Wed to the Texas Outlaw (2 page)

Melinda, having a well-favored face and figure, had, of necessity, developed a keen sense of male integrity. She had come to read men as easily as she read books. She'd had to. If she succumbed to every sweet talker who presented his suit, she would be in sorry shape.

Yes, within Boone she did see a troubled soul, one who carried a great deal of guilt. But she had to agree with Lantree, and with Stanley, when they insisted that Boone was not who the tabloids portrayed him to be.

Seeing Boone earlier, cuffed at the wrists and chained at the ankle, had been disconcerting.

Boone looked like her cousin by marriage...identical in every way. She'd had to blink several times to remind herself that it was not Lantree sitting on the defendant's chair.

After all the years the brothers had spent separated, one would expect some differences but as hard as she had stared, she hadn't been able to spot them.

One would think that the brother who spent his life as a healer and a protector would look vastly different from the one who spent his life, if the stories were to be believed, in crime and debauchery.

They did not, and this confused her.

Both men wore their blond hair long, just grazing the shoulder. Identically, they peered out at the world from under slightly lowered brows.

Upon deeper inspection, though, she had been able to see the difference in the souls of the men looking out of those lake-blue eyes.

Until recently Lantree's expression had seemed slightly haunted by an unkind past. Not anymore, though, since he had married her cousin, Rebecca.

Boone's expression did not seem haunted so much as jaded, as would be expected having lived his life among the seedy and corrupt.

“You are my responsibility, after all.”

“I b-beg your pardon?” Melinda stuttered, ashamed that her attention had wandered so completely from what Stanley Smythe was saying.

“I promised your cousin that I would take care of you. While you've done a fair job of pushing your food about your plate, you've eaten only four bites.”

“Have I?” He'd counted them and knew there were four? She didn't even know that. It was hard to decide whether that was a comfort or an intrusion of her privacy. Not that dining in a public restaurant was private, but still, what she did or did not eat was her own business.

“You have. And before you decide that it is none of my concern, may I remind you that I argued against you coming to Buffalo Bend?”

“You did, Mr. Smythe. Quite vehemently.” She took a bite to appease him and, because now that she was paying attention, the food was quite good. “I was nearly forbidden to come.”

The wide, fancy doors of the dining room swung open and Judge Mathers charged through them. His expression looked stormy. Perhaps he was one of those men who turned grumpy if their meal was delayed. She and Smythe had left the courthouse after the judge and were now nearly halfway through their meal.

“After acting as your guardian these past weeks,” Smythe declared, returning her attention to him once again. “I've got to say that
forbidden
is not a word that you hold in high esteem.”

It was true. As a word
forbidden
was akin to a bull's red flag. Once the bright temptation was waived, all one could do is charge after it.

It had been this way ever since Mama had changed. A mischievous adventure now and then helped Melinda forget for a moment that it used to be Mama who laughed at unreasonable rules, Mama who led her girls in lifting their skirts and dancing a playful, half-scandalous jig.

Sometimes, a half-scandalous jig made Melinda forget that it had been Papa who'd stolen Mama's joy and left her bitter.

He had always claimed that Mama was the prettiest wife of them all...that Melinda was the prettiest little girl. Clearly, that had not been enough to guarantee his love.

Watching Stanley stab an innocent piece of steak repeatedly with his fork, she could only smile and do her best to appreciate the lawyer's efforts on behalf of her family. He really was a dedicated fledgling lawyer.

“Well, someone needed to represent the family.” She paused to thoroughly chew two bites so that Smythe need not fear that she would starve. “With baby Caroline only five months old, Rebecca would not consider taking her on a long trip...and Lantree would never consider leaving them without medical care...so here I am.”

“Indeed.” He sighed, his slim shoulders sagging in his finely tailored suit. “But I'd like to say again that I am perfectly capable of presenting Mr. Walker's case on my own. That it would be an easier task if you had remained safely at home.”

“None of us doubt your ability, Mr. Smythe, or your dedication to our Boone.”

“‘Our Boone'? You only just set eyes on him a couple of hours ago.”

“As true as that may be, family is family and that is precisely why I'm here.”

And it was. Grandfather Moreland had taken her to his heart as though she was one of his own. And she was Rebecca's own, who was Lantree's own. This made Boone Melinda's own as much as anyone else's. For all that he was a stranger, family stood by family.

“A quest for adventure is the more likely reason,” Smythe pointed out, “but here you are. I ask that you not make it difficult for me to return you safely to the waiting arms of your kin.”

While she considered a way to rebut that statement, which was difficult because it was partly true, a young woman crossed the dining room then sat in a chair across the table from the judge.

She looked as thunderous as he did.

“I'm quite family oriented,” Melinda said to the lawyer, but she couldn't help casting a sidelong gaze toward the judge and the woman. “My cousin's husband's brother's future is far too important to leave to strangers.”

“You are more of a stranger to him than the woman who cleans his chamber pot. It was evident that Boone spent the better part of our hearing wondering who you were.”

“I'd like to meet him, put his mind at rest, let him know his family cares.”

“Pregnant! How could you make such a blunder?” the judge snapped a little too loudly. Several heads swiveled toward the table where the pair glared at each other.

“Is she his wife, do you think?” Melinda whispered to Smythe.

Smythe shrugged. “He looks like he blames her for it. If she was his wife, he'd be taking some of the responsibility. Judging by her age, I'd guess she's his daughter, poor girl.”

Melinda did not openly gawk, as many were doing, but from the corner of her eye, she noticed the judge glare at his cooling meal.

For all that she resisted staring, her ears were not so discriminating. They heard what they heard, and that was the judge saying something about counting both her and her husband out and wanting the advance money back.

“That's good news,” Smythe murmured. “At least the girl is married, so whatever the trouble, it can be dealt with.”

