The Angel and the Outlaw (12 page)

A short time later, the lawmen were bedded down for the night, all but Hawkins. After bidding Brandy a goodnight, he went to sit by the fire to take the first watch.

They left early the following morning after a quick breakfast of bacon, beans, and coffee.

“Our camp’s about half a day’s ride back,” Hawkins said as he helped Brandy mount her horse. “You let me know if you get tired, or need to stop for…” He cleared his throat. “If you need to stop.”

“I will, thank you,” Brandy replied. She glanced over her shoulder as she clucked to the pinto. J.T. sat astride his horse, his expression implacable, as one of the lawmen took up the bay’s reins and fell in behind Hawkins.

The lawmen rode warily, and Brandy remembered what Hawkins had said about seeing Indian sign. No doubt J.T. would welcome a Lakota war party about now, she thought. And though she’d hate for anything to happen to Hawkins and his men, she couldn’t help but think running into a few Indians might be the answer to their predicament.

She glanced back at J.T. from time to time, but he refused to meet her gaze.

They reached the lawman’s camp late that afternoon. Brandy took it all in at a glance. There were three prisoners, each one shackled to a wagon wheel.

It took only a matter of minutes for the deputies to break camp. Brandy felt a twinge of guilt as she watched J.T. climb into the back of the wagon with the other prisoners. If she’d stayed with the Crow, this never would have happened.

Lost in thought, she was hardly aware of the passing miles. They were going to send J.T. back to Cedar Ridge to hang. Again. Occasionally, she caught sight of J.T.’s face. His eyes were dark, unfathomable.

It was near dark when the wagon came to a halt.

“Miss Talavera?”

Brandy stared down at Hawkins. He was standing beside her horse, his arms raised to assist her.

“Thank you,” she murmured absently.

Sitting on a rock, she watched the lawmen set up camp. Moments later, each prisoner was shackled to one of the wagon wheels.

There was little conversation as the lawmen set up camp, laying a fire, spreading their bedrolls, preparing the evening meal. It was obvious they’d done it all before, many times. Brandy sat a little apart from the men, positioning herself where she could see J.T.. He sat with his back against the wheel, his right hand shackled behind him. She noticed that he ate very little. She listened to the men as they talked about outlaws they had captured, about their wives and children and plans for the future. Gradually, the fire burned down and the men sought their bedrolls.

Hawkins spread her blankets beside the dwindling fire and bid her goodnight.

A short time later, everyone had settled down for the night save for the deputy who stood guard in the shadows.

Brandy rolled over on her stomach and stared at J.T.. He was sitting with his back against the wheel, his legs drawn up, his free arm resting across his knees. In the dim light of the moon, she could see his face. It was hard and set, like something carved in stone.

She watched him for a long time, hoping he would look at her, acknowledge her presence in some way, but he only stared into the darkness, his thoughts obviously far away.

She didn’t remember falling asleep, but she came awake with a start, instantly recognizing the sound that had aroused her. J.T. was moaning softly. Sitting up, she saw that he was thrashing about in his blankets. She heard him mumble, “No, not again! Gideon! Gideon, where the hell are you?”

Brandy glanced around. The prisoners and lawmen were all snoring softly; even the guard seemed to be asleep.

A low agonized groan reached her ears, and her heart. Unable to watch J.T.’s torment a moment longer, she hurried to his side.

“J.T.. J.T., wake up.” She shook his shoulder lightly. “J.T..”

He came awake with a start, his dark eyes wild.

“It’s all right,” Brandy murmured, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “It’s just a bad dream.”

He covered her hand with his, as though to make sure she was real. “Dammit, Brandy, I can’t go through that again,” he murmured, his voice so filled with anguish it broke her heart. “I wish they’d just shoot me and be done with it.”

“No!” she exclaimed softly. “Don’t even think such a thing.”

“Why? You don’t need me. Seems you’ve made quite a conquest with Hawkins.”

“Is that what’s bothering you, why you refused to look at me all day? Because you think I’ve been flirting with Hawkins?”

“Haven’t you?”

“Of course not! I just thought we’d have a better chance of getting away if he thought there was nothing between us.”

J.T. snorted softly. “Barring a miracle, I don’t have a chance in hell of getting out of this with a whole skin.”

