Outlaw Hearts (61 page)

She had not expected these sudden feelings of passion and desire. She planned to just have a talk with him, tell him about little Stephen. She had thought perhaps after all this time she would feel nothing more than a cool friendship toward Lloyd.

Lloyd looked around the room, a little overwhelmed by the mansion of a home she lived in. He noted lovely paintings on the walls, brocade rugs on the hardwood floors, several plants placed here and there, resting in expensive-looking pots. Two deep-green velvet settees sat near the marble fireplace, in which flames flickered softly. He met Beth's eyes again, astounded by how beautiful she had become. She was a full woman now, her figure showing delicious curves, her lips full and ripe, her eyes seeming a deeper blue. Maybe they seemed that way because of the elegant, lace-trimmed dress she wore, a deep-blue taffeta, perfectly fitted to her lovely form. He thought about her lying with another man, and he had to look away. “This is quite a place you have here.”

She swallowed. “I'd rather be living in a plain little cabin in Colorado,” she answered, surprised herself at the words. She had not meant to say that.

Lloyd looked at her in surprise. God, how those words hurt. “Yeah, well, we can't always have what we want, can we?”

She saw the hurt then, wished she had not said it. “No, Lloyd, we can't. That's why I asked you to come here.”

He frowned. “I don't understand.”

“I wanted to explain. It probably doesn't help much, and I suppose there is someone else in your life by now. That is as it should be. God knows you have every right to hate me. But there was a reason for what I did, Lloyd, and now that David is dead, I think you should know that I didn't just desert you because I stopped…stopped loving you or thought you were bad because of your father.” She walked past him to pull a cord, ringing for the maid. “Sit down, Lloyd.”

He walked over to the fireplace. “I think I'd rather stand.” He met her eyes again, trying to keep a look of anger and defensiveness in his eyes, even though all he wanted was to pull her close and tell her he still loved her. He had not expected to feel this way. He thought he was finally over her. “My pa is out of prison, you know. He didn't do any of the things they arrested him for. Some woman came forward and said he actually saved her that day. He's a Deputy U.S. Marshal now. So am I. I expect Pa will be a full-fledged Marshal pretty soon. He's real good.”

“I expect he is,” she answered. “Considering how good he is with guns, and knowing what he knows about outlaws and such, he should be.”

“There are reasons for the things he did, Beth. I want you to know that. I don't hate him anymore. We're closer than ever.”

She nodded. “I'm glad.” The maid came in then, and Beth ordered some tea. She looked at Lloyd. “Would you like some kind of a drink? Bourbon, perhaps?”

“No. I don't drink. I'll just take some coffee.”

“Fine.” The maid left, and Beth stepped a little closer. “I know all about your pa being a lawman now, but I wasn't sure about you. I found you by calling the authorities in St. Louis. All I could get was where your father and mother lived. I was hoping you would be there too. I couldn't be sure.”

He turned away, a little upset by the emotions she stirred in him. This was not supposed to happen. “I ran off after Pa's arrest, hung out in Canada for a while. You ought to know I developed a bad drinking problem, ended up holing up along the Outlaw Trail. I took up with rustlers, killed a couple of men.” He turned back to face her. “I was pretty much going to hell, till Pa came for me after he was released. I had got myself in pretty deep trouble with a band of outlaws who were set to kill me. Pa risked his life to come for me. He helped me get off the whiskey. That's why I turned down the drink.”

She nodded. “I understand. I'm glad you came through it, Lloyd, glad you're back with your family again. That's good. That's the way it should be. You and your father were always close.”

He felt the anger welling up inside him then. “It wasn't just what happened with my pa that made me do those things, Beth. It was
you
! Why did you just run off and let your pa force you to marry somebody else? You
were
forced, weren't you? You couldn't have loved the man, not after the way you felt about me, or at least how I
thought
you felt about me. You told me nothing would ever come between us, remember?”

She closed her eyes and turned away. “I remember, but life can take some strange twists sometimes, Lloyd. Something
did
come between us, but it was something good, not bad.”

The maid brought in a tray with two pots and two cups. She set it down on a table between the settees, and Beth moved to sit down. “Come and sit, Lloyd. Have some coffee.”

