Outlaw for Christmas (9781101573020) (5 page)

She jumped, cast him a guilty look, and focused on the pieces. Ruth tried, but she could never be Susan, never replace Cora; her presence only reminded him of all that he'd lost.

He had not wanted to take an orphan from the train, but Cora had been inconsolable at the loss of their only child. They'd tried to have another, but the doctors had said that the time had passed, and after two years even Robert had to admit they were right. So when the Aid Society came to town, approached him as the town founder, and asked about parents for lost children, he'd told Cora, and soon Ruth had been theirs.

Then Cora had gone and died on him, taking what was left of his heart. He knew Ruth deserved to be loved, wanted him to love her, probably needed it, too. But he just couldn't do it. He had nothing left to give.

Ruth made a foolish move, and before he could stop himself, he
tsked
at her. He'd never been a patient man. But Ruth brought out the worst in him. Which wasn't fair. What he felt, or rather didn't feel, wasn't her fault.

Ruth fingered the necklace he'd given her. She'd
oohed
and
aahed
over the thing as if she adored it. She no doubt did. But the sapphire that had looked so perfect in Kansas City did not look perfect on Ruth, and he couldn't figure out why. In fact, most of the jewelry he'd given Ruth over the years—for birthdays, Christmas, and to stifle occasional pangs of guilt—did not look right. What did it matter? Ruth wore the jewels regardless.

She'd given him the chessboard over which they were battling. Robert saw the gift for the ploy it was. She wanted him to spend more time with her.

Robert sighed. Perhaps he should have purchased the earrings that matched the necklace, as well.

After squinting at the chessboard for several minutes, Ruth threw up her hands and let Robert take her queen.

She'd been distracted all day. Robert couldn't blame her. Leon Harker had proposed again, and this time she hadn't turned him down flat. The boy fancied himself in love with her. Maybe he was. But Robert knew Leon, and more than love for Ruth fueled the sheriff's ambition. He wanted both Ruth and all that came with her.

Robert gave a mental shrug. Whatever it took. If Leon professed love, perhaps Ruth would acquiesce. What Robert needed was an heir for his legacy and a strong young man to keep it intact.

He was getting too old to battle this wilderness and all the animals in it. He was definitely too old to make an heir of his own, then wait for the child to grow up, even if he could bear the thought of touching anyone else but Cora.

Leon loved Kelly Creek. He cared for the people. He was good to Ruth. But he didn't possess the killer instinct of Robert Kelly. Deep down, Leon was just too damned nice. Robert sighed. Well, hell, nobody was perfect.

Still, the sheriff
had
protected this town for years. He should be able to manage the Kelly empire. But Robert had always hoped someone stronger would come to Kelly Creek. As usual, his hopes, and his prayers, had not been answered.

He sipped mulled wine as the scent of the Christmas goose wafted through the house. The bird would be far too big for the two of them, one old housekeeper, and an equally ancient groom to eat, but then it always was. Robert listened to the clock chime five. How many hours until another Christmas ended?

Far too many.

He searched for a cheerier topic of thought and conversation. “How are the plans coming for the New Year's Ball?”

Ruth, who was still frowning at the chessboard, glanced up. “The invitations are out. We'll have near fifty guests. The same music as last year, since you enjoyed it so much.”

Robert nodded, expecting nothing less. When his wife died, he'd turned the running of the household over to Ruth. She'd done a decent job, so he'd left the house in her care for the past eight years as he spent more and more time at work.

He wanted to leave a legacy, and since he had no son to carry on his name, the town would have to do. So he spent his days at the bank, but what he did was strengthen Kelly Creek.

Ferret out the weak links, foreclose on the losers, buy out any troublemakers, loan to as many solid, upstanding citizens as he could manage so that they owed him their allegiance. His legacy would be the best little town in Kansas.

What he relished these days was money, power, social position—three things he'd never had as a child. He'd come to see how important they were. Kelly Creek was his town, and no one in it ever dared to call him an ignorant Irish immigrant or a worthless, drunken Paddy. He'd gone from being no one in a large town to being someone in a small town, which was just how he liked it.

One of the traditions he'd begun was the New Year's Ball, where the society he cultivated gathered at his home and rang in each year. He invited the cream of Kansas City society as well and let them stay at his house and the old farmhouse across the creek. Which reminded him . . .

“I'd best send Tim over to clean the farmhouse for the out-of-town guests,” he said.

“No!” Ruth stood, knocking the table with her knee. The chess pieces fell, willy-nilly.

Robert frowned. Ruth might be clumsy, but she was never rude.

“I-I've already taken care of it. I had some extra time yesterday.”

“Yesterday?”

