Outlaw Hearts (6 page)

Miranda watched his eyes. Again she saw the look of a little boy. “There are some people you can love and hate at the same time.”

“Is it true you killed your own father?”

Jake just stared at her, looking surprised at first, then taking on a look of almost pitiful remorse. “Jesus, you've even heard
that
already?” He closed his eyes. “It's a long story,” he said quietly, “and none of your damn business. If others say I killed him, then I killed him. Who the hell is going to believe my side of anything? And who the hell cares about what might have made me do it? Folks don't want to hear reasons. They're quick to judge without knowing the facts.”

Miranda bent over and picked up the soiled blankets. “Maybe you just hang around with the wrong people, Mr. Harkner. I've never thought any man should be judged by other people's gossip. And I saw a side to you last night that tells me there are things buried inside of you that need digging up, but this isn't the time. You're hurting. Tell me what hurts the most, and I'll see if I can find something among my father's medicine to help.”

Jake scowled at her. “You're a strange woman, Mrs. Hayes. I do remember your name right, don't I?”

“Yes.”

“Where's your husband?”

“Killed in the war.” Miranda knew she should feel uneasy when his eyes moved over her then, but instead she felt self-conscious, only then realizing how wrinkled her clothes must be and how disheveled she must look. She absently put a hand to her hair, realizing it must be in terrible disarray.

“There's nobody else?” he asked.

“A brother. He's in Virginia City, Nevada. As soon as I figure out what to do with you, I'm leaving here to go and find him. He's all I have left since my father was killed. My mother died six years ago.”

“Pretty dangerous for a woman out here all alone, what with all the raiding.” Jake watched the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

“Yes, isn't it?” she answered sarcastically.

Jake couldn't help a slight grin of his own. “Even more dangerous to set out all alone for Nevada.”

“I'll find someone reputable to take me there. I'm no fainting daisy, Mr. Harkner.”

He let out a little laugh, then winced with the pain it brought. “I'll agree with that,” he told her, his voice gruff with pain. “You say…you've got medicine? My head feels like it's coming right off my shoulders.”

“My father was a doctor. I learned a lot from him. That's how I was able to take that bullet out of you last night. I'll see what I can find to help the pain.”

Jake watched her slender body, heard her skirts rustle as she moved out of the room. She returned carrying a brown bottle. She handed it to Jake. “Just a couple of swallows. Too much isn't good. A man can get as dependent on this stuff as whiskey.”

Jake reached out and took the bottle. Their fingers touched, and a strange warmth moved through him. He could tell by her eyes and the slight blush in her cheeks that she had felt it too. He uncorked the bottle and took a couple swallows of the bitter liquid, grimacing at the taste. Then he handed the bottle back to her.

“You should probably try to eat something,” she told him. “I'll clean up and then fix you some vegetable soup and some tea. You just rest while I get things together. I have to go let out the horses first. Maybe later this afternoon I can shave you.”
You
also
need
a
bath
, she wanted to add, but how could she bathe him now when he was fully conscious? That would just have to wait until he could do it himself. She turned to leave.

“Mrs. Hayes,” Jake called. Miranda stopped and turned, embarrassed for feeling a sudden flash of womanly longings when his fingers had touched her own. She looked at the bed but did not meet his eyes. “Thank you,” he said.

Miranda could not help looking at him then. “I'm the one who shot you, Mr. Harkner.”

“You didn't really want to do that. I could tell…the minute you pulled the trigger. I saw the look of surprise in your eyes. And now…you've helped me when you could easily have…let me die. Not one person would have blamed you for it. They would just figure…society was rid of another rat.”

“I have yet to decide whether I did the right thing, Mr. Harkner. And as far as my helping you last night, for all we know I botched the whole thing. I've never taken a bullet out of anyone before. You aren't out of danger of infection yet, so don't go thanking me too quickly.”

Jake watched her leave, and he closed his eyes again, sinking back into the feather pillow. For the moment, he was at this woman's mercy, and there was no way around it. Fact was, he felt a kind of comfort here. This was the woman who had shot him, yet now, lying here under her care, watching her gentle eyes…crazy as it seemed, the woman gave him a feeling of security, something he had not felt since he was very small, in his mother's arms. He had never stopped missing his mother, never thought he would find anyone who brought out those sweet, childish feelings that he thought he had lost years ago. Mrs. Hayes was the kind of woman a man longed to know better, yet he didn't even know her first name.

