The Outlaw Bride Read online

  “If you’ll take me to your room,” Josie told the scantily clad bar girl, “I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

  “Lord have mercy,” one of the drinkers said. “Did you hear that? I don’t know what this world is coming to. Josie Miller in a place like this. First she’s buying cows, and now she’s buying women.”

  17

  The Green River was in the missionary train’s sight when dark rain clouds appeared on the horizon. A brisk breeze came up, tossing the prairie grass first one way, then the other.

  Eli was riding on the seat beside Jacob as he often did, asking questions, passing along information that Jacob’s empty mind absorbed as it hungered for more. More and more, little scraps of memory returned. He could see rows of cotton growing in a field and could hear singing. But the singing blended in with the memory of Rachel’s voice, and he couldn’t be sure what was real and what was imagined.

  He seemed to know how to ride a horse, but not drive a team of oxen. He could make biscuits, but he didn’t know how to milk a cow. The most irritating thing of all was his total loss of memory about women. Surely he’d known a woman before. Every time he touched Rachel it set off a longing that seemed ongoing. He was certainly old enough to have married; he could have children, but nothing felt right about that supposition. And even though he and Rachel were strangers, everything about her did feel right.

  The wind grew brisker. “Looks like it’s gonna rain,” Jacob said.

  “Maybe,” Eli said. “Maybe not. My pa says that lots of times it just spits lightning and thunder and sets the range on fire without giving us a drop of water to put it out.”

  Jacob frowned. A fire didn’t sound good. As if they, too, were worried, the oxen began to pick up the pace. “I’m sure your mother will feel better after Rachel gives her some of her special tonic. It picked up the dog’s appetite.”

  “Where is your dog?” Eli asked.

  “He followed Rachel when she went down to check on your mama. He doesn’t let her out of his sight. They ought to be back pretty soon,” he added, as much to reassure himself as Eli.

  “Pa says Ma don’t need no tonic, she just needs to get over wanting to go back home.”

  More dark clouds slid across the sky. White and gray streaks stirred the cloud hanging between the distant mountains like a dingy fat hammock bulging with water.

  Drops of moisture hit Jacob’s upper lip. This time the storm was moving rapidly toward them. “Do we stop when it rains?” he asked.

  “Not so long as nobody gets stuck,” Eli answered.

  “And do they often get stuck?”

  “Not lately, but back in Missouri we lost a wagon in the river.”

  The wind picked up, throwing a fine, sharp mist across his face. Jacob worried about Rachel. She was just down the train. She could take care of herself, probably better than he could—but he worried all the same.

  The fine rain stung and slapped the nervous oxen, who seemed torn between fear and relishing the moisture. They stuck out their tongues to catch the water, lowing in pleasure.

  Suddenly, the sky turned dark as night, and lightning zapped the ground like the pop of a bullwhip.

  “Got any sacks?” Eli asked.

  “Sacks? What for?”

  “To beat out the fires.”

  Jacob would have answered the boy, but he didn’t know.

  Soon, younger boys appeared alongside the wagons, carrying feed sacks and strips of canvas. The trail quickly soaked up the water, dissolving the ruts and turning the trail into a quagmire.

  As Eli predicted, one of the wagons at the front got stuck. The others pulled off the trail and into the thick grass, moving quickly toward the river ahead.

  When Jacob came abreast of Eli’s wagon he found Rachel on Eli’s horse, a rope on the horse’s saddle connected to the wagon. Eli’s mother desperately whipped the team of mules, who pulled while Eli’s small, bespectacled father leaned against the tailgate with his shoulder.

  “Need some help?” Jacob called out, tying his reins as he slid down. “You stay put, Eli.”

  “Reckon not,” Eli’s father said.

  “Well, I think I’ll just change places with my … wife, anyway,” Jacob said. “Rachel, get in the wagon with Eli!” he yelled over the pouring rain.

  Before Rachel could respond, a bolt of lightning hit the ground near the lead ox’s left haunch. The animal reared up and took off, dragging the rope from Rachel’s hands.

