Outlaw Hearts (32 page)

Yes, everything was fine. She would wake up and find out none of this had happened. They would have their picnic and sell their horses and Jake would win the shooting contest. They would take the hundred dollars and go home to the ranch they had built together, where they had always been so happy.

Miranda could hear the doctor talking in a loud voice somewhere outside. “Let them rest for now!” he was shouting. “You can all settle this later.”

“We'll settle it all right! And we're waiting right here until they can talk to us!”

She recognized Jack Stewart's voice. Jack owned the livery in town, had been a good friend to Jake. She did not doubt now that that friendship was over, not because Jake would want it to be, but because Jack and probably everyone else in town hated Jake for the bloodshed that had taken place this morning.

She opened her eyes, trying to gather her thoughts. What time was it? It felt like late afternoon. She had drunk a lot of laudanum before the doctor began stitching up the stab wound in her side, and she felt groggy. She raised her head to see little Lloyd sleeping soundly on the cot next to hers. Her heart ached for the child, who had been so confused and terrified by this morning's events. His little face was still stained from a mixture of dirt and tears, and there were red spots near the corners of his mouth from the cruel gag.

She closed her eyes again and took a moment to thank God that her son was still alive. It seemed a miracle that he had not been hurt in all the flying bullets, but then he had had his daddy protecting him. The whole event whirled in her mind. She could still hear the roaring guns, see the blood, hear people cry out, women scream. She could see that beautiful black stallion Jake had been so proud of, lying kicking and dying in the middle of the corral, could see Jake rolling and dodging, trying to keep his body over Lloyd's.

“Hang him right here, that's what we should do!” she heard someone shout.

Hang
him! These were people who hours earlier had called themselves friends! Didn't they care about the kind of man Jake had become? Were they so quick to judge?

Jake! He had been shot! How many times? Was he even still alive? She vaguely remembered his own cries of pain, had been too sedated to get up and go to him. My God! Had he died without her at his side? She had to find Jake! She sat up, gasping at the awful pain in her lower right side. It was an area that could not be favored. Every movement, every breath, brought the stinging agony.

She realized she wore only her drawers and a camisole. Her dress and slips had been removed so the doctor could stitch her side, and her entire middle was wrapped with gauze. Grunting with pain, she rose and pulled a blanket around her, but before she could leave the little room where she had been resting, she heard the door to the outer office close. In the next moment the doctor came into the room.

“What are you doing up?” Dr. Henderson rushed to her side.

“I have to see Jake. Is he all right?”

“He'll be fine. He's down the hall,” the man told Miranda. “You really shouldn't be walking around, Mrs. Logan. After what happened, it's a miracle you didn't lose that baby you're carrying.”

“Harkner. It's Mrs. Harkner. Everyone knows that now, Doctor, so you might as well call me that. Please, I have to see my husband. Do you have some kind of robe I can put on?”

The man sighed in resignation. “You're both pretty stubborn, aren't you?” He brought over a cotton smock for her to wear. “I took three bullets out of him, and it's a good thing you were out so you couldn't hear his yelling. He refused anything for the pain, said he
deserved
to feel it. He
wanted
to feel it. I think he wants desperately to see you and the boy and make sure you're all right, but he thinks
you
won't want to see
him
. He kept talking about how his son is afraid of him now, and he couldn't bear to see him look at him like that again.”

“I know all the things he's thinking, Doctor, heard some of his shouting when you were working on him. I should have gone to him right then—”

“I wouldn't have let you, even if you
could
have gotten off that bed. I shouldn't let you up even yet. You're liable to pass right out on me, and if you fall, you'll ruin my artwork.”

She gave him a weak smile, but her eyes filled with tears. “I'm glad you decided to come here last month. Our little town needed a doctor.”

They talked softly so as not to wake up the baby. “Well, as far as calling this ‘your' little town, I'm afraid a lot of the citizens out there don't like that idea anymore.”

“I heard.” She wiped at her eyes. “They were once our friends.”

