Outlaw Hearts (17 page)

She wished she could stop crying, but everything seemed to hit her at once, her desperate fear of being left alone with the strange, rude men; the false accusations; the abandonment; her horror of being snakebit and the unbearable pain that followed; the thought that she would surely die alone on the prairie with no one who cared to pray over her grave. Most of all, the thought that she would never see Jake Harkner again. “I love you, Jake,” she sobbed, unable to control her emotions in her weakness. “Don't let go. Don't ever let go!”

He held her a moment longer, saying nothing at first. He pulled her arms away then and made her lie back down. “You don't know what you're saying,” he told her. “You're just sick and all mixed up right now, but that's okay. In a few days you'll be back to your old self.”

Jake rose, turning away and breathing deeply, removing his hat and running a hand through his hair. “Jesus,” he muttered. Would she misinterpret the reason he had come to find her? All he wanted to do was repay her kindness by helping her get to Nevada. There was nothing more to it than that…or was there?

She couldn't have meant what she just said. She was just delirious, that's all. She would probably forget all about it when she was better, probably be horribly embarrassed, if she did remember. Women like Randy didn't love men like him. It was then he remembered what he had shouted to Jack Nemus.
She's my woman
, he had told the man. The words had come out so easily and felt so right.

He shook away the unfamiliar emotions this woman stirred in him. First things first. She could die on him and there would be no more need to think about these feelings. There would only be a strange, unbearable emptiness in his life. He climbed into the wagon and searched through her trunk to find her father's medical bag. Inside were three small bottles of laudanum. He also found a small surgical knife that he knew would cut better than his own pocketknife.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “God, let me do this right,” he said quietly. “And don't let her die.” He climbed down, bag in hand, not even thinking about the fact that he had said a prayer for the first time since he was a little boy and used to pray with his mother.

Jake sat back and watched Miranda sleep, hoping she really was finally experiencing a peaceful sleep and not passed out again. He would not soon forget her screams of agony when he recut her wound and forced out the infection, and he had no idea if he had done any of it right. That had been yesterday afternoon, and she had tossed in fever and delirium since. The laudanum had done little to help deaden her pain, and he figured it was because the wound was just too badly infected. Early this afternoon her fever had finally broken, and she seemed to be resting at last.

He leaned over the fire and lit a small stick, holding it up to a cheroot held between his lips. He lit the smoke and rested back against his saddle again, smoking quietly. Dusk was settling into darkness, and it was cool tonight. He studied Miranda's pale skin in the firelight, the fine lines of her small face. He wondered if she would remember his holding her, bathing her; and he wondered how he was supposed to forget the look of her, the beautiful, firm breasts he had been so careful not to touch with anything but the washrag, the flat stomach and slender thighs, the golden hairs that hid that sweet part of woman he had not enjoyed in a long time. For now it was not so hard to see and touch her without having thoughts of passion and desire; but what about when she got well?

He sighed, knowing what was happening to him and wanting to kick himself for it. These feelings were exactly what he had been afraid of, yet he had let himself go looking for her, fool that he was. Now he would have to fight his emotions all the way to Nevada, for he did not intend to bring the pain and sorrow into her life that any good woman would suffer hooking up with a man like him. No. He would simply get her to Nevada. That was what he had felt obligated to do. After that, he could get rid of the guilt and get on with his life, and she with hers. Maybe her brother had a place to live up there and she could have a home again.

Her eyes fluttered open then, and he watched her a moment, trying to determine if she was really alert or still in a daze. “Randy?”

She just stared at him at first, letting the reality set in. “Jake,” she whispered. “It really has…been you,” she added in a somewhat stronger voice. “I thought maybe…these past hours…days…I don't even know how long it's been. I thought it was…all in my mind.”

He picked up another blanket and came closer to put it over her, touching her cheek with the back of his hand. “I found you yesterday at that trading post. I took you out of there and I lanced your wound to get the infection out.”

Her eyes teared. “Those men…”

“I don't want you to think about them. Two of them are dead, and a couple more are
wishing
they were dead.”

“What did you do…”

“Doesn't matter.” He took hold of her hand, the cheroot still between his lips. “What matters right now is how that foot feels. I'd like you to try to eat something.”

How good his strong hand felt around her own small one. Jake was here! She could hardly believe her eyes. An outlaw, a wanted man, was looking after her. How odd that she felt safer with him than she had among the Jenningses or the men at the fort. The men at the fort. She shuddered at the vague memories, and Jake squeezed her hand.

“What did those men do to me?”