The maid went out and closed the doors so they could be alone. Beth poured Lloyd some coffee, and he grudgingly came to sit down across from her. She poured herself some tea, took a sip, as well as a deep breath. “You're right,” she told him. “I didn't love David. I grew to respect him, and in public we looked like a loving couple; but he never touched me, Lloyd. That's the God's truth. It was a masquerade of a marriage.”

Lloyd frowned, setting his cup down. “I don't understand.”

“I had to marry quickly, Lloyd, because I was pregnant.” There, she had said it. She stared at her teacup, afraid to look at him. “David was a friend of my father's. He was a widower. They had an understanding that he wouldn't touch me until after the baby was born, but that he would say he was the father so my baby wouldn't be branded with those awful names people have for the babies of unwed mothers. I never did find the courage or the desire to be a true wife to David, and he was not the type ever to force me, so our marriage was never really consummated.” She finally met his eyes, saw the tears in them. “I did what I did for our son, Lloyd. His name is Stephen, and he's four-and-a-half years old. He's a beautiful little boy, sweet and obedient. After David died, I knew I had to tell you, you had a son. No matter how you might feel about me, or if you're in love with someone else, he's still your son, and he should know you. I thought about how lies had nearly destroyed your life. I don't want the same lies for Stephen. I want him to know the truth right from the beginning, to know you're his real father.”

Lloyd rose, walking to a window. “My God,” he muttered. He shook his head. “You should have told me, Beth. You know I wouldn't have run off. I would have married you.”

“I know. But Father had me whisked off to Denver and saying my vows before I had a chance to think straight. You had already run away, and I had no idea how to find you. I was already a good six weeks along when I married. Time was of the essence. Besides that, I was young and afraid, and I was so sick I could hardly hold my head up, sick from the baby, and sick with grief over you. I never wanted any of it, Lloyd. I just wanted you. I know it's probably too late for that now, but it isn't too late to get to know your son.”

He closed his eyes for a moment.
When
a
chance
for
love
and
happiness
presents
itself
to
a
man, he ought to grab onto it
, his father had told him. “There is no one else,” he told her quietly, his back still to her. “There never has been. I thought I was over you, till I saw you just now. You want the truth?” He turned to face her, his eyes misty with tears. “You said you don't want anything hidden. Damn it, I still love you, Beth! You don't know what it was like, thinking about you being with some other man. I blamed my father for my losing you, hated him for a long time. But it's like he told me once, we're the only ones responsible for what we do with our lives. We can blame others all we want, but it's really up to us.”

She rose, walking closer to him. “I never stopped loving you either, Lloyd, and Father can't stop me now from doing anything I want to do. All I've ever dreamed about since Stephen was born was us as a family. I hate it here in Chicago. I hate it anyplace where I can't be with you.”

“We can't just pick up where we left off, Beth. Too much has happened.”

She nodded. “I know. I'm so sorry for hurting you, Lloyd, but I did it for our son. Can you understand that?”

He searched her eyes, saw the same, sweet Beth he had loved so very much. “I said we couldn't just pick up where we left off. That doesn't mean we can't kind of start new.”

She reached out and took hold of his hand. “I'd like to try, Lloyd. Can you stay a day or two? We have so much to talk about, and I'd like you to get to know Stephen.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I'd like that. Can I see him now?”

She smiled and squeezed his hand. “I'll get him.”

She turned and left the room then, and Lloyd inhaled deeply with a mixture of passion and joy. He still wanted her, and he could tell by the look in her eyes she felt the same way. He had a feeling he would not be going back home without a wife on his arm. Better than that, he had a son! He was sorry for what Beth had suffered because they'd made love before marriage, but sometimes the result of sin could be something good and wonderful, and where was the sin when they knew how much they loved each other? The child was the result of that love, not of their wrongdoing.

Moments later, Beth came into the room leading a little boy by the hand. Lloyd was struck with the most stirring feelings of love and protectiveness he had ever felt in his life. There stood a beautiful little child with dark skin and dark hair and big, brown eyes. The boy watched him carefully as he came closer. Lloyd knelt in front of him. “Hello, Stephen,” he said.

“This is the man I told you about, Stephen,” Beth told him softly. “This is your real daddy.”