The doctor sighed. “Well, these people aren't used to seeing what they saw today. It's true Jake had to defend himself, but all they know is that he shot down seven men, and in the process five more people died who were perfectly innocent, and two were wounded, but not badly. Joe Grant's wife is so worked up, I had to send some laudanum out for her neighbors to give her to calm her down.”

Miranda put a hand to her stomach. “Joe and Jake were close friends. I know this is hurting Jake as badly as if he had taken a bullet in the heart.” She sniffed. “Who else was killed?”

“Well, Brad Shaker, that young farmer out south of town, the one who was engaged to Tilly Boone. Herbert Hughes, a man from San Diego. We found papers on him to see who he was and we've wired San Diego to tell his relatives. Then Joe Grant, of course, and Bob Liberty, the owner of the hardware store; Larry Bates, another neighbor of yours. Luke Bradshaw and Billy Kuntz each took a bullet, but they were only flesh wounds.”

The names rang in her ears—all men they knew except for the one from San Diego. “Does Jake know all the names?”

“He knows. He must have asked me a dozen times, wanted to know if I was sure that was all. He's pretty devastated, but I don't think those people outside care.”

Miranda touched at the superficial wounds on her neck, wondering if any of them would leave a scar. They had scabbed over and stopped bleeding. “Don't they understand that none of the innocent ones were shot by Jake? It was bullets those outlaws fired that killed them. Three of them were killed deliberately when they tried to help me. That isn't Jake's fault.”

“Try to tell that to those people out there. Those men came to get Jake. They blame him for the whole thing. They don't think a man with his past should have come to Desert.”

“I wonder if they realize that Jake will blame himself much more fiercely than they ever could.” She closed her eyes against the pain of the thought. “How about Jake's wounds? Are any of them dangerous?” She spoke in a near whisper because Lloyd had stirred.

“No. The one in his hip was the deepest. He'll be walking with a cane for a while, but eventually I think he'll get back to normal. It's the kind of wound you can't really predict how it will affect him later. Things like that have a tendency to turn into arthritis and such in a man's later years. He might be limping again when he's older.”

Miranda looked over at Lloyd again. “My poor baby. I just thank God…” She choked in a sob, which only brought pain to her wound. The doctor patted her arm.

“That was the one thing Jake asked about more than anything else, that boy and you. He told me if I was lying to him that you were all right, he'd have my head.” The man turned and took a clean handkerchief from a dresser drawer. He handed it to her. “The crowd outside is talking ugly. I'm afraid the two of you won't be able to stay in Desert, Mrs. Harkner, not without a lot of trouble.”

She blew her nose lightly, unable to take deep breaths. “I know. I want to talk to Jake. Please take me to him.”

“I don't think he wants to see you, or rather face you, I should say.”

“I don't care what he wants. I know how to handle Jake.”

“Right now he's like a volcano ready to erupt, blames himself for all of this.”

“You don't have to tell me that. Please, help me to his room.”

The doctor sighed in resignation and took her arm. “He's just down the hall.” He led her out of the room and into the hallway of the small frame house he rented from a grocer in town who had built himself a bigger house. The doctor used the three bedrooms of the house as rooms for patients. Miranda felt disappointment, knowing this man would not be around to help her when her second baby came. She and Jake would have to leave Desert. She had liked Dr. Henderson. He was a middle-aged widower with a sincere desire to help others. He reminded her in many ways of her own physician father.

The portly man with graying hair and eyes just as gray helped her to another doorway and patted her arm. “He's in there.”

She breathed deeply for courage. She had a feeling it would take some clever talking to keep Jake from letting this destroy all the confidence and pride he had managed to build over the past three years. Somehow she had to find a way to keep him from blaming himself for all of it. “Leave us alone, please,” she told the doctor.

The man just shook his head, as though he felt sorry for her. “You must be one hell of a strong woman to be married to a man like that.”

“He's easy to love, once you know him and understand all the reasons behind what he's done. He's a good man, Dr. Henderson.”

The man squeezed her arm. “I'll keep an eye on your son and see what I can do about making the people waiting outside go home for now.”

