by Linda Broday
“How far is O’Brien’s reach into Texas?”
“I don’t know. Flynn seems to have eyes and ears everywhere. Money buys anything you want.”
“Not always.” No one bought Jack or his friends. If Flynn O’Brien wanted a war, he’d sure get one. But he should bring an army with him, because the men of Hope’s Crossing wouldn’t die easy. He returned the book to Nora. “Slip this back into your secret pocket for now.”
Seated near the fire, Jack took her hand, remembering the softness of her voluptuous curves against him as they’d slept the previous night. Her creamy legs were forever branded into his vision whenever he closed his eyes. His attention was drawn to her moist mouth, something he was sorely tempted to explore.
What would she do if he kissed her? Or ran a finger down the column of her throat?
“Jack?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m glad you were the one who wrote those letters and not someone else.”
“Yeah.” A strange protectiveness filled him. No one was harming Nora Kane with him around.
Six
“Jack, are you having second thoughts about marrying me?” Nora worried with the links of the chain. He’d appeared so distant in the hours after she’d bared her sordid past.
They’d bided their time in the cave, waiting for the rain to slacken, and Jack’s mood reflected the gloomy afternoon. He hid his feelings behind grim features. His gunmetal eyes had grown icy, reminding her of a winter storm. She could take anything but cold silence.
The question of what she’d do if he didn’t want her rose up in her mind again.
The pain of the possibility brought a sob that lodged in her throat. Anything was better than being unwanted.
“I know I’m not much, but I’ll work hard at being a good wife,” she added quietly.
The silence extended several more heartbeats. Finally, he swung his piercing gaze to her. Dark turmoil swirled in his eyes. “I understand your reasons, but I might find it hard to marry any woman who keeps a knife close to protect herself from me.”
“I had to make sure I could trust you first. It’s not like you’ve been a soft, cuddly lamb, you know.” She hated the panic in her voice. Despite not having an alternate plan in place for her future, she wouldn’t beg. “Having said that, you do have your moments.”
“What about you? You’d still marry me—an outlaw?”
“You make me feel safe. Yes, I will marry you.” She sucked in a quick breath. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
Nora watched the dark storm in his eyes fade.
“You have to be sure, because this will be for keeps. I won’t let you go if you later decide that you can’t abide life with me—or want to join a nunnery.” His forbidding scowl returned.
“Don’t worry. Black makes me look like an old crone.” She laughed. “All I need is a black cat and a broom.”
At least the corners of his stern mouth twitched. Definite improvement.
“We need to give this lots of thought. The time it’ll take to reach Hope’s Crossing will allow us to see if we’re a match. Marriage is nothing to rush into lightly. Or for the wrong reasons.”
“If we’re not compatible?” She might as well know what to expect.
“I’ll pay your way to any place you want to go.” He took her hand. “I won’t leave you high and dry. Or at the mercy of men like Flynn O’Brien.”
Although even that offer worried her, she forced a smile and adopted a cheery outlook. “Then Hope’s Crossing will give us two things to look forward to. We should kiss, don’t you think? To see how we fit together?”
Jack frowned. “I usually don’t put a lot of thought into kissing. If I like a lady, I just do it. And if it feels right, I do it again.”
Good heavens. Did he like her enough to try or not?
“So you just go around kissing random women? How is it some husband or father hasn’t shot you by now?”
“You’re twisting my words.” The troubled sigh he released did nothing to help her confusion.
“I’ve never kissed a man before.” Her confession slipped out before she could stop it. But there it was. If Jack kissed her, he’d be her first.
His startled expression had at least gotten rid of the frown. “Not one?”
“No. There was a boy a long time ago, when I was a child, but not since.”
Jack quickly lowered his gaze to her hand. Evidently, he found the subject of kissing nothing to discuss. “Let me see your wrist. That cuff is digging into you.” He gently took her bloody wrist and inspected the painful welt.
“I hated to complain, but the metal rubbing against my skin really hurts.”
“Do you think you can part with another petticoat?”
She sucked in a shocked breath. “I beg your pardon!”
“I only need a piece. How about the ruined one?”
“So you can do what exactly?”
The request hung in the air for a long moment.
“Fine. I wanted to bandage your wrist, but it’s entirely up to you.”
Nora stood and managed to shimmy out of the one he’d already ruined. She opened her mouth to tell him how dear every piece of clothing was and remind him that everything else she owned was back at the wrecked stagecoach. But before she could speak, he grabbed it. A cry hung in her throat when he ripped off a long section.
“Sit down.”
Mr. Bossy dipped the piece of cotton in a small amount of water that had yet to leak from his hat, took her handcuffed wrist, and washed the injury. Then he covered it with a dry strip of soft fabric. “This will protect you while I try to unlock these. Does that feel better?”
For a moment, his tender touch made her lose her train of thought. He truly was a man of contrasts. Hard and gentle. Gruff and caring. Threatening one minute, and full of concern the next. But she remembered how he’d protected her when the tracker rode above them. He’d been ready to give his life for her. And he’d fed her and kept her warm.
“Yes.” She smiled up at him, watching how the firelight flickered across the hard planes of his face. “Now let me wrap yours.”
