Once an Outlaw Page 11

  “Just make sure you understand what I expect in return,” Jake countered. “We’ll want a thousand dollars apiece if there’s killing involved. And that’s in addition to the valuables and money we take from the passengers.”

  “Done.” Ratlin shook his hand. “You’ll get your money—-just so long as there’s no one left alive in that stagecoach when you finish,” he warned. “I’ve got another man—an old pard—who’ll be riding with us. Any problem with that?”

  Jake shrugged. “Not if he can shoot straight and we can trust him. Who is it?”

  “You’ll meet him soon, closer to the time we pull the job. Until then the less you know, the better. The boss doesn’t like to take chances. In the meantime, you need to scout out the stagecoach route between Denver and Lonesome and find just the right spot to—” Suddenly Ratlin tensed at distant sounds from outside—wagon wheels creaking, a horse whinnying. “Who’s coming?” he demanded in an irritated whisper.

  “Damn.” Jake frowned and wheeled toward the door. “My niece and the boys must be back already,” he muttered.

  Scowling, Ratlin eased open the barn door. “Meet me at Cougar Pass tomorrow just after sundown and we’ll finish this,” he said in a low tone. “And remember, Spoon, if anything goes wrong, the boss will have your scalp—and I’ll have everything else,” he added coldly. “Either that or the sheriff’s going to lock all of us up so fast our heads’ll spin.”

  “Nothing’s going wrong.” Jake saw the wagon coming along the trail. He thought he could make out Emily’s pale face in the moonlight. She was seated beside Lester. Pete’s dun gelding cantered alongside.

  “I don’t want my niece mixed up in this,” he said sharply. “Get out, Ratlin, now.”

  “I’m going—but you’d better show up at Cougar Pass tomorrow, Spoon—and make damned sure no one follows you.”

  Ratlin eased out the door and disappeared into the thick gloom of the night. Squinting after him, Jake saw him duck toward the trees beyond the barn—no doubt the spot where his horse was hidden.

  He extinguished the lamp and sprinted to the porch before any one of his family noticed him. Slipping into the cabin, he plunked himself with alacrity into a chair even as Emily’s, Pete’s, and Lester’s voices sounded from the yard.

  Ratlin’s words were still circling through his head, over and over again.

  Just so long as there’s no one left alive …

  Emily flew into the cabin with Pete and Lester right behind her. Relief surged through her when she saw that Uncle Jake was snoozing peacefully in his chair, and all was quiet.

  “Uncle Jake—is Joey all right? There hasn’t been any trouble, has there?”

  “Trouble? What kind of trouble?”

  As Emily explained, Jake sprang out of the chair in dawning incredulity. “You mean that son-of-a-bitch who beat up your friend—he’s here in Lonesome?” he demanded, his fierce brows drawing together.

  “He must’ve come to town for the poker tournament.” Pete was pacing around the small room, his handsome face full of frustration. “Damn, I wish I’d known. I’d have given anything to get my hands on him.”

  “Me too.” Lester tossed his hat onto the side table. “Emily, you’re still shaking. There’s no reason to be worried now. That bastard didn’t see you, did he?”

  “No … no, I’m sure he didn’t.” Remembering the way she’d managed to avoid that made her cheeks turn even pinker though, and both Pete and Lester stared at her curiously.

  “Calm down, Sis.” Pete patted her shoulder. “It’s not like you to get this shook up. Nothing actually happened, after all.”

  Nothing happened, nothing happened. She’d seen John Armstrong and she’d kissed Clint Barclay. Nothing happened.

  “I think I need to check on Joey myself,” she murmured and headed toward the back bedroom.

  Behind her, she heard Pete say, “I know we’re supposed to start rounding up the cattle for branding tomorrow, Uncle Jake, but I’m going into town first thing and see if Armstrong’s still there. If he is, we’ll have to decide what to do about him …”

  She didn’t hear any more. The sight of Joey peacefully asleep in his bunk against the wall drove everything else from her mind.

