Outlaw Hearts (51 page)

He studied her lovingly, wanting her so. “My God,” he said in a near whisper. “I never should have ridden back into your life.”

She smiled through tears. “Oh, but just think if you hadn't. For one thing, I probably would have died. For another, we never would have had all those years of happiness. You never would have found out what it was like to love and be loved, and you never would have had the chance to be a father and make up for all the things you missed as a child. Evie has already forgiven your past, and she understands, Jake. It will be the same for Lloyd. He just needs more time. You and Lloyd were so much closer, and a father and son share a different kind of relationship and trust. He'll come to realize you kept your past from him because you loved him so much.” She squeezed his hand. “We
are
going to be a family again, Jake. You'll see. Haven't I been right about everything else? Didn't I say we were meant to be, and that you could lead a normal life, and you'd love being a father? Wasn't I right about those things?”

“Time's up, Mrs. Harkner,” one of the guards told her.

She saw the tiny glimmer of hope in Jake's eyes quickly vanish at the words. “You think about what I've said, Jake. My strength comes from your own hope and faith.”

She kissed his cheek, and he breathed in the sweet scent of her, ached for her. Five more years was such a long time. Hell, even if he lived, he'd hardly be able to walk by then. What kind of man would she have coming home to her? A near cripple. His hip was getting worse, and his right hand had healed so poorly he doubted he had the strength in his fingers to pull a trigger. What kind of work could he do? How could she keep hoping like she did, keep talking like five years was just two weeks away?

“Take care of yourself,” he told her, kissing her forehead in return. How he wanted to kiss her mouth, but that would be torture.

“Take the basket, Jake.” She put the bread back into the basket and put the chicken back into the pan and covered it again. “I can get it when I come next month. Please take this back with you and promise me you'll eat it. Please, Jake.”

He sighed deeply, picking it up and nodding. “I promise.”

“Let's go,” one of the four guards told him, nudging him lightly with the barrel of his shotgun.

Jake watched Miranda a moment longer. She stood there straight and sure, showing pride and strength and trying to encourage him with a weak smile. God, how he hated the sight of her standing there alone. He gave her the best smile that he could, knowing she needed to see some sign that he was not giving up after all, and even though he knew a part of him was already dead.

He turned away and followed the guards inside without looking back again. The guards led him to his tiny cell, which for the moment he was not sharing with another prisoner. He'd had to pair up a few times, and it only made things even more miserable in the small enclosure.

“Any of you want some chicken?” he asked the guards. “I don't think I can eat more than one piece.”

One of the men opened the basket and lifted the lid to the pan. “Smells damn good. You ought to eat it, Jake. Your woman brought it for you.”

Jake took out the loaf of bread. “Just leave me this.” He turned away and sat down on his cot while one of the guards locked the cell door. The men took the basket and walked off with it, one of them already chewing on a chicken leg. Jake looked down at the loaf of bread, broke it in half and put it against his nose and mouth so he could smell it. What memories that smell brought to mind, good memories of coming home to the smell of baking bread, being greeted by a slip of a woman with blue-gray eyes and honey-colored hair. What he would give to hold her again in the night.

Lloyd trotted his horse along the Milk River. Being back in the United States again brought back old aches and memories, but he had vowed not to give in to them. For three years he had lived in Canada under another name, working odd jobs, learning to enjoy whiskey to the point that it had gotten him into numerous fights and landed him in jail more times than he could remember. He had thought that by going away and shedding his infamous name he could somehow find himself, discover if he had it in him to be the no-good his father had once been. He expected he had proved that he could. He'd done enough drinking and fighting to earn him some kind of bad marks; and in trying to forget Beth he'd lain with plenty of whores, taking his need for Beth out on women who meant nothing to him, some pretty, some damn ugly, most forgotten by the next morning.

He was tired of Canada. It was too damn cold there for most of the year. Montana wasn't much better. He'd head south, maybe find a way to hook up with the kind of men his father used to ride with. He'd heard from plenty of men about the Outlaw Trail. A lot of men he'd run into in Canada were bandits and outlaws who had fled the States. They knew a lot about places like Brown's Park and Robber's Roost. Most of them had also heard about Jake Harkner, but he'd never told any of them he was Jake's son.

Maybe now it was time to find out what being a Harkner really meant, how people would treat him. One thing he had learned while in Canada was how to use his father's guns. They were damn good six-shooters, perfectly balanced, with beautiful ivory handles, and he figured he was as fast with them now as his father had once been.

He still wanted to hurt the man. Making a reputation for himself with these guns, making sure his father heard about it, would surely cause him some pain and feelings of guilt. His grandfather had been bad, his father had been bad, so there must be a bad streak in him too. It must be so, because he'd sure taken a liking to whiskey easily enough, and he didn't mind at all when he got into fights and landed in jail. He needed to fight. It felt good to hit and hit and hit, even felt good to get hit back and feel pain; but no man's fist had hurt him so deeply and fiercely as when his own father had hit him that day in his jail cell back in St. Louis.