He rubbed a thumb over the back of her hand. “Nothing, at least not the worst. You've got nothing to be ashamed of, Randy. You were sick and they were filthy bastards who are wishing they would have taken better care of you. I think I'm more angry with the sons of bitches who left you behind in the first place. What the hell kind of so-called Christians were you traveling with, anyway?”

She sniffed back more tears at the hurt. “The reverend's nephew…Clarence. He was eighteen. He kept…bothering me…got mad when I told him to…leave me alone…thought because I was a widow…” She closed her eyes. “He did his best…to make me look bad. The reverend and…his wife thought…I was a bad influence. When I got…the snakebite, it just gave them an excuse…to leave me behind…said I'd slow them down.”

Jake let out a sigh of disgust. “They'd better hope I never catch up with them. Hell, even
I
wouldn't do a thing like that!”

Miranda looked at him through tears, thinking how handsome he looked in the firelight, the cheroot between his lips. Some might think he looked dangerous, but she knew better.
No, you wouldn't do that, would you, Jake?
“I don't…understand…how you found me. Or why.”

He sat down cross-legged beside her, wondering if she remembered what she had told him yesterday when he had held her. He hoped she did not, that it wasn't even true. She shouldn't love him. She was much too good for the likes of Jake Harkner. “I don't understand the why myself,” he said aloud, “except that I felt like a bastard for not going with you like you asked. I kept thinking how guilty I'd feel if something happened to you. As it turns out, it's a damn good thing I did try to find you. As for how, I just went to Independence and started asking around, rode poor Outlaw and my packhorse nearly into the ground trying to catch up. I just happened to stop at that trading post, spotted your trunk. I knew then something was wrong.”

“My trunk! I…need it.”

“I've got it. I kind of borrowed a wagon from the owner of that trading post. Figured he owed you that much. You couldn't very well ride. Between that foot and wanting to bring your trunk, I needed a wagon.”

Miranda smiled weakly. “I never thought…I'd see you again. I prayed for you…every day…thought about you…so many times, especially when I got scared. I wondered…if you were thinking about me too…worried if you were all right.” Her eyes teared anew. “I wanted so much…to see you again. It just…didn't seem right…the way you left. And now…here you are…helping me get to Nevada. You see? You
do
have some good in you.”

He grinned and moved away, setting a fry pan on the fire. “Don't be putting labels like that on me. I just figured I still owed you, that's all.” He took some potatoes from his supplies.

You
don't fool me, Jake Harkner
, she thought. “You took a chance, going…to Independence like that.”

He shrugged. “I did like you said, stayed cleaned up, kept my guns off. People thought I was just an ordinary citizen. I found that Reverend Bishop and told him I was an old friend of the family. He told me about you traveling with the Jennings party.” He looked back at her. “You never answered me about how you feel. Can you eat a little? It would be the best thing for you. You need to get your strength back.”

“I'll try.” She moved slightly and realized her foot and lower leg were tightly wrapped. The pain was not nearly as bad as it had been for the last several, horrible days. “My foot feels much better.” She laid back, feeling under the blankets. She remembered someone bathing her, putting on her flannel gown. Jake? She felt a cloth wrapped between her legs, and embarrassment took over. She was grateful that at least it was dry. She tried to get up then to relieve herself, but could hardly get to a sitting position without feeling faint. In an instant, Jake was at her side.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I have to go…relieve myself.”

“You can't even walk.” He picked her up in strong arms and carried her several feet away out of the firelight. “When I put you down, don't put any pressure on that left foot. I'll raise your gown and keep hold of you when you squat. You don't have to support yourself at all. Let me do it. Can you get that towel off you?”

He kept one powerful arm firmly supportive around her middle under her breasts and lifted her gown with his left hand. Miranda wanted to die of embarrassment. “I can't! I can't do this with you here.” She started to cry.

“Bullshit! I can't see a damn thing just leaving the firelight like that. It's black as tar tonight. Hell, you're sick, Randy, and I've already seen everything there is to see, so just go. Hell, it's better than having to clean up after you.”

She removed the towel, sniffing back tears, realizing he was right. She couldn't do this alone, and the need was too great to hold back. She forced herself to think about something else for the moment, wondering if there was any way she would be able to cure Jake Harkner of his constant cursing by the time they reached Nevada. Nevada. Jake was taking her. He had promised. She was sure she had heard him promise. She remembered an embrace, suddenly remembered she had told him she loved him. She couldn't remember hearing him reply, wondered if he just thought she had said it in delirium. She clung to the strong arm that held her. “Do you…have paper?” she asked, brushing away tears.

