Outlaw Hearts (5 page)

She picked up his clothes and carried them into the main room, where she took down a wooden laundry tub and set it near the fire. She threw his clothes into the tub, poured hot water over them and added some lye soap, figuring the clothes needed a good soaking. She would scrub them and hang them out in the morning. At least that would leave the man even more helpless for the time being—not only would he not have his guns, but he wouldn't even have any clothes to put on!

Miranda stretched and arched her back in an aching weariness. There was nothing left to do now but wait for morning. She turned down the lantern. She could think of nothing more wonderful now than to sleep, but she decided not to undress. Lord knew what Jake Harkner would do if he did come around, and she had better be ready. She turned back the covers of her father's cot and lay down, ankle-high shoes and all, then pulled the covers over her. Miranda positioned the rifle beside her in such a way that she could easily raise it and fire.

Fire? After doing what she considered a damn good job of treating a man's bullet wound, could she turn around and shoot him if he came out of that bedroom and threatened her? Had she gone through all this and saved the man just to go and get the law tomorrow so they could come and hang him? Or had she unconsciously saved the man just so she could collect five thousand dollars for him instead of three thousand?

No, she knew without a doubt that she hadn't been thinking about the money at all, and deep inside she knew it would be difficult for her to turn and hand Jake Harkner over to the law. With those two things ruled out, what else was she to do, let him ride off scot-free to rob and kill and rape again?

She couldn't say why she had done what she did, why she had shot him in the first place, or why she decided to help him. Now she had no idea what she should do about Jake Harkner tomorrow. She closed her eyes and tried to make herself sleep, realizing the much-needed rest was not going to come easily. It had been a long day. It was going to be an even longer night.

Miranda saw the flash of a gun. Was it the one she was holding, or someone else's? Everyone moved slowly. A stranger turned to look at her, then reached for her. She tried to run, but her feet felt bolted to the floor. The stranger came closer. He was bleeding everywhere. He shoved a barrel out of the way to get to her, and it made a scraping sound.

It was that sound that woke her from the nightmare. She gasped and sat up, struggling to collect her thoughts as bright sunshine poured through a back window and into the main room through the bedroom doorway. The doorway! She turned to see the curtain pushed aside, and only a few feet away stood Jake Harkner, grasping the back of a chair.

Miranda grabbed up her rifle and leaped from the cot, blinking sleepy eyes in order to see better. The dream, the sound that had awakened her, the leap from her bed, had all happened in a matter of seconds. Now she knew where the sound had come from. Jake Harkner had managed to get out of bed and must have scraped the chair on the floor when he grasped it for support. Now he stood there staring at her, and she was staring back, both startled, both confused, neither saying a word. She could see Jake's body shivering, and he was breathing deeply from pain. Blood stained the gauze she had wrapped around his middle, and with his free hand he held a towel in front of his privates.

“You'd best get back in that bed,” she told him, trying to sound authoritative.

“You!” he said in a near growl. “You're the lady—”

“I'm the lady who shot you yesterday. And if you came here to kill me, your plan failed! My bullet nearly put an end to you before you could do the same to me.”

He looked around the room, back at her. “I don't understand… You
live
here?”

“That's right.” Miranda, most of her hair now hanging free of its once-neat bun from her tossing through a restless night's sleep, kept the gun steady. “How did you find out? You rode out of town before you could have known.”

Jake blinked and shook his head, wondering if he was just having a bad dream. “I
didn't
know. I just…rode till I found someplace…where I could hole up. I was going to ask…whoever lived here to—” He looked down at himself, realizing he was standing naked in front of this slip of a woman, except for the towel he managed to keep in front of himself. “Where in hell are my guns?”

“You won't be needing them.” Miranda swallowed as she watched an angry fire rise into his dark eyes.

“Where are my guns, damn it! Turn them over, or I'll come over there and take the one you're holding!”

“Will you?” Miranda noticed how pale he was. “My bet is you can't even walk across this room. If you want this gun, come and get it.”

He let out a sigh of frustration. “Look, lady…I didn't come here…to kill you. I didn't even know…this was…your place. It's just a goddamn, cruel twist of fate, but then that's my…kind of luck. Now give me my guns…and I'll get dressed…and get out of here. That's all I want.” He looked around the room again like a caged animal. “Does the law know…I'm here? Is there anybody else here? A pa? A husband?”

“Have you forgotten what that clerk told you yesterday in the store? My father was shot by marauding outlaws, men like
you
!” She lowered the rifle just a little. “The law doesn't know you're here. No one does—yet. By the time I found you last night, it was too dark for me to go for help.”