  A second bolt hit near her horse’s rear. In seconds, Rachel and the horse disappeared into the storm, and the Oakes’ family wagon crashed against Brother Joshua’s conveyance.

  Jacob climbed back into his wagon. “Untie the cow,” he told Eli, “and go see about your folks. I’ve got to get to Rachel.”

  His heart in his throat, Jacob forced his reluctant team of oxen south alongside the river to find Rachel’s runaway horse. The rain was coming down so heavy now that Jacob wasn’t certain he’d even see Rachel if he drove by her. But he couldn’t stop.

  He whipped the frightened animals into a fast pace, fear welling up in him—fear that wasn’t new. Suddenly, from behind him came the sound of hoofbeats. No, that was a memory. His head hurt as he remembered Callahan telling him to ride like hell. And he had, but his brother wasn’t so lucky. He’d heard a gunshot and then—nothing. It hadn’t been raining then. It had been hot and dry. The dribbling rocks lay across his path like marbles spilled from the carrying sack of a giant.

  Terrifying pictures of his past flashed across his mind—the fear, his escape. Then his horse had stumbled. He’d fallen, hit the ground, and lay there stunned for a moment before he remembered the saddlebag of money Callahan had told him to protect. A few seconds was all he had to drop the bag behind a rock and turn around to face the five men who surrounded him.

  “Where’s the money?” one had asked.

  “I don’t know anything about any money,” he’d answered.

  The tall one, the one riding the dun-colored horse, climbed down and hit him—hard—with his pistol. The others joined in, until he finally fell backwards and hit the rock, moving it and exposing the bag he’d been trying to hide.

  Callahan. Jacob had a brother. And his own name wasn’t Jacob.

  The clear memories of his past were instantly replaced by those of Rachel astride a runaway horse.

  An hour later it was pitch-dark, and he’d found no trace of the woman who was now his wife. Tearing around in the darkness was foolish and dangerous. He had to build a fire to warm himself and dry his clothes. And the oxen needed rest. He pulled up.

  Wood. He needed to find dry wood, which would be next to impossible. He heard the sound of the river. There had been a thicket of cottonwoods alongside the water where they intended to cross. Cottonwoods meant underbrush. He made his way toward the sound of the water. Allowing his eyes to focus in the darkness, he leaned down to investigate the ground beneath the trees.

  That’s when he heard it—a noise.

  Rising up, he listened, turning his head one way, then the other. There, it came again. Something or someone was crying. “Rachel?”

  The sound of something scurrying through the brush drew him forward. The dog. He was yipping and running wildly about.

  “Whoa, fella. I’m glad to see you, too.”

  He knew the dog had followed Rachel. Could he possibly have kept up with her when the horse bolted? “Rachel—do you know where she is, boy?”

  The dog ran a few paces, stopped, and, as if answering, barked. He was waiting for Jacob to follow him.

  The moon finally came out from behind the clouds and showered the area with silver light that pierced the stubby trees and gave Jacob hope. “Where is she, boy?”

  The dog left the trees and ran into the grass, then stopped.

  Jacob reached the spot and found her, lying on her stomach. She was still, too still.

  “Sweet Jesus!” He knelt beside her, touching her neck beneath her ear. “Rachel,
sweetheart. Are you all right?”

  She didn’t answer, but he felt her pulse beating beneath his fingertips. Alive. She was alive. Her hair and clothing were soaking wet, and she already felt like ice even though the night was just beginning to turn colder.

  Finding no obvious broken bones, he carefully slid one arm underneath her neck and the other beneath her knees and lifted her. Jacob climbed into the rear of the wagon, unfolded the sleeping quilts, and laid them out as best he could. He quickly undressed Rachel, trying unsuccessfully not to feel the curves of her body as he laid her on the bed. The blankets and quilts were damp and cold, and building a fire would take too long. Tossing off any scruples, Jacob removed his own clothes and slid into the narrow space beside her.

  Outside, he heard the dog whimpering.

  Climbing back to his feet, Jacob reached out the opening of the canvas top. “Come on, Moses. You brought us through the wilderness, I guess you deserve to be warm, too.” He’d unhitch the oxen later so they could graze. But for now, Rachel was his sole concern.

