Outlaw Hearts (23 page)

They all stood staring, and Jake leveled the shotgun. “Thanks for the information. Now get out of my way so I can get my wife a decent place to stay.”

They all hesitated. “Can you have her come out?” another one of them asked. “Just so's we can have another look?”

“No disrespect, mister,” the bearded one told Jake. “Around here we don't see many young, pretty women who ain't…you know…we don't see many proper ladies.” He removed his hat. “We just want to have a look, give your lady our apologies, that's all.”

“Forget it!”

“Jake, it's all right,” Miranda told him. “Maybe one of them knows Wes.” She climbed back into the seat, her cheeks turning crimson at the stares. Several more of them removed their hats.

“Sorry, ma'am,” the bearded man told her. He looked down and kicked at the man who still lay sprawled on his back. “Get up, Hoot, and apologize to the lady.”

The one called Hoot just groaned and rolled over. The other two men who had tried to climb onto the wagon stepped forward. “Sorry to upset you, ma'am,” one of them spoke up.

Miranda glanced at Jake, who looked ready to fire the shotgun at the slightest wrong move. She looked back at the rest of the men. “Do any of you know a Wes Baker? He came here almost two years ago from Kansas City. He has light hair and blue eyes and would be twenty-two now. He's my brother. I came here to find him.”

They all looked at each other, shaking their heads. “No, ma'am,” the bearded man answered. “Fact is, men come and go so much around here that we don't hardly ever get to know their names. Nobody really cares, I guess. A man is here today and gone tomorrow. You might have your husband there check at the mines. Most mine owners keep a list of the names of their workers.”

“Thank you.” She looked at Jake again. “Let's go, Jake.”

Jake scowled at the crowd, climbing down and keeping his shotgun in his left hand.

“Hey, mister, you a lawman or somethin'?” one of them asked. “You look like you're right good with them guns.”

“Good enough to kill any bastard who touches my wife.” It was obvious this town was packed with men from every walk of life, mostly the wrong side of life. Jake hoped he wouldn't run into anyone here who knew him. The crowd of men parted, and he moved through them and headed up the street.

“Jake, that last remark was rude. They were perfect gentlemen once they realized I was your wife.”

Jake gave Miranda a dark look. “You think anybody in a place like this cares about somebody being rude? You can't be too nice to men like that, Randy. You give them an inch and the gentlemen, as you called them, would turn right back into the animals that they are. I ought to know. I was just as bad.”

A prostitute called down to Jake then, making a lewd remark about his size and asking him to come up and show her if he was big all over. Jake glanced at her, but said nothing, and Miranda felt a burning jealousy over all the other women who had touched him. Again a lack of privacy traveling with the suppliers had kept them apart, as well as the agony of the desert and the bitter cold of the mountain storm. They were both weak and spent, Jake obviously irritable; yet the sight of the prostitute made Miranda yearn to have her husband beside her in a real bed so that she could make sure he knew she could please him as much as any of the women who hung around these streets. Most of those outside wore coats, but the one who had called out to Jake as well as a few others braved the cold just to display bare skin.

She thought how this place fit a man like Jake. If not for her, he would probably already be inside one of the saloons, raising hell along with the rest of them. She wished it was not so far into winter. A town like this could mean trouble for Jake, and it was obvious they would have to stay here now until spring. They could not risk the danger of going on to California when the worst of winter storms in the Sierras was yet to come. She wondered if there was a decent doctor in this town. She hadn't told Jake, yet, didn't want him to worry while they were traveling; but she was sure now that she was carrying his baby. She wasn't quite sure how Jake would react to the news that he might have a child of his own. Just being married and thinking about honest work to support them was still new to him. Knowing his own childhood horrors, how would he feel about being a father himself?

One thing was certain. He loved her with a great passion, would defend her with his life. She had felt sorry for the look of terror in his eyes when he thought she had cholera back in the desert. She realized she should have told him then that she was just sick because she was pregnant, but she knew that knowledge would be a great burden to him for the rest of the journey. She didn't want to be pampered, and she didn't want to tell him he would be a father until they had reached their destination and settled in, if settling in was possible in a place like this.

They made their way through more rowdy miners and gamblers and drunks, all of them taking a step back when Jake threatened them with his shotgun. When they came closer to the International, the street became quieter. The worst of the wild nightlife seemed to be behind them, and Miranda breathed a little easier. Now if they could only find a decent room, either at the hotel or the boardinghouse; warmth, a real bed, perhaps a hot bath and hot food.

They approached the boardinghouse first, neither of them aware that they were being followed by Clarence Gaylord. The crowd of men who had first surrounded them had been so confusing, and it had been just dark enough that Miranda had not noticed Clarence standing among them.

