by Linda Broday
“Does this suit Your Majesty?”
Lenora’s head lifted slightly higher, and she gave him a nod. “It does.”
“Good.” Irritation rose that she was right. This was much better.
More pressing—he’d tried to ignore nature’s call, but no longer could. “This is going to shock your delicate sensibilities, ma’am, but I have to…uh, you know…relieve myself. Sooner or later you will too.”
Her eyes darkened and grew round.
“I’m sure you see the problem.”
She worked her mouth and finally loosened her tongue. “I’ll just turn my head and quote Scripture. I don’t want to hear anything.” She tilted her head and wrinkled her nose. “No, on second thought, maybe poetry. I never was much of a Bible reader.”
They moved over into some high brush, and Lenora pulled as far from him as she could get. She began to quote some such about a nightingale being a melancholy bird, then moved on to something about wandering lonely as a cloud. Jack listened to her musical voice and could no more make water than flap his arms and fly.
She pursed her lips and began another poem:
Whene’er I wander, at the fall of night,
Where woven boughs shut out the moon’s bright ray,
Should sad Despondency my musings fright,
And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away,
Peep with the moonbeams through the leafy roof,
And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof!
At last a trickle. Far better than nothing. But when she suddenly launched into a fervent rendition of “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” the dam broke and he sighed contentedly.
He made himself decent. “You can stop now. It’s your turn while I sing.”
“Oh, I just couldn’t. A lady needs privacy.”
He barked a laugh. “Your privacy extends six whole inches.”
“I’ll wait.”
“Suit yourself.”
She helped gather some pieces of wood and he made a fire, thankful for the matches he always carried. They made themselves comfortable against a large boulder, their shoulders touching. A shiver raced through her and she clutched her coat tighter around her.
“I’d share my duster if I could free my arm.” Jack reached for her gloved hand.
“I’m fine. Really.” Lenora leaned against him and laid her head against his arm. Those soft curves nearly did him in.
“I’m very sorry,” she moaned. “If I had thought things through. If I had only known. Oh, I wish I could go back. I wouldn’t have touched these shackles, and I sure wouldn’t have thrown the key.”
“Lesson learned. We all make mistakes, albeit that was a whopper. Lord knows I’ve made some bad ones myself, but we’ll be all right.” He patted her hand. She smelled nice. It felt good having her near. It would feel a whole lot better if he had these manacles off. He’d try his best with that problem come daybreak. “Where are you from? It’s plain you’re not from here.”
“Buffalo, New York.”
He whistled. “That’s a far distance. What brings you to Texas?”
“I was on my way to be married. I went through a mail order bride service. A different sort—a private one.” She rubbed a weary hand over her eyes. “You know, I never asked for your name.”
“Jack. Jack Bowdre.”
“From Hope’s Crossing?”
“Yep.”
She jerked and glanced up with a confused stare. “I…we’re…you’re the one I was coming to marry.” She flailed at him with her free hand, landing a soft blow. “You’re nothing but a low-down criminal! You…you deceived me. You’re despicable!”
Three
Jack shielded his face with an arm to fend off the attack, his stomach bunching tight. “Lenora—Nora. You’re my Nora Kane?”
“I’m not your anything. Yet.” The glare she gave him could’ve stripped the hide off a buffalo. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re a wanted man? Just explain that.” She hauled off and slugged him with her free hand.
“Watch it, lady.” Jack had wanted rough edges on a wife, but Nora’s needed to come with a warning label. “I wanted to tell you face-to-face. Something like that’s hard to put into a letter.”
She slapped his arm. “Don’t tell me you can’t spell either. ‘Outlaw’ is easy.” She squinted at him sharply, probably thinking he’d gotten someone else to write them, a common enough practice but not one he needed.
Jack got hot. “For your information, I can spell and write and cipher. I’m not dumb.” At the moment, mind you, he wasn’t too sure about that last part. He had shit for brains for omitting his lawless ways from his letters. And he sure hadn’t shown any sense when he let down his guard that morning and Marshal Dollard had arrested him.
“Well, that’s a relief. I wouldn’t want an illiterate outlaw husband.”
He’d better not tell her about the rest of his day, because it would only confirm her opinion of him. He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near the small community of McDougal Springs, and he wouldn’t have been if Dr. Mary hadn’t gotten an urgent message about a woman having a difficult childbirth. Like always, she’d asked Jack to drive her.
Hell! It was obvious he’d stepped into a trap. Only, who had tipped the lawmen off? Certainly not Dr. Mary. That woman was a saint and had been as stunned as he. But a traitor again came to mind and was something he meant to explore at his leisure.
“Exactly what kind of husband do you want, Nora Kane?” Better to know now.
She was silent so long he was about to repeat the question when she said, “A kind one.”
Kind? The answer stopped him. Would that apply to him? He’d never beaten any woman or child, but he didn’t think that made a man kind. Kind seemed to be putting other people’s welfare before his own. But had he? Jack scowled, searching his memory.
Nora picked at the chain binding them together. “You said in your letters you were once a lawman. Or was that a lie too?”
