Nights with the Outlaw

by Lauri Robinson

  “If they don’t drown in the storm that’s rolling in,” Clint said.

  She should at least smile, for he was teasing, but her heart hung too heavy in her chest.

  With his free hand, he lifted her chin and tilted his head, gazing deeply at her. “What’s wrong? You’ve been quiet all day.”

  His hold didn’t allow her to look away. She shrugged. “You said you’d stay until Joe and Dobbs returned.”

  His hand slid along the side of her face, until her cheek rested in his warm palm. “I also said I’d stay until we find out who’s camped in the hills and why.” He nodded toward the plains. “They’re still there, and I’m still here. Will be until they’re gone.”

  She lowered her lashes, afraid to become too joyous. “So you won’t leave?”

  He leaned closer until their noses almost touched. “I won’t leave,” he murmured.

  Her gaze stuck on his lips, and she wondered yet again, as she did most every minute of every day, what it would be like to be kissed by him. Could she ask him to kiss her? Or maybe if she tilted her head, brought her lips up to meet his…

  Clint stood, bringing her out of her chair with him, and caught her when she would have tumbled. “Wha—”

  “I’ll walk you to the house.”

  “T-that’s not necessary,” she protested.

  “It’s raining. I don’t want you to slip in the mud.”

  “It’s raining?”

  “Yes, it’s raining.” He pulled her forward.

  As she stepped off the porch, large drops splattered her. Clint plopped his hat on her head and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, sheltering her with his body as he ushered her across the yard. Touched by his behavior, and growing giddy, Doreena giggled. He wasn’t leaving. Wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.

  They arrived at the house and he quickly led her up the stairs, to where the awning blocked the rain. “You find running through the rain fun?”

  She nodded. “With you, I do.”

  He reached up with both hands, lifting his hat off her head. She stood absolutely still, meeting his thoughtful gaze. Her heart stopped beating and her lips parted. He was going to kiss her. Thrilled, excited and enthralled that the moment had finally arrived, she closed her eyes.

  “Good night, Doreena.”

  Her eyes flew open. He’d already turned around, was about to step off the porch. She reached out and grabbed his arm.

  He put his hat on and patted her fingers. “Go to bed, Doreena. Morning comes early.” Before she could speak, he was sprinting across the yard.

  Clint burst into the bunkhouse, shaking the water from his hat as he shut the door. His hat landed on the bed as he paced past it. What had he done? He’d let her get under his skin, that’s what. Trouble was, it wasn’t like a tiny sliver of wood that festered, but like a torch that had been set ablaze by a match and filled his insides with light.

  Plopping on the bed, crushing his hat in the process, he propped his elbows on his knees. Not kissing those pert lips had taken every ounce of discipline he had, but he didn’t want to hurt her—ever. Didn’t ever want to see anything but delight and enjoyment gracing her lovely face, and kissing her, then leaving, would hurt her.

  He lifted his head, blankly gazed around the room and contemplated when he could put down roots. The thoughts hung with him the next few days, like apples waiting for the first signs of autumn before dropping to the ground, and made him feel distant in a poignant way. Ironically, it helped, made him make sure they weren’t alone in the evenings anymore. Joe Edwards and Thomas Dobbs had returned, and all the men sat on the porch, discussing which chores to do the next day.

  This morning, a runner from a bank in Lincoln brought notice of a deposit made by the rendering plant in Iowa. Clint had to hand it to Doreena. Her investment in hogs was certainly paying off faster than cattle would have.

  “Why don’t you bank in Plum Creek?” he asked that afternoon as they rode side by side across the prairie.

  “Because I don’t trust Drake. The less he knows of my business, the better off I am.” She flashed a grin. “Wanna race to that cottonwood?”

  He nodded, but when she kneed Scout, he held Runner back, taking in how her hair waved in the wind and the way her body flowed with the gait of the animal as it gained speed. Once again, he found himself wondering about the curves of her body. How smooth her skin must be. How warm and pliable it would be beneath his fingers.