“Then I’ll pray for a miracle.”

Unable to help himself, J.T. brushed his knuckles over the curve of her cheek. He wasn’t going back to Cedar Ridge. Tomorrow or the next day, whenever the opportunity presented itself, he’d make a break for it. If he was lucky, they’d kill him. A bullet, at least, would be merciful.

“J.T…” She shook her head, as if she knew what he was thinking.

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever known. Like a rose washed in the rain and kissed by the sunlight, she smelled clean and fresh. Her eyes were damp with unshed tears. The sight made his heart ache. No one had ever cried for him. His gaze moved to her lips. Warm. Soft. Inviting. Surely even a man of his ilk deserved one last kiss.

Leaning forward, he cupped her head with his free hand, then pressed his lips to hers. She moaned softly as her eyelids fluttered down, and then she was kissing him back, her lips parting in silent invitation, her hands curving over his shoulders.

She was honey and fire and wishes that would never come true. His fingers threaded through her hair to lightly massage her nape. He felt her hands tighten on his shoulders, heard the soft sounds of pleasure that rose in her throat as she scooted closer to him. His tongue traced the outline of her mouth, slid along the damp satin of her lower lip. He wrapped his arm around her and drew her closer, his hand skimming her back, her shoulder, the curve of her breast. It was the sweetest torture he’d ever known. Time and place were forgotten as Brandy’s hands drifted down his arms, then slid under his shirt to explore his chest.

“Brandy.”

Her eyelids fluttered open and she gazed up at him. Her eyes were as gray as storm clouds, turbulent with desire. “Kiss me, J.T.,” she murmured breathlessly. “Kiss me again, and don’t ever stop.”

He bent his head toward her, his only thought to do as she’d asked when he heard a muffled footstep. Mouthing a curse, he jerked his arm from around her waist.

Brandy stared at him, confused by the sudden belligerent expression on his face, and then she heard it, too, footsteps approaching from the far side of the wagon.

Quick as a wink, she ran for her bedroll and scooted under the covers.

“What’s going on? I thought I heard a noise.”

J.T. looked up at Deputy Hawkins. “I didn’t hear anything.”

Hawkins glanced over at Brandy, his gaze lingering a little too long as far as J.T. was concerned. “Why’d you kidnap Miss Talavera?”

“I don’t see as how that’s any of your business,” J.T. replied flatly.

“Maybe, maybe not, but when we reach Rawlins, I intend to make her my business.”

J.T. clenched his fists as he fought down the urge to tell Martin Hawkins to go to hell. It might not be wise to let any of the lawmen know just how deeply he cared for Brandy.

It wasn’t something J.T. wanted to admit to himself, either.

* * * * *

Brandy rode alongside Deputy Hawkins, only half listening as he told her about the house he was planning to build in Rawlins.

It was a wild, hard town now, he remarked, a jumping-off place for the stage coaches and wagon trains bound for the gold fields to the northwest. But it was home, and he felt the place was bound to settle down sooner or later.

Brandy nodded, her attention focused on the wagon rumbling along ahead of them. Through the swirling dust, she could see J.T. sitting on the hard plank bench beside one of the other prisoners, his shackled hands dangling between his knees, his head bowed, his jaw roughened by the beginnings of a beard. He looked thoroughly discouraged, but who could blame him?

He glanced up then, his gaze meeting hers, his eyes dark, empty of hope.

Her lips formed his name, though she did not speak it aloud.

Abruptly, she realized that Hawkins had said something and she had no idea what it was.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “what was that you said?”

“I said I’d see about getting you some decent clothes when we get to Rawlins.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“Is there any chance that you might stay a while?”

“I don’t know,” Brandy replied. She glanced at J.T. again. “I’m anxious to get back home.”

“Of course, but…” He smiled at her, a faint flush creeping into his cheeks. “I’d be obliged to have a chance to get to know you better, Miss Talavera.”

Brandy dragged her gaze from J.T.’s face and stared at the lawman. He was a handsome young man, with light brown hair and dark blue eyes. There was a dimple in his left cheek that gave him an oddly boyish look when he smiled.

“Deputy Hawkins, I don’t know what to say. Naturally, I’m flattered by your interest.”