He rubbed his sore jaw and removed Marshal Dollard’s badge from his shirt, staring at it. Memories swirled like dry leaves piling one on top of another, and he couldn’t stop them.
Another time, another place, another life when he’d loved and been loved. Then lost it all, in the blink of an eye.
“I spent five years as a U.S. marshal, wearing a badge like this one.”
“What happened?”
Her tone had softened considerably. Or maybe he simply wanted to imagine that she cared. “Too much water ran under that bridge and washed it out.” Jack leaned for a piece of wood, snapped it in half, and tossed it on the fire. If he were free of her, he’d stalk off into the darkness where she couldn’t see his pain.
Maybe there with the night around him, he’d find the strength to tell her that his try for marriage had been his last hope.
To find some good still left inside him.
To claim the life and the family he dreamed of.
And to find the respectable man he used to be.
“No, please. I’m curious. What turned you into an outlaw?”
“Revenge.” He regretted the harsh snap in his voice. Regretted the dark places his thoughts took him. Regretted more things than he could count. “Enough questions. I’m not some bug you can poke and cut open to examine. I guarantee you won’t like what you see.”
The fire crackled and popped in the welcome silence. Thankfully, Nora appeared to have run out of questions. Finally. She was quiet so long he thought she must’ve gone to sleep. Some night creature scratched at the ground and a nearby bush, dry and bare of its leaves, stirred.
Nora jerked. “What’s that?”
“Just some animal, maybe a rodent. It won’t hurt you.” It baffled him how she could stand her ground and fight him tooth and toenail yet seemed terrified of everything natural around her.
“It could be a rattlesnake slithering across the ground.” She drew her feet up under her dress. “I’ve been told they can sink their fangs into someone, and their venom is deadly.”
“Their bite doesn’t spell instant death. Folks can survive with proper treatment.”
She shook her finger at him. “I know what you’re doing. You’re just trying to humor me.”
Jack gave a soft snort. “Where did you get all your information about Texas anyway? Dime novels?”
“Books and esteemed newspaper accounts.” She sniffed. “Many folks back home assured me it was accurate.”
“Don’t believe half that stuff. Besides, that’s not a snake. Those are silent. It’s more likely a skunk or armadillo.”
“Do they bite?”
“No. Try to relax.”
She fidgeted and squirmed. “I can’t. Jack, I have to go. Oh dear, I have to go. I must hurry.”
* * *
The strong urge had Nora afraid to move, much less stand. Why had she waited so long when there were creatures prowling about?
Jack helped her to her feet and they moved off into the bushes, where there was no light. At least he couldn’t see her embarrassment in the pitch black.
“I’ll turn my head. Do you want me to sing?” He appeared a little too eager to assist. “It’s not easy doing something so personal with a stranger chained to you.”
It touched her that he recognized how she must feel. “Please sing. Just don’t listen. If I ever make it back to civilization, I’m never crossing the Mississippi again.”
Jack chuckled. “It’s not as scary as you wish to believe.”
Maybe not, but she’d take no chances. Maybe the singing would keep varmints far away. Everything was so different here, even the air. The slight breeze smelled fresh and clean—really nice. He sang an unfamiliar tune, something about whiskey and rye. For an outlaw, he had a very good baritone. And she liked hearing him talk in that low voice of his. Something about it sent quivers dancing along her spine.
With the singing to muffle the sound, she fought with her skirts. Try as she might, she couldn’t raise her dress and petticoats with one hand and fight to keep the stupid steel-hooped bustle out of the way.
Finally, she swallowed her pride. “Jack, do you think you can…help?”
Thankfully, he didn’t say a word, just held the yards of fabric so she could get her pantaloons open. Another thing not exactly easy to do one-handed, but she sure wasn’t going to ask for any help with that. The thought made her cringe and heat flooded her face.
As Jack switched to a jaunty tune about tumbleweeds and Texas, she let loose. What were tumbleweeds? Could tumbleweeds kill a person? Probably. Everything here was so new and frightening. Here, even the simplest things seemed capable of bringing death—even the sun. The sun never shone this hot in New York. And what was this weather about? Frigid one day and burning up the next? It sent a person’s body into shock.
When she finished, she untied her bustle and yanked it off, throwing it as far as she could—which probably wasn’t as far as the key to the manacles. However, without the bustle, the dress dragged on the ground. She solved that for now by tucking her skirts up higher.
On the return to their little campsite, Jack broke off some branches of scrub oak and a few wide, lacy ones from a juniper. “For our bed,” he explained.
It would be a lot better than the bare ground. Jack seemed to think of everything.
Back at the fire, Nora felt considerably better. She helped Jack spread the branches out and dropped down on them. “I wish we had a nice cup of hot chowder.”
“Never heard of that, and to my knowledge, I’ve sure never eaten any.”
“It’s a thick soup. Very hearty and most tasty.”
“When it gets daylight, I’ll find you something to eat.” He leaned to toss another piece of wood on the fire. “Come morning, one way or another, I’m going to break this chain.”
She couldn’t be surprised by how badly he wanted to be separated from her. Nora chewed her bottom lip. Maybe he’d go off and leave her. After all, she hadn’t really endeared herself to him. She’d been nothing but a thorn in his backside from the start.
