Outlaw's Bride (14 page)

J
udith Ramsey’s grave lay in a small grove of scrub oak behind Frank and Lucy Daniel’s homestead. Her son, Jacob, was on the right. Johnny stopped the wagon and helped Ragan down.

“Thank you. I won’t be long.”

“Take your time.”

He stepped to the shade and waited as she laid flowers on her grandparents’ graves, and then she moved to her mother’s mound to clear the weeds that had overtaken the simple wooden cross. Songbirds flittered in and out of the bushes. In the distance, a creek trickled peacefully along the edge of the property. The setting was so restful it was easy to see why Fulton wanted his wife and son laid to rest here.

He studied Ragan’s expression as she tidied the site with loving devotion, and he thought of his own mother’s grave, abandoned now. No one was left to bring her flowers or clear away weeds. Grandpa was gone, and he hadn’t been home in years. If he ever made it back, he promised himself he would cover his parents’ graves with flowers. And the little girls’ too. He’d buy all the flowers they deserved.

“I’m guessing you and your mother were close?”

Ragan got to her feet and brushed the grass off her skirt. “I suppose we were. I was her firstborn, so I had to help out more than the other girls did.” She wiped her forehead with her sleeve. The air was close, as if it might storm, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. “I didn’t mind, but sometimes I feel like I never had a childhood.”

And not much of a life now. Johnny had heard the whispers around town, the well-meaning but careless remarks the women directed at her. Old maid? He found himself tensing when he heard the insinuations. Ragan outshone every woman in Barren Flats, and she should be applauded because she chose to accept responsibility for her father and younger siblings. Instead, the town hens reveled in discussing poor Ragan and her impossible situation.

“What about you? Are you close to your mother?” She returned to pulling weeds around the other graves.

Squatting on his haunches, he watched her work. “I don’t have any family.”

She yanked a particularly stubborn yucca root. “Everyone has family at one time or another. You didn’t just appear on earth one day a full-grown man, did you?”

“Could be.”

She turned to look at him. He tried to stop the slow grin that threatened to reveal itself.

“You most certainly did not appear from nowhere, so you have a mother.” Sitting back on her heels, she faced him.

“Had a mother.”

She waited.

“She’s dead.”

Ragan’s smile faded. “I’m sorry. She must have been very young.”

Nodding, he stood up. “Too young to die.”

“John.” It was the first time she’d ever called him by his given name.

“Yes?”

Her insistent gaze met his. “Did you rob that bank?”

Their gazes held. “Do you think I did?”

“I think you didn’t. I might be a fool, but I don’t believe you committed the crime.”

He could tell her the truth, but then that would make him more vulnerable to her. “Well, I heard folks say you’re a fine judge of people.”

He turned away while she resumed her work, tugging another clump of weeds and tossing them aside. “Where’s your father?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“You don’t talk enough.” Getting to her feet, she dusted her hands. “There, now. That looks better, wouldn’t you say?”

“A grave’s a grave.” He’d never seen one to brag about yet. He checked the sun. He didn’t want to rush her, but it wouldn’t be smart to travel after dark. “Only a couple of hours of daylight left.”

“I’m through. Just let me say goodbye to Mama and Jacob.”

He stepped aside as she turned back to the graves. Though she spoke softly, he caught snatches of her one-sided conversation.

“Papa’s not doing so good…put up green beans this morning…Jo’s growing like ragweed…miss you both more than I can…”

When she returned to the wagon a few minutes later, he helped her aboard. Their clothing brushed, and he moved away. As the wagon rolled from the gravesides, Ragan kept her eyes fixed on the road.

“Thank you for bringing me,” she said quietly.

He kept his eyes trained on the trail as well. “You’re welcome.”

It had been a pleasant outing, Johnny decided. No harm in a man enjoying a pretty woman’s company, as long as he didn’t forget his purpose.

He kept to the back roads, as they had on the way there. Although he was accustomed to keeping his opinions to himself, Ragan’s tendency for chatter drew him into a spirited discussion. The debate involved dogs and skunks. What was worse? A wet dog or a passing skunk?

“Dog,” Ragan said. “The absolute worst.”

“Skunk. Apparently you’ve never taken a direct hit from one.”

“Absolutely not. Have you?”

“Once. One caught me while I was taking a bath. My clothes were high up on the bank, and the varmint decided to sit down and watch me. “The da—” He caught his language. “That old meany kept me pinned to the water for three hours.”

Ragan giggled.

He had become creative in his choice of expletives; he hoped she’d noticed. He felt like a fool talking like a sissy, but then he’d noticed he could get his point across just as easily without vile language. When
had he picked up the habit? Over the years, on the trail, around men who lived as though there wouldn’t be a Day of Judgment. Living with Grandpa had convinced him there was a mighty God. Over the years he’d just let the knowledge slide by, bent on his own judgments.

“By then the sun had gone down, and I was chilled to the bone. I decided to take my chances and climb out of the river. When I did, the skunk turned away from me, pointed his tail to the sky, and got me. And my clothes. And my horse.”

He glanced over when she burst into laughter. “You think that’s funny? It took me three weeks to get the smell out of my bedroll. The horse smelled so bad we—”

They looked up as four masked riders darted out of the bushes and galloped headlong toward them.

“I thought no one knew about this road.”

“Papa and I never met anyone along here before.”

Brandishing a gun, the leader motioned for Johnny to pull over.

Ragan pressed against his side, fear evident in her strained features.

“Let me do the talking,” he warned as the bandits approached.

She nodded, huddling closer.

