Outlaw's Bride (8 page)

T
he sounds of hammers and saws filled the air on Saturday morning. The town had assembled in full force to work on restoring the church. Johnny, Ragan, and Judge McMann arrived a little nine o’clock.

“It will be nice to have Sunday services again.” Ragan shaded her eyes from the sun to watch the activity. Men crawled around on the rooftop, assessing the damage.

“Indeed it will. Before the day’s over, the church will be a fitting place of worship.” The judge twisted in his wheelchair to address Johnny. “Don’t you agree, son?”

Johnny shrugged. Ragan smothered a spark of irritation. She’d like to shake the indifference out of him. But it wasn’t his town, and it wasn’t his problem. She had grudgingly conceded that point. If circumstances were reversed, and she was the detained and he the keeper, she would be feeling a bit constricted.

“We could use a hand over here!” Austin Plummer called from the roof. He and two of his older boys were already soaked with perspiration.

“I’ll be glad to help!” Judge McMann called back.

Plummer grinned good-naturedly. “Come on up!”

Proctor swiveled his chair to join the effort, but a large, iron hand reached out to block him.

Johnny shook his head solemnly. “Maybe you ought to hand up nails.”

The judge’s face fell. “Oh, fiddle-faddle.” He feigned disappointment, but still, Ragan thought Proctor seemed downright smug over what he’d just accomplished. He’d gotten Johnny McAllister to respond in a positive manner.

The judge sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

Johnny rolled the chair to rest in the shade of the building. As he handed the judge a fistful of nails, Ragan overheard him say, “Your Miss Ramsey gets upset easily. Let’s not ruffle her feathers by having you climb up and down those ladders.”

Judge McMann chuckled. “You’ve noticed she flies off the handle once in a while, have you?”

The very idea! Ragan felt her cheeks grow hot. Procky would be climbing up and down ladders and all over the roof if he had his way. Then, if he didn’t kill himself by falling, she’d have to listen to him moan and groan for a week about his joints.

“Hey, McAllister!”

Johnny straightened to look up when Austin shouted his name.

The sun-browned Swede with twinkling blue eyes grinned. “Got enough work for everyone!”

Ragan joined the other women setting up long rows of food tables, but her eyes refused to leave Johnny as he scaled the ladder. The slight breeze ruffled his hair and made him look boyish. Her gaze fastened to the back of his sweat-soaked shirt, stretched over powerful shoulders. She swallowed hard. Had Johnny McAllister ever needed anyone?

On top of the roof the men gathered, hands on hips, and took stock of the damage. It was a mess, all right. It would take more than a day to repair this kind of destruction.

“The last fire took most of the old roof,” Rudolf Miller said. “The gangs have about finished it off.” He tested a section with his foot, kicking aside some broken shingles.

Miller’s fourteen-year-old son, Clayton, frowned. “Not much sense fixin’ the old thing if it’s only gonna be shot up again, Pa.”

“Well, the reverend thinks it bears fixin’, son, so we’ll repair it. Could be it’ll hold until we can afford a new one. Besides, Mercer is going to rid us of the problem.” He glanced at Johnny. “Ever hear of Lars, McAllister?”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“What do you think? Can he do the job?”

“His reputation says he can, if killing is what you’re looking for.”

“Don’t hold with killing. The Good Book says ‘thou shalt not kill,’ but unless we hire Mercer, we will
be
killed.”

“Yes,” Austin agreed with a solemn nod. “Hate the thought of violence, vile as those gangs are, but we have to protect our women and children.”

When Ragan realized others were watching her shamelessly gawk, she quickly averted her gaze, surprised at how giddy the sun made her feel. She should have worn her hat, as the judge suggested.

A tall, thin, intense-looking man joined the conversation. “Roberta’s all the time talkin’ about calling the town Paradise again. That sure would be nice. It would do us a world of good to take back our rightful name.”

The men readily agreed. Johnny McAllister contributed nothing except another nail.

