Outlaw Hearts (28 page)

He grabbed the front of her dress and ripped it away from her breasts. “Honey, I've done more than just beat up on a woman, and I don't generally pay a slut like you to get what I can get for free!” He punched her hard in the side of the face, and Mellie felt a blackness closing in on her, felt her clothes being ripped away. She knew that if she fought him he would only hurt her more, maybe send the scarred one up here. She lay still and let him get it out of his system, wondering how it was that even someone like herself could feel sick and humiliated when she was forced. Whoever these men were, she prayed to God they never found Jake and poor Miranda.

***

Clarence watched the stranger emerge from Mellie's room, wondered why Mellie herself didn't come back down. He had not gotten the man's name, but he was excited that he was asking about Jake. Anybody could tell that he was looking for vengeance, and the thought of bringing harm to that damn bitch Miranda Hayes Turner and the SOB she had married got his juices flowing. He moved out from behind the bar and walked over to the man, grabbing his arm.

“You looking for Jake Turner, mister?”

Kennedy's steely blue eyes bored into the youngster. He studied the young man's crooked nose and front teeth that were turning black. The kid might have been good-looking at one time, but he wasn't anymore. “You heard me askin'.”

“He went to California, him and his wife and their kid.”

Kennedy's eyes widened. “Kid! Jake's got a kid?”

“Yes, sir, about two months old by now, a boy. Everybody in town knows, on account of Jake stopped a bank robbery not long after he got here and got a write-up in the
Enterprise
.”

Kennedy grinned. Jake had a kid! That would slow him up even more, and it would give them yet another way of torturing the man before they killed him. What the hell had gotten into him, marrying and having a kid! That sure didn't sound like the Jake he had known, but then, Jake had been changing a little those last few months, talked sometimes about getting out of the life they led and maybe settling. He had just never believed Jake would really do it.

He glanced up at Mellie's room, wanting to hit her again for not telling him about the baby. She'd pay for that one. He looked at the young man standing before him. “You know where in California he was headed?”

“No, sir. But if you don't mind, I'd like to go along with you to find him. Something tells me you've got a big grudge to settle, and so do I.”

“You?” Kennedy looked him over. “You're just a kid.”

“I hate his guts. He's the reason my nose is crooked and my teeth are rotting out of my head. Besides, I'm getting sick of this place. I want to do something new.”

Kennedy leaned closer. “You ever rob a bank, boy? You ever raid a farm and take what you wanted, including the women?”

Clarence swallowed. From the looks of the Mexican who had been in here earlier, these men were obviously dangerous, probably killers. If he rode with them, he'd have plenty of protection when they did find Jake; and in the meantime he could learn a lot about how to handle a gun and all. It could be exciting taking up with a gang like this. “I've never done those things, but I'm willing to learn. And once you find Jake, I'd be one more gunhand against him. He's awful damn good with those guns, but a man can take on only so many men at a time.”

Kennedy grinned. “Well, you're right there, boy.” He put an arm around his shoulders. “We can always use new blood. Ol' Jake, he used to ride with us, but he got the crazy notion to try to turn good.”

“I knew it!” Clarence told him, following the man back to the bar. “I knew he wasn't any lawman back East. Was he an outlaw?”

Kennedy frowned. “Don't say that so loud, boy.”

“Damn!” Clarence ordered a whiskey, and the bartender scowled at him.

“You
work
here, remember? Get back behind the counter and help me out.”

“I don't work here anymore, Mr. Steed. I work for this man now.” Clarence pulled at his beard, which was getting a little fuller. “What's your name, anyway?”

“Kennedy, Bill Kennedy.” Kennedy looked the boy over. He'd take him in. Why not? Might be fun teaching the kid a thing or two. He would either end up being a good man to have along, or a pest. If he was a pest, Juan would slit his throat and they'd leave him in the Sierras. No big problem. He glanced at the bartender. “By the way, Mellie said to tell you she won't be down any more tonight,” he told the man. “She's not feelin' too good.”