  He’s safe, Lissa, she thought in silent thankfulness as she touched a hand to the boy’s hair. Her heart trembled at his tiny size and vulnerability, the small body curled into a ball. “I’ll keep him safe,” she whispered into the darkness. “No matter what I have to do.”

  Tonight she’d had to kiss a lawman.

  And not just any lawman. She shivered a little as she moved toward the door, astonished by how pleasurable it had been kissing that one lawman in particular.

  Never in a million years had she expected him to kiss her back.

  The memory of that kiss made her grow warm all over. It made her breath quicken. What was happening to her?

  It’s just because you haven’t kissed many men before, she told herself. And none of them like that.

  She slipped out of the room, and instead of facing the three men in the parlor again, she ducked into her own room and closed the door. She stared at herself in the mirror and saw that she looked every bit as tidy as she had before she’d left for the dance. Not a curl was out of place. Clint Barclay hadn’t mussed her carefully upswept hair or wrinkled her beautiful gown …

  So why did she think that everyone who looked at her would be able to see the mark of his kiss?

  It was only a kiss, she told herself desperately. Even though she remembered every single second of those dazzling moments on the porch—in Clint’s arms—it didn’t mean anything.

  That’s what she told herself over and over as she readied herself for bed, turned down her lamp, climbed in between the cool sheets, and stared at the shadows on the ceiling.

  It didn’t mean anything at all, she whispered into the darkness. And it will never happen again.

  But that thought gave her no comfort, and she tossed and turned through the long hours of the night, wondering how one irresistibly handsome lawman had managed to so thoroughly disrupt the logical workings of her mind, her senses—and her heart.

  HUNDER RUMBLED IN WITH THE dawn the next morning and so did a spattering of cool gray rain.

  “Looks like a bad storm rolling in—should hit later today, unless I miss my guess.” Uncle Jake frowned and turned away from the kitchen window as Lester, still at the breakfast table, smothered the last flapjack remaining on his plate with maple syrup. “We’d best start moving those cattle in before it hits. Soon as Pete gets back,” he added meeting Emily’s eyes.

  She paused while clearing the breakfast dishes from the table and nodded at him, relieved that Jake and Lester wouldn’t be leaving the ranch until they had news about John Armstrong. Flicking a glance at Joey, she was glad to see he was forking flapjacks into his mouth and listening raptly to Uncle Jake, totally oblivious of the true import of his words.

  Oblivious of the danger, she thought. If there is any danger …

  She carried the dishes to the counter and turned her gaze to the horizon. No sign of Pete yet, only the gray sky, the hills, and the aspens. She’d burst if he didn’t get back soon. She couldn’t relax until she knew if John Armstrong was still in Lonesome—or if he had only come to town for the poker tournament and then moved on.

  She kept glancing at Joey, smiling at him, trying to appear calmer and more confident than she felt. The boy mustn’t have even a hint that the man who had nearly killed his mother and had terrified him was less than ten miles away.

  “Think once Pete gets back, I’ll head south toward Beaver Rock,” Uncle Jake continued easily as Lester pushed back his chair, leaving not even a crumb of the flapjacks, bacon, and biscuits with marmalade that had been piled on his plate. “I’ll drop off some supplies at the line cabin up there—meantime, Lester, you round up all the strays you can find around Pine Canyon and bring ’em down to the basin.”

  “What about Pete?” L
ester asked.

  “He’ll take the creek, follow it all the way to Lizard Butte, pick up whatever strays he—”

  “Can I go with you, Uncle Jake?” Joey interrupted eagerly.

  Emily, Lester, and Jake all turned in astonishment to stare at the boy.

  Never had Emily seen Joey’s face look so bright, so animated—at least, not since the days before Lissa ever met John Armstrong. A soaring happiness almost blocked out her fears about Armstrong being in the vicinity. Joey was finally breaking free of the cage of fear in which Armstrong had locked him. He’d helped her with the planting in the vegetable garden over the past several days, gone willingly alone to the barn to feed the chickens—including the one he’d adopted and named “Clucker”—and now he even wanted to ride out on the range with Uncle Jake. If only Lissa were here to see how well he was doing!