Miranda blinked back more tears. “Thank you.” She opened the door to the room and looked inside to see Jake resting on his left side, his right shoulder and left forearm bandaged. He wore only his long johns, and a lump near his right hip bone told her there was a heavy bandage there too. More scars on a man who already carried too many. His eyes were dark, glowering with anger, and again she saw for a moment the old, fierce, hardened Jake. She knew that this time the anger was directed at himself.

As soon as she appeared in the doorway, he lay down on his back and covered his eyes. “Thank God you really are all right,” he said quietly. “Is Lloyd really unhurt?”

“Thanks to your quick thinking. He's fine. He's sleeping.”

“My quick thinking?” He lay there quietly for a moment. “Don't gloss it over, Randy,” he spoke up then, his voice gruff with passion and grief. “Because of me, my son could be dead, and so could you.” He let out an odd groan, as though he needed to sob but couldn't. “I wanted to be with you through your stitches and all, but the doc told me you'd be all right, and I decided you were better off not having to look at me. I heard you crying and I wanted to puke at the thought that I was the cause of all of it. I'm sorry, Randy, so goddamn sorry that I wish
I
had been killed out there.”

“Jake—”

“Just leave, Randy,” he told her. “Take the baby and just go home.”

She closed the door. “And just what do
you
intend to do?”

He opened his eyes and glared at her. “I intend to get the hell out of your lives, out of the lives of everybody in this town, in this state, for that matter. Joe Grant is
dead
because of me. I've made Hetta a widow, terrified my son, nearly got you killed. There really isn't much to talk about, is there?”

“There is plenty to talk about. We still have each other and Lloyd. I haven't lost the baby I'm carrying. We still have the farm—”

He interrupted her with a grunt of disgust. “Haven't you heard that crowd outside? They want more blood, Randy,
my
blood! We don't have any farm anymore because they'll never let us stay there. They'll run us out of town on a rail, if they don't come after me with their shotguns first and turn me in for the reward, or maybe just hang me on the spot.”

“I don't think any of them is brave enough to try to do that.”

“They wouldn't need to be brave. I'd never shoot any of these people I know.”

“I don't think they're too sure of that after what they saw this morning.
I
understand why you went back and shot the two who were still alive, Jake, but they don't.”

He grimaced as he turned back on his side to rest on his left arm again. His eyes were so dark and angry, she shivered at the pain he was feeling. “The one in the watering trough was Clarence Gaylord.”

Her blood chilled. “Clarence! He had joined up with Bill Kennedy?”

“Apparently. Kennedy probably came to Virginia City looking for me, and Clarence must have figured it might be exciting to join him—and that he'd get his revenge against us both if Kennedy ever found us.” He sank back into the cot and turned his face toward the wall. “Damn, stupid kid,” he groaned. Miranda noticed the hand he rubbed over his eyes was shaking. “I went right back to my old self today, Randy. I couldn't control that rage. I saw you lying there bleeding, heard Lloyd screaming, and I had to finish them off. If any of them had lived, they might have come back to do it again, and God only knows how many others they'd rape and kill in the meantime. The worst part is, I used to ride with them, and those people out there know it. Most people figure a man can't change, Randy, and I expect they're right. I was a goddamn fool to think life could be different for me, but it can still be different for you. It isn't too late for you to get out of this mess.”

She felt a growing alarm. “Get out of it? How?”

“You
know
how,” he almost growled. “As soon as I'm able, I'm getting the hell out of here and leaving you and Lloyd and the new baby to a life of peace.”

“Is that so?” She walked closer, hanging on to a chair to support herself. “And just where are we supposed to go? We can't stay here. And how am I supposed to support the children?”

His pain was obvious as he slowly sat up then. “There are a hundred men who would marry you in an instant.” He sat there a minute, breathing deeply against the pain, while Miranda tried to grasp what he was telling her. He reached over to the foot of the bed to get his shirt, sweat breaking out on his face from the effort. He took a thin cigar and a match from the shirt pocket.