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”
“It wasn’t a question.” Her firm statement whipped his head around. “Your wrist is bleeding. I don’t want you to attract that wild creature that’s scratching and scurrying around behind us. Yes, I know. It’s probably not dangerous. That’s why I haven’t dragged you from this cave.”
“You’re a high-handed woman. Know that?”
“Seems to make us well-matched, don’t you think?” She tore another strip from her petticoat with precise movements. “Now, your wrist, mister.”
Irritation darkened his eyes, but he offered his hand to her.
“My father often told me that I was my mother’s daughter. Neither of us were very biddable then, and I’m still not. That’s one reason I tossed away the key to these. You ordered me to give it to you. Taking orders has never been my strong suit.” She wet a piece of the petticoat and gently washed his angry, raw welt. Although it had to hurt, that man would cut out his tongue before he admitted it. They appeared to share that trait too. “What are we going to do, Jack? Don’t you think we should get going? It’ll be dark in a few hours.”
“It’s lots better to be behind a posse than in front of one. We’ll let them put some distance between us and leave in the morning.”
That made a lot of sense. She finished doctoring his wrist and tied the end of the wrapping. “That should do it. Now, if you’ll stand, I’ll put the few remaining inches of my petticoat back on. I’m sure you’ll need the rest soon at the rate we’ve been going.”
“Obliged, Nora.” He held her upright while she slipped back into the ruined clothing. “Now I’ll see about getting these cuffs off if you’ll lend me your knife.” They
sat down, and he took the sharp blade Nora handed him.
She smiled, watching how the flickering fire played across the light brown of his hair and touched his tanned skin that told of hours spent outdoors. Doing what? What did outlaws do when they weren’t…well, outlawing?
The stories in her dime novels hadn’t mentioned the subject.
Maybe he worked with horses. Or maybe outlaws did like regular people—built houses, raised chickens and cows, cooked, washed clothes. She stifled a giggle at the thought of Jack in his hideout, washing his clothes and hanging them on the line to dry, sweeping the floor.
Warmth seeped into her as the wood crackled and popped. Even in the cave full of noises, she felt safer than she had in years. There was no need to worry about someone springing from a dark corner and killing her. Flynn O’Brien was far away—probably planning his next murder.
For sure hers—when and if he could get to Texas.
Jack’s feather-soft breathing brushed her skin as he bent over, working on the lock. A jolt of awareness swept along her body. His fingers were long, his hands strong. And, she reminded herself sternly, they belonged to someone who lived by the gun.
Those dime novels of hers had portrayed outlaws as ruthless men, for the most part. That wasn’t Jack. She admitted his hard exterior had given her the wrong impression at first, but inside, he was gentle when he’d helped her cross difficult terrain, at night when she slept beside him, and he’d washed and bandaged her bloody wrist.
Now each of his touches sent sizzling sparks through her, like when she’d once stood too close to lightning.
She inhaled a ragged breath, trying to steady her heartbeat. What was this thing between them?
“You all right?” Jack glanced up, his eyes meeting hers.
Nora smiled. “Never better. How’s it coming?”
“About to get it.” He bent his head to closely examine the workings of the lock.
A strand of his hair brushed her hand, the feeling more pronounced than his breath. The soft texture reminded her of a bird’s wing, and a memory of when she was eight or nine flashed across her mind. After a storm like this one. She’d found a mama tree swallow with a broken wing. Unable to fly, she managed to hop to her babies, their nest lying on the ground. Her fierce struggle to get to them stuck in Nora’s mind, especially how the mama had tried to pull them underneath her injured wing even though they were dead.
Tears blurred her vision. That was what mamas did. That need to protect their children overrode everything.
Her mother had loved her with the same fierceness. Her father too.
If they hadn’t died, she’d never have met Flynn O’Brien. Yet if not for Flynn, she’d never have come west to marry Jack Bowdre. Everything seemed to have happened in order for something else to take place. Maybe life was just like dominos in a row, each one toppling over the next.
Jack’s hair tickled her again. Without thinking, she lightly touched it with her free hand and found it like soft velvet. The thought struck her that her parents would’ve liked this man. He shared some similarities with that wounded tree swallow. Jack had protected her and left himself exposed.
She’d taken that mama bird home and patched it up, but the minute Nora released her, she’d flown right back to the same spot where her babies had crashed to the ground.
Maybe birds never forgot. People either. Nora knew that if she was lucky enough to have children one day, she’d give her all for them.
The fire crackled in the silence. Jack let out a frustrated breath and mumbled a curse, then sat back. “The damn thing won’t open.”
Nora took a hairpin—the only one she had left—from her hair. “Just try it with this. Please. It can’t hurt.”
He stared at her like she’d called him every vile name she could think of. “Do you know how often outlaws have tried to unlock handcuffs with those flimsy things?”
How could he scoff at her suggestion? She was only trying to help. He hadn’t been able to make headway, so why not at least give her idea a shot?
“I would have no reason to know anything that outlaws do.” She sniffed and moved as far as the chain allowed, which was only a matter of inches. “The next time you need a petticoat, use your own.”