  She arrived at the cottonwood seconds before him, and the glow of her cheeks as she whipped her head around to proclaim her win had his insides spinning. Usually they didn’t dismount when they rode, but today Clint swung to the ground and grasped her waist, lifting her from the saddle.

  “I win again,” she announced softly, her breath expanding the tiny waist his fingers held.

  “Yes, you did.” He should put her back on her horse.

  “I have a feeling you let me win.” She cocked her head sideways, eyeing him coyly. “Again.”

  The urge to kiss her was something he dealt with daily, and each passing moment it took more and more control to resist it. He twisted her around and took one hand. Together they walked into the shade of the tree. “Now, why would I let you win?”

  She swiveled, planting herself so her breasts almost touched his chest. “I ask myself that same question.”

  Only the skin of their hands touched, but he could feel her from head to toe, almost as if she was a layer of clothing cloaking his body. It was a unique sensation, pleasurable and potent.

  Rising on her tiptoes, bringing her lips close to his, she asked daringly, “Are you ever going to kiss me?”

  Through the buzz in his head, he half heard his own nervous chuckle. “What?”

  “You’ve been at the ranch for over two weeks and have yet to kiss me.”

  His insides pounded with excitement. He shouldn’t, but he really wanted to. “Doreena—”

  “Where were you headed when you found me in that tree?” she interrupted.

  “I’ve told you,” he reminded her. “California.”

  Using one fingertip, she traced a line from his elbow to his shoulder, causing little shoots of pleasure to race down his arm. “Why?”

  It took a moment for him to recall his once oft-repeated clause. “To find streets lined with gold and women in scanty dresses.”

  “There are no streets lined with gold.” The gentle breeze of her breath danced against his lips.

  He shifted his feet, attempting to brace himself. “I suspected as much,” he answered, feeling as if he played with fire. “But the women do wear scanty dresses. I’m sure of it.”

  A tiny giggle escaped her lips. “They might.” Her chin dipped and rose in a teasing way. “If I wore a scanty dress, would you kiss me?”

  That vision was a bit more than he could take. His mouth went to hers, and the brush of their lips tickled his soul. Her sigh, soft and sweet, had his lips tasting hers again. The blending of their breath and flavor was powerful, and provided a glimpse of the paradise her eyes offered. He pulled her close. Enticed, his hands roamed her graceful curves. He thought he’d memorized her shape with his eyes, but finally feeling how every curve flowed perfectly beneath his palms had his blood pounding.

  Swelling inside his britches, he attempted to pull out of the kiss. Doreena’s hands, warm and gentle, tightened the hold she had on the sides of his face, and the tip of her tongue ran along his bottom lip. Her bold playfulness demanded a response. Tugging until her body collided with his, Clint caught her tongue with his and drove the kiss to a heightened exploration. His imagination soared. Through their clothing, the tips of her breasts hardened against his chest. He could almost envision the dark peaks, knew they’d fill his mouth wonderfully.

  His tongue danced with hers, and he held her firmly against him, imagining how glorious it would be to be inside her, rising to the apex of delight and releasing his seed to be embraced by her womb. The thought was suddenly sobering. He’d
never dreamed of a woman bearing his children.

  Practically trembling in his boots, he broke the kiss, but planted a few small ones on her cheek and nose and temple as she snuggled her head beneath his chin, leaning heavily against him.

  Her hands kneaded his back. “Does that mean you want me to find a scanty dress or not?”

  He couldn’t control the chuckle that escaped.

  She lifted her head while her hands slipped down to settle on his waist. The look in her eyes was deep and thoughtful. Taking a step backward, she took his hand and pulled him down as she sat.

  Once on the ground, the enthusiasm in his groin had him wanting to lay her down in the grass and remove her clothing piece by piece. He gave his head a clearing, scolding shake. He should be trying to fathom up an excuse to keep from kissing her, but that was impossible. His mind couldn’t think of anything except how sweet she tasted and how full of life he felt.

  “Have you ever carved your initials in a tree?” she asked.

