Outlaw Hearts (26 page)

Miranda looked back at the grave. “We used to be close when we were little. Now that I think about it, he seemed to start drawing away after Mother died. My father was so lost in his own grief, he didn't pay any attention. I don't think any of us realized how much her death affected him.” She looked back at Jake, realizing how much more traumatic for him the death of his own mother had been. She reached out and took his hand. “Let's go back.”

Those who had attended the funeral nearby had broken up and were also leaving. Miranda glanced their way, only then realizing that the preacher for the service had been Wilbur Jennings. She drew in her breath, and Jake frowned. “What is it?”

“It's Preacher Jennings!” She left him and briskly walked closer to the man. Jennings and his wife stopped still when they saw her, and Miranda noticed that one of the man's brothers was also with him. She saw no sign of Clarence.

“Mrs. Hayes!” Preacher Jennings looked startled and immediately began to redden.

“Well, if it isn't the fine preacher,” Miranda said, loud enough for some of the other people leaving to hear. They stopped and turned. “Have you told the people here the truth about the kind of man you really are?” Her grief and the strain of the last two days made her want to lash out at someone. What better target than this man who had left her to die! She turned to the rest of them. “You can tell any others who listen to this man preach about God and faith and goodness that he's a hypocrite! I traveled partway here with the good preacher and his family from Kansas—”

“Please, Mrs. Hayes,” Opal spoke up, her face pale.

Miranda glanced at her. “You're as guilty as your husband,” she sneered. “And my name is Turner, Mrs. Jake Turner. It's only thanks to my new husband that I am
alive
today! He found me at that trading post, dying, being abused by those horrible men you knew good and well wouldn't take good care of me!” She looked at the others again, as Jake stepped up behind her. “The Reverend Jennings left me behind at a stinking, dirty trading post back in Nebraska after I had been bitten by a snake,” she told them. “His own nephew tried to rape me before that, and the preacher chose to believe the boy when he said I had done the seducing! It was a lie! That is how forgiving the preacher is. Even if it had been true, a true Christian would have given me the benefit of the doubt, would have still seen to my safety until others came along with whom I could travel. Instead he chose to leave me behind like a dying mule!” She looked back at Jennings. “Never have I known such pain and humiliation. Mr. Turner came along and rescued me from that filthy place and lanced my wound to drain the infection! He saved my life, while you continued on as though I never existed!”

“Reverend, is that true?” one of those in the funeral party asked.

“I…it wasn't quite that way. I mean…” He looked at his wife. “Say something, Opal!” The man's stammering told the others all they needed to know.

“And we thought somebody had finally come to this godforsaken town who could be trusted,” one of the others said. He and those with him just stared for a moment, shaking their heads. They turned and left, and Miranda enjoyed the withered look on Jennings's face.

“I'm glad I've seen you again.” Miranda was seething. “Every chance I get I'll tell others about how poorly you practice what you preach! And where is your oh-so-perfect, innocent nephew, Reverend? Is
he
out preaching too?”

Opal blinked back tears, her hard, thin face showing her sorrow. “Clarence has been taken in by the sin of this town,” she answered, looking embarrassed herself. “He has strayed from us and has fallen into the ways of the wicked.”

“Well, today Clarence isn't feeling too much like sinning or doing anything else,” Jake spoke up, surprising Miranda. “He and I had a little run-in last night in the Silver Shoes. I found out who he was and I can guarantee he's damn sorry about what he did to Miranda.”

“What did you do to him?” the reverend demanded, his face livid.

“Nothing he didn't deserve,” Jake answered.

The preacher literally shook, turning to Opal. “I must try to find him and make sure he's all right. James would want me to do that much.” He grasped his wife's arm and stormed off with her, his brother glaring at Jake for a moment, looking him over, studying the guns he wore. The momentary challenge he had shown quickly changed to a look that said he thought better of it. He followed Jennings down the hill.

Miranda turned to Jake. “What happened with Clarence? Why didn't you tell me?”

He moved his hat back farther on his head. “You had enough to think about last night. He had seen us that first night, knew who I was when I went into the Silver Shoes. Apparently he works there, and apparently it made him angry that the woman who had spurned him turned around and married me. I'm only guessing at how the stupid kid thinks.” He took a cheroot from an inside pocket of his jacket. “The dumb kid decided to challenge me. He insulted you in front of everybody in that saloon, then went for his gun.”

Her eyes widened. “You
shot
him?”