They ate in silence for a moment, as did the rest of the diners.

“I want to meet my cousin.” She reminded Stanley Smythe, setting her fork down on her plate.

Her guardian's expression hardened. He slid his glasses up his nose. If he'd had more hair, she guessed it would be standing on end.

“I'll tell him who you are but I will not have you associating with criminals.”

“Once you've worked your magic, he'll no longer be a criminal.”

“As your temporary guardian, I forbid it.”

She clenched her fingers around her fork.

“I understand,” she said with the most distracting smile she knew how to give. “I leave that to your judgment.”

“You do?”

“Of course.”

His gaze at her was less than believing and she couldn't blame him for that. She did, indeed, have every intention of meeting Boone Walker.

She owed it to Rebecca to discover everything she could about their relative.

* * *

Boone reclined on a cot in a cell at the Buffalo Bend sheriff's office, his head cradled in his arms and his elbows jutting out. The space, dimly illuminated by a lamp that shone under the crack of the deputy's office door, was a sight better than his prison cell back in Omaha.

He watched a dusting of stars through the barred transom set high on the wall that faced the alley. Damned if they weren't prettier than the finest jewels.

Wind whistled through the slats with a chilly moan. The cold that rushed in wasn't comfortable but that was a small sacrifice for a breath of fresh air.

Because he'd spent much of his life living in the open and on the run, the thing he had missed the most over the past year of incarceration was fresh air.

Locked up, there had been days when the scent of a hundred prisoners's sweat and stale pee permeated the prison walls like smoke trapped in a flue. Made a man want to puke.

If, somehow, his dandy little lawyer managed to get his sentence overturned, he'd never again so much as bend a rule that might jeopardize his freedom.

He placed one hand on his chest, over his heart.

“I vow it on my—” he nearly said “honor” but remembered he was short on that virtue. “Hell, I just vow it.”

He'd endeavor to be as reformed as any man could be. As righteous as Lantree had been on his best day. As good as Ma used to pray he would be.

Thoughts of his brother had haunted him over the years. One time he'd even snuck back to the home farm. From the look of things he'd been about five years too late. All that was left of the place was half of the barn and the outhouse minus its roof.

He would have visited the cemetery but it was near sunup and the protection of darkness had begun to fade. And in all truth, he hadn't wanted to know if Ma and Pa were there. Hadn't reckoned he could face the dawn if he saw his brother's grave.

That would have meant that it was too late to beg his forgiveness, if there was any to be had. But now he knew that Lantree was not in that cemetery.

That meant he had lived years hearing the ugly stories about Boone Walker. Did he believe them?

Hell's curses, even if he didn't, how would he ever face Lantree given all he had done to break his brother's heart? Maybe one day he would write, try to make amends, then again, maybe it would be better not to. It might be for the best if he just continued to be a memory, one that probably faded with each passing year.

Something hit the wall near the window. A mischievous kid tossing a rock, he reckoned. Getting a thrill out of riling a killer is something he, himself, might have done as a know-nothing youth.

Damn if that character flaw hadn't helped get him where he was today.

Hell, he'd been drunk when he'd shot Mantry. And full of himself. He'd been sure as moonrise that he'd get his money back; have the fellow groveling at his feet in apology.

He'd learned a thing or two since then, not that it made him any less of an outlaw.

Over the years he'd done some things just to get by. Most of them he was ashamed of, but he'd never killed again. At least he didn't have that sin on his conscience.

A pebble sailed between the bars of his cell window and landed on the floor with a thud. Best to ignore it until the kid got bored and went home. No doubt, tomorrow he would be bragging about how he riled the beast and gotten away with it.

With Halloween only a couple of weeks away, maybe Boone ought to leap up, holler and rattle the bars, give the kid a real story to tell his friends.

While he thought about it, the pelting quit, so he resumed his admiration of the stars.

A few moments later he heard scraping outside then a pause and then more scraping. It sounded as though something was being dragged across the dirt toward his window.

Quietly he scooted from his cot and crouched beside the wall below the transom. He'd heard stories of vigilantes delivering warped justice through unguarded windows.

“Mr. Walker?” a feminine voice whispered. “Mr. Walker, are you in there?”

Startled, he looked up. A pair of beautiful eyes blinked in the dim light. Even from down here he could see that they were as blue as daybreak.

He stood, slowly meeting her gaze.

“Oh, there you are.” Strands of wind whipped hair crossed her mouth. She puckered her lips to blow it away. “Why were you on the floor?”

He took a big step back. Had to. Because, stranger or not, the urge to reach his hands through the bars, cup her face and kiss that puckering mouth was strong.

It had been some time, a good long year, since he had lain with a woman, which might explain the feelings she stirred up, even with only her face in view.

“Who are you?”

Clearly she was the woman from the courthouse...the lady. But who was her guardian? What kind of man let a sweet-looking thing like her just slip out into the night?

“Who let you out?”

“Let me out?” Her brow wrinkled, looking puzzled.

“Who is supposed to be making sure you don't run afoul of some low life in the dark?”

“Oh...well, that would be Mr. Smythe, your lawyer.”

“He gave you permission to go out unaccompanied?”

“Naturally not. The man is dedicated to my safety. But just now he's asleep. It's a wonder anyone else is, though. His snoring is rattling the walls. Who would have guessed such a small person could create such a ruckus?”

“Who would have guessed that a lady would not have the sense to stay inside after dark?”

“Really, Boone, I've lived the past several months in the wilds of Montana. I can't imagine that crossing the street from the hotel to here can hold any more danger than that.”

Who was this woman who felt she could call him by his given name when they had not even been introduced? Was she someone from his past that he'd forgotten?

Not the hell likely.

“You're standing half a block from two saloons. Men of low morals stagger down this alley all night long.”