Wed to the Texas Outlaw (11 page)

“I'm a flesh-and-blood woman no better or worse than any other.”

She took a breath, long and slow, in and out, appearing to gather her patience to calmly deal with her dim-witted outlaw.

“Now, then,” she said with a sweet and—curse him for thinking it—lovely smile. “What happened to the storekeeper?”

As much as he would like to show her how wrong she was about them suiting, he was weary to his soul. Right now she would be able to spin him around at every turn.

All he wanted was to rest his head against the wall and doze. The sooner he told her what had gone on, the sooner he could sleep. Maybe. If he could only forget what he had seen.

“I'll start at the beginning, since you won't settle for anything less, I reckon.”

“See how well you know me already?”

A vision of her, half naked, a washcloth dropping from her fingers, seared his mind.

“While I was breaking Bird's arm—” The memory of cracking bone made him want to vomit. Still, he feared he'd be called upon to do worse than that before this thing was over. “The others rode back to town like their pants were filled with ants.”

He told her how Bird had shrieked and cursed when Boone had hauled him up to standing.

“You broke my arm.”

“You cut an officer of the law.”

The sun had begun to set, casting shadows long on the ground, while he'd tethered the young outlaw around the waist then tied the rope to the saddle horn.

“Hey, boy,' Boone had whispered as he'd knelt beside the wounded deputy. Blood oozed from the slice on his ribs, seeped from the one on his flank. He'd had to resist the urge to break Bird's other arm. “You all right?”

With great care, he'd hoisted Billbro onto the saddle, secured him and then climbed up after.

“Well, I was glad to have captured one of them at least. Took him to the marshal's office. Got turned away. It seems that the lawman's too much of a coward to keep Bird locked up. Figures the others will only break him out.”

“He's right about that, don't you think?”

“Doesn't mean he's not obliged to do it.”

“Then what happened?”

“Hell, Melinda, in town it was a scene out of Hades.”

He broke out in the cold sweats just recalling it. He'd heard gunshots, screaming coming from the area of the store.

“Efrin had corralled about twenty folks, forcing them to watch the burning building while he made proclamations about the Kings still ruling Jasper Springs.”

After leaving the sheriff's office with Bird still tethered, Boone had stayed to the outskirts of what was going on. There was only one reason Efrin was terrorizing folks—to get Boone to show himself.

And folks were terrified. Their faces reflected the flames. Staring at the burning store, their expressions were tortured. Women were screaming, men, too. The fire burned so fierce, so hot, it shot up out of the roof. Even from his distance the heat had been blistering hot.

Bird started to say something; probably yell for help. Billbro had snarled. Boone had drawn his gun and shoved it under the armpit of the Vulture's broken arm. The kid had seen the wisdom of keeping silent.

“Buck held the crowd at gunpoint to make sure they didn't run, or try to help. When I got there, they'd already tied up Edward Spears and put him inside his store.”

Melinda looked pale, surely shaken by what he was telling her even though he wasn't giving her every ugly detail.

Efrin had tied Spears's hands behind his back. From where Boone hid, he had a clear view of what was going on. Wished he hadn't, though. The storekeeper appeared at the front of the store but as soon as he tried to run out the door, Buck popped a shot at him.

Not to kill quickly, in twisted mercy. Clearly they wanted him to burn. Efrin had lifted his arms in the air. The evening breeze ruffled his coat behind him. Hell if it didn't look like he was a demon commanding a sinister symphony, his orchestra the screams of the horror-stricken crowd.

“So, Spears has got his arms tied behind him, running from the front door to the back. He can't come out the front because every time he tries, Buck shoots at him.”

Of the brothers, the only one not accounted for was Leland. He wished Lump was also unaccounted for. The monster's full attention was on terrorizing Miss Trudy Spears. It made him sick to see the poor girl crying for her father while trying to dodge Lump's grasping hands.

“I heard gunfire coming from the back of the store so I figured it had to be Leland keeping Spears from going out the back way.”