Clarence himself grinned at the realization that Miranda had not recognized him. After all, he had longer hair now, and had grown a mustache, was trying to grow a beard too, but it was a little too thin for his liking. He was shocked to see Miranda Hayes had survived, even more surprised to see her traveling with a man who called himself her husband! When in hell had she met him? And who the hell was he? He didn't remember a man who looked like that at the trading post where his uncle had left her.

He kept to the shadows to see where she would end up staying, waited several minutes while the wagon was tied in front of Mrs. Anderson's boardinghouse. Finally her husband came out and began unloading the wagon, telling Miranda he had gotten them a room. Clarence watched the man lift her down from the wagon. Just looking at her brought back all the hate he still felt for her, and he wished he could find a way to get back at her now that she was in town.

The bitch! Acting like she didn't need a man, and here she shows up married to some stranger she must have met along the trail. She had let
him
get into her easy enough! Who the hell was he, anyway, brandishing that shotgun like he did? He figured the uppity Mrs. Hayes would have married some farmer or a banker or the like. The man with her now was no ordinary man, that was sure.

He put a cigar between his lips and lit it, turning and walking away. He wore a gun himself now, knew how to gamble, had slept with lots of whores. Uncle Wilbur was near to having a heart attack over his behavior, had even come into a saloon one day to beg him to give up his sinful ways. But Uncle Wilbur didn't know how good this life was. He was damn proud of himself for what he'd learned in such a short time. Real men didn't go around preaching and abstaining. Real men knew how to take care of themselves in a place like Virginia City. They knew how to bluff at cards and hold their whiskey. They knew how to chew and spit and cuss; and they knew a woman had her place, which was underneath him in bed, begging for more.

He decided he had better get back to his work at the Silver Shoes Saloon, where he did odd jobs for the owner, unloading crates of whiskey, cleaning up the place whenever the crowd thinned out enough to allow it. He liked it there, had learned a lot from the whores and the gamblers. Mellie worked there, and he liked Mellie, although sometimes she seemed a little irritated with him. Hell, she was a whore, wasn't she? Why wouldn't she just let him sleep with her whenever he wanted? Sometimes she made him really angry, and once he'd had to punch her. He almost got fired for it, but Toby had let him stay on.

He made pretty good money, had even won some at poker; and late at night, there were always the drunks to steal from. Mellie had taught him about that. Men often passed completely out in her bed, and it was easy then to sift through their pockets, after which the bouncer in the Silver Shoes carried them out to the alley. Clarence often roamed the city at night looking for other drunks who lay in the streets or in the alleys, and in this town most men carried a good amount of money on them. It seemed like in Virginia City everybody was rich. He didn't have to steal from Uncle Wilbur's collection plate anymore, hardly ever saw the man now, and that was just fine with him.

Miranda stretched, then snuggled back into the clean blankets that covered the feather mattress. She moved against Jake's warm, naked body, luxuriating in the reality that they had found a room at this pleasant boardinghouse, a place where they could shut themselves away from the danger and the reckless life of Virginia City only a block or two away. Even with doors and windows closed, a person could hear the rowdy yells and gunfire coming from the saloons and gambling halls, as well as the rumbling explosions at the mines in the surrounding mountains; but the coziness of the boardinghouse made Miranda feel safe and protected.

The owner, Virginia Anderson, was an aging widow woman whose husband had been killed in a mining accident two years ago. In spite of the rough-and-tumble life that went on in the streets of town, the woman kept a tidy, pleasant home, renting rooms only to married couples or single men who appeared clean and respectable. Her cooking was wonderful, and everyone sat at a big table in the dining room and ate off lovely china set out on a lace tablecloth. It was as close to home as she and Jake had been, and she thought how nice it was going to be to truly have a place of their own, where she could do the cooking and the decorating.

At least for now she could get a taste of being settled again. She needed something to do here for the winter and she wanted to make this place feel as much like home as possible. Yesterday morning she had offered to help Mrs. Anderson with the cooking and baking and kitchen cleanup, and to her relief the woman had agreed, explaining that she was getting a little too old to keep up with all of it. In return for her help, she and Jake would not have to pay for their meals, and they would get two dollars a week off the cost of their room. With what they had already learned about living expenses in this silver town, and with their own money reserves getting low, Mrs. Anderson's offer was a welcome relief. It would make the winter's stay here much easier.

She turned and put an arm across Jake's middle, moved a leg over his own legs. Last night had been their third night here, and the first time both of them felt settled and rested enough to make love. They were finally beginning to get their strength back and get their bearings after the arduous journey. Once they located Wes and Jake found a job, life could be almost normal for them, except that they wouldn't have a place of their own until they reached California. By then Jake would have a son or a daughter, and they would truly be a family. Maybe Wes would want to come to California with them and help Jake build a cabin, start a ranch or a farm. She so looked forward to seeing Wes again, even though she could not quite forgive him for leaving her and their father when they both needed him most.