How odd. Usually on Christmas Eve day she moped about until she made her annual trip to the train station. Robert should have forbidden it long ago. Whenever Ruth returned, she was sad and quiet for days. But since her sadness and silence coincided with Christmas and his own bout of melancholy, he'd let the matter go.

He would continue to do so. Robert didn't want to know why she went as long as she came back. He might not be able to love her, but he did need her. Without Ruth, his empire would be left to no one. She might not be a true Kelly, but she was the only Kelly he had.

“I'd like to hire an extra man to help with the horses and wagons,” he murmured. “Tim muddled through last year, but it was difficult for him.”

Tim, their groom, was Tildy's husband, though from the way they snarled and picked at each other you'd think they were siblings instead. They even slept apart, Tim in the tack room and Tildy in the house—an odd sort of marriage, but it worked for them.

“He won't like it.”

“I know. But he won't say so. He hasn't the courage of Tildy.”

Tildy would tell Robert where to take his extra help and give him explicit directions on how to get there. Her domain was the kitchen, and a more exclusive domain did not exist. There Tildy ruled.

“Courage?” Ruth's lips twitched. “Is that what you call it?”

“It's what she calls it. And I don't have the heart to correct her.”

“Heart?” Ruth was smiling now. “Is that what you call it?”

Robert surprised himself by laughing. He was even more surprised to find that laughing felt good. In fact, for a tiny moment it almost seemed like Christmas again.

Until he gazed up at the picture of Susan, then glanced around the room, decorated with all of Cora's lovely Christmas things, and remembered. How could he laugh when they would never laugh again?

Robert got up and went to the sideboard. He poured himself a liberal brandy, then toasted the Christmas tree. “Merry Christmas, Cora. Happy Christmas, Susan.”

He took a large gulp of the russet liquid, relishing the burn, followed by the warmth. These days, the only warmth he ever felt on the inside came out of a bottle.

A sad sigh made Robert turn, but all he saw was the tail end of Ruth's gown disappearing around the corner of the room.

“Just as well,” he murmured. “She doesn't understand.”

By the time the goose was ready, Robert was halfway though his third brandy and no longer cared about laughter, dinner, or any daughter—dead or alive.

Just another Christmas at the Kellys'.

Chapter Four

Toward noon on Christmas Day, Noah was able to get up and step onto the back porch rather than use the chamber pot Ruth had left at his bedside. He fed the fire and made some coffee, but the effort of drinking it exhausted him so much that he fell back asleep.

When Noah woke again, he smelled something wonderful. His stomach growled. He was definitely better.

His shirt was ruined, he couldn't find his pants, and his extra clothes resided in his saddlebags, which must be out in the barn with Dog. Since the heavenly smell of food had to have been through Ruth's efforts, Noah didn't think it prudent to walk into the kitchen naked, as he had earlier. Especially after the incident last night, or had that been early this morning?

He couldn't remember when, but he certainly remembered what and how. Despite his mortification over kissing Ruth, touching Ruth, wanting Ruth, his sleeping mind had not been similarly embarrassed. When he had fallen asleep the second time, he had dreamed of her in ways he never had before and never should again.

Noah struggled out of bed and wrapped the bedsheet around his hips. A few short steps to the kitchen and he found Ruth stirring a pot on the stove.

She still wore her holiday best—a frilly concoction of pale yellow silk. Though the dress did not suit her, appeared in fact as if it belonged on someone else, her hair had loosened from whatever style she'd worn that day, and tendrils curled about her face wildly. With her hair like that, she reminded Noah of the child she had been. The sweet girl who had adored him. The only person who had ever said they loved him.

Of course, she hadn't known what she was saying. She'd been frightened and desperate. But he'd held those words to his heart just the same. Noah couldn't remember how many times he'd summoned the memory of Ruth when he needed a little bit of warmth in his life.

He shifted, and she glanced up. “Merry Christmas,” he murmured.

Her eyes widened, then drifted over him. He must look a sight—hair tangled and reaching to his shoulders, three days' growth of beard, bloody bandage across his belly and a sheet at his waist.

Noah tugged the sheet higher. “Couldn't find my pants.”

Her gaze, which had been on his chest, dipped lower, then flew back to his face. Her cheeks flushed, and she studiously stirred whatever was in the pot.

Merry Christmas. Couldn't find my pants.

Had he actually said that? Noah wanted to kick himself. When had he reverted to a green boy with his first woman? And why did he keep thinking in such terms about Ruth?

“I brought your bags in.” She pointed to his saddlebags in the corner of the room, then ladled soup into a bowl and crossed to the table. “You need to eat and regain your strength. I've made soup from the Christmas goose.”