Without a weapon, there wasn’t going to be a fight. He let the wagon roll to a gradual halt. He had no way to defend her or himself.

The men closed in, pistols drawn. “Put your hands where we can see them!” the leader ordered.

Ragan’s arms obediently shot over her head. Johnny lifted his more slowly. “We’re not carrying any money.”

Climbing off his horse, one of the men approached. Time stopped as Johnny came face-to-face with a red bushy beard partially concealed beneath a dirty bandanna—the outlaw from the bank robbery. Recognition turned to perverse humor in the dark eyes that stared back at him.

It would have been easy for Puet to find out where Judge Leonard had sent him. The outlaw was probably convinced that Johnny either had the bank money bag or that he knew where it was, and he’d tracked him to Barren Flats to get it.

“Well, well, well.” Puet leaned across Ragan and rested the barrel of
his pistol against Johnny’s temple. The gunman’s stench was worse than his taste in company. “Who do we have here? McAllister, isn’t it?”

“We aren’t carrying any money,” Johnny repeated, lowering his hands.

“No?” The gun dug into his temple. “Why, I’d swear you look like a man of means.” He slid his mask off.

Johnny’s face remained expressionless. Ragan whimpered, and he quenched the urge to reach for her hand. He doubted the man would pull the trigger, not with the money bag missing, but he wasn’t a fool.

“I don’t have your money,” he repeated.

“No?” The man’s fetid breath was hot and potent. His lizard-like gaze darted to Ragan. She inched closer, molding against Johnny’s side.

“Johnny?” she murmured.

“Easy,” he said. The gun was still pointed at his brain; he couldn’t afford any unexpected moves. “They aren’t going to hurt you.” Her hand slipped into his. He held it, tightening his grip. She trembled beneath his touch.

The man’s eyes slid insolently over her. “Afraid for your man, honey?” he mocked.

She glared at him, and he casually switched the barrel of the gun to her temple.

She clamped her eyes shut. “Our Father, who art in heaven…”

“Shut up!”

She closed her mouth.

Johnny calmly pivoted the barrel back to his own temple and met the leader’s eyes. “The lady’s nervous with a gun in her face. If you want to shoot someone, shoot me.”

The gunman lowered the pistol, a smile lighting his eyes. “Now, why would I want to shoot you?”

Johnny stared back at him.

The gang was restless. One man glanced over his shoulder, and another rode back and forth beside the wagon. “Come on, Puet. Stop foolin’ around. He ain’t got the money. Let’s take the woman and get out of here.”

Keep your head, McAllister.
Ragan’s only chance was for him to convince the men they were welcome to her.

“Good idea.” The leader’s reptilian eyes shifted to Ragan. He ran his tongue over his dry lips. “We’ll take the woman.” He tapped Johnny’s shoulder with the barrel of the gun. “Any objections, McAllister?”

“Take her. She means nothing to me. I was just delivering her to Judge McMann’s house.”

Ragan’s gasp cut through the charged silence. She sat up straight, jerking her hand out of his.

The smile was still evident in the leader’s eyes. “Take her?”

“Take her. I’ll keep the money.” If the bluff failed, both he and Ragan were dead, because there was no way he would let them have her—not without a fight. Sweat trickled down Johnny’s collar and ran between his shoulder blades.

The man’s eyes narrowed and then turned deadly. “Where’s the money, McAllister?”

Johnny met his stare. “Take the woman, Puet, and we’ll call it even.”

“Johnny.” Ragan’s eyes went from one man to the other. “Do you know this…this vile animal?” Disappointment choked her voice.

The gun clicked, and Ragan whimpered. “Please don’t shoot him. Take me.”

“Take her.” Johnny smiled.

“You’re bluffin’, McAllister.”

Johnny shrugged. “Try me.”

Puet reached over and jerked Ragan to him. Grinning, he pulled her close, grinding his foul mouth into hers. She fought, struggling to break his hold.

A vein throbbed in Johnny’s neck.

When the gunman shoved her back, she fell against the wagon seat. She met Johnny’s eyes and then looked away. Her look of betrayal cut him.

The rest of the men moved closer, bunching their horses to vie for space. “Take her, Puet. We don’t need the money.” They slid from their horses and approached the wagon, their eyes focused on Ragan.

Puet eyed Johnny. “Whatta ya say, McAllister? Can my men enjoy your lady’s company? She’s a fine lookin’ filly.”

Johnny held tight; he had no choice but to play his hand out. “Go ahead, gentleman. Like I said, she means nothing to me.”

Color crept up Puet’s neck. “You’re bluffing, McAllister.”

“You heard the verdict. I saw you in the crowd that day. I’m her prisoner. Why would I care what happens to her? You’ll have a woman, and I have the cash.” Johnny leaned back. “Fair trade.” If there was a God, Johnny hoped he was watching. Ragan was innocent. He’d put her in this spot and he knew no other way to get her out.

The gang exchanged skeptical looks. Puet rammed the gun against Johnny’s throat. “Tell us what you did with the bank money, McAllister!”

Lunging, Johnny knocked the bandit off balance. With lightning swiftness, he reached for the whip. Swinging it above his head, he brought it down on the four horses standing to the left. The animals bolted, breaking for the underbrush. The wagon shot ahead, pitching the highwaymen to the ground. They scrambled to gain their footing as the buckboard shot off through the thicket.

“There are some old mining shafts about a mile up the road!”

“Which way?”

“To the left! There’s one particular one with a hole big enough for the rig, but it won’t go all the way through the shaft!”