“Yeah, but I can't let go of you to get it. Use the towel. Hell, it's just water. I can wash the towel out in the river. Leave it right here and I'll pick it up in the morning.”

Miranda cleaned herself and Jake let go of the gown and picked her up again, carrying her back to the fire. She clung to him, weeping against his chest. “I'm sorry,” she told him. “When I asked you…to take me to Nevada…I didn't mean…to be such a burden.”

“You didn't ask to get snakebit, either, and if I had come along in the first place, none of this would have happened. Don't worry about it.” He started to set her down, but again she clung to his neck, almost like a child. He thought about all the times when he was a little boy when he would have welcomed someone's strong arms to hold him and tell him everything was all right, that he would be protected and safe.

He sat down himself then, keeping her in his arms. “Randy, I don't want you to be embarrassed or afraid or sorry, all right? It isn't like you to cry, and I know it's just because of what you've been through and because you're so sick.” He stroked her hair. “In a few days you'll feel a lot better and doing everything on your own. Hell, I've seen it all and done it all. Don't be embarrassed to let me help you.”

“I still can't believe you're here,” she sobbed, clinging to his shirt. “You meant it, didn't you, about taking me to Nevada?”

“I meant it.”

“I won't be afraid at all if I'm with you.”

You're getting in way too deep, Jake Harkner
, he told himself. Jake looked into her blue-gray eyes, his heart aching at the gaunt look of her too-thin face, the tears on her cheeks. He gently wiped at them with his fingers. “I told you I meant it about getting you to Nevada,” he repeated. “Just don't cry, Randy. I can't stand to hear a woman crying.”

She forced a weak smile through her tears. “I'm trying to stop,” she told him. “I just hate to cry. Did you ever…feel like there was so much…to cry about that you might as well…not bother crying at all?”

He grinned. “Most of my life.”

She saw the sadness behind the smile. Yes, he did know what she meant. Who would understand better than a man who had been through what he had? She wanted to tell him again that she loved him, but she suspected that if she did, now that she was fully awake, his mood just might change on her again, as had happened so often back at the cabin. The old defenses would rise, and the spell would be broken.

As though he read her thoughts, he suddenly scooted her back into her own bedroll. “I'd better get those potatoes cooking,” he said, quickly turning away.

No, Jake
, she thought.
You
aren't ready to hear those three words. Not yet.
A woman had to be careful with a man like Jake, but then it was a long way to Nevada. For now she just had to be grateful he had found her at all. Again fate had brought them together, as though it was all meant to be. Maybe Jake didn't realize that yet, but she did. God was moving to change Jake Harkner's life, and she was all part of his plan.

***

The next month was spent following the regular route west, easy to identify from twenty-five years of emigration to California and Oregon, from discarded debris and old campsites. The horizon seemed endless, and never had Miranda felt so insignificant, a tiny moving dot on the vast, open plains. Her foot slowly healed to the point where she could wear a shoe again and could dress and ride up front in the wagon seat. Although she still limped a little, it felt good to be so close to normal again.

With Jake at her side, she felt stronger and surer than ever, safe and protected. He had stopped at a fort and purchased two oxen, since Outlaw and his packhorse were really not meant to be wagon horses. The daily work had been hard on them, and Jake knew they would never make it all the way to Nevada. Miranda grinned at the memory of an experienced driver at the fort showing Jake how to guide oxen. With oxen, a man had to walk beside them, goading them along with a switch. She supposed Jake had never dreamed he would be doing such a thing, and it warmed her heart that he was grudgingly trudging along like some common settler just to get her to Nevada. On horseback, he could be much farther ahead by now, but he did not complain.

She wondered if he ever wished it was true that she was his wife. That was what he had told the men at the fort, and the group of prospectors who had passed them on horseback yesterday. He did it to protect her, knowing what most men would think about a single woman traveling alone with a man.

That man had been as respectful as he could be, other than his cussing. Miranda thought how, if they could never be anything else, they were certainly good friends by now. Jake was learning to trust her, learning not to be so defensive, learning to laugh. He was always looking out for her, had even had a wheelwright and blacksmith at the fort work together to make some curved iron bars that could be bolted to the wagon so that it could be covered with canvas to keep everything inside dry in case of rain. He had taken a great risk staying around the fort as long as they had, considering the fact that soldiers were there, men who would have arrested him in a moment if they knew who he really was. He wore just one of his revolvers at his side, kept his rifle and shotgun, as well as her own rifle and his spare revolver, under the wagon seat.