Toby Steed glowered at Kennedy, and the look in Kennedy's eyes told him not to ask any questions. Kennedy ordered another drink, then held the glass up to Clarence. “Welcome to the group, boy. Here's to findin' Jake Harkner.”

Clarence grinned and joined him in the drink.

***

Jake pushed on the brake, and he and Miranda scanned the valley below them. It stretched out for endless miles like a soft green and yellow painting. As soon as they had moved down out of the mountains and the huge fir trees on their slopes, the sun hit their skin with a radiating warmth. Birds flitted about, their songs soothing and pleasant to the ear. Wild roses bloomed, seemingly everywhere, filling the air with their sweet perfume.

“Jake, it's beautiful! I've heard so much about California, how the weather is always lovely, how a man can grow just about anything in the valleys.”

Jake took a good look around, feeling like he had driven straight into heaven. “Sure is pretty.” He looked at her, glanced down at the baby in her arms. “So is what I'm looking at now.”

She smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. “Oh, Jake, we can be happy here, I know it. We'll start a brand-new life here, you and me and little Lloyd. Let's not make camp just yet. Let's go on closer to Sacramento. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can see about land for sale, decide where we'll settle and whether we'll farm or ranch—”

“Not Sacramento.”

She raised her head and looked at him. “What? I thought we had decided.”

Jake looked behind them, then out over the valley. “Don't ask me why, Randy. I just have a gut feeling we should head farther south. I expect most folks who come through here figure on settling in Sacramento or San Francisco. Others probably decide to go on down to Los Angeles. I don't want to do the expected. Nobody has even seen us yet to say where we might have gone. I'm turning south. We'll follow the foothills and look for some little out-of-the-way place most folks haven't heard of. California is a big state—easy to get lost in—and that's what we need to do—get lost.”

“Jake, we left no enemies back in Virginia City. They all wished only the best for us.”

He pushed his hat back, wrapping the reins around a peg and taking a cheroot from his pocket. “It's not the people of Virginia City I'm worried about.” He lit the cigar and puffed on it quietly for a moment.

“Then who? The law wouldn't bother tracking you all the way from Missouri.”

“Probably not. But I know somebody who would, and if he gets even the slightest taste of my trail, he won't quit.”

“Bill Kennedy?”

Jake sighed. “I hope you never meet him, not just because of what he'd do if he found us, but because you'd see even clearer just what kind of man I used to be.”

She quelled the hint of fear he had stirred in her soul. “Jake, Sheriff McCleave told me clear back in Kansas that Kennedy and his men had gone on to Indian Territory to try to find you. There is no way they would ever track you back to the Oregon Trail and clear out here.”

“He's one of the best trackers I know, him and Juan Hidalgo.” He picked up the reins to the mules that pulled the wagon. “I don't want to upset you. I wasn't worried in Virginia City, because I knew if they did track us, they'd have a late start and probably get stranded by winter; but part of the reason I wanted to get the hell out of Nevada as soon as you could travel was to stay as far ahead of him as I could, if he's even following us at all. I knew once we got here we'd be almost impossible to find, especially if I hang up my guns and lay low so I don't draw any attention to myself. Maybe I should change my name again.”

“But the baby's last name is Turner.”

He took the cigar from his mouth. “He'll never know the difference. How about Logan? John Logan?”

“Jake, I don't want to—”

“You don't know what they're like, Randy! Now more than ever I want a peaceful life, a nice place for you and Lloyd. I never thought too much about Kennedy and his bunch till Lloyd was born. Then I knew I wanted to make it as good for the both of you as I can, take no chances. Kennedy carries a mighty grudge. It never mattered to me when I was on my own. I still don't care just for myself, but if they ever got hold of you and Lloyd.” He looked away. “We're heading south, and we're changing our name again. Our last name is Logan, understand?”

She put a hand on his knee, knowing the pain he suffered at thinking he might be the cause of harm coming to them. “All right. But we might as well keep the first name Jake. I'm so used to calling you that, I'd probably slip up and cause more attention than if we just keep your right name.”

