Outlaw Hearts (21 page)

“Do you miss Sweden?” Miranda asked, holding still while the older woman pinned another curl.

“There has not been time to miss my home. Since ve come here, ve get right off boat and start out in vagon. There vill be time for settling and for missing home once ve reach Salt Lake. Soon ve vill think of that as home. This is good place, this America.”

“Yes.” Miranda wondered what these Mormons would think if they knew the truth about Jake. To them he was a hero, a daring, adventurous American who had saved them from certain death. Jake and Miranda had come upon their wagon train while it was being attacked by a small band of Sioux Indians. None of the Mormon men were experienced at shooting at other human beings, no matter how savage; only a few even knew how to use a gun, and had used them only to hunt game. They had apparently not even done a very good job of that, since Jake and Miranda found them all near starvation.

Miranda could smile now at the memory. Jake really had been a hero that day, but she remembered the terror she felt, sure he would be killed himself. He had heard the shooting and had sneaked up onto a rise near the surrounded wagon train. He had picked off several of the Indians with his Winchester, startling them with shots coming from another direction. Those remaining were frightened and rode off, except for two, who came at Jake after his rifle was empty. Jake rose and whipped out one of his revolvers, and with one quick shot he had downed one of the Indians. A second shot hit its mark also, but that Indian did not go down easily. He kept coming, and Jake fired twice more as the painted warrior whacked at him with a tomahawk. Miranda remembered the sick feeling the sight had given her, but Jake had managed to dodge the weapon, and the Indian finally fell dead from his horse.

It had been a harrowing experience, and the Mormons had treated Jake and Miranda like a king and queen ever since. Although Jake had wanted to continue traveling alone, both knew it was impossible. Because of the likelihood of further Indian attacks, they could not take the risk of being caught alone. There was only so much one man could do if it happened again. They had joined the Mormons and would stay with them to Salt Lake, where they hoped to find traders or settlers traveling on to Virginia City.

All the way here to Fort Laramie Jake had taken time to show the Mormon men how to shoot, had hunted game for them, helped with two different wagons that broke down. Miranda had nursed a little boy who broke his arm in a fall from a wagon, and had won the friendship of the other women. Because she and Jake wanted to get married as soon as they found a priest or a minister, they had been forced to admit to the Mormons that they were not married but planned to be when they reached Laramie. Miranda had explained that Jake was a “friend of the family” who had found her dying from a snakebite and had agreed to see her safely to Nevada.

Here at Laramie, they had found a Catholic priest who ministered to the Indians. Today he would marry them, and the weather was perfect, beautiful, as though God had designed the day just for this special moment. There would be no fancy church, but they would be surrounded by new friends who truly seemed to want the very best for them.

Finally, tonight, after being unable to make love for the last three weeks, they would be free to be together. The Mormons had prepared a place for them to spend the night with a little privacy. They had cleared out one of their own wagons, one which was much bigger than Jake and Miranda's own wagon, and it had been pulled several yards from the fort grounds and covered with mosquito netting. A feather mattress and blankets, water and a wash pan, and other necessities were left inside, and Miranda thought how that wagon would seem just as wonderful to her tonight as a fancy hotel. She would be with Jake, would be his wife, and that was all that mattered. The wagon was the Mormons' thank-you to Jake for all he had done for them. The women had baked a cake over a campfire in a Dutch oven; the fort commander had offered a four-piece band consisting of two fiddles, a trumpet, and a guitar; and the Mormons had offered some of their own precious belongings as gifts—handmade quilts, a few dishes and blankets, even a hand-crocheted lace tablecloth.

Miranda was overwhelmed by their generosity, and she knew Jake was still trying to get used to such niceties. He could not quite believe people existed who could be so kind, and he took his role as their hero with a grain of salt, totally embarrassed by all the attention and, Miranda knew, feeling unworthy of any of it. Miranda had to keep encouraging him to stop living in the past and accept the good things of the present, and although she trusted in the fact that he truly loved her, she prayed daily that he would learn to love himself. To her that was more important even than his learning to love others, and it was something she was not sure he would ever accomplish. He would be forever haunted by his childhood.