Ragan could hear the men’s banter as she set dishes of food on the long, cloth-covered tables. Crisp fried chicken, biscuits, and jars of pickles, corn relish, and spiced peaches scented the thick air. Nearly every able-bodied soul in Barren Flats had turned out to help with the reconstruction.

The workers set upon the repairs as if with personal vendettas. Children worked diligently grooming the grounds. They piled debris to be burned later, and even the smallest tikes picked up tinder and hauled it away.

The clock hands inched slowly toward noon. Finally, Mazilea Lynch reached for the dinner bell and swung it in a wide arch, and the workers
quickly laid down their hammers and saws and migrated toward the food area. Children scrambled toward the tables and were taken in tow by their parents.

Ragan poured lemonade and watched Johnny, who was helping the judge fill his plate. Procky seemed to be unusually picky about his food today, and she realized with a sinking feeling that he was actually enjoying Johnny’s attention.

For a moment she struggled with a disturbing thought. Procky’s only son lived hundreds of miles from Barren Flats and rarely got home for a visit. The judge missed him terribly, and she prayed Procky wasn’t beginning to see Johnny as a substitute for Blake. That would only complicate matters and end up hurting Procky. She stole another glance at Johnny—whose thick, soft-looking hair gleamed in the sun—and realized she was the one in danger, not the judge. Their weeks together had mellowed her, and she had begun to look forward to her duties, to working with this man. She knew him well enough now to feel that when he said he wasn’t guilty of the bank robbery that he was telling the truth. Either that or he was a skillful fraud.

But when Johnny’s time was up, he’d be gone, and neither she nor the judge would ever hear from him again.

Remember that, Ragan, and don’t make me keep repeating the warning.

J
ohnny finished the last of his potato salad and leaned back against the tree trunk. Tipping his hat over his eyes, he dozed during the temporary respite. The sun was hot, and his belly was full. His mind wandered back to the day of his trial.

The crowd was tight outside the building, and they booed when Johnny came through the doorway.

“Clear the way,” the sheriff yelled, pushing bystanders aside.

A burly onlooker pressed closer as Johnny was led from the courtroom.

“McAllister.”

Johnny turned at the harsh whisper, and a man stepped in close. His eyes narrowed, and a set of rotting teeth flashed beneath a bushy red beard. An evil smile widened on the man’s ruddy features.

“You’re a dead man, McAllister.”

Puet. The man who robbed the bank. Johnny halted and turned to say something to the deputy, but the officer shoved him ahead.

“Get on,” he ordered.

Johnny stumbled and righted himself. Turning to look over his shoulder, he searched the spectators for the outlaw.

There wasn’t a person who looked remotely like him in the crowd.

J
ohnny shook his head. If Puet wanted him, he’d have to come to Paradise to get him.

“More lemonade, Mr. McAllister?” Johnny cracked an eye to find Jo Ramsey standing over him, a pitcher in her hand.

He checked a smile. He didn’t know what it was about Jo, but Ragan’s younger sister reminded him of his sister, Lara. She’d have been a few years older than Jo now. And like Jo, Lara’d be so pretty she’d steal every boy’s heart that looked her way. Pain twisted his gut, and he looked away. “I’ve had enough, thank you, Jo.”

She set the pitcher aside and smiled shyly. “Mind if I join you?”

Johnny glanced in Ragan’s direction. That probably wasn’t a good idea; he didn’t want her riled at him today. He’d rather have her smiles than those looks she could give him. “I’ll be going back to work shortly.”

The young girl’s face fell. “But not for a while.”

She looked so disappointed he didn’t have the heart to refuse her. What could a few minutes hurt? He nodded.

Flashing a quick smile, she sat down beside him. “Did you enjoy your dinner?”

“Too much,” he conceded. It would be real easy to get used to this lifestyle. Good food, clean sheets, a good-looking woman looking after him. Sweet-smelling Ragan, serving him breakfast every morning. He clamped down on that thought, hard.