Jake looked down at himself again, still trying to wade through the confusion in his mind. “I don't understand. You shot me…but you…it looks like you tried to fix me up.” He raised his eyes to study her again. “Why? You…could have just let me lie there and die and…collected your three thousand dollars.”

“Unlike you, Mr. Harkner, I don't consider money more important than a human life, even the life of someone like you.”

Jake stared at the fragile woman who looked at that moment very capable of using the rifle. She stood there with frazzled hair, wrinkled dress, tired eyes—the rifle looking almost too big for her to handle. He wondered how long she would be able to stand there holding it in a shooting position before her slender arms got too tired to hold it up. If he were not so confused and in so much pain, the sight of her would be humorous. Ordinarily, he would laugh at something like this and find a way to lunge at the puny female and get the gun away from her, but she had him at a disadvantage, and she knew it. Damn woman. How in hell did this annoying female manage to keep moving into his path and messing up his plans?

“
Nobody
values my life, lady. I know…why you saved me. You want…the extra two thousand dollars…I'm worth alive. Well, it won't…work, because…I'm getting dressed and getting…out of here.” Why in hell did he feel so weak? He had to be strong, had to be firm with this woman. She was here alone. She ought to be easy to scare. “You won't…use that rifle on me. Not after going to…all this trouble of…fixing me up. Now you just…tell me where my guns are…my clothes. I won't…hurt you unless you force me to. I just want…to get out of here…and be on my way.”

Miranda glanced at the gauze, and saw that the bloodstain was bigger. “I don't think you'll be going anywhere, Mr. Harkner. I suggest you get back in that bed before you pass out on the floor, in which case I would never be able to get you back in the bedroom. Then how would I hide you if someone came to visit?”

Jake frowned, watching her eyes. They were pretty eyes, kind of gray and kind of blue. If not for her frazzled appearance… Yet he remembered now how pretty he had thought she was when he'd seen her yesterday. Had a whole day really gone by already? “Hide me? Why would you…do that?”

She lowered the rifle. “I don't know myself yet. I'm as confused as you are right now, but I do believe by the look on your face that you didn't come here deliberately. If that's the case, I have to think maybe the Lord sent you here for some special reason, seeing as how I'm the one who almost ended your life. Maybe he meant for me to make amends for that by helping you, and it does seem a shame to go to all the trouble of keeping you alive only to turn you over for a hanging. But that doesn't mean I won't still do it. Now get back in that bed.”

Jake wanted to argue the matter, but he knew she was right. He could feel himself growing more light-headed by the minute. If only she'd give him his damn guns. He didn't intend to use them on her, he just wanted them. The law could come by and check on her any time, and he didn't believe she'd hide him like she said she would. He started to turn, then realized she would see his bare behind when he did. Fact was, she had apparently seen everything there was to see. It made him feel doubly vulnerable. Taking a man's clothes was as bad as putting chains on him. Where was he going to go if he couldn't get dressed? It was funny and infuriating both at the same time. “I have to take a leak,” he told her, wanting to embarrass her. After all, he was embarrassed himself. He gladly watched her face redden.

“There's a covered pot in the corner of the bedroom. It's clean. Use it.” Miranda wished she could keep from blushing, knew he was trying to upset her, perhaps intimidate her. Was everything she had heard about this man true? Thank goodness he was too weak to try anything, but what about when he was stronger? If she had any sense, she would tie him up once she got him back into bed, and she would go for help.

“Your generosity…is appreciated,” he answered sarcastically. He turned, and Miranda forced back a gasp at the sight of deep red scars on the man's back, which looked as though he had been whipped. She raised the rifle again and aimed it at that back, part of her telling herself to be very, very careful; another part of her strangely touched by the things he had muttered, the scars she had seen; and yet another part of her attracted to his very masculine build, the broad shoulders and solid hips.

Jake stumbled back into the bedroom, cursing his condition, even angrier that it was because of the woman who held a rifle on him now and who still had the upper hand. How in hell had he gotten into this ridiculous situation? “Do you need any help?” he heard her asking.

“Hell, no!” he growled, only hoping he was right. It took every ounce of strength and determination he had left to tend to himself. He heard her walking about in the main room, and he hated this feeling of dependency. He was entirely at the woman's mercy, when if he had his normal strength he could break her in half—her, the same woman who had shot him in the first place! God, his gut burned, and his head ached so fiercely that he kept seeing bright flashes. Was she really serious about hiding him if someone came? Why in hell would she want to do that? He was worth five thousand dollars! What was that line she fed him about a man's life being worth more than a reward? Certainly not
his
life. The woman was either stalling him or a little bit crazy. He just couldn't figure out which.