Today was not a day to dwell on the past, or on the fact that her husband-to-be had his face on wanted posters back in Missouri. Today there would be a wedding, and in the morning they would leave Fort Laramie and head for Salt Lake. She knew Jake would be glad to get away from the soldiers, always worried about being recognized when he was in such places.

“There now,” Esther said. “Don't ve look beautiful! You are a picture, Randy! I think I have never seen a young voman so pretty. Your Jake vill not be able to take his eyes off you.”

Miranda felt her cheeks flushing, not so much at the compliment as at the thought of lying with Jake tonight as his wife. They had had only that one night of making love; had come upon the Mormons later that next day after their long talk about Jake's father. The journey had been difficult, draining them physically from battling the elements and stubborn animals, crossing the river several times, bearing up to intense prairie heat, and fighting off insects at night. They had lived with the constant fear that the Indians would return, maybe in a bigger force the next time, and it felt so good to be within the safety of the fort, to have this little reprieve. Tonight, in spite of their weary bones and muscles, they would most certainly find the energy to share their bodies as husband and wife.

The little orchestra began playing the wedding march, and Miranda came out from behind the wagon where the women had been fussing over her. She walked toward the musicians, where Jake stood waiting with the priest. She carried a few wildflowers the Mormon children had picked for her, and she wore the yellow dress Jake liked best. A couple of the wildflowers had been stuck into her hair, and she had applied just a touch of rouge to her cheeks. She knew she had grown thinner from the hardship of their journey and from being so sick after the snakebite. Her dress was a little big on her, and she hoped she looked all right to Jake.

When she came closer, her heart soared at the look of love there in the eyes of a man who three months ago hadn't known the first thing about loving and caring. She saw something else in those eyes, that hint of fear, that little-boy look that made her heart ache for him. He was so afraid to care, so afraid that he would ruin her life by being a part of it. How handsome he looked, wearing clean denim pants, a white ruffled shirt, and a silk suit jacket loaned to him by one of the bigger Mormon men. A black string tie decorated the neck of the shirt, and he wore no weapons. He had bathed and shaved in the fort bathhouse, and his leather boots had been polished by soldiers. He wore a new black felt hat purchased at the fort supply store, a hat he removed as she came closer. He handed it out to a soldier who stood nearby and he reached out to take her hand. He squeezed it tightly. “You sure about this?”

“Very sure.” She felt him trembling, wondered at her own daring to marry a wanted man. Everything they were discovering together could be destroyed so quickly, by a bounty hunter, or the law, or even other outlaws. Surely things would be different when they got beyond the Rockies. She smiled for him, felt like crying at the thought of how much she loved him.

The priest moved through his rituals, and they spoke their vows, Jake reddening and grinning a little on the words “for better, for worse.” He felt removed from himself, as though it was a different man marrying this slip of a woman who had totally messed up his thinking. In a sense, it
was
a different man, one who wanted nothing to do with the life he had led up to now, one who wanted to put the past behind him, if that was possible, and settle with a good woman, find some peace.

Peace. That was what Randy brought him. Away from her, life was vicious and dangerous for him; but in Randy's arms he was safe, loved, free. Free of the past, free of the memories, free of his anger. He slipped the plain gold band he had purchased at the fort's supply store onto Miranda's finger. It was a little too big, but it was the only one available. He would get her something nicer, he vowed, either at Salt Lake or Virginia City.

He watched those gray-blue eyes, as she accepted the ring; he saw the love there. He wondered if a woman any prettier existed, or a man any luckier than he was today. Did he really have any right calling someone as beautiful and kind and understanding his wife? Would he bring her only pain and sorrow? He had wanted so much just to ride out of her life and leave her to better things; but it had been impossible to see her again and not want her. She had made it all so easy, and he saw no fear or doubt in her eyes now as the priest pronounced them man and wife.