“Hell no. You don't want to know what I did, except that I gave him a damn good scare. I have to tell you, though, there was a time when I
would
have shot him.” He cupped his hand against the wind and lit the square cigar. “On the one hand I feel good about letting him live, but I only did it because he's a smart-mouthed kid trying to be a man.” He puffed on the cheroot. “The only thing that bothers me is the rage I felt when I lit into him. It reminded me of my pa. I've beat the hell out of plenty of men, but never somebody that age.”

Miranda folded her arms stoically. “He deserved whatever you did to him! If he thought he was man enough to try to rape me, then he was man enough to take what he had coming!”

He squinted, keeping the cigar in his mouth and studying her intently. “Well, Mrs. Turner, for such a slip of a woman, you can be pretty damn ornery.”

“If I'm going to be married to you, I expect I have to be, just to keep you in line, if nothing else.”

He grinned a little, stepping closer and putting his arm around her. “Come on. Let's get you out of the cold.”

Miranda looked back once more at the lonely grave. It broke her heart to think of Wes dying without any family close by, but it had been his choice to leave. She only wished he could have been buried next to their father. She turned to Jake, resting her head against his chest. “It hurts, Jake, to think our once-close family is so scattered and broken now. Mother is buried back in Illinois, Father in Kansas, now Wes here in Nevada. I'll be moving on to California come spring. It feels strange, like I'm floating on the wind.”

“You'll feel more secure when you have that baby and have a place to call your own. There won't be any more wandering after that. I promise. Come on now. It's getting colder. I think another snowstorm is coming.”

He walked her to Outlaw and lifted her up onto the horse, then took the reins and began leading the animal back to town. An explosion in a nearby mine made Miranda jump, and she looked back at the grave once more, thinking of the awful way poor Wes had died. Her throat ached, and she turned away again. Snowflakes began to take shape, and before the day was out, the graveyard would be buried in three feet of snow. Winter was settling into the Sierras with a vengeance.

January 1867

Miranda read the headlines of the
Territorial
Enterprise
again.
Bank
Robbery
Foiled
by
Local
Citizen
. “Oh, Jake,” she whispered. What he had done would be laughingly ironic if it weren't for the unwanted attention it had drawn. She read on.
Local
gunsmith
Jake
Turner
yesterday
interrupted
a
bank
robbery
in
progress
at
the
Nevada
National, catching the thieves as they came out of the bank and shooting it out with them. Turner, an ex-lawman himself, is known to be an excellent gunman and has worked for Ike Jones, our local gunsmith, since arriving in Virginia City last October. Of the five thieves, two are dead, two wounded, and one is sitting in the local jailhouse. All the stolen money was recovered, and Sheriff Lane is grateful for Mr. Turner's quick thinking and prompt
action.

Quick thinking. The whole town thought Jake's reaction had been because he was an experienced lawman from back East. That was the only explanation Jake could think of. How else could he explain the wild shoot-out? He couldn't tell everyone that the reason he had recognized a robbery was in progress was by the look of the men who waited outside the bank; that he knew why they were there because he had robbed more than one bank himself and knew the setup. Miranda had tried to make him feel better by telling him that at least he had had the right idea for once, had stopped a robbery instead of being a part of one. On the one hand he had done a good thing, but he had paced and smoked half the night worrying about the attention he had drawn to himself.

If
we
weren't in such a dangerous place where I might run into somebody who knows me, I'd take these damn guns off
, he had grumbled.
Once
we
get
out
of
here
and
settle
in
California, I won't wear them anymore. I
promise.

Miranda was just as worried about the bold headlines as he was. He could hardly walk out the door without people surrounding him, slapping him on the back, asking about his skill with his guns, wanting to know where he had been a lawman. She knew it irritated him that he had to pile on lie after lie. At the breakfast table this morning, the other guests of the boardinghouse peppered him with more questions.

She set down the paper when she heard the outside door close. She walked from the parlor into the hallway to see Jake hanging up his coat and hat. “You're late,” she told him. “You know I worry when you're late.”

He stomped snow from his feet, then sat down on a bench Mrs. Anderson kept in the hall and removed his boots. “I was talking with the owner of the Yellow Jacket mine.” He set his boots aside and rose, kissing her cheek before leading her into the parlor. “He offered me a job, and I think I'm going to take it.” He moved to the fireplace to warm his hands.

“The Yellow Jacket! You won't be able to come home at night.”