***

For the next week, Jake learned the hard way that the strange Mrs. Hayes's last words had been too true. He got worse instead of better after getting out of bed that first morning, and the next several days were spent in fits of delirium from fever and infection. He vaguely remembered gentle hands, soft words, sometimes thinking it was his mother nursing him, as she had done once when he had been attacked by yellow jackets; and again when he'd fallen and broken his arm…and those many times she'd tended to him after his father had beaten him.

Someone bathed him almost constantly, trying to keep him cool, and when he came around enough to think clearly again, he realized someone had shaved him. He glanced at the bedroom doorway. The curtains were drawn back, and he could see Miranda Hayes moving around in the outer room. Something smelled wonderful, and she was placing fresh-baked bread on the table.

Miranda. He remembered she had told him her name later that first day, before he got sicker than he remembered being in his entire life. After that it seemed he saw everything in a fog, or through black pain. Either his head was reeling with misery, or his gut was screaming, or he was vomiting. It occurred to him that Mrs. Hayes had put up with an awful lot of ugly things to take care of him. Why on earth had she done it?

He breathed deeply. He felt better than since he'd been shot, clearheaded, almost free of pain, and he knew he owed his life to the woman in the outer room, unless she might still choose to turn him in. She had had time while he was ill to go to town and get someone, yet she had not done so. He raised the blankets to see he still lay naked, with towels over him, but he felt clean. He sniffed his arm and smelled soap.

“When you feel up to it, I'll wash and cut your hair,” came the woman's voice. Jake looked up to see her coming into the bedroom. “How are you feeling today, Mr. Harkner? Have you returned to the real world?”

He just stared at her a moment. She was actually smiling and looked relieved that he might be better. And today…today she was the prettiest he had ever seen her. She wore a deep blue calico dress that fit her small but nicely curved frame. Her long, honey-blond hair was hanging well past her shoulders, drawn up at the sides with combs. There was no more fear in her eyes as she came closer and touched his face with the back of her hand, and what a slender, gentle hand it was.

“The fever is finally gone. I'd say you're going to live, Mr. Harkner. And I must say, under all that trail dust and that neglected beard, you turned out to be quite a handsome man once I found your real face.”

Jake's eyes moved over her, and Miranda immediately regretted the remark, wondering what had made her say it. She moved to the foot of the bed, draping a light blanket over his bare feet, then moved to the window and opened the curtains. “It's a beautiful day.”

Jake tried to sit up, but dizziness overcame him. He groaned, and quickly Miranda was at his side, grasping his shoulders and pressing him back into the feather mattress. “Not yet. Don't be so anxious, Jake.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Nearly a week now. I imagine it will be another few days before you can think about walking around, let alone riding a horse.”

Again Jake tried to sit up. “I don't have another few days. I've been here too long already. Where are my guns? My clothes?”

“Jake, if you do too much too soon, everything I've done, all the hours I've sat with you through the night, will be for nothing. You'll kill yourself. Let your body heal.” She straightened and folded her arms. “I'm not giving you any guns just yet. As far as your clothes, they've been boiled and pressed and are clean whenever you're ready to wear them again, but at the moment you are far from that.”

Again he settled back into the bed, hating to admit she was right. She had called him Jake twice, using the name as easily as if he were her best friend. And was that true concern he saw in her eyes? She left the room, and he heard the sound of dishes clinking, water being poured. She returned a few minutes later with a tray. “A cup of good, strong tea is just what you need. Good for a stomach that hasn't seen food for a long time.” She set the tray on the table beside the bed. “And if you're so determined to sit up, then let's do it right. Then you can get the tea down better. If it stays down, I'll cut you a piece of bread and we'll see if that stays down.”

She reached over to help him raise up a little, bracing an arm under his neck. She reached around him then to fluff the pillows and grasp an extra one to prop against the cross-poles at the head of the bed.

