The Outlaw's Return (15 page)

J.T.
didn't see the bottle until it flew out of Mary's hand. Sloshing out of the stream, he shouted at Gus over his shoulder. “Stay here, kid. This is between your sister and me.”

Dripping wet, he grabbed his shirt and charged barefoot up the steep incline, dragging his shirt over his head as he chased her. A thorn dug into the sole of his foot, but he ignored it. At the top of the hill, he saw her twenty feet away. “Mary, wait! It's not what you think.”

She whirled and faced him. “Yes, it is. It's whiskey.”

“It's not mine.”

“Do you expect me to
believe
you?” She laughed bitterly. “I smelled the bottle. It's fresh. It has fingerprints on it.”

“I know. I threw it away.”

She huffed. “Of course you did.”

“You've got to believe me.” He paced closer, a step at a time, giving her a chance to back off if she was going to run. Crowding her wouldn't help his cause. She had to come willingly. She had to choose to give him a chance. Fighting both the fear that she'd run and the anger of
being falsely accused, he held his arms to the side to open himself fully to her view.

“Do I look drunk?” he said mildly.

Her eyes dipped to his bare feet, dirty now and stinging from the thorn. She took in his wet trousers and the damp shirt, and finally she looked into his eyes. J.T. knew they were clear and bright. They were also full of hope, because he really did have a clean conscience. It felt good.

He took a step closer. “Am I slurring my words?”

“No.” She bit her lip. “I want to believe you, but I saw the bottle. I smelled it.”

He took another step, a larger one.

Mary stayed in place.

He came closer still, holding her gaze until they were a foot apart. If she wanted to smell his breath, the choice was hers. Understanding his intention, she leaned slightly forward and inhaled. So did J.T. He smelled the rosy soap Mary used in Abilene and sun-warmed cotton. When her eyes went wide, he lowered his arms. “What do you smell?”

“I smell…water.”

He wanted to kiss her for the joy of it, but he settled for enjoying her surprise. “I found the bottles by the fire pit. I tossed them so Gus wouldn't find them.”

The next thing he knew, Mary had her hands on his shoulders and was clutching his shirt. The wet cotton dragged against his back, pulling them closer as she matched her mouth to his in a kiss that erased every thought except one—he loved this woman. She didn't seem to care that he was sopping wet, so he put his arms around her and drew her close. When she made the kiss bolder, so did he. Her straw hat was in his way, so he loosened the ribbons and took it off her head.

He wanted to give more than he took, but he wouldn't give more than Mary wanted. He matched her breath for breath but offered nothing more. She ended the kiss with a sigh, then rested her head on his shoulder. He thought of his demand that God show Himself. This was forgiveness. This was mercy. Mary trusted him again, but now where did they go? He wasn't the only person who had to decide, so he loosened his arms enough to see her face. She looked like a woman who'd been thoroughly kissed and now regretted it. Troubled, he used both hands to put the hat back on her head.

“What happens next?” he asked.

“I don't know.” Backing away, she hastily tied the satin ribbons. The patches from his wet shirt showed on her dress, leaving an imprint of the embrace. The sun would dry the dress in minutes. The kiss couldn't be so easily erased, but Mary looked like she wanted to try. She finished the bow with a snap, then squared her shoulders. “I shouldn't have kissed you.”

“Oh, definitely not,” he said, teasing her.

“I mean it.” She started to pace. “I came out her to tell you how much I appreciate what you've done for Gus and Gertie. I brought bread and chicken and…and cobbler. I thought we could be friends, but that kiss—” Groaning, she turned her back. “You've
always
done that to me. It's just not fair!”

“It's fair, all right.”

“Oh, no, it's not!”

He walked up behind her. “You do the same thing to me, probably even stronger.” He wanted to turn her around, but the choice to come into his arms belonged to her.

“I'm so confused!” she said to the sky. She pressed
her hands to her cheeks, moaned, then lowered her arms and faced him. “I have to be honest with you.”

“I'm listening.”

“Kissing you was as wonderful as ever.”

He'd been expecting her to call him a good-for-nothing. Instead she'd given him a compliment. “I can say the same to you.”