“I'd better go out and start looking for your brother and for a job,” Jake spoke up, as though he read her thoughts.

She raised her head and looked at him. “I wasn't sure you were awake.”

“With you crawling all over me? How can a man sleep through that?”

She smiled, and both of them relaxed in the luxury of being safe and warm and living in something that didn't have wheels. He rolled on top of her, and Miranda closed her eyes as he entered her softly, gently. She thought how they just seemed to know each other's minds sometimes, how lovemaking with him could sometimes be a desperate, grasping, urgent need; or just a gentle “good morning,” like this. They were both relaxed and warm, snuggled into the feather mattress with a down-filled blanket covering them, their body heat shielding them against the cold room, their coupling building that body heat. The potbellied stove in the corner needed stoking, but for the moment they would stoke the fires in their souls.

“I could stay right here all day,” Jake told her, kissing her eyelids.

“I wouldn't mind,” she answered. She ran her hands over his broad chest, toyed with his nipples.

Jake drew in his breath and pushed harder, wondering at how easily she could make him want her, loving her to the point of worship. What a sweet feeling it was to wake up with Miranda beside him, wanting him this way. Now that they had this place to stay and a little privacy, he could teach her all of the delicious ways of making love, show her the things she had said she wanted to learn.

He had always figured proper women like Miranda would be stiff and unsatisfying in bed, but she had surprised him with the bold offering of her body to him for his pleasure. He loved knowing she was his wife, loved possessing her, claiming her, proving to himself she really belonged to him.

She drew the life from his depths, and it seemed that each time he did this she took a little more of the old Jake Harkner away and filled him with more of the new man. He belonged to her now as much as she to him. She had made him open up to her, share his deepest horrors and ugliest memories. Somehow she had made them easier to bear. Nothing must ever be allowed to destroy what he had found with this woman, yet he feared sometimes that the destruction would come from himself and not from outside forces. Could he really do this? Could he really leave the past behind and be a proper husband for her? Hell, he had no experience with this, no background to teach him how to do it right. The only thing he had going for him was her sweet, loyal love, the passion they shared, and his own desperate need never to be without her.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead, then rolled away from her, stretching and lying on his back. “I've got to get going, find work.”

“Maybe I should go with you. After all, I know what Wes looks like.”

He tousled her hair. “No, ma'am. The best way to find him is to hit the saloons and the mines, and I won't have you seen either place. You remember what happened that first night we got here. If you want
me
to stay out of trouble, you stay right here with Mrs. Anderson and help her out like we agreed on. I've got Wes's picture. That's all I need.”

“I hate for you to be out there at all.” Miranda stroked his arm and kissed it. “Everything out there represents the old Jake. Maybe you'll go out there and never come back to me.”

He grinned. “Hell, I hope you have more faith in me than that.”

She smiled and caressed his chest. “It's the troublemakers and the prostitutes I don't trust.”

He turned to her and moved down to kiss at her breasts, then her neck. “You're more exciting than any woman I've been with, and you make it beautiful because you love me.” He kissed her lightly.

She touched his face. Was he ready for the additional responsibility he would face in a few months? “Jake, before you go, I have to tell you something. I put it off until now because I wanted to get that trip over with first. You had so much to worry about just getting us here.”

He frowned. “You saying there's something new to worry about? You think your brother is in trouble or something?”

“No, it isn't that.” She breathed deeply for strength, not quite sure what the news would mean to a man like Jake. “I'm going to have a baby, Jake. My guess is around next April you'll be a father.”

She watched him closely, saw the familiar fear fill his eyes. He sat up and looked her over, touched her belly.

“You sure?”

“I haven't had my time for three months now, ever since our wedding night. You were too tired and busy keeping us alive to notice.”

He closed his eyes and turned away, throwing back the covers and rising to pull on his long johns. “I've got to wash up.” He walked into the small, curtained-off room where a washstand and a chamber pot were kept.

Miranda waited, wondering if the news would send him running back to that old life because he was too afraid to face being a father. He emerged from the washroom, turning to pick up his shirt. She studied the scars on his back, inflicted on a small boy by a vicious man who was his own father. He pulled on the shirt and buttoned it, then stepped into his trousers. “I'm no material for being a father, Randy.” He tucked in his shirt. “I guess I knew in the back of my mind it would happen, but somehow I hoped it wouldn't.”

