Outlaw Hearts

by Rosanne Bittner

  “—But what’s done is done,” the woman continued. “We will help her, Mr. Logan, or Mr. Harkner, whatever you call yourself.”

  “We’re not the hypocrites you think, Jake.” The words came from Lester Thomas, a neighboring rancher. “If we were, we’d string you up right now, or herd you back to Missouri for the reward money.”

  Jake laughed bitterly. “The only thing keeping you from that is you’re too damn scared to try it!” He deliberately reached for his gun belt, disgusted at the way their eyes widened with fear. They actually thought he’d shoot them! One of them ran right out of the room. He threw the gun belt onto the bed. “I’m leaving Desert as soon as I can get some supplies together. I’ll be out of here by sundown.”

  Miranda’s heart quickened. No! Not that soon! They had to talk more, hold each other again!

  “You ought to know my wife is going to have another baby,” he added. “I want her taken care of, and protected if some bounty hunter comes through here and tries to give her trouble. That’s all I ask.”

  “She’ll be all right with us,” Mrs. Stewart promised, literally shaking at being so close to a killer. “She is as much a victim as those others who were killed and wounded.”

  Jake stepped closer. “You just remember, they weren’t killed by any of my bullets! All my bullets hit their targets, and every one of the men I killed deserved to die! If I could have kept them from hurting the others, I would have! But what’s done is done, and by nightfall you won’t have to worry about Jake Harkner making trouble for this town because he’ll be gone! Now all of you get out of here! I have a son to say good-bye to!”

  They all seemed to shrivel slightly at his tirade, and they quickly filed out of the room. Jake hit the wall with his fist. “Damn hypocrites!”

  “They know and understand nothing about you, Jake, or about the side of life you saw growing up.” Miranda managed to get to her feet. She walked over to him, touching his back. “Jake, I want to shout to them how much I love you. I want them to know the truth.”

  “You can’t. Promise me.”

  She put her head against his arm. “Can’t you wait one more day to leave? You’re hurting, Jake. How can you even ride?”

  “I’ll find a way if it means your safety. Word about things like this spreads fast. The sooner I get out of here the better for all of us.”

  “Jake—”

  “Take me to Lloyd. I want to see my son.” He refused to look at her, and she knew what this was doing to him. He was hardening himself once again, using his old ability to pretend he could bear the emotional pain and would be just fine. He moved an arm around her, and she put hers around his waist so that they supported each other down the hall to Lloyd’s room. Jake drew in his breath at the sight of him lying there, his little face still dirty and stained with tears.

  “If you ever doubt why we’re doing this, just remember that sight,” he groaned. He moved away from her and managed to kneel beside the bed, reaching out and touching the child’s hair. He put his head down beside him then, his shoulders shaking with tears of grief and heartache.

  Miranda felt as though someone was slowly carving her heart from her chest. Lloyd stirred and opened his eyes, and to her great relief he smiled and reached out for his father. “Daddy hold,” he said, his little voice raspy from so much screaming earlier.

  Jake took the boy into his arms, hesitantly at first, fearing he would start screaming again. Lloyd hugged him tightly, and Jake hugged him tighter then, ignoring the pain in his hip as he remained kneeling there with his son in his arms. What man could ask for more than this, he thought. He had been so blessed, and he could not let some other man raise this boy, some other man who would never love him the way he did. He thought what he would give to have had one moment like this with his own father. Thank God his son was alive and unharmed, and thank God he had not seen that look of terror in his eyes. He would do whatever he had to do to keep this precious child safe and happy, even if it meant leaving him for a while.

  Miranda came closer and stroked Jake’s hair, wondering if this was the last time she would see father and son together this way. “Now you know I was right about how much this little boy loves you, Jake. You can’t ride out of his life forever and think he will forget you. You have to send for us. You have to come back into his life.”

