Wed to the Texas Outlaw (7 page)

Boone gripped her fist an instant before impact.

“You were about to smash your thumb.”

“I was about to show you how—” She glanced up and behind. He was looking at her hand, cradling it in his fingers and rubbing the spot she had been about to hit as though she had actually done it.

She dropped the hammer, mesmerized by the expression in his eyes—tender and angry all at the same time.

Her heart started to thump harder. The oddest sensation fluttered in her belly.

This man was not like any she had ever been acquainted with. He was not one that her mother would approve of. Not a gentleman with smooth hands and a bank account full of money. Gentlemanly sons-in-law were all-important to Mama. After the scandal of Papa's death, she had devoted her life to seeing her girls married to pillars of society.

Clearly, Boone was not Mama's vision of a good match.

Nor was he the hero she had pinned her childish dreams upon; that distant, misty man who was strong, adoring and admirable in every way.

Although, Boone did look like him; strikingly so.

No, this man was an outlaw, hard of expression with a dangerous glint in his eye, but not, it must be said, when he looked at her.

Still, this supposed dastardly criminal was her legally wed husband and his expression had just turned soft, perplexed-looking. His lips pressed together in puzzlement.

And...and yes, completely and without reservation, she wanted to kiss them.

He turned her slowly around, keeping hold of her nearly injured hand. She moistened her lips, ready and wanting his kiss most desperately in spite of the fact that it was not prudent. She rose up on her toes.

“You've seen an amputation?” he asked.

He might have dumped water on her, her confusion was that great. How could she possibly have misread the moment so miserably?

“Naturally.” She snatched up the nail then the hammer.

Once again she tried to pin the nail to the wood, but she hit wide. On her next try she managed to get the blamed thing into the lumber a full quarter of an inch.

She heard Boone chuckle.

With her next fell of the hammerhead she knocked the nail sideways. It came out of the wood and skittered across the table.

“Apparently,” she said with as much pride as she could fake, “this is more difficult than it seems.”

“But you witnessed an amputation? With or without fainting?”

“I could hardly faint when I was assisting the doctor—your brother.”

Boone leaned against the table, his thigh pressing the wood. My word, he was uncommonly tall. Even when she hoisted up to sit on the table she had to lift her gaze.

“You don't look like—” He shook his head. “I would never have guessed.”

Really? “What do I look like?”

Fluff and feathers? Sugar and spice? A helpless, swoon-prone female?

He didn't answer. He simply looked her over long, slow, and with that same speculation in his eyes that he'd had before.

This time she did not want to kiss him—well, of course she did, but she would not do it. No persuasion on his part would make her feel like a fool again.

A pesky strand of hair had escaped her bun. He twisted it about his thumb, drawing her face up, lowering his.

“There was a lot of blood—at the amputation.”

He let go of her hair, lifted her chin with his finger. “Arm or leg?”

“Both.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. She wished it hadn't because it was ever so appealing.

He dropped his hand. She scooted down the table, putting a respectable space between them.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said.

“I'm not half as interesting as you are,” she had to admit. “I'm just a common girl raised by my widowed mother along with my two sisters and my dear cousin Rebecca—your sister-in-law.”

“I want to know more. It seems that you and Rebecca are especially close.”

“Oh, yes, to be sure.” Even having been parted for only a short time, she missed her cousin dreadfully. “You could say we are partners in crime but, really, is it a crime to not want to be restricted by another, even if she is your mother? And when you think about it, no one wants to be married off to the butcher and become his third wife.”

A heavy downpour of rain suddenly pelted the roof. One of the horses whinnied.

“You? A third wife? Can't see it. You are my first, by the way.”

“That's a relief. But it was Rebecca destined for the butcher. Mama figured that after she shoved Randall Pile belly-first across the dance floor of the Kansas City Ladies Cultural Club, the butcher was her last hope.”

Her mother's thinking where Rebecca was concerned had always been flawed. Her cousin was a tall beauty and could have had her pick of any man had life and Mama not belittled her confidence.

Rebecca had never known the lively woman Mama had been once upon a time, only the bitter one she had become.

But in the end it had all worked out for Becca. She had married a wonderful man who was even taller than she was.

“I have the feeling that you, my sweet, little wife, were never without a suitor. I reckon you could have had your pick of men.”

“Sadly so.” She frowned, shook her head. “It's tedious when every male you meet falls immediately in love with you, and you—or me—knows that the emotion is shallow because they only love the way I look and not me at all.”

As Papa had loved her. She still remembered the way he'd snuggled his pretty little girl close, vowed he'd love her forever. But he had not.

Every day growing up, she'd missed her young mother.