“I didn’t mean to presume…”

“It’s all right, Deputy Hawkins.”

“Please, call me Martin.”

“And you must call me Brandy.”

He smiled at her again. He smiled readily, openly, she thought, whereas J.T. rarely smiled. Ah, but when he did, it was like seeing the sun after a violent storm.

Hawkins engaged Brandy in idle conversation throughout the day. The wagon made a lunch stop at noon, and then they were riding again. Brandy yearned for a chance to talk to J.T., but Hawkins was ever at her side, inquiring if she needed to rest, if she wanted a drink of water, when all she wanted was be alone with J.T., to assure him that, somehow, everything would be all right.

They made camp at dusk. J.T. felt his whole body tense as one of the lawmen turned the key in the lock, opened the wagon door and ordered the prisoners out.

He sat where he was told, let them shackle his right hand to the wagon wheel, ate the bacon and beans they served him. And every act of obedience fueled his anger even as he told himself it was necessary—necessary to be submissive, to let them think he was resigned to his fate.

Later, the lawmen took the prisoners out into the dark one by one so they could relieve themselves, and then the prisoners were handcuffed to the wagon’s wheels for the night.

They took J.T. last. He stared into the darkness, quietly cursing the shackles that rattled with his every move. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see the two guards standing a few yards away, their heads together as they shared a cigarette. The temptation to run was strong within him, but now wasn’t the time, he decided, not with two armed lawmen watching his every move, and four more standing near the fire. He wanted his freedom or a quick death. He didn’t want to be wounded. And he sure as hell wouldn’t get far on foot.

J.T. swore under his breath when one of the deputies—Lockwood, he thought the man’s name was—ordered him back to camp. Moments later, his right wrist was shackled to one of the wagon wheels. A wave of humiliation washed over him when he saw Brandy watching him. He’d seen the compassion in her eyes earlier in the day, knew she was feeling sorry for him. He didn’t want her pity, didn’t want her to see him like this, chained up like a damn dog. Jaw rigid, he stared into the flames. But try as he might, he couldn’t ignore her presence across the way.

He was equally aware of the fact that Deputy Martin Hawkins could hardly keep his eyes off her. The man hadn’t been more than an arm’s length away from Brandy all day. The knowledge that Hawkins could talk to her, touch her, ride at her side, gnawed at J.T.’s guts.

He looked up just as Hawkins sat down beside Brandy and offered her a cup of coffee. He didn’t miss the easy smile that passed between them.

He told himself he had no reason to be jealous. They had shared a few kisses, nothing more. The fact that she had tended his wounds and soothed him when the bad dreams came didn’t mean a thing. No doubt she would have done as much for any other man, especially if she believed that man to be her only way back to her own time. And yet he couldn’t ignore the fires of jealousy that raged in his heart every time she looked at Hawkins. Hands clenched into painful fists, he stared at her, hating her, wanting her. Needing her.

Brandy drew her gaze from J.T. as Hawkins sat down beside her. Somehow, she had to find a way to help J.T. escape. At the moment, the only thing she could think of was to pretend she was glad she’d been rescued. As long as they thought she was happy to be out of J.T.’s clutches, they probably wouldn’t watch her too closely. With luck, she might be able to get hold of a gun. She didn’t let herself think beyond that, didn’t dwell on the violence that was likely to erupt once J.T. was armed. Brandy smiled at Hawkins as he handed her a plate of bacon and beans. Of all the lawmen, he treated her with the most respect. The other men looked at her with obvious disdain. They thought of her as nothing more than a squaw, good for one thing, and one thing only. The thought filled her with quiet fury even as she tried to tell herself it didn’t matter what they thought.

With a grimace, she stared at the greasy bacon and beans in the tin plate on her lap. How could the men eat this slop night after night? She didn’t mind sleeping on the hard ground. She could live with the fact that she didn’t have a change of clothes, that she couldn’t brush her teeth or take a bath, that she had to relive herself behind a bush, but she sorely missed the luxury of a decent meal and a good cup of coffee, liberally laced with cream and sugar. She also missed hot running water, she mused. And lipstick, and hand cream. And Reeboks and jeans.