“Some things don't change,” she said quietly. “But others do. I can't kiss you again. Not like that. I was caught up in the moment. It shouldn't have happened.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'd be lying.”

“Lying?”
He didn't understand at all.

“I don't want to repeat the past, and right now that's all we have.” She looked stronger now, as if she'd found her purpose. “I'm not the woman you knew in Abilene. It might not look like it from the outside—”

“It shows,” he interrupted. “I see the changes.”

“They're on the inside, too.” She lifted her chin even higher. “My faith is important to me, but I'm human. I like kissing you, but we can't be more than friends. The differences between us matter.”

When he finally understood, his eyes narrowed. “You love God and I don't.” He calmed his voice. “I don't see why it's a problem. You can go to church all you want. It doesn't bother me a bit.”

Her expression told him that he'd missed the point.

He felt like throwing a rock at a cloud, climbing up to one and pummeling it into smoke. He cared about Mary. He loved her. He'd have told her if he thought she'd be happy about it, but loving her only added to the wedge between them. He was beginning to feel like a puppet on a string, and he didn't like it. He was also starting to worry about Gus. The boy had seen the start of the
quarrel and would be concerned. “This needs to wait,” he said coldly. “Gus is still at the creek.”

Mary looked pained. “I didn't forget him.”

“Neither did I.”

She lifted her chin. “He'll be hungry. We can still have lunch.”

J.T. wanted to get away from her, but she had a point. “I'll get him. Wait here.”

“I'll go,” she insisted. “I want to see him.”

“No!” He'd had all he could stand. “I'm soaking wet, and I've got a thorn in my foot. You accused me of getting drunk in front of Gus, then you kissed me like you meant it, but you didn't. And
now
you want to give me cobbler. Right now, all I want is to put on dry clothes and
not
talk.”

With that, he headed for the stream to get Gus.

 

As Mary handed out sandwiches, she couldn't stop remembering the picnic in Kansas. That day she and J.T. had talked for hours and kissed like fools. Today they weren't speaking to each other. Instead they each focused on Gus. She listened to the boy's tales about shooting and boxing lessons, while J.T. ate in silence except to praise her brother. After the cobbler, Gus asked J.T. if they could go home today instead of tomorrow. He agreed, and together they packed while Mary washed dishes at the stream.

With the water rippling around the rocks, she thought of her decision to be J.T.'s friend and the kiss that revealed her deeper feelings. Adie was right. Love wasn't a choice, and she loved J.T. She couldn't tell him, though. Not only did her faith matter, but she'd didn't trust him with her feelings about the past.

A lean shadow fell on the sand next to her. Abruptly,
she turned and saw J.T. several steps away. “We're packed and ready.”

She had one more plate to rinse. “I'll be up in a minute.”

She hoped he'd linger so they could patch up the quarrel, but he walked away. She finished scrubbing the last dish with sand, rinsed it, then gathered the plates and went back to the campsite. To her surprise, the buckskin was tied to the buggy, and J.T. was waiting with his hat pulled low. Gus, mounted on J.T.'s extra horse, looked pleased. When she reached the rig, J.T. took the basket, shoved it under the seat and then offered his hand. “I'm driving you home.”

“You don't have to.”

“Tell that to Gus,” he said drily. “He accused me of not being a gentleman.”

She gave J.T. a sympathetic look and then took his hand and climbed into the buggy. He motioned for Fancy Girl to jump in next to her and then walked around the rig and joined her, the seat squeaking with his weight. He took the reins, and off they went.

One mile of silence.

Two miles of silence.

Three miles of silence. Fancy Girl leaned against Mary, pushing her into J.T.'s ribs. If he'd put his arm around her, they'd have been as close as they'd been in Abilene. Instead, he kept his spine rigid, and so did she. The silence troubled her even more than the kiss. They couldn't be in love, but she wanted to be his friend. She was close to bursting when he shifted his boots and their feet touched. When he didn't pull back, neither did she. The touch wasn't the conversation she wanted to have, but it was a start.

“Any word on Gertie?” he finally asked.

“I haven't seen her.” She stared down the empty road. “If I don't hear from her soon, I'm going to visit her.”