“I know.” He turned to look at her, still warming his hands. “The pay is good, Randy, five times what I'm making here in town. We'll need the money if I'm going to set you up right when we reach California. I've already let these guns bring me more attention than I want, so I might as well go all the way. Management at the Yellow Jacket wants me to come up there and be a troubleshooter, keep men in line up at the mine, make sure shipments from the mine to town make it without any trouble and that payroll money gets back up there the same way.”

“Jake, that sounds dangerous.”

He laughed almost bitterly. “For me? Hell, I can take on an army, remember? The damage is done now as far as people knowing how I handle myself. If that's how it's going to be, I might as well make all the money I can with these things while I have the chance.” He unbuckled the gun belts and threw the weapons onto a chair and held his hands near the fire again. “I'm taking the job, Randy. I want to get us started right when we reach California. We're going to need a lot of things, a house, furnishings, cattle and such. I don't have any choice. If I can use what I know for good, then why not do it, especially when it means making a better life for you and the kid.”

He turned, glancing at her swollen belly, loving the sight of this beautiful woman carrying his child. He wanted more than anything to make life good for her, and he hated the disappointed look in her eyes. “It's just till spring, Randy. I can make a lot of money over the next four months, and I can come home for two days out of every eight. As soon as you're able, we'll get the hell out of here and life will be more peaceful, I promise.” He turned back to the fire. “You'll be fine if you stay right here with Mrs. Anderson. After we get to California and settle into some little nameless town, things will be different. I'll hang up the guns and just be a common farmer, a man with a wife and a kid who's no different than the next man.”

She hated the thought of his being gone so much, but he wanted so badly to earn all that he could so they could live well in California. “Will you come and stay when the baby is due? I don't want to have it alone, Jake.”

“I'll be here. Nothing can keep me away.” He turned and folded her into his arms. “I don't like it much more than you do, Randy, but I can't turn this down. If I'm going to work to earn money legitimately, I might as well be doing what I do best, and making as much as I can.”

“If you feel right about the job, then take it.” Her eyes rested on the guns that lay in the chair, and she thought about the promise she had made not to tell their children about his past. Could they really keep that past a secret like he wanted? The only possibility of doing that was if he hung those guns up forever. She felt like part of this was her fault for having brought him here. They should have headed north to Oregon.

***

April 1867

The smell of spring was pungent in the mountain air, and Bill Kennedy wondered how soon it would be safe to travel on to Nevada. The cold and snowstorms had lasted into April, and they were all anxious now to be on their way. He stepped off the porch of the small cabin he and his men had taken over since the owner, an old trapper, had died, and he thought how good the air smelled compared to the stink of eight men sleeping practically on top of each other inside. At least most of the time two or three of them were gone, sleeping with the few whores in the little town of Bear River, women who by now were beginning to look pretty ugly.

Word was a transcontinental railroad would be coming through here in a couple more years. That was hard to believe, but if it was true, the town was sure to grow. Trouble was, with a railroad, more people would come, meaning more lawyers and judges and civilization and lawmen and all the things that would give them trouble. They had come out here to be free to do whatever the hell they wanted and live off what they could take from others. In little towns like this, he and his men could rule like kings. All winter they had eaten and drunk and slept for nothing, holed up here while they waited for the vicious Rocky Mountain winter to end so they could go on to Nevada. There wasn't one person in this town brave enough or skilled enough to stop them from whatever they wanted to do, and he figured that before they left, they would clean out the town and take as much food and money as they could get off the “generous” citizens of Bear River.

He stretched, then scratched at his beard. There had been no reason to shave while they were here, and he supposed he could use one now, maybe a bath too. As soon as the danger of avalanches was past, they would be on their way. He'd been told there was also the danger of spring flooding, small streams turning into rushing torrents in minutes. It was a chance they would have to take. The longer they waited, the more risk they took that Jake Harkner would leave Virginia City. Once he did, he'd be harder to find.

He thought about the wide-eyed soldier back at Fort Laramie who had cried, begging Juan not to slit his throat when Juan and the others had got the young man alone and forced him to tell them what he knew about the destination of Jake and Miranda Turner. They had inquired when first arriving at the fort, but the commander had refused to give them the information. Kennedy had not bothered to tell the man who Jake really was, but later that night he and Juan and the others had caught a young private alone and forced the information out of him. He figured that soldier had never told his commander how he had been threatened. After all, Juan had described to the young private just exactly what he would do with his knife when he came back for him if they discovered soldiers were on their tail.