Jake noticed her neck was small and pretty. She was so close, smelled so good. He thought how if he were at his usual strength and felt all right, it would be very hard not to pull her to him and taste her mouth, feel her soft skin. How long had she been a widow? How often did she think about what it had been like to let a man bed her? Had it been good with her husband, or were there things he had never even taught her?

“I'll help all I can, but you're going to have to push with your hands a little.” Miranda grasped him under the arms and used all her strength to help scoot him up slightly, thinking what a solid, muscular man he was, in spite of his last week of sickness. His skin was so dark, she wondered if he had Mexican or Indian blood. She struggled to ignore his closeness, tried not to think about how good it might feel to have a man hold her again in the night, treasure her, make love to her. It was certainly ridiculous to think such a thing about a man like Jake Harkner.

She got him to a sitting position and quickly moved away from him, turning to take the tray and set it across his legs. She took the cup then and raised it to his lips. “Try to drink some.”

Jake took the cup into his own hands. “I can hold it.”

Miranda watched him a moment, confused by her own feelings. Taking care of him, nursing him through his agony and knowing she was the cause of it, hearing the things he had said in his delirium, all made her feel closer to him, responsible for him. Her curiosity about his past had only grown stronger, as had this strange, unexplainable sympathy for him. Why on earth should she feel sorry for this man who was probably no better than those who had killed her father? Was it foolish to believe that deep inside, every man had some good in him?

“I don't know why I haven't told anyone you're here,” she said. “I only know that no matter how much part of me argued for it, I simply could not turn you in for bounty money. I did go into town once.” She watched his dark eyes turn distrustful again as he lowered the cup. “Don't worry. I had no intention of turning you in,” she assured him. “I only went so that everything would appear normal and so my friends could see I was just fine. I wanted to avoid anyone coming here to check on me. As long as you were sick, I couldn't count on you keeping quiet if someone came around.” She smiled softly. “Do you want to know the latest rumor about you?”

Jake frowned. “I'm not so sure I do.”

“Oh, you'll like this one. Everyone is convinced you died alone somewhere and your body will never be found. They say you might have made it to Indian Territory, in which case you most certainly will never be found, except perhaps by wolves and buzzards who will do a fine job of consuming what is left of your body.”

Jake grinned. “That so?” He took another drink of tea. “Well, as long as I'm supposed to be dead, we'll just leave things that way. It will be easier getting out of here. If I'm lucky, a certain gang of outlaws will believe the rumor and will stop looking for me.”

“Bill Kennedy?”

Jake studied her eyes. “How did you know?”

“Sheriff McCleave told me you rode with him. Why is he after you?”

Jake rubbed at his eyes. “I think I told you I don't like questions.”

Miranda folded her arms. “And I think that after all I've done for you, I deserve some answers.”

Jake sighed, setting the cup on the tray, feeling ridiculous trying to handle the delicate little thing in his big hands. He thought how the thin china cups reminded him of Miranda Hayes. “Don't you have some good whiskey? That would do me a lot better than this tea.”

Miranda walked around to the foot of the bed. “Tell me why Bill Kennedy is after you, and I'll let you have a couple of shots of whiskey.”

He grinned a little. “So, now we're up to blackmail, are we?”

“Call it what you want.”

He rubbed at his stomach, thinking how the tea did make him feel better. “The things that bounty hunter said, about me being wanted for rape. I wasn't with Kennedy's gang that day they robbed that bank back in Missouri, and I didn't have anything to do with them taking that woman customer off with them. But because I usually rode with them, rumor spread that I was a part of it. I didn't even know about it until I rode into Kennedy's hideaway that night and found him and the rest of them—” He glanced at her, saw her growing a little pale. “I don't think I need to go into details. Suffice it to say most women would rather have been shot, and this one wasn't even a woman. She was young, maybe only seventeen or so.” A look of anger and outrage moved into his eyes. “It's like I said before, Mrs. Hayes. I've done a lot of things, but not that. And because of something that happened when I was younger, I've never been able to tolerate watching a man abuse a woman. I got her out of there, but not without a hell of a gun battle that left a lot of Kennedy's men dead. They aren't going to forget about it anytime soon, if ever. I took the girl back to town and left her off. I don't even know if she realized who helped her. Apparently she didn't, or she would have told the law I had nothing to do with abusing her.”