after the mustangs with me. I want you and Lloyd to go stay with his wife while we’re gone. Joe’s brother will come over here to tend to our place.”
“Jake, I can stay here alone. There has never been any trouble around here.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” Jake cut up some meat into smaller pieces and gave them to Lloyd. “This is still pretty lawless and remote country. We’ve offered food and water to enough migrant Arizona prospectors who wander this way that I wouldn’t want you alone here when another one comes along. No arguments. You’ll go stay at Joe’s.”
She sighed and shook her head. “Are you going to enter the shooting contest again this year?”
“I don’t know. I suppose. I didn’t really want to last year. It isn’t very fair to the others.”
“Maybe not, but the fifty-dollar prize will come in handy.”
Jake glanced at her and scowled. “It’s a hundred dollars this year, but it doesn’t seem right, us knowing the rest of them don’t have a chance against me. If they knew the truth—”
“Well, they don’t. They just think guns are your hobby and you happen to be an excellent shot. You shouldn’t worry so much, Jake.”
“I can’t help it. If Joe Grant hadn’t seen my Peacemakers hanging in the barn last year, none of this would have started. He kept after me to show him if I was any good with them, put me in that contest at the fair last year against my will. I tried to miss a few, pretend I wasn’t any better than anybody else, but then I started thinking about the money and how much we needed it. I hope I don’t answer for not leaving well enough alone.”
“Jake, it’s just a simple shooting contest at a little fair in a little town. And these are good people around here. They don’t think anything about it. Their biggest thrill is that fair and you just made it more exciting for them. Hetta Grant says Joe’s been practicing ever since last year to try to beat you.”
Jake finally smiled a little. “I know. He ribs me about it constantly, tells me I’d better be ready this year.” The smile faded a little. “Only thing I don’t like is he talked about advertising the fair this year in the San Diego paper to get outsiders to come. It would bring in more money. He wanted to put in some kind of challenge to come to the shooting contest and try to beat the best shot in Southern California—wanted to use my name. I told him I didn’t care if he advertised the fair, but I made him promise not to mention my name. That’s the last thing I need. I don’t even like the thought of a lot of outsiders coming.”
“No one in these parts knows you, and they certainly won’t recognize the name.”
“You never know. I don’t like it, but maybe it will be all right.”
“I enjoy the fair. Everyone looks forward to it after a long, hard summer of farming and all.”
“You baking your famous pumpkin pies again?”
She smiled. “Yes, and I’m taking that quilt I’ve been working on.”
Both of them enjoyed this, being at the table together in their own home, being a family. Jake thought how this was the kind of life he only used to dream about, and he was at last beginning to relax and believe it could always be this way.
They finished eating, Lloyd eating his potatoes and ham with his fingers. Miranda rose and poured the boy a small glass of cow’s milk and helped him hold the glass while he drank it. She cleaned his face and hands and took him from the chair, and he immediately ran on quick little legs to reach for the handle of the fry pan in which she had cooked the ham. Miranda rushed after him, grabbing his hand back and slapping it. “No, Lloyd! It’s hot and it’s heavy. It will hurt you!”
The boy’s lips puckered and he started to cry, and Jake scooted back his chair. Miranda gave him a warning look. “Don’t you dare pick him up and cuddle him. He’s got to learn to stay away from the stove!”
Jake frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t smack him. I’d rather he learned the hard way and burned his hand. Then it’s the stove he’ll remember hurting him and not one of us.”
She rolled her eyes, putting her hands on her hips. “And would you rather he pulled that skillet off the stove and have it fall on his head and break his skull, maybe kill him, let alone the fact that the hot grease could burn his face and scar him?”
Their eyes held in a challenge, and Jake turned away. Already Lloyd’s tears were subsiding, and he toddled over to a tin pie-plate he liked to play with, the incident quickly forgotten, but not by Jake.
“You know I can’t stand to see him cry because he’s been spanked. We’ve been through this before, Randy.”
She stepped closer. “Jake, you have to learn there is a difference between senseless beatings and minor spankings to discipline a child for his own good. There are some things he has to learn early so that nothing happens to him. The right kind of discipline is nothing more than a form of love. You have got to let me teach him right from wrong. You’ve got to help me teach him, or he’ll end up getting badly hurt, or being so spoiled that no one will be able to stand having him around. What if he wanders to the creek out back? Should I let him just toddle in and risk drowning?”
He sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “I know what you’re saying. It’s just that when I hear that smack and see those tears…”
She touched his arm. “Jake, that child is loved more than most. Believe me, a little spanking now and then is not going to destroy his trust. I got a few spankings of my own when I was little, but I knew it was because my parents loved me and didn’t want anything to happen to me. I never doubted that love for one minute, and I was never afraid to turn to them and let them hold me when I needed holding. You have to learn the difference between proper discipline and senseless hitting. That little boy knows his daddy loves him, and it isn’t fair of you to make me be the only one who shows him discipline. I need your help on this, especially if we have more children.”
He pulled her close. “It isn’t just that. I’m afraid that if I hit him for something, I won’t be able to stop. What if something takes over, something inside of me that I can’t control? Besides, he’s so little, and I’m so strong. I could hurt him without even wanting to.”
She sighed deeply. “Jake, what should I do with you? You are not your father. There is no chance you would ever get carried away and hurt him.” She leaned back and looked up at him. “Part of being a father is teaching your son the right way to
go, that the wrong way can hurt him. If you never discipline him at all, he’ll grow up to be a wild young man who no one likes and who goes out and gets himself in trouble. Is that what you want?”
Jake looked over at the boy, who sat playing with the plate, still sniffling. “I just want him to love me.”
Miranda leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Jake, you’re a kind, gentle, attentive father. He does love you. Nothing is going to change that.”
Lloyd looked over at them and got to his feet, toddling over to grasp at his mother’s skirt. Miranda smiled and stooped down to pick him up. He hugged her around the neck and she patted his back. “It’s all right, baby,” she said softly. “The stove is a no-no. You know that.” She looked at Jake. “Does it look like he is afraid of me now or doesn’t love me? He’s only two and a half, Jake, but he knows what I did was out of love.”
Jake pulled both of them into his arms, and Lloyd turned, putting his chubby arms around his father’s neck. Jake took him into his arms, thinking how much he would have loved to have had the same affection and reassurance shown to him when he was small. “I’m taking him back out to the barn with me for a while.”
Outlaw Hearts Page 27