And her parents. And her home. And her pets… With a sniff, she locked those memories in a corner of her mind, knowing if she let herself dwell on all she’d lost, she soon be an emotional wreck.

Later, snug in her blankets, she let herself look over at J.T.. He was sitting with his back against the wheel. She couldn’t see his face in the darkness, but she knew somehow that he wasn’t asleep, that he was watching her, as she was watching him.

Somehow, she thought, somehow she had to find a way to help him escape before it was too late.

* * * * *

One of the wagon horses pulled up lame late the following afternoon. Lockwood turned the prisoners loose to stretch their legs while the driver checked the team. Hawkins and another deputy rode ahead in hopes of finding some fresh meat.

J.T. sat a little apart from the other prisoners, pondering the wisdom of trying to make a break for it. If he could just get his hands on a gun… He glanced at Brandy. If he made a run for it, he’d have to leave her behind. Casually, he looked around. Three of the lawmen were playing blackjack. The driver was examining one of the horses. Lockwood was leering at Brandy.

J.T.’s hands curled into fists as he watched the lawman saunter over to where Brandy was sitting.

“So, you’re a teacher,” Lockwood remarked. “Maybe you could teach me a thing or two.”

“Like manners, perhaps?” Brandy replied scathingly.

“No need to get uppity, girly.” He leered down at her, his hand caressing her arm, his fingertips brushing against her breast. “Maybe we can teach each other.”

“Get your hands off me.”

“Come on, gal, you put out for that thievin’ renegade.”

Brandy stared up at Lockwood, too angry for words.

“Come on,” Lockwood urged. He took Brandy by the arm and pulled her to her feet. “Just give me a few minutes, honey,” he drawled, jerking her up against him.

With a wordless cry, Brandy slapped him across the face.

Lockwood took a step backward, his face dark with rage as he slapped her back.

Muttering an oath, J.T. hurled himself at Lockwood, knocking the deputy off his feet. And then J.T. was on him, his shackled hands reaching for Lockwood’s throat.

Brandy screamed as the two men began to fight, afraid that J.T. might kill Lockwood, and more afraid that Lockwood would kill him.

Her cry drew the other deputies, who quickly ran forward and pulled the two men apart.

“What the hell’s going on?” one of the lawmen asked.

“You blind, Keenan? The man attacked me, that’s what’s going on,” Lockwood replied, rubbing his jaw. He glared at J.T.. “Just hold him right there.”

“Hawkins won’t like it,” Keenan said.

“Tough.” Lockwood smiled as he pulled on a pair of gloves.

“What are you going to do?” Brandy asked, alarmed.

“Keep her out of this,” Lockwood snapped.

“You’d best do as he says, miss,” Keenan warned.

Brandy stared at Keenan in disbelief. ”You don’t mean to just stand there and let him beat one of your prisoners?”

Keenan shrugged as he took hold of Brandy’s arm. “The ’breed asked for it.”

Helpless, she watched as Lockwood began to hit J.T., striking him in the face, the chest, the belly. The sound of Lockwood’s gloved hands striking J.T. made her insides churn.

“Stop it,” she begged, but to no avail. The deputy’s blows landed with the precision of a machine, callously inflicting pain, opening a shallow cut above J.T.’s left eye, and another across his right cheek.

She heard J.T. grunt as Lockwood’s fists continued to pummel his body. “That’s enough!” she cried, unable to bear his pain a moment longer, sickened by the blood dripping from his face.

“She’s right,” Keenan said.

Lockwood nodded. He looked immensely pleased with himself, Brandy thought.

The two deputies holding J.T. released him, and he dropped to his knees, his head hanging, his breathing ragged.

Lockwood grinned at Brandy. “Now, about you and me.”

“Don’t touch her.” J.T. forced the words through clenched teeth.

“Damn,” Lockwood exclaimed, “ain’t you learned your lesson yet?”

J.T. didn’t look up. It hurt to breathe, to think. He could feel his left eye swelling shut. There was blood dripping from his nose; he could taste it in his mouth. “Keep your hands off her.”

“She ain’t nothing but a squaw. Anyway, it ain’t none of your business, what goes on between me and her.”

J.T. spit the blood from his mouth. “She’s a decent woman,” he said, his voice hoarse, “and too good for the likes of you.”