“Fine. It's Jake Logan then.” He put the cigar back in his mouth and rubbed at his eyes. “I'm sorry, Randy. Maybe I'm just getting too anxious about the whole thing. Here in California, farther south in the valley somewhere, we can be lost to the rest of the world.”

“We'll settle wherever you want, Jake. All that matters is that we're together.”

Jake moved his arm to rub at her back. “I love you. I'll get you settled soon and there won't be any more of this living out of a wagon, I promise.” He kicked off the brake, flicking the reins and shouting at the mules to get moving. He headed the wagon down the hill, Outlaw and the packhorse following. As soon as they reached the valley, he headed south.

September 1869

Jake came inside for lunch, hanging his hat on a hook near the door. He had left his boots just outside, not wanting to dirty the bright braided rugs Miranda had so painstakingly made herself to decorate their three-room log home.

He smiled at the thought of how good life was here in California. The main room of their house, which he had built with his own hands, along with help from generous neighbors, was large and pleasant, with several windows to let in the California sunshine. Lace curtains graced the windows, and a huge stone fireplace took over one whole wall at the kitchen end of the room. It wasn't needed often for cooking, since he had bought Miranda an iron, coal-burning cookstove, which was her pride and joy.

The other two rooms were bedrooms, one for them, the other for two-year-old Lloyd, who was taking a nap. Miranda greeted him with a smile and told him lunch was nearly ready, and he watched her pop a loaf of fresh-baked bread from its pan. She was wearing that yellow dress he liked. She hadn't worn it for a long time. He remembered the first time he saw her in it, when she first started making him think maybe he wanted to change his life.

“That foal is doing great,” he told her. “I'll have a good herd to show that buyer who comes to the fair every year. We ought to make some good money, besides the profit we made on the feed corn and the onions. By next year we'll have to hire help. The grapes will start to produce enough by next year to ship to market in San Diego.”

Miranda set the bread on the table. “I have to admit, Jake, I never thought you'd take to farming and ranching quite this well.”

He came around the table and pulled her into his arms. “You should have more faith in me, woman.” He leaned down and met her mouth, giving her a long, deep kiss. He moved his lips to her eyes. “I'm hungrier for you than I am for that food,” he told her.

“Jake, it's the middle of the day! Someone could come, or Lloyd could wake up.”

“Nobody will come and you know it, and Lloyd wouldn't know what we were doing.” He swept her up into his arms. “Hell, Randy, I've been so busy getting in the crops and worrying over that mare and her foal that all I've done is collapse into bed at night and hardly given you any attention at all.”

“Jake Harkner, put me down!” She liked to use his real name in private, felt he should hear it and learn to be proud of it. She made a mild protest when he dumped her on the bed and moved on top of her, but her weak objections vanished when his lips covered her own again in a penetrating kiss. This was so like the man she loved, spontaneous, gently demanding, sometimes a little wild and unpredictable. “Jake, this is crazy.”

He moved his lips to her neck and ran his hand under her dress. She wore the dress alone today, except for a camisole and drawers. It was warm, and she hadn't bothered with slips. “Just a quick little sign of affection,
mi
querida
,” he said softly. She felt the drawers coming off. “Maybe tonight we'll do this again, take our time.”

Just the words brought on a surge of hot desire. When Jake Harkner “took his time” with a woman, he had the most exotic ways of taking her to a world of ecstasy. She never dreamed she could let a man do such things, or that there were so many ways to make love. With Jake it always seemed so right and natural.

For now there would be this quick but sweet sign of affection, clothes still on, pants unbuttoned. He moved into her, the penetration hot and hard, and she remembered how glad she was to know even after the baby that they could still get so much pleasure out of this. His thrusts were deep and stimulating, and he patiently held back until she arched up to him in her own climax. She wondered if it was like this for other women, or if she was simply lucky to have found a man who knew all the right ways to arouse her, to bring out this wanton desire. She could not quite understand why some women complained about this, acted as though allowing their husbands their pleasure was such a chore. Perhaps they would faint if she told them all the things she had let this man do to her. There was not an inch of her body that had been left unexplored. It was the nature of the man to have a woman completely at his command when she was in his bed, and she had never minded one bit. He carried a deep and amazing passion for a man who at one time thought he could never love, and never once had she felt used or dirty. Every touch, every taste, every joining was filled with sweet pleasure and grew out of a desire to express their love.