“Hard to blame the fellows. You are uncommonly pretty.”

“It's inconvenient always being fawned over,” she said, forcing her thoughts away from the past. “How will I ever know if someone really loves me or just the blue eyes and lacey frippery? If you want to know, Boone, I was thrilled when you refused to marry me.”

“I'd have refused to marry anyone. It had nothing to do with you.” Boone looked at her from under lowered brows. “I don't think I've thanked you for saving me from Scarlet Cherry, though. Thank you, Melinda. You are a brave woman for taking me, and all this, on.”

“I could hardly have allowed that woman to become baby Caroline's aunt.” The very thought set her teeth on edge.

“And yet you've gone to lengths to make sure that I, a convicted felon, get introduced as her uncle.”

“In spite of appearances, I believe you have an honorable heart.”

“You're confusing me with my brother. I've done ugly things in my life, not so much as I've been accused of, but you're mistaken to think I have any honor in me.”

No, she was not mistaken. She would stake her finely honed women's intuition on it.

“Have you robbed widows?”

“Not unless it was their money I took from a saloon.”

“Have you orphaned children?”

“That I have not.”

“Have you whipped little dogs in the street?”

“Only once and that because the small beast was biting my ankle.”

“Drowned a kitten, then?”

Boone crossed his arms over his chest, frowning deeply.

“Quit trying to make me into some sort of a hero. I'm not. I've brawled and thieved. I've cheated and only bedded women of low morals. And now, judging by the look on your face, I've disappointed you.”

“I was fine until the women of low morals. Really, Boone, even a temporary wife does not want to hear about former loves.”

Why that should bother her, she could not imagine. But it did, even though they were not devoted newlyweds in the typical sense.

“I never loved a single one of them.”

Oh?

Her heart tapped a happy, smile-filled dance. Against common sense, her insides felt dizzy.

He lifted his hand, clearly inviting her to come closer.

Every unwise emotion within her urged her to claim that elusive kiss. She could... This time he would fold her up in those great strong arms and give her a never-to-be forgotten moment.

Tender feelings for Boone were rushing upon her too fast.

“Time for soup,” she announced then hopped off the table and bolted for the barn door.

The dog followed her quicker than Boone did. He did not emerge from the barn until she was halfway across the yard.

Chapter Six

A
t the outskirts of Jasper Springs, Boone questioned the wisdom of bringing Melinda along. But, had he left her at the homestead, possible prey to a wandering King, worry would have distracted him from the task at hand.

And he was distracted as it was. His pretty little wife had him turned inside out and upside down. It had been a near thing yesterday.

Only soup saved him from giving her a kiss in the barn. He'd never touched an innocent before and didn't intend to do it now, especially not when the innocent was his wife.

Hell's curses, that made as much sense as a bee in a hat. In the normal way of things a man taught his innocent bride a whole lot more than kissing.

“At least folks are out and about today,” Melinda observed, saving him from confounding thoughts.

He'd told her to ride close beside him because he couldn't imagine getting out of town without some sort of trouble. It was a relief to see that she hadn't chafed at his instruction.

Their mounts consisted of the wagon's team and Stanley's mule. Not the quickest form of escape if the need arose, but better than being slowed down by a buckboard.

All that remained of that clumsy contraption were the wheels and frame. The lumber had been put to better use as protection for the house; shutters for the windows and reinforcement for the door.

With folks going about their business, he reckoned the Kings were not in town. Didn't mean they wouldn't come, though. He'd better be quick about his business.

“People sure do look skittish,” Melinda said. “Even without those nasty brothers in sight.”

On the boardwalk to Boone's right, a young mother spotted him. She gathered her children into the folds of her skirt. The poor woman looked like a worried hen as she hustled her brood into the nearest open shop. Lucky thing for the children that it happened to be the bakery.

A man smoking a cigar studied him from the safety of his porch. The barber came out of his shop, swiping a razor across a strop.

He felt their stares burning between his shoulder blades long after he rode past.

“It's not the Kings who've got them on edge, Melinda.” He sat taller, straightened his spine and his Stetson. “It's me.”

“You?” She glanced at the barber, a pretty frown creasing her brow. “But you've come to save them.”

“They don't know that,” said Stanley, who rode on the other side of her. “To them he's just another outlaw. For all they know, worse than the King boys.”

“I'm sorry, Boone. Here you are risking so much and they—”

“Are reacting like any sane person would. Like I hope you would if a killer came to town.”

“You aren't a killer—well, not in a murderous sense. That one time hardly counts since it was a child against a man and a clear case of self-defense.”

“All you know about me is what I've told you. What if I'm a liar?”

“What if I'm my mother's obedient child?”

“Don't think better of me than I deserve, Melinda.”