Noah managed the short distance between his room and the kitchen table admirably, he thought. But it felt good to sit, even better to eat. A day earlier, he'd thought he would be the one being eaten—by coyotes, buzzards, or worse.

He'd learned long ago that a single day could make a lifetime of difference. One minute a man was flush, the next broke. One day alive, the next dead. One second alone and so very lonely, the next kissing the only person who had ever mattered.

Ruth joined him at the table, for all the world as if this were their house, their life, their love. Noah stuffed his mouth with soup before he said or did something more foolish than he already had.

“One more week and it'll be New Year's Eve.”

Noah swallowed. “Don't worry. I'll be gone by then.”

“That's not what I meant. We hold a ball that night. I thought you could attend.”

“No, I couldn't.”

“Why not?”

“I'm not the kind of man who attends balls. I'm the kind of man who tends the horses.”

“We have someone for the horses. Though father did say he was going to hire another man for the party.” Her face went dreamy. “I would so love to dance with you as the clock strikes midnight.”

The chasm between her world and his widened. “I don't know how to dance, Ruth.”

The dreamy expression faded. “What?”

“There wasn't much call for dancing in my life. Or for parties or fancy clothes, either.”

When they'd stepped on that train ten years ago, even then she'd been a little lady, and he'd been a thief. Very little had changed but their location.

“What are you saying?” She tugged on the necklace that graced her neck.

The sparkle of the stone caught his eye. Not a stone, really, but a jewel. Dark blue, not Ruth's color. What fool bought her blue jewels and yellow dresses? Someone who knew nothing about Ruth at all.

She should wear garnets about her neck and emeralds in her ears. Only silk or satin should touch her skin.

If he could buy her things, he would not purchase hues that would befit a porcelain doll, but rather the colors of Christmas. Though no cloth, however rich, could rival the fire in her hair or the evergreen shade of her eyes.

The fact that he couldn't buy her jewels, neither silk nor satin—he couldn't afford calico right now if the truth were told—made Noah angry. Ruth deserved all that she had and more, but he could only give her less and less.

“I can't come to your party,” he snapped. “I've got better things to do than dance and drink punch.”

Her lips tightened. She stood, picked up his empty bowl, and put it in the dishpan.

Noah wanted to apologize for his sharp words. But he had to keep her from dreaming or she might convince him to dream, too. Noah was a man who had no business dreaming.

Ruth stopped behind his chair. He could feel her body at his back without looking, without touching. He had never been so aware of another human being—every glance, every touch, every breath. He'd never wanted anyone so badly he burned with desire. He had to leave here as quickly as he could before he ruined her forever.

She touched his hair—one gentle weave of her fingers through the length at his neck. “Stay, Noah.”

The feelings her touch, her whisper, engendered told Noah the truth.

He had to leave before she ruined him.

***

Touching Noah soothed Ruth. With the warmth of his skin against hers, she was reassured that he was really here. This time she wasn't dreaming.

But she should have kept her mouth closed. Because as soon as she asked him to stay, he got up and moved away.

The bedsheet rode low on his hip, revealing a line where the sun had not shined. Even the natural shade of his skin was darker than the aged white of the sheet.

There were scars on his back, too. Old, thin raised lines that Ruth wanted to trace and question. But she knew better.

He hitched the sheet higher, and the play of the muscles in his back and down his arms made her mouth go dry. She wanted to touch his skin with her hands, then her mouth.

“I have to change the bandage,” she blurted out.

Noah glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. Her voice had come out low and hoarse, like those mornings when she hadn't slept all night, when the sun was too early and the world spun with dizzying brightness.

“I don't think so.”

He disappeared into his room. Ruth hurried after, arriving in the doorway just in time to see the sheet drop. Frozen, she stared at the long, naked expanse of his back, buttocks, and thighs. She'd already seen all of him, but he'd been unconscious. Somehow it wasn't the same.

Ruth's face heated, and she turned around. “I'll get the water and the bandages.”

When she reentered the room several moments later, he sat up in bed, covers pooled in his lap, arms crossed over his chest.

Ruth placed her nursing items on the chair, then sat on the bed, her hip riding close to his. Ignoring Noah's deepening scowl, she reached for the bandages.

He caught her hands. “I said no.”

Raising her gaze from his stomach to his face, she stared deeply into his eyes. “And I said yes,” she whispered.

He released her as if she were a rattlesnake; an expression akin to fear shadowed his eyes. Frowning, she brushed his hair from his cheek. He flinched.

“I'll try not to hurt you.”

“Just get it done.” He looked away, staring at the plank wall and not at her.

Ruth was confused. The promise of pain hadn't bothered him before. He'd spoken easily of digging a bullet out of his flesh. Why did he flinch now? She'd best get this done quickly. She would spare him anything she could.