What would she do if he insisted they part ways? Worry twisted her insides into knots.
Nothing had prepared her for the possibility that her letter-writing Mr. Bowdre might not want her. If he didn’t, what then? She’d burned all the bridges behind her. There was no going back. Ever. Her lip trembled.
She studied his long, whipcord form, broad chest, and muscled arms. He could probably break her like a twig. But something told her that Jack Bowdre wouldn’t hurt her. No matter that she made him mad enough to stomp and cuss, all he’d done so far was bluster. If he really had a mean streak, he’d have shown it by now. He hadn’t hit or thrown things, only looked exasperated and counted beneath his breath. And that odd rumbling in his chest when he was annoyed, as though he had to gain a head of steam like a train trudging uphill. Then when it erupted, his temper hadn’t been half as bad as she’d anxiously feared.
This man she’d come to marry sight unseen had honor. Despite circumstances and the fact that she hadn’t made it easy for him, he was taking care of her as best he could. He had grit too. Instead of stopping to rest when his leg obviously pained him until he turned white around the mouth, he gathered strength and limped on, fighting for each step.
She wondered what had happened to him.
Sure, Jack was an outlaw and undoubtedly wanted for many crimes, but she’d hear his story before passing judgment. After all, she was no lily-white saint. She fumbled with the folds of her dress for the little ledger she’d tucked into the hidden pocket of her skirt, relaxing when she found it still there.
If not for that book, she’d be dead right now. The pages and pages of names and numbers were the only thing keeping her alive. Once she was safe and Flynn O’Brien couldn’t touch her, she’d turn the book over to someone she could trust to stop the rich, powerful crook.
By the flickering light of the fire, Nora admired Jack’s strong profile—from his rugged jaw sporting that dark bruise, his tantalizing mouth and high cheekbones, to his thick, dark lashes.
He would be a good kisser—she just knew it. Not that she wanted to kiss him.
Still, the thought sent tingles up her spine and her stomach quickened. No, to be separated from him forever was not anything to look forward to.
“Tell me something. Why do you dress all in black, down to your hat and boots?”
Jack shrugged. “Simple. I wear black clothes for every person who’s been wronged, beaten down, deprived of a living, and for the poor and hungry. Why did you discard your bustle?”
“It was in my way, and I’m tired of wearing what men decide women must.”
His lips twitched. “Rebellion is good for the soul. Do you make a habit of revolt?”
“Only in certain instances when things are unfair.” Her answer was soft. A strange urge came over her to touch his bruised jaw, trace the lines of his mouth—smooth the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. But she didn’t dare touch him so familiarly.
She blurted out without thinking, “Do you have a price on your head?”
His eyes darkened. “Yep. Last wanted poster said nine hundred dollars, dead or alive. Could’ve gone up since, I don’t know. It’s not something I can control, so best not to worry about it.”
The price staggered her. Such a reward would bring lawmen and bounty hunters down on him in droves. “No, I don’t suppose it helps to dwell on it.”
Death didn’t seem to be what a man liked to think much about, even under normal circumstances.
He rubbed the back of his neck and stretched out his long legs. “Nora, I’m sorry I wasn’t truthful when I wrote you. I should’ve told you everything right out. Only I was af
raid if you knew, you wouldn’t come. And I couldn’t take…” He gazed into the flames. “I was set to marry a woman last fall, only she decided the barren days of a nunnery were preferable to making a life with me.”
“That’s wrong. That’s just plain wrong.” The woman must’ve been an imbecile to pass up a man like Jack, even if he was an outlaw.
Marshal Dollard claimed he’d killed fourteen people. Or was it fifteen? All she knew was he didn’t seem the sort to kill in cold blood, so they probably deserved it. Jack had seen lots of chances to kill her and been plenty mad enough to do it—only he hadn’t.
Until recently, she’d worked with men who made Jack look like a choirboy, men who wouldn’t hesitate to cut out a person’s tongue or drive nails into their fingers. A shudder ran the length of her body. If they found her…
They’d torture her first and then throw her in a hole in the desert—one filled with deadly snakes.
The threats alone had terrified her. Nora swallowed hard. She was more afraid of the cold-blooded, slithery reptiles than anything else on earth. Maybe more than the lizards and alligators that lived in the swamps that she’d read about.
Maybe an outlaw like Jack was all that could stand between her and trouble.
“You have to understand about Darcy,” Jack said, bringing her attention back to the subject of his original intended, the one who’d joined a nunnery. “She’d been locked in an asylum for a while and tortured. She wasn’t crazy though. Her uncle put her in there to keep her from telling anyone about his crimes. I don’t fault her—it just stung is all. For a man to feel like a second choice stomps on something inside him.”
They lapsed into silence and Nora thought about what he’d revealed. More telling was what he couldn’t bring himself to say—the real reason he’d turned to crime. It had to have been something terrible if he couldn’t forget.
Whatever it was had left him wearing black, his soul scarred. Maybe one day he’d open up. If they managed to live long enough.