It was full dark and he was done with hiding in the shadows.

“Utter one little croak and I'll break your neck,” he had said to Bird, leading the horse and his hostage down a dark ally.

Peeking around a building, he'd spotted Leland pointing his pistol at the back door of the burning store.

Boone tied his prisoner to a post with a rope, the tether to the horse bound around Bird's chest. “You make a sound, I whistle for the horse. He'll come and leave you split down the middle.”

He didn't know if the horse was trained for that, but Bird seemed to believe it.

A stand of brush grew behind the store. Boone hid in back of it.

Leland cackled when Spears wove an unsteady path toward the back door. The building was full of smoke. Spears began to cough. Breathable air would be running out.

As Leland raised his arm to fire, Boone leaped on him from behind. Falling to the ground, he snatched the weapon from King's fist. He knocked him out with a blow to the temple.

He'd rushed inside the store but was blinded by smoke.

“Spears!” he'd bellowed. A cough came from the right so he'd shuffled that way.

Boone had bumped against him before he'd seen him. It was luck more than anything that he'd found the back door and was able to drag the storekeeper through it. He'd led him into the brush and leaned him back against a small trunk.

“You all right, Mr. Spears?”

He'd gasped in some air, coughed a bit more, then nodded.

Boone had pressed Leland's gun into Spears's fist, then taken off at a run toward the saloon.

Melinda reached for his hand, squeezed it. “I'm afraid to ask what happened to Mr. Spears and Trudy.”

“I knocked out Leland then brought Spears out. It was close. His clothes have burn holes where the sparks got them. His eyebrows are singed but he'll be all right for now.”

“And Trudy?”

“Lump was making his way toward her, last I saw. I couldn't do anything for her in the moment. Had to get the rest of the Kings away from the people.”

Melinda's jaw dropped. “How could you possibly do that, and you just one man?”

“Only one way. Go after someplace that meant something to them. The saloon. When I set fire to his shed, the barkeep put up a fuss, but I reckon he saw reason when I— Anyway, he saw the wisdom of setting his shed ablaze to draw the Kings away from the store.

“I believe Miss Trudy made it safe away since Lump was with them when they came hell-bent for the saloon.”

“It's a wonder folks just don't up and leave this place. Maybe now they will, with the store gone and nowhere to buy goods.”

“They won't leave, not any more than they'll try to save a man from burning. I heard Efrin promise to kill any of ‘his subjects' if they try. He'll do it, too—has done it.”

Melinda was silent, her blue gaze resting on him, clearly troubled.

Finished with all that he could tell her, he fell silent, exhaustion and revulsion weighing his body.

He'd told her only what he had to, to satisfy her need to know. The rest would remain inside his head. He didn't want it there, no more than the other folks who had lived it did. But spreading the story around would only serve to give perverted glory to the outlaws.

He would not give them that.

Tales of perverted glory had been told about him. He wasn't sure why, except that when he robbed a saloon many of the patrons were drunk. No doubt they'd spun half-remembered stories into things that had never happened. After a time, one story built upon another until the simplest robbery became the crime of the decade.

Like the time a whore had followed him out of the saloon berating him even though he had not taken her money. She'd pounded him on the back, cursing while he'd mounted his horse. He'd galloped away and never seen her again.

But the story reported far and wide was that he had robbed then kidnapped a lovely young virgin, how he'd carried her away on his horse never to be seen again.

No wonder his name held such fear.

Hell, he reckoned, no matter what good he ever did with his sorry life, it would never make up for the past. Even if he answered the small voice that had come to him in the dark and confusion of the burning store, if he tried to take the path that it urged him to, his past might make it impossible to follow.

Melinda lay back on the bed of straw, reaching her arms toward him.

“Come rest your head, Boone.”

He ought to refuse, knew he should.

But settling beside her, he did rest his head, on her bosom, just as she invited him to.