A pair of old men whispered behind their hands, glancing at him then quickly away and back again.

“Old coots,” he heard her mutter under her breath only a second before she shot them a bewitching smile.

The old coots appeared flummoxed, but only for an instant. Somehow Melinda had turned them into blushing, smiling, hat-tippers.

He nearly fell backward off his horse when he realized what she had done—used her beauty as a weapon. And so sweetly that he doubted anyone but Stanley would have noticed.

As charming a weapon as her smile was, hell if he was going to let her use it against the Kings.

“There's the doctor's office.” Stanley pointed to a small white building on the north end of the town square. “I say if he won't see reason and come to the homestead, we tie him to the mule and take him.”

“Stanley Smythe!” Melinda's eyes grew round, teasing. “Are you suggesting we kidnap him—break the law?”

“I'm suggesting that we get out of here before someone gets trigger-happy.” He glanced around. “These people are scared. Who can say how they might react to having Boone in town?”

Boone had always figured he'd end up getting shot. If not by a lawman or a bounty hunter, then by someone he'd robbed.

Even if he did survive capturing the Kings, he might not ever have the freedom that Mathers promised. The only reprieve he might get was when he met his Merciful Maker. If he could take care of some of the Kings first, judgment day might go easier on him.

“We'll go around the back,” he said. “It'll be best if no one sees the doc leave with us.”

If the Kings thought the doctor just hightailed it out of town, so much the better.

“I'll go in first.” Melinda slid off her saddle, lightly hitting the ground before he could have a say about it.

She was right, though. Better for the doc to be charmed by a lovely woman before they hauled him off to the homestead. Might make him more receptive to things if he were bedazzled.

Melinda slipped quietly through the back door.

“Dr. Brown?” they heard her call from inside.

For a moment the only sound was the crisp wind howling between the buildings and the sparsely leafed branches of the trees scratching together.

Then Boone heard a woman scream.

He was off his horse and inside the back room of the office with his gun drawn before the wailing died. Billbro ran a step ahead of him.

“Get that filthy beast out of here!” The doctor bellowed, stethoscope in hand. He stood at the head of a bed with a woman lying on it. He pointed the instrument at him. The doc's finger was long, as narrow as the rest of him.

If he cared a fig for Boone's drawn weapon, it didn't show.

All of a sudden an image flashed in his mind. There and gone in an instant, but one he would not forget. He and his brother facing each other; Boone pointing a gun, Lantree an instrument of healing.

Stanley rushed in then hauled Billbro outside. The dog placed his huge bulk in front of the door, ignoring Smythe's efforts to yank him down the steps.

Doc Brown glared at Boone, at the gun still gripped in his fist.

“If you're going to shoot me, I ask that you wait until Mrs. Coulter has delivered her baby. I reckon the Kings can wait a few hours for their revenge.”

A distressed whimper came from the woman in the bed.

“Don't worry, Mrs. Coulter.” Melinda sat in the chair beside the bed and picked up her hand, patting it with reassurance. “Mr. Walker hasn't come to shoot your doctor.”

“In that case, put away your gun and go wait in the other room until I have time for you.” The doc turned his back, clearly expecting his orders to be obeyed. “All of you. I've got enough trouble without the three of you hovering.”

“Is something wrong?” moaned the soon-to-be mother, her face dampened by sweat.

“Naturally not.” Melinda stroked the woman's brow, her voice calm and soothing. “Men have no business in the birthing room, that's all he meant. Isn't that right, Dr. Brown?”

“Of course.” The slight hesitation in his answer told Boone that something actually was wrong. “There's nothing to fear, Mrs. Coulter.”

“But—” A sudden contraction cut off the woman's words.

“I guess you and the doctor wonder why my husband came charging in here like a madman with his gun flailing about.”

Flailing about? He had been in complete control of his weapon.

“He heard your cry and figured it was me, is all. In spite of how things look, we mean you no harm.”

“What is it you do want?” the doc asked, impatience edging his voice more than alarm now that Boone had holstered his gun.

“You,” Boone stated.

“Like I said, go wait in the outer room and I'll be with you when I can.” He nodded his head in the direction of the front room. “I've heard about you, Walker. If it's money you want it is in the desk, top drawer. Help yourself to all I've got and be on your way.”

The comment stung, even though it was deserved.

“Sir.” Stanley peeked his head around the door frame and nudged Billbro over. “It's imperative that you come away with us—and immediately. We can protect you from the Kings.”

“Why?” The doc looked from Boone to Smythe to Melinda and then shook his head. “As you can see, I'm busy.”

“Your life depends on this,” Stanley urged.