His mind wandered to the one time he’d seriously thought about marrying. Her folks owned a spread next to Grandpa’s. She was young, pretty, and mad as a hornet when he rode away without asking for her hand. At the time he knew it was the right thing to do. He might have loved her. He’d at least been mighty attracted to her. Maybe he should have married her, started a family… But the shadow of Dirk Bledso covered him.

“Don’t you think, Mr. McAllister?” Jo’s question brought him back to the present. He lifted his head to meet her questioning eyes.

“Sorry, did you say something?”

“Don’t you think that a girl has the right to tell a boy that she likes him?” Morning glory blue eyes gazed adoringly at him. “Ragan says—”

“Jo!”

A flushed Ragan stood over them, her eyes snapping, a wooden spoon clutched tightly in her hand. Jo looked up at her sister expectantly. “Yes?”

“Roberta needs your help cutting desserts.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The girl obediently got up, brushing dried grass off the back of her dress. She turned and gave Johnny a smile that would melt the devil’s heart. “Thank you, Mr. McAllister. It’s been nice visiting with you.”

Ragan’s left foot tapped impatiently. “Hurry along, Jo.”

Johnny waited until the girl joined Roberta at the dessert table and was out of earshot before he turned to confront Ragan, his features taut. “I’m not going to hurt your sister.”

Crimson burned her cheeks as she thrust a plate toward him. “I brought you a piece of pecan pie.”

“No, thanks.” He thrust it back, his earlier good mood gone. She sure knew how to take the fun out of a picnic.

Expelling a deep breath, she extended the pie again, insistent that he take it. “Minnie’s real proud of her pies. Just because you don’t like me doesn’t mean you need to hurt her feelings.” She motioned toward the row of tables. “She’s watching to see if you eat it.”

Johnny mentally groaned when he saw the mayor’s wife wave at him. He didn’t have to appease Minnie Rayles by eating her pie; he was sentenced to monotony, not gluttony. He halfheartedly waved back before turning back to face Ragan. “Who said I didn’t like you?”

“You.” She sat down, setting the pie plate on his chest. She was still upset, but she never stayed mad long, just long enough to pin his ears back. A grin played at the corners of his mouth.

The smell of pecan pie drifted to him, and he sat up. He’d eat the pie. He didn’t want accusing female eyes on him all day.

“Exactly when did I say I didn’t like you?” He bit into the tender crust. How could a woman take flour and lard and nuts and come up with something that tasted so good?

“You haven’t ever specifically said it, but I know you don’t.” Ragan
pushed a damp strand of wheat-colored hair out of her eyes. He forgot the pie.

Clearly she believed what she was saying, and why wouldn’t she? He’d given her a hard time from the moment he got here. He supposed he was blaming her for his troubles, troubles she had no part in.

She sighed, her tone softer now. “I don’t blame you for being resentful. I know what you’re going through is hard, but you should understand that what I’m doing isn’t personal, it’s the program. When I caution Jo to stay away from you, I’m only concerned about her welfare. Surely you’re aware it isn’t proper for a young woman her age to—”

“Associate with the likes of me?” He took another bite of pie. “So you keep reminding me.”

“I never said that,” she contended.

His features tightened. “Yes, you have.” She said it every day in her tone, in the way she looked at him, in the suspicion in her eyes when he caught her staring. She didn’t have to say it. Her opinion of him came through loud and clear.

She shook her head. “When did I ever say such a hateful thing?”

He cut off another bite of pie. “You say it all the time without words.”

“Then I apologize. I don’t disapprove of you, Mr. McAllister. I disapprove of your ways, but I’m trying very hard to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“That’s real big of you.” It puzzled him why her respect mattered, but it did. These were good people, and he didn’t like them thinking he was a criminal. “If this is a dressing down, Miss Ramsey, I’m not getting the point. Be specific. What do you want me to do?”

“Try harder. You do what you’re told without complaint, but your heart isn’t in it.”