  He could not find his voice to reply, and he could not for the moment stop his open weeping. How strange that there was a time when he thought all he ever needed was himself and his guns. Now his whole reason for existing was right here in his arms, and he knew it could never again be just Jake Harkner alone. “I’ll find a way,” he promised.

  Part Three

  We have walked together many years.

  Your spirit is my spirit.

  Your breath is my breath.

  Our hearts beat with one rhythm.

  I know your soul, and you know mine.

  Even when we cannot be together,

  We are one.

  Nineteen

  March 1870

  Miranda slowly opened her eyes, moving them just enough to see familiar flowered wallpaper. She realized then that she was in one of the rooms at Dr. Henderson’s house. She tried to move, but realized she was too weak to even wiggle her fingers.

  Gradually it all came back to her. She had delivered her baby. She remembered she had been helping bandage a man’s arm when she went into labor. Thank God it had happened here at the doctor’s office and not while she was alone with Lloyd in the tiny apartment she rented above the hardware store. A man named Jerry Eastman had bought the store after the former owner, Bob Liberty, had been killed in the now-infamous shoot-out the day of the fair. Eastman was new in town, so he was at least friendlier to her than most of the others, but, oh, how she hated those two tiny rooms above his store. She had had no choice but to find the cheapest place possible. She had to be careful with money now, and being pregnant and having Lloyd to watch and unable to afford help, she couldn’t have kept running the ranch.

  She thought about the lovely home she and Jake had shared, the home Jake had built with so much love. Each time she remembered the happiness they had known at the ranch, the peace Jake had found, it felt as though someone was squeezing her heart in a vise.

  Now there was a new baby. If they were still living as a family at the farm, this event would be such a joy, but the only remnant of that life was the small profit she had made selling the property and livestock, most of the furnishings, the coal cookstove Jake had so proudly bought for her. She had carefully packed her lace curtains and her braided rugs into her trunk, the one pitiful constant in her life, and she continued to promise herself she would use those things again in the new home she trusted Jake would make for her and the children…somewhere.

  For six months now, she had managed to live off the money Jake had left her in a savings account, as well as the money from the ranch. To keep from using it up too quickly, she helped Dr. Henderson with his practice. Betsy Price, one of the few women in town who had remained her friend since the shoot-out, graciously watched Lloyd for her when she worked for the doctor; and she spent her evenings doing ironing and mending for others. She was determined to survive this awful time away from Jake, determined to find ways to support herself and stay in Desert until Jake could send for her.

  She heard hushed voices outside the door, heard Lloyd, nearly three now, running about and playing, heard the tiny squall of a baby. She remembered the doctor saying it was a girl. Why was the memory of the birth so vague, and why was she so weak? Pain. She remembered horrible pain, something worse than just birthing a baby. Something else had happened; someone had made her breathe chloroform. Stop the bleeding, she remembered Dr. Henderson saying. How long ago was that? What time was it now?

  Dr. Henderson came into the room then, deep concern in his brown eyes. “You awake, Miranda?” He bent close. “How
are you feeling?”

  Miranda studied the man’s plump face and kind smile. He was a widower, had a son in college back East, also studying to be a doctor. Henderson was a hefty man of perhaps forty, with receding hair, and she thought how at the moment he looked somewhat distorted, his eyes seeming bigger, his voice far away. Why did she feel this way, as though she was removed from her own body?

  “My…baby,” she whispered.

  “You had a little girl. She’s doing just fine. Betsy is feeding her goat’s milk right now. You just rest. You won’t be getting out of that bed for some time yet.” The man felt her pulse. “Much stronger,” he said after a moment. “That’s good.” He patted her hand. “I’ll be right back.”