“Hoped?” She sat up, keeping a blanket over her breasts. “Jake, when a man and woman get married and make love, babies usually follow. It's a fact of nature. I'm sure the women you've known have ways of avoiding such things, but I don't know how to do whatever it is they do to keep from getting pregnant; and I certainly don't believe in letting quack doctors do horrible things to women to abort their babies, so I'm having this one. You're going to be a father whether you want to or not.”

He began pulling on socks and boots. “It isn't a matter of whether or not I
want
to be a father. I
can't
be one.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

He rose and walked to a nightstand where Randy had left her brother's picture. He put it into his shirt pocket and took his gun belts from a nearby chair and began strapping them on. “It means that because of my own childhood, I can't turn around and be a father to a lad of my own. What if the kid makes me mad and I hit him? What if I find out I'm just like my own pa?” he said bitterly.

She watched him tie the rawhide holster-straps around his thighs. “Jake, that's ridiculous. You would never be like that. Don't you understand? This is your chance to make up for all the terrible things your father did to you. I have no doubt in my mind that you'll make a better father than most men would, because you remember all the things you wished you had in your own father. Of course there will be times when he'll be naughty and need a spanking. That isn't the same, Jake.”

He took his sheepskin jacket from a hook on the wall and put it on. “And what if a spanking turns into something more? I'd rather shoot myself.” He put on his hat. “I figure I can handle settling and being a husband, Randy, but not a father.” He turned to the door.

“And just what do you propose we do about it, Jake? This baby is going to be born, no matter what.”

He kept his back to her. “I don't know. I need to think.”

“I love you, Jake. I want this baby to know its real father, to experience the love I know you're capable of showing him, probably more than most men.”

He hesitated at the door. “You, uh, you need a doctor or anything like that?” His voice was gruff with emotion.

She felt an anxious panic at his leaving without settling their discussion about the baby. “I don't think so, but I wouldn't mind you finding out if there
is
a real doctor in this place, so I'll have one when the baby comes.”

“Fine. I'll check it out. Between that and looking for your brother and for work, I expect I'll be gone most of the day, maybe all night. Don't worry if I don't show up.”

All night? He was running! He was scared to death and running! “Jake! Is that the only reason you might not be back? Do you think you can run from this baby by going out there and getting right back into the kind of life you used to lead, pretend this isn't happening? It
is
happening, Jake! You're going to be a father, and I know in my heart you'll be a
good
father. Don't give up trying to change at the first sign of too much responsibility. I can
help
you. We can do this together. We can make a home for our children, like the home you always wanted yourself!”

He sighed deeply and opened the door. “Get some rest.” He walked out, and Miranda slumped back into the bed, refusing to let the tears come. Surely he wouldn't go out there and get into trouble. Did he think that would make her stop loving him, make her leave him and find some other man?

You're the only man I want, Jake Harkner, the only proper father for this
baby.

She rose and pulled a blanket around herself, then walked to a window. Their room faced the street, and she parted a curtain to see Jake walking across the street. “You'll be back, Jake,” she said softly. “You'll be back because I can give you more than that life out there. You've had a taste of love and you want so much more. I'm the only one who can give it to you, me and this baby you made inside of me.”

***

Jake lit another cheroot, glancing up at the sign over the saloon that read
Silver
Shoes
. He had been in practically every saloon in town asking about Wes Baker and showing the picture. In most of the taverns, he had encountered the expected one or two men ready to challenge a newcomer, either with whiskey or cards or by bellowing about how strong they were or how good with a gun. After a second look, they had all backed down from him or decided to be friendly. Jake figured it must be the look in his eyes or the way he wore his guns, slung low, like a man who knew how to use them.

He decided it was mostly the look in his eyes. He was angry today, and he expected men could tell. His anger was not at Randy or over the baby, but at himself for just leaving the way he had, without settling what was really bothering him. Part of him wanted that baby as much as Randy did, but another part of him told him he wasn't worthy of being a father. Who was Jake Harkner to think he should deserve the honor of having a small child call him Pa? And what if that child found out the truth about its father, that he had been a killer, a man who whored and drank and gambled and raided innocent farmers; worst of all, a man who had killed his own father, the child's own grandfather!

Somewhere in the back of his mind he had considered the possibility of being a father, and every time it happened, he had not allowed himself to dwell on it, had refused to discuss it with Randy. How could he have been so stupid as to think he could put it off forever? For all his skill with his fists and guns, for all his wild daring and fearless exploits, he was a damn coward when it came to the thought of being a father. How did he know he wouldn't be just like his own father? And if the child found out about his past, just think of the shame he would see in his son or daughter's eyes. He couldn't bear that look, couldn't stand the thought of his child hating him and being ashamed of him the way he had hated and been ashamed of his own pa. And if he did turn out to be a crummy father, think what it would do to Randy. He would lose her. No woman chose a husband over a child. She would surely take the kid and leave him.