  A thumping in his head told him to stop acting on his feelings for her. No good could come of it. “No, I can’t say I have.” And never will, he added silently. She was as pure and clean as new snow, and he was as tarnished as a rusted nail. “Doreena, I’m sorry, I shouldn‘t—”

  “Shh.” Doreena pressed a hand against Clint’s lips, stopping his protest. She was lit up like a firefly in a jar from the kiss they shared, and she wasn’t about to let anything hamper the joy of it.

  She’d never imagined the day would come when she’d want to share everything she had, but she did with Clint—had for weeks now. Not only that, she wanted to kiss him again and again, wanted to feel his arms around her every day, and every night. Sometimes, like right now, she wanted it more than she wanted the ranch. “Why shouldn’t we?”

  Clint shook his head slightly. “I’m an outlaw.”

  She let out a sigh. “I know. You told me. But I don’t…” Just telling him she didn’t believe it wouldn’t be enough. She glanced around, trying to come up with a way to explain how she felt. “Tristan has changed since you arrived, but he’s still a kid, and my responsibility. Jeb and Sarah, Joe and Dobbs, depend on me, and the wages I pay them. Do you honestly think I’d put any of them or myself in danger?”

  “No,” he answered.

  “I wouldn’t. And I don’t believe you would, either.”

  His hands, warm and gentle, cupped her cheeks. “No, I wouldn’t.” Disquiet shimmered in his eyes. “But that doesn’t change my past. I’m an outlaw, Doreena. I spent the last two years in prison in Missouri.”

  She’d never asked him why, but did now. “For what?”

  “Train robbery.”

  His answer didn’t cause a deep reaction. She could live with his past. “You served your time. You paid your dues.”

  “It’s not as simple as that.” His hands fell to his lap. “There were other robberies.” He bowed his head. “Trains, banks, stagecoaches.”

  She wrung her hands, wanting to touch him, but sensed he’d back away. “If you can start over in California, why can’t you start over here?”

  “Doreena—”

  She shook her head and laid a hand on his chest. “The first place to start is right here. Inside yourself. Once you start over there, the rest is easy.”

  Thoughtful and clear, his gaze held hers. She leaned closer, so her lips almost touched his. They wanted to be reunited with his, and it was a fight of will to keep them from doing so. “There’s something you need to know about me, Clint,” she whispered. “I don’t give up.”

  He smiled ruefully. “I noticed that.”

  She brushed her lips against his, but he pulled back after a brief moment, and stood, dragging her upright with him.

  The horses had moved to escape the heat, and one of them let out a snort. She glanced to where they stood in the shade, and when her gaze went back to Clint, his was aimed over her shoulder, and a dark frown marred his face.

  “What?” She twisted to peer behind her.

  “A rider,” Clint whispered. “Come on.” He tugged her behind the tree.

  “Where?” she whispered. “I don’t see anyone.”

  “Watch that hill. He should top it any moment. There might be two.”

  A second later, two horses topped the hill. The black horse with two white socks was unmistakable. Focused on Clint the past weeks, she’d almost forgotten about the sheriff. She let out a snort of disgust. “Drake.”

  “That’s Sheriff Drake?” Disbelief coated his whisper.

  “Yes, that’s him, and Deputy Hines.” The riders disappeared on the other side of the knoll. “They’re going to see the men at the cave, aren’t they?” She turned to Clint, expecting his confirmation.

  The glare of hatred in his eyes made her skin quiver.

  Chapter Five

  Doreena poked a pin over the rope, securing the sheet to the clothesline. The hot afternoon breeze assured everything would be dry in no time. Clipping the other corner of the cotton to the line, she let out a frustrated sigh.

  It had been two days since they’d kissed under that cottonwood, and though Clint didn’t act any different in front of everyone else, she sensed the difference in him. She’d caught him staring her way more than once, and recognized turmoil in his eyes. Moreover, yesterday afternoon he’d come up with an excuse as to why they couldn’t take their normal ride, and last night he’d gone to town, breaking their evening routine, as well.