He leaned down and kissed her lips lightly, and the people around them clapped, a few of the Mormon women actually crying. “
Yo
te
quiero, mi esposa
,” he told her softly.

“I love you, Jake.” She saw tears in his eyes, and her own quickly misted. “We'll be all right.”

“I won't let anything happen to you.”

“I know that.”

They embraced, and the orchestra broke into a snappy tune that put everyone in a party spirit. Miranda thought how she could tell their children that their parents' wedding was even attended by a few Indians. Children. How would Jake feel about being a father? It would surely be a traumatic experience for him. She had not even thought about it until now. They had not discussed it. She set the thought aside as their Mormon friends surrounded them and congratulated them, hugging and kissing and laughing. The little band changed to a slower tune, and everyone urged the newlyweds to dance alone. “The first dance for Mr. and Mrs. Jake Turner,” someone shouted.

Jake put a hand to Miranda's waist, and they began to move in a circle. “I'm not very good at this—not much experience,” he told her.

“Well, this farm girl who hasn't gone out with a man in over three years is a little rusty herself.”

He whirled her around to the music, both of them becoming less and less aware of those around them. Miranda wondered at how surprising life could be. She had shot this man, learned to hate his kind. Then there he was, lying in her own bed. How had she fallen in love with him? How had she known somehow, that first day in the supply store, that the tall, dangerous-looking stranger with the guns and wearing the canvas slicker would end up playing an important role in her life? Now here she was, Jake Harkner's wife. The bride of an outlaw. No, not an outlaw. Not anymore. If only society would leave him alone now, they could be happy.

They moved through the formalities in a near daze, both of them a little overwhelmed that they had really done this, both of them eager to prove it to themselves by consummating their vows. They visited, thanked those who had given gifts, ate cake, and drank lemonade. Jake drank a little whiskey given to him by the soldiers, but he allowed himself only two shots. As soon as it was dark, he whisked Miranda up into his arms and carried her off toward the waiting wedding wagon amid laughter and teasing remarks from those around them.

The voices faded, and Miranda rested her head on Jake's shoulder. “It was a perfect wedding, Jake, even without a church and all the fancy trimmings.”

He set her on the gate of the wagon, bracing his hands on either side of her and leaning close to kiss her lightly. “Once we get settled, wherever that might be, you'll have a place of your own, Randy. I'll do the best I can.”

She touched his face. “I know that. I'm just happy being your wife. When we do have a place of our own, we can make love whenever we feel like it. It gives us something to look forward to.”

He grinned, kissing her harder then. He moved his lips to her neck. “If that's the case, when will I get any work done? I'll be in bed with you all the time.”

She laughed lightly, savoring the feel of his tongue flicking at her throat. He climbed up beside her and they moved under the canvas and mosquito netting where they could see each other better by a dimly lit lantern. Jake drew her down into the feather mattress, glad the night was cooler than it had been for several weeks. He studied the trusting, gray-blue eyes, began pulling pins from her honey-blond hair, wondered at the perfect features of her face. How small it was. He could probably crush it with one big hand, and sometimes he wondered that he didn't hurt her accidentally, her being so small-boned and delicate; but she wasn't delicate on the inside. This was one strong woman who knew what she wanted and took any risk to have it.

“I can't believe you're really my wife.” He traced his fingers over her face, her lips. “I'm not saying I'll be perfect. It's not easy pulling out of a past like mine, and trouble hunts me down like a wolf after a rabbit; but I'll do what I can, short of robbing a bank, to make sure you're taken care of and have a place of your own.”

She smiled and touched his hair, liking the feel of it, painful urges pressing at her insides. She did not doubt his love for one moment. Jake Harkner had been starved of loving and
being
loved nearly all his life. He had a lot to make up for. “I'll be a good wife, Jake. Wherever our home ends up, I'll make it nice for you.”