He moaned with his own throbbing climax as she finally drew the life from him. He let out a deep sigh, and stretched out beside her.

“This is not the way to get chores done, Jake.”

He grinned, rolling to his side and tugging at her honey-blond hair. She'd brushed it out long and straight today. He liked it that way. “Maybe if you'd put your hair in a bun and wouldn't wear this yellow dress, I'd just come in to eat.”

She touched his lips. He smelled of sweat and leather and out-of-doors, but it was a good smell, the smell of a man who worked hard to make a good life for his family. She supposed there was a time when he smelled only of liquor and smoke and cheap perfume…and maybe blood. “When you have a need, I doubt it would matter what I was wearing or if I was bald.”

He laughed lightly, then noticed Lloyd standing in the doorway to the room staring at them. “Hey, you, what are you doing out of bed?” The boy grinned and ran on chubby legs to the bed, tugging at Jake. “Wait a minute!” Jake rose and quickly washed. He tucked in his shirt and buttoned his pants, then whisked the child up, holding him in the air so that he giggled. “Come on, let's walk around outside a minute while your mommy washes.”

“Daddy pooay,” Lloyd said, grasping Jake's nose.

“Yes, Daddy play, but we also have to eat.”

Miranda watched them walk out of the bedroom, her heart full of a sweet joy. It had been just as she had suspected between Jake and his son. The man doted on him every free moment he had. In fact, the child had been a source of a few arguments when it came to the subject of discipline. Jake would not lay a hand on the child, and around his father Lloyd got away with any naughty thing he wanted to do. Since he had started walking, he got into endless trouble. He was spirited and daring, everything his father was. The older he got, the more he looked like Jake—dark, wavy hair, snappy, black eyes, a winning smile.

She got up to wash, thinking about that smile. Since they had come here, Jake had become more relaxed about not being followed by anyone. She realized it had been months since she saw that old look of wild anger in Jake's own dark eyes. He seemed to be healing emotionally, and most of the time he wore that smile that had nearly startled her the first time she saw it on the old troubled and unhappy Jake Harkner. That smile just seemed to totally change his looks. He seemed to feel better about himself, had learned to read and to work with his hands, even discovered he was a good farmer. It was good to see him so happy.

She washed herself and straightened her dress, then brushed her hair and tied it at the back of her neck. She went back into the main room to finish preparing lunch, cutting a few pieces of ham and thinking how good life was here in California. The weather was nearly always perfect, except for occasional earthquake tremors, to which they had become more accustomed. Their neighbors had explained that it was those who lived in bigger cities who had to be afraid, and that it seemed the quakes were more often and more violent farther north. Last year just about the only topic of conversation had been the devastating earthquake in San Francisco. For weeks the newspapers out of San Diego ran bold headlines about the loss of lives and property. The destruction and fires had been terrible, and Miranda was glad Jake had decided to come south.

She set the ham on the table, thinking about some other headlines that for several weeks had changed her Jake back to the old, restless, scowling man she had first met. In the north, especially along the winding mountain roads to mining camps, there had been several stagecoach and payroll robberies by an outlaw gang whose leader, according to surviving victims, was called Bill. Another of the outlaws was described as a scarred Mexican called Juan who had done horrible things with his knife and had raped several women.

Jake had stormed about, had hardly spoken to her, and would not play with Lloyd. He had even threatened to head north and “wipe out” Kennedy and his gang before they could come here and do the same to them. The words had struck fear in her heart that he would never come back, that he would be gunned down and she would never see him again.