Now they at least had a definite destination. If the woman's brother was in Virginia City, it was likely she and Jake would settle there. Hell, there must be plenty for a man to do in a place like that if he knew how to use his weapons.

“Do we go soon,
patrón
?”

Kennedy turned to see Juan standing behind him, looking uglier than ever from having just awakened. He turned back around to study the foreboding mountains ahead. “Yeah. Soon. Six months in this dead little town is too much for any man.”

“
Sí
. It is time for some action.” Juan fingered the handle of his knife. He never slept without it. All winter he had only used it to clean animals, each time imagining it was Jake Harkner or the man's wife at his mercy.

“You'll get your action, soon as we find Jake,” Kennedy told him. “Some old scout offered his services last night to ride out and check the trails, see if maybe we can get started. I expect he volunteered only because the people in this town are anxious for us to leave.” He chuckled. “Chickenshit bastards. We'll go, all right, but not before we clean them all out good. I just hope that scout says we can ride. I don't want ol' Jake to get away from me. If he slips through our fingers this time, we might never find him.”

***

Jake charged up to the boardinghouse on Outlaw, jumping off the horse before it even came to a complete halt. He whirled the reins around a hitching post and rushed inside, not bothering to clean off his wet boots this time. He trooped down the hallway, a man who just didn't quite seem to fit in the tidy home with its lace and knickknacks and flowered wallpaper and plants. His canvas duster brushed against a fern as he hurried into his and Miranda's room to see the doctor bent over his wife, taking her pulse. Mrs. Anderson was gently washing perspiration from Miranda's forehead.

“Randy!” Jake threw off his duster and moved closer. Mrs. Anderson moved out of the way, and he looked down at Miranda's pale face. He put his hand to her cheek, and in spite of the perspiration that showed in her hair and on her neck, she felt cold. It startled him so that he drew his hand away. “What's happened?” He looked at the doctor.

The doctor straightened. “The baby came a little early. It's a boy. I think he'll be all right, and your wife should be too, now that we've stopped the bleeding. She had a bad time of it. For a while, there, I was afraid she would bleed to death, but it's stopped now. She'll be pretty weak for a while.”

“You sure? You'd better be a real doctor like you said! You'd better know what you're doing! If she dies…”

“Jake,” Mrs. Anderson interrupted. “Don't talk to him that way. He did the best he could. These things happen.”

Jake glared at the doctor, who had paled from the threat. The man stood there wide-eyed and practically shaking, and Jake realized the reputation he had developed after foiling the bank robbery and making a living with his guns since then. He realized he had behaved for a moment like the old Jake, his fear of losing Randy outweighing all reason. He removed his hat and hung it over the bedpost. “I'm sorry,” he told the doctor.

“You should take those guns off, Jake,” Mrs. Anderson told him. “You're in the presence of your new son, and you know I don't like them worn in the house anyway.” Jake began unbuckling the guns, wondering how it was some women had a way of ordering around men who could probably kill them with one swipe of the hand. They had grown close to Mrs. Anderson, who sometimes seemed more like a mother to them—at least that was what Miranda had said. Jake felt it but wouldn't admit it. He slung the guns over a nearby chair and returned to bend close to Miranda. “Randy? Can you hear me?”

She opened her eyes and managed a weak smile. “You have…a son,” she whispered.

No. He couldn't think about that. He couldn't really have a son of his own. It was all so unreal. Maybe if he didn't look at the kid, this would all just go away. “You hang on, Randy. Don't you dare leave me with a kid to raise on my own. You know I can't do it.”

She smiled more. “Yes, you…can.”

He put his hands to either side of her face and bent down to kiss her forehead. “You listen to me. I love you like I never thought I could love another human being.” He felt a lump rising in his throat, a desperate fear at the thought that he could lose her. “I need you, Randy, and you know all the reasons why. Don't you go and die on me, you hear? If I lose you, I'll go right back to that old life. You don't want me to do that, do you?”

“You talk…big,” she whispered. “Don't…mean it… Got to take care of…our little son.”

He brushed her cheek with his own, tears forming in his eyes. “Damn it, Randy, don't you leave me,” he said, his voice raspy. “Don't you dare leave me! I'm so sorry I wasn't here. I was going to come down tomorrow to stay. I should have been here, should have been with you through all of this.”