His eyes closed. He felt light, drifting as his muscles gave up the tension of the day. The only sounds were the wind rattling the doors and the steady thrum of his wife's heartbeat.

“Sleep now. You were quite a hero today,” she murmured.

He didn't feel like a hero but it mattered that she thought it of him.

She stroked his hair. He smelled flowers.

Falling, drifting down into sleep, he felt at peace.

* * *

When Boone's breathing became shallow with deep sleep, Melinda lifted his head and wriggled out from beneath him. But she didn't go far.

She lay on her side face-to-face with him, close enough that she felt the warm beat of his breath on her nose.

Inhaling his scent, she took his essence into her lungs, into her heart, relieved beyond belief to feel life pulsing through him.

Today she had nearly become a widow. Tomorrow or the next day she—no, no—she would not.

But she might. The thought would not stop constricting her heart no matter how she willed it to.

One could not deny the possibility simply because one didn't like it.

Papa had taught her that.

A hank of blond hair crossed Boone's cheek. Just there, at the tips, was a smattering of dried blood.

Not his, not this time.

She scraped it off with her fingernail.

Stroking his cheek with the backs of her fingers, she felt the coarse scrape of his beard stubble. He was rough where she was smooth.

His eyes moved under his lids. Perhaps his sleep was troubled with all the ugliness he had experienced today.

The things he told her about were sickening. She was certain that there were other horrors that he hadn't burdened her with. But it was easy to see he was reliving them while he slept.

“Hush now, husband,” she murmured, smoothing his brow.

To her relief, the dream appeared to stop. Oh, and his lips curved in a slight smile.

Her heart ached for him. He seemed to think he was not worthy of redemption. But she saw a man who stood for the innocent even at the risk of his own safety.

She had seen this quality in him more than once. It troubled her that he did not see it in himself.

He had been right when he'd said they were from different worlds, but not in the way he thought.

Bold and capable, that was Boone's way, while all she knew to do was smile and bat her eyes until her adversaries were charmed.

Hers was a silly talent, one that she had spent some time developing. As a child she'd studied grown women, how they smiled to get their way, how they laughed and blinked their eyes just so. And all because in her childish heart she felt that she hadn't the power to keep Papa at home where he belonged.

She remembered the day Mama had cried, the day and the hour that she changed from a happy woman to a bitter one. Melinda had been forsaken. In that hour of grief, she'd vowed to never feel that helpless again.

However, all the charm in the world had been no match for Leland King.

Had Boone been there, he would have knocked the fellow flat and tied him up. Because Melinda's only weapon was looking pretty, Leland had been able to flee and then join his brothers in terrifying the people of Jasper Springs.

Even Billbro had better defensive skills than Melinda did. The dog had saved her life today and Boone's, as well.

Surely she ought to be as able to defend those she loved as well as a dog-wolf could.

“I think,” she whispered to Boone because he was asleep and he would never know what she was saying to him. “That I would like to remain married to you.”

She touched her fingertips with a kiss then lightly transferred the kiss to his mouth.

“But you need someone who is not an ornament. A woman of substance. I picture her as taller than I am and not frightened of sleeping out of doors. A lady who can shoot a tin can off a tree stump at a hundred yards then turn the gun on an attacker hidden in the brush, and all without her knees quaking.

“If you knew who Annie Oakley was, you would admire her greatly. Someday she'll be so famous everyone will know her name.”

She sighed. Her breath must have tickled his face because one side of his mouth lifted.

Oh, how she wanted to really kiss him, but with him awake to kiss her back.

To her misery, as things were now, she was no more than a liability to Boone. Someone he had no wish to be responsible for but, for the sake of his future, was.

If she was going to do something about that, she needed to learn actual skills. She needed to be useful if she was going to be a woman who was a match to Boone. A wife he could be proud of and depend upon.

There were people, like Mrs. Coulter, who would call her a fool for choosing to be an outlaw's bride, who would tell her he could not be trusted. Once a killer and a thief, always a killer and a thief.