Jake had no doubt it was Kennedy and his men who were the culprits. His worst fear, that Kennedy would come west, had been realized. Miranda had finally convinced him that it was most likely they had come to California only because things were too dangerous for them back in Missouri. They were wanted there, and now that the war had been over for four years, lawless men could no longer enjoy the freedom they once had. She had finally convinced him and herself that Kennedy's coming west had nothing to do with hunting Jake. How could the man possibly know Jake had come west? Even if he did, he would never find them in this peaceful little valley few people frequented. Jake's last name was Logan, now, and he was a farmer and a rancher. He never even wore his guns anymore, except to carry his rifle to go hunting for meat or to protect himself from wild animals when he rode into the foothills. That was certainly not the Jake Harkner Kennedy would be looking for. And how could he know? The regular trail to California did not go through Virginia City, and that was the only place Kennedy might have heard about Jake and put things together.

She sliced some bread and went to the door to call out to Jake to draw some water from the well and come in to eat. He was walking around with Lloyd on his shoulders, and she smiled at the sight. After several days of going out every afternoon with his guns strapped on, practicing his draw over and over, target practicing, Jake had finally hung up the weapons again and decided it was highly unlikely Kennedy would ever find him here or even know he was in California. The Kennedy gang finally faded from the headlines, and a growing law enforcement in the San Francisco area was having its effects on thieves and murderers. The last article they read about Kennedy had said it was believed things had gotten too hot for him and his men. A trap had been set for them in which four of Kennedy's men were killed.

“
Brad
Helmsley, Luke Stowers, Frank Smith, Bert Jackson
,” Miranda had read aloud to Jake.

I
knew
all
of
them
, he had answered.
Bert
Jackson
was
called
Buffalo
by
his
friends, if men like that can be called
friends.

The article had said the rest of the gang had headed farther north, a couple more of them believed to be wounded. They were most likely headed for Canada.

There had been no more word of Bill Kennedy and his gang, and Jake had finally begun to return to the new Jake she loved even more than the old one, a hardworking man who had built this ranch on land purchased from their closest neighbor. Joe Grant lived two miles distant and wanted to sell off part of his land to reduce his workload now that he was getting old.

The people they had met in the little town three miles to the east called Desert, were some of the kindest, warmest people Miranda had known, even friendlier than the people she had known back in Kansas City. Some of them, as well as ranching neighbors, had helped build this lovely cabin she called home, as well as the barn and two sheds out back. Life was good, better than she had ever known it to be. She realized this was the happiest she had been since her mother died nine years ago. It seemed life had been a matter of turmoil and wandering and loss ever since then.

Her family was gone, but she had a new family now, a beautiful son. She hoped there would be more children. She suspected she might finally be pregnant again, but she didn't want to get her hopes up too much, so she had said nothing to Jake yet. Maybe she would tell him today. She had been trying for two years for a second child but had had trouble conceiving after Lloyd's difficult birth.

She walked over and opened the door for Jake, and a sweet fragrance from the rose bushes she had planted around her front porch penetrated the air. Lloyd toddled in ahead of his father, and Jake followed behind, setting the bucket of water on the counter he had built along one wall for her. “I took Lloyd to see the foal, set him on Outlaw for a few minutes. The kid isn't afraid of a damn thing. I swear he'd take off riding if I let him.”

“Like father, like son,” Miranda teased.

She picked Lloyd up and glanced at Jake whose eyes had quickly changed from joy to a look of deep hurt. “Don't ever put it that way, Randy,” he said, scowling.

“Oh, Jake, I only meant that you aren't afraid of anything either. If our son is daring and full of adventure, it's because you've put that spirit into him. It's a
good
thing, not bad. I
want
him to be like his father. I'm
proud
of his father.”

Jake walked over and took Lloyd from her, setting him into a high chair he had made himself. “He'll be a thousand times
better
than me,” he said quietly. He leaned down and kissed the top of the boy's head, and Miranda turned to retrieve a pot of coffee from the stove, realizing how delicate the subject of fatherhood still could be for him sometimes. “How many horses will you take to the auction at the fair next month?” she asked, deciding to change the subject. She poured the coffee and set a little plate of boiled and buttered potatoes in front of Lloyd, then served more potatoes to Jake.