Why did the look on his father's face that day still make him feel like crying? He didn't want to feel sorry for him. He didn't want to care. It seemed he was constantly fighting that side of himself that told him to go back, that tried to remind him of how things used to be between him and his father.

He headed south. What better place to prove his reputation as the son of Jake Harkner than along the Outlaw Trail? He liked whiskey too much to hold a decent job, and he wasn't about to give up the liquor. Maybe the only way to earn a living now was by the gun, the way his father had once made his money. There were still some pretty lawless places in the West. He'd find them, and the men who ran them. They'd soon learn that the son of Jake Harkner was to be every bit as feared as the father.

He had no idea if Jake was still at Joliet, or where his mother and sister might be. He didn't want to know. His mother and Evie wouldn't like seeing him like this. He didn't like hurting them too, but if that was the only way to hurt his father, then so be it.

He drew his horse to a halt as a wave of nostalgia hit him again. He remembered his fourteenth birthday, the way Beth watched him, giggling and whispering with Evie. He remembered the pretty cake his mother had baked for him that day. Most of all he remembered his father bringing him that rifle. He looked down at his gear. He still carried that gun.

Pa!
a voice cried from within.

No, this wasn't good. He wasn't supposed to get these feelings. He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a flask of whiskey, uncorking it and taking a long swallow. He liked the way it burned from his throat all the way to his aching gut. Most of all he liked the way it helped him get through the painful memories, made him reckless, made him feel like he didn't give a damn.

He took one more swallow and put the flask away, then lit a cigarette and urged his horse into motion again. From what he'd been told, the Outlaw Trail ended somewhere up here in Montana near the old Bozeman Trail. He'd find it and head down into Wyoming, check out a place called Hole-in-the-Wall in the Wind River Mountains. It was time to start telling men who he really was and see how many wanted to try him out, see if he was as good as his father with the infamous Peacemakers he wore. If he got real lucky, somebody would come along who
was
faster, and that would be the end of him; he wouldn't need whiskey anymore to end his pain. There wouldn't
be
any pain; just the blissful peace of death.

***

April 1889

A biting mountain wind made Miranda shiver, and she had never felt more alone, never realized just how much she had depended on Jess's friendship and quiet support. Now a preacher prayed over his fresh grave, and she could not control the tears. So much had been lost to her. She had still heard nothing from Lloyd, and the last time she visited Jake, he had tried to put on a good front for her, but he had a bad cough, and she was terrified of losing him the same way Jess had died.

It had been a long, slow, agonizing death. The man had wasted away, his last days spent in terrible pain, every breath a gasp for air. She had stayed right by his side, held his hand, and he had admitted how much he loved her. She had assured him she loved him too, that if not for Jake, she would have gladly embraced him fully into her life. He had seemed comforted by that, and had clung to her hand in those last agonizing hours.

It didn't seem fair for a man to die like Jess had. And what if Jake died that way? He would suffer alone in that awful cell without her at his side. Evie wrapped her arms around her mother. Thank God for Evie and her husband. They were so good to her. They were after her to come and live with them, but she refused. Newlyweds should be alone. Besides, she was no shriveled old woman yet. She was only forty-three years old, still slender and strong, still plenty able to take care of herself. She had her work, enjoyed nursing others and birthing babies. She had remained living at the boardinghouse, and Evie had moved into the fine new frame home Brian had built for her.

Miranda did not doubt that before too many months she would be helping deliver her own grandchild. It was obvious Evie was ecstatically happy. She remembered the glow of that first time of becoming a woman. She had felt it with Mack, but that was such a vague memory now. She had experienced it again with Jake, remembered the wild abandon he brought out in her, the almost painful passion and aching need. If he could ever be free again…

Still, even if Jake were freed now, there would be so much healing to do, and there'd always be the pain of Lloyd's absence that would keep them from being truly happy. Jake simply had to live long enough to be released. His deteriorating condition haunted her nights, and combined with the last two agonizing weeks sitting day and night with Jess, nursing him, bathing him, trying to make him eat, wishing she could help him breathe, she was exhausted.

“Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust,” the preacher was saying.

“Oh, Jess,” she whispered, wiping at her eyes again. “I'm so sorry.” She leaned down and put some wild geraniums on the grave. She had found them sprouting up through lingering snow on a hillside behind the boardinghouse, their bright red beauty reminding her there was life after death, and hope in times of darkness. “I did love you, my dear friend.”

How was she going to tell Jake he was really dead? They all knew it was coming, but the actuality of it still hurt. The preacher said a final prayer, and she turned to Evie and wept in her daughter's arms.

“He's better off now, Mother. He can finally be with the wife and daughter he lost in the war.”

Several men who had known and liked Jess moved past the grave, stopped and spoke with Miranda.

“Some of the ladies at the church have prepared a meal,” the preacher told the men. “All of you be sure to stop by Evie's house and have a bite to eat. Jess would have liked you to enjoy a good meal in his honor.”

The men nodded and thanked him. “We'll stop over,” one of them told him. “We'll give Mrs. Harkner and her family a few minutes here at the grave.”