“We need to get her to New York.”

“I wish I could.”

His eyes glinted with the toughness she recalled from Abilene. “Give me a few days.”

That was all he said until they arrived at the café. He unloaded Gus's things, then he and the boy cleaned the guns they used, including a .22 rifle he gave to Gus to keep. They talked about bullets and whatnot until J.T. left to return the buggy to Swan's Nest with Fancy Girl riding next to him.

As he rode off, Mary wondered if his plan to get the money for Gertie included a turn at a faro table. He knew how she felt about gambling, so she said nothing. The decision to gamble belonged to J.T. The choice to refuse the money was hers, and that's what she intended to do.

 

At Swan's Nest J.T. cared for his horses and put up the buggy. No one pestered him, so he finished fast and went straight to Sixteenth Street in search of a faro parlor. He'd earn that money for Gertie and he'd do it tonight. He knew Mary objected to gambling, but he hoped she'd take the winnings for Gertie's sake. After today's craziness, he felt more compelled than ever to keep his promise. With his saddlebag over his shoulder—the bag with his clothes and all his money—he pushed through the door to a gaming hall called the Bull's Eye.

“This won't take long, girl,” he said to Fancy.

He had his whole stake with him. With a little luck, he'd triple it in an hour…

Two hours later, he walked out the same door shaking his head. He'd never had such awful luck. The dealer
hadn't minded Fancy Girl at all, especially once J.T. started losing. To make up for the losses, he'd upped his bets. He'd quit before he lost everything, but he had less than half of what he'd started with.

The run of bad luck made him mad. Being mad re minded him of Mary and how she'd kissed him and backed away. What did she want from him, anyway? Whatever it was, he didn't have it to give. With his saddlebag lighter, he headed to the boardinghouse and went to his room. Leaving the door wide to catch the light in the hall, he dropped the saddlebag on the floor and lit the lamp. Once it flared, he shut the door and locked it.

Fancy headed for a corner she never used, dropped down and looked at him with sad brown eyes.

“I know.” He grumbled. “I made a fool of myself.”

Thoroughly annoyed, he plopped down on the bed. Faro dealers were notorious cheats, and J.T. was rusty. He considered trying a different faro parlor, but he didn't want to leave Fancy Girl alone. Trapped and too angry to sleep, he wedged a pillow against the wall and sat up on the bed. He needed something to do. Even a button to sew would have been a distraction. Something to read would have been better, even a stupid dime novel.

Desperate, he glanced around the room and saw the chapbook on the nightstand. He blinked and was on the white stone bench in Josh's garden. If he didn't fill his mind with something, he'd end up in that alley in New York, on his back and feeling his brother's knife. Even with the light on, the room felt small and tight. Needing to escape—in his mind, since he couldn't leave Fancy—he opened the chapbook. His thumb pointed to a single sentence.
And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.

J.T. knew the power of darkness. He knew how it felt
to be trapped by it, caught between walls and rendered helpless and blind. It was light that befuddled him. He didn't understand where it came from, but he could see it. He'd seen the light in the way Fancy Girl loved him. He'd seen the light in Gus, too. Today he'd seen the brightest light of all in Mary. She'd taken back the kiss, but not before she'd come willingly into his arms. The light, he realized, was love. Not only had he seen the light…he'd felt it. He loved Fancy Girl and Gus. He loved Mary most of all, and today he could believe she loved him back.

Him, J. T. Quinn, a killer by trade and a gambler by choice. A man who'd spilled blood and enjoyed it. Mary cared for him. How could that be? He read more of the little book, comprehending just enough to know that he wanted to know more. He didn't understand most of what he read, but Mary did. The light lived in her. More than anything, he wanted to feel the brightness for the rest of their lives. He'd do anything to earn that privilege, but how? What did he have to do? A thought came out of the blue, and he smiled. Tomorrow Mary would get a surprise.

J.T. set down the book. As he turned down the lamp, Fancy Girl jumped on the bed and curled against his leg. With his hand on her belly, he thought about puppies and cobbler, kisses, love, cheating faro dealers and the strange twists of a hard day.