The boy pursed his lips and frowned, reaching out and touching Lloyd's cheek with his finger. “My daddy,” he said matter-of-factly.

Lloyd understood now all the things Jake had told him about how it felt to be a father. He understood why Jake had been afraid to tell him about his past, afraid of losing his love.

He pulled the child into his arms. “My son,” he whispered. Oh, how well he understood!

Order Rosanne Bittner's next book
in the Outlaw Hearts series

Do Not Forsake Me

On sale July 2015

Read on for a sneak peek from
Do Not Forsake Me
,
the sequel to
Outlaw Hearts

Oklahoma, May 1892

With a reporter's eye, Jeff Trubridge studied Marshal Jake Harkner as the man rode into Guthrie with four prisoners in tow, three of them looking mean but defeated, their faces bruised and battered. The fourth man was obviously dead, his body draped over a horse and wrapped in a blanket tied tightly with rope.

Harkner put two fingers to his lips and gave out a loud whistle.

“What's that for?” Jeff asked a man standing next to him.

“The marshal always signals his wife when he's comin' in,” the man replied. “She always comes to greet him.”

Jake Harkner looked every bit like Jeff's vision of a notorious outlaw turned United States marshal serving in the raw, new, and unorganized territory of Oklahoma. Oklahoma was ripe for men who preyed on Indians and settlers alike. It was a place where such men could hide in No Man's Land, the name given to the western half of the territory because the government still couldn't decide what to do with it. It was a place few men dared to tread…except for the likes of Jake Harkner, who was familiar with lawless country and lawless men.

Jeff savored the opportunity to observe Harkner without having to approach him directly…yet. He searched for the right words to describe the man who'd made a name for himself in all the wrong ways yet had become nothing short of a hero in the eyes of the common man. How did someone who was at one time so lawless and ruthless become so well liked?

Notorious reputation
, he quickly scribbled on his ever-handy notepad.
The way he carries himself—still a tall, slim, solid, hard-edged man with a look about him. What was that look? Danger.
That was it.
Like nitroglycerin—one wrong move and it explodes.

He liked that word.
Nitroglycerin
. Jeff carefully mingled into the crowd that followed the marshal toward the jailhouse. It was obvious some of them just wanted to be near Harkner so they could brag about knowing him. Fact was, Jeff wouldn't mind having bragging rights himself, except his would be that he was the only man who'd convinced Jake Harkner to let him write a book about him. So far the man had refused all other requests to write his story, but Jeff was determined. Still, now that he saw the man in the flesh, his resolve was weakening.

The man wore the signature duster of a U.S. marshal. The spring morning was heating up, and as he rode in, he removed the coat, reaching around to lay it over his horse's rump. Now Jeff could see his weapons—the Colt .44 revolvers holstered on each hip, a Colt Lightning magazine rifle and a sawed-off ten-gauge shotgun resting in loops on either side of his saddle. An extra cartridge belt hung across the man's chest, and a third handgun rested in a holster behind the marshal's back.

Jeff knew what kind of guns Harkner wore because he'd already spoken to Guthrie's local sheriff, Herbert “Sparky” Sparks, and had interviewed several others in town. He'd arrived two days earlier to discover the marshal was not back yet from his latest manhunt. During his wait, he took advantage of various citizens' eagerness to share stories about the man. Aware that people tend to exaggerate such things, Jeff was not about to rely on hearsay. He wanted only facts, which was why he needed to hear the story straight from the marshal himself. Countless men had gone down under his guns, including—most shocking of all—Jake's own father.

Jeff desperately wanted to know why. He intended to get to know the man some had nicknamed the Handsome Outlaw, but it wasn't going to be easy. He needed to talk to Harkner's family too, but had so far stayed away. The fact that Harkner even
had
a family was amazing, considering the things Jeff knew about him. How did a man so notorious end up having anyone?

What he observed now only confirmed that his quest for a story had been worth the trip. Harkner was back from No Man's Land—a place most men feared to tread. Those prisoners still alive were in a bad way. All rode with hands tied to saddle horns with rope that was then looped up under their horses and tied to their ankles under the horse's belly. One had a bloody bandage around his forehead, with dried blood on the side of his face. Another wore an eye patch and looked ready to fall off his horse. The third prisoner just hung his head but occasionally gave Harkner a dark look of hatred. The left sleeve of his shirt showed a huge bloodstain. All were filthy—hair matted, faces showing several-day-old beards as well as cuts and bruises. Had Jake Harkner put those there?