  From the Green River, the storm rushed across the plains and hit Sharpsburg at dusk, whipping up such a frenzy that candles wouldn’t stay lit and the lamp flames threatened to start a fire. The saloon women assured Josie that between Ellie and them they’d come up with something. It soon became clear that Josie was a fine attorney and doctor, but as a seamstress she was a failure. She was sent back to the hotel. At this point she would have worn a bedsheet if that’s what it took to get her to Perryman’s ball. Josie was ready to give up.

  Someone was watching her. She shivered and hurried past the doorway of the general store. The watcher crossed the street and fell in behind Josie. Before she could get away, he caught her and pulled her into the narrow space between the general store and the livery stable. The darkness concealed his identity. He covered her mouth with his hand and held her so tightly that she couldn’t get to the derringer hidden in her pocket.

  “Listen to me,” he said. “If you want Callahan to live, you’ll forget about that cattleman’s association and go back to Laramie. We’ve already killed the brother. It won’t be no problem to kill him, too. You understand?”

  Josie struggled furiously, then went limp, drew up one leg, and kicked her captor in the knees.

  “Damn it to hell, you …” He turned her around, drew back, and punched her.

  He hit me! she thought as she slid into darkness.

  When she came to, the man was gone and she heard her mother’s voice coming from inside the stable. She pulled herself up. She should have seen the attack coming. But it was Callahan whose life was in danger, not hers. Perryman was obviously desperate. Giving herself a few moments to gather her senses, she brushed off her travel dress and headed for the stable.

  Will leaned against the doorway, his pistol in his hand. Callahan was lying on a cot and her mother was bending over him.

  “You taught your daughter well,” Callahan was saying. “She saved my life.”

  “Yes,” Dr. Annie agreed. “And that worries me, Mr. Callahan. Josie, for all her worldliness, was an innocent young woman when I left.”

  Callahan waited a long time before answering. “I know.”

  “I guess my question is, can I say that about her now?”

  “Whatever Josie is,” Callahan finally said, “is what she wants to be. Neither you nor I can change that. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  Dr. Annie sighed. “I know my daughter is headstrong, but breaking an outlaw out of jail isn’t something I would have thought she’d do.”

  “She didn’t break me out,” Callahan said.

  “Yes, I did,” Josie said, standing in the doorway and taking in the rain-soaked room. “And I broke into Perryman’s bank as well. Will ought to put me in here with Callahan.”

  Will blanched. “Now, Josie. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “And for the record, my only relationship with Callahan is as his attorney,” Josie stated.

  “You mean other than as his future wife?” Dr. Annie asked as she closed her medical bag and stood up.

  Josie frowned. “If you know about our ‘marriage,’ you know why I said it, Mama. I had to stop a lynching.”

  “There’s not going to be a wedding,” Callahan said, giving Josie an odd look. “You kept me from hanging. Send me a bill. It may take a while, but I’ll pay it—with money. I’m not the marrying kind.”

  Josie crossed her arms over her chest and rippled her fingers against them. He thought he’d play the rough outlaw in front of her mother and use Dr. Annie’s reaction to force Josie to back off. Well, that wasn’t going to work. She was as tough as he was and he knew it.

  “You’re not the marrying kind?” Josie repeated. “Neither am I, Callahan. I’m thinking that when we catch the real thieves, maybe we’ll just live in sin.”

  Dr. Annie pushed Josie out of the doorway. “I’m thinking that you might deserve each other,” she said.

  Will almost swallowed his chortle.

  Josie didn’t even attempt to swallow hers.

  At that moment a wave of dizziness swept over Josie and she stumbled across the stable, whacking her forehead against the corner stall with a bang. Callahan sprang to his feet. Before either Will or Dr. Annie could stop him, he picked up Josie and ran across the street to the hotel.

  “Stop where you are,” Will shouted, in hot pursuit.

  “Your stitches,” Dr. Annie said.