Lockwood flushed. “Why, you dirty sonofa….”

“What’s going on here?”

Brandy glanced over her shoulder to see the wagon driver walking toward them.

Keenan shrugged. “Cutter attacked Lockwood.”

“So Lockwood beat the shit out of him,” added one of the deputies who had held J.T..

“That right, Lockwood?” the driver asked.

“Yeah. You got a problem with that, Quint?”

“Damn right. Go get some wood for a fire. I’ll take care of things here.”

Lockwood scowled at Quint, then stalked off.

“You all right, Cutter?” Quint asked.

“Get the hell away from me.”

“I’ll need to look after those cuts.”

“Go to hell.”

“Excuse me, deputy,” Brandy said quietly, “but maybe he’ll let me look after his injuries.”

“Suit yourself, lady.” Quint handed Brandy a canteen and a strip of cloth. “Be careful. If he tries anything, give a holler.”

“I will.”

The lawmen went back to what they’d been doing, leaving Brandy to look after J.T..

“Why’d you do it?” she asked, kneeling in front of him.

J.T. looked up, his expression hardening when he saw the ugly bruise on Brandy’s cheek. “Why do you think?”

She gazed into his eyes, her heart swelling with tenderness. Like a knight in shining armor, he had come to her rescue.

Throat choked with emotion, she soaked the rag in water and began to clean the blood from his face. He was an outlaw. He was supposed to be a hard man, one who cared for nothing and no one, yet he had come to her defense even when his hands were shackled and he had no way of really protecting her. And what had he gotten for his act of heroism? A terrible beating.

When she’d wiped the blood from J.T.’s face, she rinsed the cloth, then laid it over his left eye in hopes of alleviating the swelling.

“Best use that rag on yourself,” he muttered.

“I’m all right,” Brandy said, lifting a hand to her throbbing cheek. It hurt like blazes, but it was nothing compared to the nasty cut over J.T.’s eye.

J.T. watched Brandy’s face as she cared for his injuries, touched by her concern. She had winced each time he did, making his pain hers. And he loved her for it. He loved her. The thought hit him harder than Lockwood’s fists.

Brandy sat back, her head cocked to one side. He was going to have a heck of a shiner. “Do you think anything’s broken?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry, J.T..”

“It’s not your fault.” He glanced around the camp, then took one of Brandy’s hands in his. “I’ve got to get away from here,” he said urgently.

“I know. I’ve tried and tried to think of a way, but it seems impossible. Even if I could get hold of a gun, we’d still be outnumbered seven to two.” She shook her head. “The odds are too long, J.T..”

“I’m willing to take that chance,” he said, then frowned. “What do you mean, we?”

“You don’t expect me to stay here, do you?”

“Damn right. The driver keeps an extra pistol under the seat of the wagon. See if you can get hold of it tonight, then slip it to me tomorrow when they pull up for dinner. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“It’s too dangerous…”

“Dammit, Brandy, I’m not going back to Cedar Ridge. Now, are you gonna help me or not?”

“All right, J.T..”

She was offering J.T. a drink from the canteen when Martin Hawkins rode up, a deer slung over his horse’s withers.

“What the hell happened here?” Hawkins demanded.

J.T. sat back, his expression impassive, as Brandy related what had taken place.

“It won’t happen again,” Hawkins said tersely. “Quint, how’s that horse?”

“She picked up a stone. Should be fine by tomorrow.”

Hawkins nodded. “All right, we’ll rest here for tonight.”

J.T. remained awake long after everyone else had gone to bed. His face hurt, his ribs ached. He swore under his breath as he glared at the chain that bound his right arm to the wagon wheel. Wild animals had been known to chew off a foot in order to escape a trap. He knew just how they felt and thought he might willingly sacrifice a hand to obtain his freedom.

Heaving a sigh, he gazed up at the night sky. “A year, Gideon.” Closing his eyes, J.T. rested his head against the wagon wheel. “You promised me a year,” he muttered. “Hell of a thing, when even angels can’t be trusted.”

Don’t lose faith in me yet, J.T. Cutter.

J.T. opened his eyes and glanced over his shoulder, fully expecting to see Gideon standing behind him. But there was no one there, only a dust devil stirred by the wind.