Jake's son, Lloyd, a deputy U.S. marshal, was nowhere to be seen, and Jeff wondered why. He'd been told that Lloyd had ridden out with Jake to track down these criminals.

“Lloyd okay, Jake?” someone from the crowd called. Apparently Jeff wasn't the only one wondering. “Where is he?”

“He's fine,” Harkner answered. “He stopped off at the Donavan place.”

Jeff took more notes and wrote a brief description of Jake's clothing—denim pants, dusty boots, black bib shirt, black wide-brimmed hat from which his nearly black and slightly wavy hair hung just past his shoulders. From what Jeff could tell, there was just a touch of gray in it despite the man's age. He wore a brown leather vest with a six-point marshal's badge on it…and those threatening guns. Jake Harkner was still a very handsome man, but hard lines about his dark eyes spoke of a man who'd led a very rough life. Everything about him spelled toughness—a man with not a soft spot on him. He kept a cigarette between his lips now as he answered more questions. The scene reminded Jeff of the pied piper, as the crowd following Harkner kept growing. Suddenly, a stocky young man exited a saloon not far from the jailhouse and called out, “Jake, you bastard! I don't see my pa! Is he the dead one? Is that my pa's body draped over that horse?”

Jake didn't even look at the young man. “It is,” he answered casually.

“You murdering sonofabitch!” the young man screamed. “I should kill you!”

It looked to Jeff as though the young man meant exactly what he said. Harkner continued to ignore him as he stopped in front of the jail.

“How'd you do it, Jake?” the young man screamed. “Did you put your gun in his mouth and blow his fucking brains out? Ain't that the way you usually kill a man?”

“Mind your business, Brad!” someone in the street yelled. “Your pa was no good, and you know it!”

Two more young men came out of the saloon and flanked the one called Brad. All three just stood watching for the moment, but the air was tense and people backed away. Jeff suddenly felt too hot in his neatly tailored suit, and he unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, wondering if bullets were about to fly.

Then…there she was. He'd never met her, but the woman hurrying down the street from the other end of town had to be Miranda Harkner. She'd apparently heard her husband's whistle. The look of both relief and concern in her eyes said it all: even after many years together, the woman was still very much in love with Jake Harkner.

Jeff had expected a heftier, older-looking woman, but the woman hurrying down the street now had a lovely, slender shape and looked far younger than what Jeff figured she must be—somewhere around forty-five years old. She wore a well-fitted yellow checkered dress, and her ash-blond hair showed no hint of gray.

So small!
he quickly wrote.
I expected a stout and somber woman; she was somehow bigger in my imagination. How does such a tiny woman handle a man like Jake Harkner?

The rugged, dangerous-looking Harkner finally halted his horse when he saw the woman coming. He dismounted and removed the extra belt slung over his shoulder, hanging it around his horse's neck. He threw down his cigarette and walked up to her. It struck Jeff then how tall Jake was, perhaps six feet and two or three inches. He towered over the woman, who looked past him at the men he'd brought in, then warily eyed the young men standing on the boardwalk near the jail. Jeff snuck closer, straining to hear.

“Where's Lloyd?” the woman asked with a worried look.

In a surprisingly gentle move, Jake put an arm around her shoulders and led her a few feet away. “He headed to the Donavans'. He'll stay there the night, I expect. He was anxious to see Katie again.”

The woman smiled and they said something more to each other. Jeff could hardly believe it when Harkner leaned down and kissed her cheek before grasping her arm and gently steering her aside. “Stay out of the way till I take care of Brad Buckley,” he warned. “I don't want you to get hurt.”

So
, Jeff observed,
the man's wife can change him from a cougar to a kitten with one look
. It was becoming clear that this book also had to be a love story. How strange that a man like Jake could love anyone. Even more strange that someone could love Jake Harkner, especially someone as lovely and seemingly gracious as Miranda.

“Hey, Jake, I bet the Buckley and the Bryant boys wish they hadn't gone up against the likes of you,
señor
, huh?” The words were spoken by an older Mexican man.