  Pulling one of his shirts out of the basket, she shook out the twists from washing. Sarah had made this one for him, and the dusty blue color matched his eyes perfectly.

  “Doreena!”

  Her heart did a cartwheel at the sound of Clint’s voice. She ducked beneath the shirt. “What?”

  “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  Pushing the clothing aside, she stepped forward. “You couldn’t have looked too hard. I’ve been right here.”

  A grin formed, but left his face as fast as it had appeared. “Half an hour ago you were in the barn.”

  She lifted a brow, mockingly. In reality, her heart sang, knowing he kept such a close eye on her whereabouts. “Yes, I was, and then I told Sarah I’d finish the laundry so she could bake bread. Was there something you needed?”

  He brushed the hair off the side of her face. The intimate, gentle touch had her breath fluttering and her blood swirling. The kiss two days ago had left her craving his touch more than ever. She reached up and held his hand against her cheek. His concentrated gaze roamed her face. A tremble lodged in her knees as she caught an intense hesitancy about him.

  “Clint?”

  “I-I have to tell you something.”

  “All right,” she said, while her insides screamed at the cold, dark wave working its way up her body. He was leaving. As sure as the sun was shining overhead, he was leaving. At this moment she hated her instincts—wished this once they were wrong.

  Bracing herself by digging her heels deep in the earth, Doreena let her hand fall to her side. A tug-of-war ensued between her heart and mind. She couldn’t make him stay. Not even she had that kind of power.

  Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she refused to give them freedom. She’d lived through pain before, the death of her parents, the loss of cattle, Drake’s interferences. She snapped her gaze up. “This is about Drake, isn’t it?” She hadn’t questioned the hatred she’d seen in Clint’s eyes that day, had assumed it had to do with what she’d told him about the lawman, but now she knew differently.

  “Yes, it is,” he admitted.

  Like heat lightning on a hot summer night, flashes sparked in her mind. Trains, banks, stagecoaches. She held strong, refusing to let despair take root inside her. “He’s why you really agreed to stay, isn’t he?”

  Clint glanced around, looking everywhere except at her.

  Tension built in her spine with every second that ticked by. She fought, holding her breath and curling her toes to keep still.

  �
�Let’s sit down—” he pointed toward the woodpile “—over there.”

  “No,” she insisted. “Tell me what you have to say, here and now.”

  He let out a heavy sigh. The sound was as piercing to her heart as a knife. She grabbed his arm, mindless of how her nails buried into his flesh.

  “Drake isn’t his real name,” he said. “It’s Martin Harmon. The deputy is his brother Henderson.” A sneer in his tone said more than the words.

  “And you know them.” It sounded like a question, but she already knew the answer.

  He nodded. “Their older brother was my mother’s second husband.”

  Drake or Harmon, whatever his name was, was the epitome of evil. She’d known that from the moment she’d met him. The fact Clint knew this man iced her chest. Her fingers relaxed the hold they had on his arm, and her hand fell to her side. “They’re the men you rode with, aren’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  Doubt was an evil companion, sneaking in when least wanted, and latching on tighter than the clothespin she’d just stuck on the rope. She didn’t want to doubt herself, question the set and steadfast beliefs she had about Clint, yet, all of sudden, she did. Doubted everything about him, and doubted herself.

  “You went to town yesterday to find them, didn’t you?”

  Clint looked over her shoulder, as if he couldn’t meet her gaze. “They’re the men I was hired to track down.”

  That fact was no better. “Track down, or kill?” She heard the question, knew it was her voice asking it, but she didn’t want to hear the answer.

  He took a step back. “That’s what hired guns usually do.”

  The stinging in her eyes burned hotter. She thought she could live with his past. An outlaw. A gunslinger. But deep down, inside where it really mattered, could she? Could she go to bed at night knowing the man lying beside her was a killer? “W-was it a fair fight?”

  A haunted look hovered in his eyes.

  She’d seen him use a gun, knew how quick and precise he was with every bullet. Her heart was slipping downward, would soon be pumping blood from her toes.