Deftly, Ruth removed the old bandage, smoothed a warm cloth around the wound, and washed away any remnant of blood. From the pocket of her dress she pulled a salve Tim always used on the horses when they cut themselves on a fence or a post.

He said he'd gotten it from an Osage chief, though Ruth had her doubts. Most of the Indians had been pushed out of the way long before Kelly Creek was settled. The ones who had not left were relocated to Indian Territory.

The last full-scale uprising had been by the Sioux and Cheyenne near the end of 1868. Since Ruth had not even been in Kansas a year then, the incident had made a lasting impression on her. Especially since two young women were kidnapped from a town very much like Kelly Creek and not very far away from the same. New to the frontier, terrified of Indians, she'd found it difficult to sleep for weeks after that.

Ruth dipped her fingertips into the jar, then spread the salve along the jagged line of stitches. Noah didn't cry out, but his muscles fluttered and bunched beneath her touch. She couldn't help it; she kept touching him. His side, his ribs, his belly, soft skin and crisp hair, hard muscles and bone, unyielding but mortal. She swirled her fingers over his wound, then traced her thumb around the flat, tight dip of his belly button.

Noah grabbed her wrist and yanked it away none too gently. “What in hell is that stuff?”

“I'm not sure. But it heals the horses quickly enough.”

His eyes widened. “Horse liniment?”

“It won't kill you.”

“No, but you might,” he muttered.

She didn't understand. “I wouldn't hurt you. I only want to help you.”

Ruth tugged on her wrist, but he tightened his hold to something near painful. “You have to stop touching me, Ruth. It's wrong, and you know it.”

“How can this be wrong? Don't you feel it, too?”

“Yes, damn it.” He released her with a shove and a growl. “If you don't stop, I'll show you exactly how wrong this is.”

There were times when she caught a glimpse of the boy she'd loved lurking in his eyes. But more often than not she saw a man she did not recognize, one who frightened her a little with his hard hands, his mysterious scars, his rough words, and mercurial moods.

Noah had been in her heart for years, in her dreams, too. But in them he'd only walked back into her life. There the dream had ended. In her girlish fantasies there had been none of the awareness that set her on edge whenever she was with him and made her half-crazy with longing whenever she wasn't. Ruth had a feeling that any dreams of Noah from this point on would be quite different.

“What is
this?
” She placed her palm against his chest, and Noah's heart thudded in time with the pulse in her wrist.

He caught his breath, closed his eyes, and his face tightened. She smoothed her hand over his heated skin, across to his breastbone, then down, and down some more, her fingers tangling in the softer hair that furred his belly.

Before she could touch what she'd only gotten a hint of yesterday, he opened his eyes. “Stop it, Ruth.”

The longing in his gaze warred with the weariness in his voice. His face pale and drawn, he looked older than she knew him to be.

Ruth removed her fingers from the top of the sheet and softly touched his hair. “I'm sorry. You're tired.”

He pulled his head away. “You don't understand what you're playing with.”

Her hand, hanging bereft in the air between them, clenched. “I'm not a child, Noah. I know what I feel.”

“Lust. Plain and simple.”

He sounded so certain, and Noah should know. He'd been out in the world. He'd been a man for a long time. Still . . .

“What I feel when I touch you isn't plain, and it certainly isn't simple. I—”

“You're right.” He cut her off, a bit desperately, she thought. What did he think she'd meant to say? That she loved him?

She had. She did. She always would.

“Desire
isn't
plain or simple,” he continued. “Especially the first time you feel it.”

Ruth narrowed her eyes, unconscionably furious that he'd felt this before with someone else. What they shared was special—had been from the beginning and was only more so now.

“I'm flattered you feel this way about me, Ruth.”

“Flattered?”

She was getting angrier by the minute. He acted as if she were an ignorant child, as if he found her amusing. He behaved as if he did not feel the same way, and she knew that he did.

Oh, he might not love her, but he wanted her. She glanced down at the sheet draped over his hips. He couldn't deny that.

Noah put his hands in his lap. “We come from two different worlds—”

“No. We come from the same world. That's how we got to Kansas.”

“Even then you and I were different. I was a thief. You were a child. I came to that train on a leash, Ruth. Maybe you've forgotten that, but I never will.”

The bitterness in his voice made her pause. At the time, he hadn't seemed to care about the rope. She'd thought him proud and brave. But maybe he'd learned to hide his humiliation at a very young age.

“I haven't forgotten.” She put her hand atop his, refusing to retreat when he started. “I'm the one who set you free.”

His face, hard and angry, smoothed, then gentled. “You tried, at any rate. But there are some things a man can never be free of.”