Jake waved him off as he tied his horse in front of the jail, removing both his shotgun and rifle from the saddle. “Juan, you talk too much,” he told the man. “Take care of the horses once I unload these men, will you?”

“
Sí, amigo
.”

“
Estoy ansioso para poner en orden este asunto y regresar a mi
esposa
.”

The old man grinned more. “
Ah, señor, lo comprendo
.”

The conversation answered one of Jeff's questions: Jake Harkner did sometimes speak in Spanish. Jeff didn't understand what was said, except that he knew
esposa
meant wife. Supposedly Harkner's mother had been Mexican, and one rumor was that Harkner's father had killed the woman. No one knew any details, and all had advised Jeff never to ask Harkner about it…or if he'd really killed his own father. The subject was apparently closed for the man, and Jeff swallowed at the thought of trying to bring it up. He watched Harkner hand his shotgun to his wife.

“Get farther back,” he warned her. “I'll be finished here in a few minutes, and I'm tired as hell. You should go back to the house. I'll be along.”

“I'm not going anywhere until that young man across the street goes back inside. I don't like the looks of this, Jake.”

Jake sighed. “You just be careful with that shotgun. It's still loaded.”

Sparky came out of the jail then to greet Jake. “Damn it, Jake, you have to quit rounding up so many of these no-goods. You're crowding my jail.”

Jeff caught a quick grin on Harkner's face.
The man actually smiles!

“Sorry about that, Sparky. Want me to shoot a couple of them to give you more room?”

Sparky guffawed at what Jeff hoped was a joke, but he wasn't so sure Harkner didn't mean it.

“Send a wire to Edmond and have them send a wagon up here for this bunch,” Jake told the sheriff then. He handed over a bank bag obviously stuffed with money. “This has to be returned to the bank in Edmond. And when you send that wire, tell Sheriff Kennedy there that they'll need extra men to take this bunch back to Edmond. A marshal from Oklahoma City can take them from there. They'll likely be hanged or sent to the federal pen in Michigan. I'll come around Monday to sign papers.”

The marshal took another cigarette from a pocket inside his vest as Jeff dared to step even closer. He rolled up his shirtsleeves against the warming temperatures, and Jeff noticed that although Harkner was in his midfifties, his forearms showed hard muscle.
Handsome Outlaw is very fitting
, he noted. He watched the man light his cigarette. As he did so, the marshal glanced at Jeff, and the look in his dark eyes was stunningly suspicious and threatening. Jeff stepped back a little and nodded to the man. Harkner's eyes said it all: he didn't like strangers watching him. His eyes showed a combination of curiosity, distrust, and a warning to stay out of his way as he looked Jeff over, summing him up. Obviously not impressed and sensing no danger, he gave him a brief nod and turned away.

“Stay back like I told you,” he told his wife. “Go around behind that wagon.” He nodded to a freight wagon parked just a few feet away.

Rather reluctantly, Miranda walked closer to the wagon, still holding Jake's shotgun. Jeff scooted a bit closer to her as Jake walked back to the men he'd brought in. The young man on the boardwalk let out a blistering tirade of threats and insults as Jake untied the dead body and yanked it from the horse, letting the body fall to the street. It landed stiff and still bent.

“Somebody take care of this one,” he ordered. “Take him over to the undertaker.”

“
Murderer!
That's what you are, Harkner! A murderer with a badge!” Brad continued screaming. “Everybody knows you're nothing more than an outlaw with permission to kill!”

Jake walked back to the other three men, Guthrie's Sheriff Sparks walking with him, holding his shotgun ready as Jake untied each man and jerked him off his horse, in spite of their injuries. He seemed to be ignoring the young man on the boardwalk, but Jeff suspected he was very much aware.

“Someone go get my son-in-law to take a look at these men,” Jake spoke up. A young boy ran off.

Son-in-law is a doctor here in Guthrie
, Jeff wrote. That was something else he already knew. It was so hard to imagine Jake Harkner had a lovely daughter who was married to a doctor. They had a son named after Jake, or so Jeff had been told. Jake's own son, Lloyd, also had fathered a little boy.

A grandfather. Jake Harkner is a grandfather. I can't seem to put the two together—the grandfather and the mean-looking cuss I am watching right now.