  He left her, and Miranda heard the door close. She managed to move her arm to put her hand to her eyes. Where are you, Jake? Are you alive? You have a little girl. Don’t let her and Lloyd grow up without their daddy. The day Jake rode out of her life again, they had agreed she should stay in Desert so that he could get word to her more easily when he found a new place to settle and was sure it was safe. For the first several weeks she had been pestered by reporters and lawmen alike, the reporters wanting to know everything about her and Jake: how they had ended up together, if he was a good husband. She had refused every one of them, other than to inform them in no uncertain terms that she intended to divorce Jake Harkner as soon as her baby was born. Letting them think Jake had left her and that she was ending the marriage seemed to be the only way to quell the excitement about her being his wife.

  It had to be this way, so that when she finally left Desert, no one would think she was going to Jake. Otherwise, she might be followed, by lawmen or outlaws or bounty hunters. Even Betsy thought the marriage was over. Miranda hated lying to the one woman in town who still was a friend to her, but it was the only way to protect Jake. Friends and enemies alike had to think she had no idea where Jake was; and for the present, it was true. That made the hell of waiting all that much worse.

  How long should she wait thinking he would send for her? He could be dead. He might decide that she and the children would be better off if he never sent for them. That was her biggest fear. She knew how the man thought, knew he still blamed himself for the tragedy the day of the fair.

  The door opened again, and Henderson returned to her bedside. He felt her forehead. “Your fever seems to be gone,” he said, looking relieved. “You haven’t told me how you feel, Miranda. Are you in a great deal of pain?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “And…I’m so…weak.”

  The man took her hand. “It will take some time to get your strength back. You nearly died. I’ve never seen so much bleeding after a birth. I am afraid I was forced to make a decision you may not like to hear.” He squeezed her hand, and Miranda felt a deep ache in her heart, suspecting in that moment what he was going to tell her. “I performed an operation on you, Miranda. I removed your uterus but not your ovaries. The bleeding was from the wall of the uterus and simply would not stop. I am sorry, but you won’t be able to have any more children.”

  She watched his eyes, saw true sorrow there. He was not telling her just as a doctor, but as a friend, and she knew he would not have done this if it had not been absolutely necessary to save her life. She closed her eyes against a feeling of deep loss, needing to mourn for all the babies she would never have now. She was only twenty-four years old.

  The tears came then, and the doctor wiped them away with a clean handkerchief. “I’m sorry, Miranda. You just aren’t made to have a lot of children. I don’t think you would have survived another birth.” The man pulled a chair to her bedside and sat down. “You have two beautiful and healthy children now. Be glad that they’re strong and normal, and that you’re still alive.” He took her hand. “I’m going to give you a little more laudanum now for pain—”

  “No. I want…to see my daughter first.”

  Henderson sighed, feeling sorry for this beautiful young woman, deserted by her outlaw husband, left with two children to support alone. “All right,” he told her. “I’ll have Betsy bring your daughter in for a minute or so. Then she’s going to take the baby and Lloyd home. She brought Lloyd over here because he kept asking about his mommy, and Betsy wanted him to see you so he’d know you were here and all right.”

  The man left, and Miranda wanted to cry for Lloyd. Of course he wanted to see his mommy. He was probably afraid she had gone away like his daddy. How much longer could she bear this emotional pain? She had not heard from Jake, had no idea when she would.

  Henderson came back into the room, carrying the tiny bundle that was her daughter. Betsy followed, holding Lloyd’s hand and telling him to be very quiet. The doctor held the baby close to Miranda and opened the blankets so she could see her. Miranda was overwhelmed with a mixture of sweet joy and deep sorrow. The baby was beautiful, dark like Lloyd and Jake.

  “Do you have a name for her?” Henderson asked.

  “Yes,” she answered. She had thought for a long time what she might call her baby if it was a girl. She wanted a name that would be important to Jake. “Evita,” she answered. “E-V-I-T-A. Evita Louise. Louise was…my mother’s name.”

  “Evita. What a pretty and unusual name,” Betsy spoke up.

  “Yes,” she answered. “I heard it somewhere once and always liked it.” Evita had been Jake’s mother’s name. Miranda couldn’t tell them the truth, but she knew that naming the baby after her would mean so much to Jake.