The doc pinned Stanley with a stare and shook his head. “My life isn't worth much at the moment, but there're two lives here that are.”

“I reckon you've heard that we've taken over the Ramsey spread,” Boone said by way of explanation. Who could blame the doctor for guessing they might be up to no good? “We've fortified it. You'll be safer there than anyplace else.”

“Again, why?”

“I'll explain it all on the way, but every minute we delay is another minute that the Kings might show up at your doorstep.”

“We can't leave now, Boone,” Melinda said, her expression serious, her gaze pleading. “Mrs. Coulter needs help.”

“Look, I don't know why you all are set on saving my hide—I reckon I'll be grateful when I find out. But I won't leave now. Besides, there's still time. There are lookouts who will sound the alarm when the Kings are getting near town. Even then there'll be some time since those boys will go straight for the saloon.” He brushed the damp hair from Mrs. Coulter's face. “I won't leave you, little mother.”

“I won't, either.” Melinda squeezed the woman's hand.

“I'd like a word, Mrs. Walker,” Boone stated, slashing her a frown.

Melinda did follow him to the back porch. That was something.

“I'm not leaving that room, Boone.” She touched his arm. For as delicate as her fingers were, they conveyed strength, both of body and of character. “You heard the doctor, something's wrong. He'll need my help and he'll get it.”

“You aren't who you look like.” Who was this woman he had married?

Sweet and feminine, yes. A practiced flirt, absolutely. But that in no way lessened her intelligence. Now here he stood, looking into her compassionate blue eyes, seeing the courageous spirit behind them.

“Nor are you. Although I expect you don't know it.”

“I'm going to the saloon.” If the Kings showed up, he wanted to get the measure of them. “See if you can work your magic on the doc. Get him to come along peacefully so we don't have to hog-tie him.”

She crooked her finger at him, indicating that he should bend down. There must be something she had to say that she didn't want anyone to overhear.

Going up on her toes she kissed his cheek. “Take care, Boone.”

He stepped back, nodded. No one had ever done that—kissed his cheek and wished him well.

His heart was in free fall and he didn't know what to do about it.

Keep his attention to what he had come to do, is all.

“Smythe, come along with me.”

He pointed to the deputy. “You stay here.” As though the dog had intentions of doing anything else. He had become completely bonded to Melinda.

If Boone was not careful, the same thing could happen to him.

Only trouble lay that way.

* * *

Even in midafternoon, with the sun high outside, the interior of the saloon was dim. Deep shadows engulfed the far corners, perfect for Boone to sit and watch without being seen.

Folks kept to themselves, leaving him and Stanley to observe from their shaded cove. If anyone else realized Boone Walker was among them, they didn't make it known. Mostly, they went about their business of playing cards, drinking and flirting with a pair of comfortable women. An older man went upstairs with one of them. The poor gent had to lean on the lady's arm just to make it to the top step.

Now and again he heard the doc's name mentioned in low, somber tones.

Boone swirled the whiskey in his glass but didn't drink it. Stanley did the same with his water.

“You going to drink that, Smythe?”

“Not with a fly drowned at the bottom.”

Boone slid his whiskey across the table, nodded for the lawyer to take it. Stanley slid it back with one shake of his head.

All at once a boy rushed inside. “They're comin'! At a trot—five minutes!”

The kid rushed outside followed by every soul in the saloon. Except for the barkeep.

Even the old man hurried down the stairs, tugging his pants over his hips, his hired lady supporting his elbow.

“Here we go,” murmured Stanley.

“You don't have to stay. You shouldn't. This isn't your fight.”

“Your brother paid good money for me to see to your freedom. I haven't quite finished the job.”

“Doubt if he intended for you to risk your life.”

“He did, indeed, when it came to Melinda that's exactly what he said—what I agreed to. ‘Protect her with your life' I believe were his exact words.”

That's what Boone intended to do, as well. Couldn't say he didn't mind the help, though.

“Barkeep,” Boone called, “you going to lock the door?”

The bartender took a rifle from under the counter, set it on the bar and emptied the bullets from it.

“Not unless I want to replace the windows again. If you're carrying, you'd better put the weapon here.” He walked to the end of the bar where the whore who had been with the old man stood. He gripped her slender shoulders in his hands. “You ready, sweetie?”

“As much as I can be.”

She wasn't ready. An illiterate would be able to read the fear in her eyes.

Boots pounded on the boardwalk.

The first man to come in, heavy-footed and lust glistening on his fat mouth, was Lump.

The whore grinned and opened her arms to her customer. Boone wondered if Lump even noticed that the lady's hands were trembling.

If he did he was probably glad for it. While Lump undressed her going up the stairs, another King appeared in the doorway.