He managed to put the lid back on the pot and stand up long enough to wrap the towel completely around his waist.

“If you're able to stand a little longer, I would like to put some clean blankets on the bed, Mr. Harkner.”

Jake turned to see her standing at the doorway. He twisted the towel so it would stay in place, then braced himself against the chest of drawers. “Go ahead.” He watched her come into the room. She avoided his eyes as she quickly jerked some blankets off the feather mattress. “What about my horse?” he asked. “He needs his saddle—”

“I tended to him last night. Once you're settled back in this bed, I'll let him and my own draft horses out to graze. There is some low ground not far from here where there is always water. They'll find it.”

He swallowed against a sudden feeling of nausea, hoping she got the bed ready before he passed out. “What if somebody sees him?”

“He won't be saddled,” she answered, turning to the trunk with the faded flowers on top and raising the lid. She took out clean blankets. “If anyone notices, I'll tell them I don't know where he belongs—that he strayed here from somewhere. It happens all the time—other farmers' horses get loose. You left town so fast yesterday, I don't think anyone even knew what kind of horse you were riding. I didn't know myself until I found him in the shed.” There was a moment of silence as she kept working.

“Where's that rifle of yours?” he asked then.

Miranda glanced up at him. The man was all power and experience. “Hidden in the other room.” She returned to tucking blankets. “I figured you were in no condition to manage to ransack a room to find it or your own guns, and I don't imagine you would even be very effective in trying to hurt me. I simply decided to take a chance on your present weakness.” She quickly remade the bed, amazed at how she was able to carry on a conversation with a killer, still wondering why she was bothering to help him. She finished and stepped back. “There. You can lie back down.”

She moved to the doorway, and Jake watched her a moment, seeing the fear then. She had let her guard down for a moment. A big, strong, naked man was standing in her bedroom, a man with a reputation as a killer and rapist. She must feel awfully vulnerable herself, he thought. He had never been in such an odd situation with a proper woman before. Why did he feel this sudden compassion for her? “Look, lady, you can believe me…or not. I didn't do…what that bounty hunter said. I have killed men…but mostly out of…self-defense…men wanting to challenge me when I'd rather be left alone. I've done a lot of wrong things…and I expect I deserve prison for it…but I've never laid a hand wrongly on a woman, never beat one, never raped one, proper…or not. Fact is…part of the trouble I'm in is…because I tried to help a woman…more than once. You don't have to be afraid of me. That's…the God's truth. All I want is to get well…and get out of here.”

Their eyes held, and in spite of the honesty in his own, Miranda told herself she was crazy to believe him. “
God
, Mr. Harkner? Do you really believe in a God?”

He winced with pain as he unsteadily walked to the bed. “Oh, I believe in him. I just…don't happen to believe he…gives a damn about me. I expect…he long ago gave directions to make sure…I go straight to hell once I die.” He grunted as he managed to lie back down, his feet again sticking out the end of the bed. “Not that most of my life…right here on earth hasn't been hell already.”

Miranda spread another blanket over him. “You said some things last night when you were in pain that make me wonder about you, Mr. Harkner. I guess curiosity is part of the reason I'm not ready to turn you over to the law.”

She opened a second blanket and spread that over the first. “Curiosity?” Jake put a hand to his aching head. “About what?”

She folded her arms and stepped back. “Who is Santana?” Miranda almost regretted the question when she saw the pain that came into his eyes. “You said her name last night, more than once.”

Jake closed his eyes. “She's just someone I knew once.”

“I think maybe you loved her.”

“And I think maybe it's none of your business.”

“While you are here under my care, and considering your reputation and the fact that I have not turned you over to Sheriff McCleave, everything about you is my business.”

“Then go ahead and get the sheriff,” he grumbled, rubbing at his eyes. “My private life is my private life.”

“Is she one of the women you tried to help once?”

“What the hell do you care!” Jake gave her the fiercest look he could muster. He hated personal questions.

Miranda stepped a little closer. “Because of the way you spoke her name. I didn't think you were a man capable of deep feelings, Mr. Harkner, but last night I saw a side of you I'm sure few people see. I guess that's the main reason I'm not sure I want to turn you in.” Did this man really kill his father? “You also spoke the word Pa, but I couldn't determine if it was with hatred or affection.”