  “Mommy hurt?” Lloyd asked, pouting as he moved beside the bed.

  “Mommy…is fine,” she answered. “Mommy…has to sleep. You be…a good boy…for Betsy.”

  The boy reached out and touched her arm. “Mommy come home.”

  “I will, Lloyd, after I sleep for a few days.”

  “Daddy come home too?”

  “No, darling, not just now.”

  “Mommy don’t go away?” Lloyd asked.

  Miranda fought against more tears, not wanting to cry in front of the boy and frighten him. She knew Lloyd was thinking about his father. Not a day went by that he didn’t ask when his daddy was coming home. “No,” she answered her son. “Mommy isn’t going away, Lloyd. Mommy will always be with you. She’ll never go away.”

  Daddy is with you too, Lloyd, in spirit. You’ll be with him again soon. Daddy loves you. He would never desert you. How she wished she could say it aloud, but as far as the doctor and Betsy were concerned, Jake was gone from her life forever…and maybe he was…maybe he was.

  ***

  Jake tipped back his chair and let it rest against the wall. He took another swallow of whiskey and drew deeply on the cigarette he had rolled for himself, watching the only whore in this hole of a saloon lift her skirt to show a bare bottom to a prospective customer. She was a wild, dark thing, looked half Indian. The two men at the table made kissing sounds and got up to follow her to a back room.

  Jake watched quietly until the door closed. Then his dark eyes took note of every man in the little log tavern run by a man called only “Bates” by the outlaws who frequented the smoke-filled, dirt-floored establishment. Bates supposedly sold guns and whiskey to Indians in return for valuable skins and even gold, and it was rumored he had robbed many a wagon train and stagecoach out West. He had built this little “business,” such as it was, as a way to make money when in hiding, and he liked to brag about selling the best whiskey on the Outlaw Trail—whiskey Jake figured was either stolen or bought with stolen money. The man had even stolen the woman in the back room from a trader who owed him money. He had shot the man and taken all his belongings, including the woman, who didn’t really seem to mind, just as Bates didn’t seem to mind sharing her with every man who wanted a piece of her.

  Bates’s full background was a mystery, like every other man who hung out along the Trail. In these surroundings, a man didn’t ask too many questions and he couldn’t be too car
eful. There was hardly a man anywhere in these parts who wasn’t wanted by the law and wasn’t capable of killing another man at the drop of a hat. Jake had himself been challenged three times by men wanting to prove they were the most notorious and most feared of those who traveled this trail, which stretched from southern Arizona all the way into Montana. It was dotted with several small “hideout towns” with names like Hole-in-the-Wall and Robber’s Roost.

  The only law here was the gun, and survival was often a simple matter of how fast a man could draw. That was how arguments were settled. All three of the men who had challenged him had died, and he was so full of anger and loneliness that he had felt nothing when he killed them. After all, this was where he belonged, wasn’t it? This was the Jake he was meant to be. Word traveled fast in this network of outlaws, and now it seemed that whenever he reached a new hangout along the Trail, men stepped back when he told them his name. Harkner. Jake Harkner. People might as well know it.

  Here, at least, he was free to say who he was. No man wearing a badge dared venture into this country. The vast and desolate canyonlands and valleys and mesas of this mostly uninhabited and forbidding land were a haven for men like himself, men with an ugly past, men with their faces on wanted posters. Here such men made no bones about who they were and what they had done when bragging to fellow robbers and murderers. In spite of their lawless natures, most of them shared an unspoken code of honor. Here they were safe.

  He had heard about this network of outlaw hideaways through rumors when he worked at the mine in Virginia City. A few miners were familiar with the Trail, and it was the only place he could think to go for the time being, until lawmen and bounty hunters might stop looking for him. He was supposed to find a way to start over, to send for Miranda and Lloyd and the new baby eventually, but now he wasn’t so sure he should. Maybe this was where he belonged, out of their lives.