  Callahan covered the distance in long strides as if he’d never been hurt. “Get the door, Will,” he snapped, then kicked it open and headed for the red serge couch inside, where he laid Josie down and came to his knees on the floor, “Josie?”

  Moments later, Will, Annie, the grandfathers, and Dan were gathered around the sofa. Callahan placed his hands on either side of Josie’s face.

  “Josie? Please, sweetheart, I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

  “Thanks,” Josie whispered. “I knew you cared. I just wanted them to see.”

  “Damn it, Josie. I thought you were hurt.”

  “I was. You turned down my proposal.”

  “Your proposal wasn’t honorable. I’d never agree to live in sin.”

  “You’re an honorable man, Sims Callahan.” She smiled, hoping the tingling feeling didn’t mean she would have a black eye. At least she had an excuse. She could claim that it came from the accident in the stable, not from the stranger who’d socked her. All she needed was for Will and her father to learn about that. She’d be put under lock and key along with Callahan.

  “Better let your mother take a look at you,” Grandfather Sinclair said.

  “Looks like you hit your head,” Teddy said.

  “My head is fine. I just hit it on the stall post. Please, Mother, Grandfather Sinclair, Papa Miller, I’d appreciate if you and Dan would let me have a moment with my fiancé.”

  Will scoffed. “And let him step out the door and be gone?”

  “I didn’t say you, Will. You can just turn your back. And Callahan won’t try to get away, will you?”

  “No promises, darlin’.”

  “Then I’ll just have to use this to keep you here.” Josie pulled her derringer from her pocket and pointed it at Callahan.

  At Will’s nod, the others filed out of the hotel lobby, chuckling or shaking their heads in dismay.

  “Don’t try anything, Callahan,” Will warned. “You got two minutes.”

  “Will—”

  “Shut up, Josie!” Callahan snapped. “You’re wasting time. So listen good. I’m not going to many you, but in spite of the fact that your hair could have crows nesting in it right now and the rest of you looks like something the cat dragged in, I am going to kiss you—one last time.”

  His lips touched her mouth at the same time his words filtered through her mind. Crows nesting in her hair. Cat dragged in?

  Josie jerked away. She was about to forget what she had planned. She must have been hit harder than she thought. “One last tim
e? I don’t think so,” she whispered, and handed him the gun.

  He drew back, puzzled.

  “Now it’s my turn to kiss you,” she said in a loud voice. Then she gave him a shove and motioned toward the back door.

  Will didn’t even try to control his laughter as he turned around. “I don’t think so. I’ll take that gun, Callahan, and the next time you try a stunt like this, Josie Miller”—he tilted his head toward the reflective glass in the door—“don’t do it in front of a mirror.”

  18

  Jacob gathered Rachel into his arms and pulled up the covers. At least she had stopped shivering. Jacob had never felt so helpless, not even when he lost his memory. He simply lay, holding her, the horror of what had just happened to Rachel mixed with the memory of his own flight from harm. The woman who’d saved him was hurt, and it was up to him to keep her alive.

  He could feel her breath on his chest, faint but present.

  Warming her became his objective. Not knowing what else to do, he rubbed her arms. He threw his bare leg over hers and scrubbed it up and down her thighs and ankles. Over and over, he massaged her bare back, ranging lower, curving under her bottom and up her spine. She was a slim woman, firm from hard work, yet her skin was soft beneath his touch. He felt a responsibility for her, as a husband might feel for his wife, and that surprised him. It bothered him too. Why had he been running? Where had the money come from? What happened to it? What kind of man was he?

  Rolling over, he covered her body with his own, giving her his warmth. Transferring his touch to her stomach, her chest, and finally her breast, he felt a stirring that he could not control.

  She let out a tiny gasp and her breath feathered against his chin, then stopped. He thought she’d died. “Rachel.” Without realizing what he was doing, he planted quick little kisses down her cheek. “Rachel, breathe.”

  “I would,” she said, “if you weren’t smothering me.”

  He leaned back, allowing a shaft of cold air inside the covers. Rachel pulled him down against her. “Maybe being smothered is better than freezing.”