“Look, I’m sorry. It’s just that hairpins almost never work. In fact, in all my years on the run, I’ve never seen one of those unlock handcuffs. I just haven’t. They bend and twist and lack the strength.” He shoved his hand through his hair and blew out a loud breath. “But I’ll try. As you rightly pointed out, it can’t hurt.”
The earth must’ve shifted on its axis. Hardheaded man! She handed him the hairpin and stuck out her wrist.
With a long-suffering sigh, Jack bent over the lock again. Minutes passed, and the fire became glowing embers.
“Dammit to hell.” Jack sat back and handed her the small piece of metal. “No luck.”
Her heart plummeted into her stomach, the very last bit of hope gone. She stared at the pin in disbelief. He had twisted and mangled it into a shape she’d never seen before. They couldn’t even try it a second time. “Jack! What did you do? Try to bend it into a pretzel?”
“What’s a pretzel?”
“It’s a kind of German biscuit that’s twisted into the shape of a knot and baked. Very tasty. The immigrants brought the recipe from the old country.”
“Never had one.” He poked around in the embers and added sticks of wood to the fire. “I’m sorry I couldn’t unlock the cuffs.”
“How am I going to keep my hair back now? I’ve lost all my pins but that one.”
“Maybe you can tie it into one of those pretzel things.” He wiggled his fingers in the air.
The urge to hit him was powerful. But before she could punch his arm, something scratched very close by. Alarm rang in her head. “What is that, Jack?”
“Just a small animal. It’s harmless.”
She wasn’t an imbecile. Some things could eat you alive, and she had no intention of leaving anything to chance. She slid her right foot from Dollard’s boot. Having a hefty weapon gave her a sense of security. If it came closer, she’d bludgeon it to death. Unless it was big. Then she’d stick Jack in front and see if the varmint had a taste for stubborn outlaws. Maybe it would gnaw the chain in half and she could run.
Although she was as mad as a box of drenched cats at Jack, she pressed tightly against him. He seemed lost in thought and didn’t glance her way. Maybe he was thinking about those pretzels.
Two heartbeats later, something ran across her leg. Nora let out a bloodcurdling scream and jumped to her feet, slamming her boot down on a black form about six inches long. She kept pounding whatever it was until Jack pried her boot from her hand.
“I think it’s dead, Nora,” he said in a quiet tone.
“How can you be sure?”
“It’s as flat as a pancake.” He laughed and held the thing up by its long tail. “Hard to tell what it used to be, but it resembles a wood rat.”
Nora blew her hair out of her eyes and tried to calm herself. She must look like a harridan, with her heaving chest, wild eyes, torn dress, hair stringing down.
After a moment to gather herself, she jutted her chin in defiance. “I’m glad he’s dead.”
It occurred to her that she’d said he and realized she meant Flynn O’Brien.
If only he were. But it would take more than a bootheel to kill a man like him.
* * *
Jack held the rat up. “Unless we want to eat this, we need to find some food while we still have a little light left. It’s a good time of day to catch a rabbit.”
Nora swayed unsteadily on the one boot until Jack balanced her. “You can catch a rabbit by hand? Aren’t they too fast?”
“Sometimes. But often I’ve walked right up to them without them hearing me.” He lifted her foot, slipped
her boot back on, and grinned. “Maybe you can use Dollard’s boot to kill it. I have to say you have a pretty good aim when you’re mad. I don’t want to get on your bad side.”
She arched an eyebrow. “How do you know you haven’t already been?”
“Right.” He knew she’d been angry enough to sling a buffalo when he couldn’t unlock her handcuff with the hairpin. He had tried his best, but the slim piece of metal kept slipping out of his fingers. “I’m really sorry I couldn’t free us. I want it even more than you do.”
“I doubt that.” She smoothed the make-do bandage underneath the handcuff.
“You know, at the rate we’re going, you’re likely to be naked by the time we reach Hope’s Crossing. I can’t imagine what folks will think when I walk in with you in tow.”
At least she gave him a half smile. “They’ll probably arrest you for taking advantage of me.”
“Can’t. I’m the only law in town.”
Nora rolled her eyes. “Heaven help us. I’m hungry. Let’s go hunting.”
He helped her down the embankment as the sun broke from behind the heavy clouds.
Nora sucked in a breath. “Look, Jack.”
The rainbow was exceptional, the bands wide, the colors vibrant. He always felt happier when he saw one—except for today. A burden sat on his shoulders. He had to find some food for Nora. She needed to eat. Although he was hungry enough to cook the wood rat, she needed better. Come to think of it, he had no appetite for rats either. He selected the right shape and size of rock and hoped for something to use it on.
The rain-fresh air soothed his ragged spirit. He’d been sure the knifepoint would open the cuffs, and the disappointment had been a bitter pill to swallow.
It was just that he needed to be free so he could fight. When that posse didn’t find him ahead, they’d double back. So would the man looking for Nora. Worry crawled along his spine like thousands of millipede legs, warning him to stay vigilant.
“Don’t speak, Nora.” His gaze scanned the low brush, his senses sharp.