“You want me to like my circumstances? That will be a cold day in…”

“No,” she interrupted hastily. “I don’t expect you to like your punishment. I just want you to be more accepting of it. A year is a long time to carry a grudge against the judge and me. We’re trying to make
your sentence go as smoothly—and briefly—as possible. It will make it easier for everyone if you cooperate.”

Polishing off the last of the pie, he settled back against the tree again and rested the empty plate on his chest. She was right. So why was he resisting? These people didn’t ask for him to be here, and they’d been decent to him from the start. Other than being kept busy and staying in Barren Flats for the confines of his sentence, he had a reasonable amount of freedom. A lot more than the grave offered.

“All right.” From now on he would attempt to make the best of the situation. And he would discourage Jo’s interest in him, even though her presence brought Lara back, if only for a few minutes.

She shot him a skeptical glance. “All right, what?”

“You’re right about me not liking you. You’re headstrong, bossy, and opinionated, and you get on my nerves like a new blister.” He paused, waiting for a reaction from her.

If possible, she got even prettier when she was angry. When her chin jutted upward, he added, “But you’re only doing your job. I suppose I could try harder to get along.”

To her credit, she took the character assassination in stride, only giving him a distant smile. “Well, I’m sorry you feel that way. At first I didn’t like you either. Your annoying refusal to get involved here makes me want to slap you silly.” Color rose to her cheeks, and she took a deep breath. “But you don’t seem to be the violent sort, and you can be almost nice when you set your mind to it.” Their eyes met, and he couldn’t quite swallow his grin.

To her credit, she took the character assassination in stride, only giving him a distant smile. “Well, I’m sorry you feel that way. At first I didn’t like you either. Your annoying refusal to get involved here makes me want to slap you silly.” Color rose to her cheeks, and she took a deep breath. “But you don’t seem to be the violent sort, and you can be almost nice when you set your mind to it.” Their eyes met, and he couldn’t quite swallow his grin.

She hurriedly added, “The judge likes you. You must know that.”

“And that burns you.”

“No, but I think it could pose a problem. Procky misses his son terribly. Blake lives in Denver, and I’m afraid he doesn’t get home often.”

“You’re afraid the judge will start to think of me as Blake.”

She opened her mouth to reply and then closed it. Well, at least she knew when to stop. She looked thankful that he let it pass. He wasn’t blind; he knew the judge was lonely. Who wasn’t?

“Set your pretty head to rest, Miss Ramsey.” He closed his eyes. “I’ll make sure Judge McMann doesn’t confuse me for his son.”

“Thank you.” The relief in her voice was so blatant that it rubbed him the wrong way.

“And don’t you forget on occasion that I’m a criminal, a vile man.”

She gasped, but immediately she said snippily, “See. You’re not even trying.”

He wickedly grinned as she watched the activity going on around her. The silence stretched. He reached and pulled his hat over his face to shade the sun. “You ever get a good look at the gangs who ride through here?”

“Not often. We’re usually in the hall closet or under a table. Why?”

“Ever hear of Dirk Bledso?” The outlaw was notorious. If he and his murdering brothers had ever ridden through Barren Flats, someone would have noticed.

“It sounds familiar, but there are so many who ride through.” Ragan settled herself against the tree trunk, her brow creased in concentration. “Dirk Bledso. Isn’t he also known as the Viper?”

“That’s the one.”

“I do recall a wanted poster bearing that name. He rides with his brothers, doesn’t he?”

“Yes. How long ago did you see the poster?”

“Three—maybe four years. I remember because Papa and I talked about how vile the brothers looked.”

“Vile” didn’t begin to cover it.

Raylene Plummer fastened the ties of her apron and called to Ragan. “We could use your help, dear!”

Ragan sighed softly as though reluctant to leave.

“Thanks for the pie,” he murmured. He listened for the rustle of her skirt as Ragan stood. A moment later he felt her fingers brush against his chest as she picked up his empty plate and fork.

Tilting his hat back slightly, Johnny studied her swaying skirts as she walked away.