Everyone left but Miranda and Evie and Brian. The minister stayed behind to see what he could do to comfort them. Miranda was in tears again, embracing her daughter.

“You mustn't worry about Father,” Evie was telling her. “He's strong and he loves you. He'll make it until he can be free again.” Evie patted Miranda's shoulder. “And I don't care how much he is against it. I'm going with you to see him next time. I don't care what shape he's in or how terrible that place is. He's my father, and I love him. I want to tell him so. I want to see him again, touch him again.”

“It will break his heart for you to see him that way,” Miranda wept.

“He just thinks it will. I think he'll secretly be happy about it, and I want him to meet Brian.” She pulled away. “Besides, I don't trust those doctors who work at the prisons. I want Brian to look at him. I want Father to meet my new husband, and I want him to see a doctor who knows what he's talking about.”

“I think she's right,” Brian spoke up. “I'd like to take a look at him myself, Randy, considering that bad cough you described. Besides, I'd like to meet this infamous father-in-law of mine.”

Miranda managed a meager smile. Brian was a good man, a dedicated doctor. He was fair-skinned, with sandy hair and blue eyes, a sharp contrast to his dark-skinned, dark-haired wife. He was a handsome young man, not really very tall but built solid. He had a crisp smile and a wonderful sense of humor that helped put patients at ease. She was grateful that he was obviously good to Evie, for the girl simply glowed with happiness, except for today. Today they both felt the sorrow of the loss of a good friend. Evie had long ago taken to calling Jess “Uncle Jess,” and Miranda knew her daughter felt a painful loss at his death.

She wiped at her eyes. “We'll go next week. Jake will be furious at first that I brought the both of you, but he'll get over it. I long ago stopped getting upset at his temper. He's all bluff most of the time.” She looked back at the grave. “Jess knew that too.”

The preacher came up and put a hand on Miranda's shoulder. “Some of the ladies from the church have prepared a meal and are ready to bring it over to Evie's house as soon as you go back,” he told her. He looked at Brian. “You make sure this woman eats right and takes care of herself, Doctor.”

“Oh, no problem there,” Brian answered. “She's my most important patient.” He took his mother-in-law's arm and led her away from the grave and back toward town, noticing someone walking hastily toward them then. A man called out to her.

“Mrs. Harkner! There you are!”

Brian frowned, wondering who this was. Miranda and Evie both continued to be approached at times by curious onlookers or newspaper reporters, asking questions about Jake and about Lloyd. It irritated Brian to no end to have Miranda and Evie both harassed by rude people who kept bringing up painful memories for them. When they had first arrived in Laramie City, they had been followed around almost constantly, but for the past year things had finally died down and they had been pretty much left alone.

“I'm Tom Chadwick, from Cheyenne,” the stranger told them. “I've just moved here to start my own newspaper. I, uh, I heard all about you, saw you coming up here today for a burial. I wondered if you could tell me a little bit about the man who died. Did he know Jake Harkner? Did he ride with him once?”

“For Pete's sake, mister, can't you see these women are in mourning?” Brian fumed. “What a damned rude thing to do!”

The man reddened. “Well, I just…I thought—”

“Jess York was his name,” Miranda put in. “He was my husband's best friend. They knew each other back during the war. Jess had lost his wife and daughter to raiding Union soldiers, so he took to gunrunning for the Confederates. Is that enough for your story, Mr. Chadwick?”

The man whipped out a pad of paper and a pencil. “Yes, yes.” He met her eyes. “Mr. York stayed here in Laramie with you and your daughter then, to kind of watch over you while you wait for your husband to be released?”

“He was a loyal friend,” Miranda answered, suspicious of what the man was thinking. “Yes, he had promised Jake to watch out for us.”

“That's enough,” Brian said, leading Miranda away from the man.

“Oh, wait! Mrs. Harkner, I heard something in Cheyenne you might want to know.”

Miranda stopped and turned, hoping for news about Lloyd. “Yes?”

Chadwick shoved the pad of paper back into a pocket on the inside of his winter coat. “Someone called me from the newspaper office in Cheyenne. Great inventions, those telephones, aren't they? Who would ever have thought a while back that there would be railroads connecting East and West, or contraptions we could talk into and speak to somebody miles away?”

Miranda thought how wild this West was when she and Jake first came out here. So much had changed. “Yes, they truly are a miraculous invention. What did you hear from Cheyenne, Mr. Chadwick?”

“Well, they say it was a Lieutenant Gentry who turned in your husband four years ago. Is that right?”

The remark brought a sharp pain to Miranda's heart. “Yes.”

Chadwick grinned. “Well, ma'am, maybe it will give your husband a little satisfaction to know Gentry is dead. He was transferred from Colorado to Arizona. He'd gotten promoted to general, so he decided to stay in the army. At any rate, he was out on patrol, and he and his men were attacked by renegade Apaches. Killed every last one of them. Tortured and scalped them. I just thought maybe you'd like to know.”