  “Son,” Jake said kindly, “wish I could take you up on your offer—but I’m afraid I can’t today.” The gray-haired man went to the boy, stooped, and lightly ruffled his hair. “Best we work on your riding a mite first. These cattle can be mighty tricky. But one of these days—real soon—you’ll come along and give me a hand. I sure could use it.”

  Joey dropped his head, but not before Emily saw the disappointment in his face.

  “Joey,” she said quickly, “I need your help around here today.”

  “You … do?” Joey’s head came up slowly, hopefully.

  She smiled at him. “Yes, indeed. I need to get the rest of the firewood into the shed before the rain hits,” she said, with a quick warning look at Lester, who was about to offer to do it for her. “Think you could manage to help me carry it? I’m not strong enough to do it all alone.”

  “I can do it,” he assured her. “I’ll help you, Em-ly.” But he glanced over at Jake as he and Lester headed toward the door. “But… you’re going to teach me to ride soon, right, Uncle Jake? Promise?”

  “It’s a promise, son. Why, if the weather’s clear, maybe we’ll get started tomorrow after supper. I’ve got a fine little mare, just the right size for you—you’re going to like ’er, boy.”

  “Pete’s back!” Lester announced suddenly, and Emily whirled toward the window to see her brother galloping right up to the back door.

  As Emily rushed outside, her brother threw her a quick, reassuring smile. “Things are real quiet and peaceful in town after that poker tournament,” he said in a casual tone as he vaulted from the saddle. As Joey ran up to greet him, he swung the boy up and onto his horse’s back, holding him there and grinning at Emily, his dark hair falling boyishly over his brow. “Most folks have cleared out already. Why, I couldn’t find many strangers atall.”

  Both his words and his confident expression filled her with a dizzying relief. So there had been no sign of Armstrong in town. Emily felt as though she could breathe again without a knot the size of a rock in her throat.

  “Well, that’s good.” She almost laughed at her own understatement. “Everything’s back to normal.”

  “Looks that way. You know, if you want me to stick around today and … help out at the ranch, I will,” Pete offered, obviously ready to stay close if she was still uneasy, but Emily shook her head.

  “That won’t be necessary,” she assured him gratefully. “Joey’s going to help me. Right, Joey?”

  “Right, Em-ly!”

  “So shoo, all the rest of you—get to work. And make sure you come back home before the storm hits. Those clouds are getting fiercer looking by the minute.”

  As Jake, Pete, and Lester split up and went on their separate ways, she said a silent prayer of thanks that she had successfully avoided John Armstrong and that the danger was past. Her heart should have been light—but somehow it wasn’t.

  Perhaps it was just those ominous silver-laced storm clouds moving in from the west, or the knowledge that running across Armstrong last night might have turned out very differently, she told herself as she whisked through her morning chores. But the fact was that she still felt a weight on her, a weight of worry. Her memories of that encounter with Clint Barclay were as vivid as ever, even in the light of day. She kept seeing his face, remembering the rough, exciting slant of his mouth over hers, the sensation of those strong hands moving lightly up and down her back, the clean male taste of him as they kissed … and kissed some more …

  If anyone in her family found out she’d kissed Barclay …

  Emily shuddered at the prospect. She couldn’t bear to think about that.

  And there was no need to think about it. Because it will never happen again, she told herself. Not in a million years.

  She forced her thoughts in another direction. Now that the dance was over and her gown had proven to be such a big success—and thanks in large part to Nettie Phillips’s friendship—she had her work cut out for her. There was a great deal of sewing to get done between now and the box lunch social. She had orders for three dresses and two fancy shawls. The women would be coming by the Teacup Ranch to be measured and consulted on colors, styles, fabrics—there was material to purchase, as well as matching buttons and satin ribbons. In addition she had all of her household chores to complete as well… not to mention looking after Joey.

  Emily felt that Joey’s schooling should not be neglected any longer. If she didn’t get a letter from Lissa soon, she’d have to see about enrolling him in school, she thought, but in the meantime, she’d work on some lessons with him herself and—

  She paused in the midst of sweeping the floor as she heard the sound of a horse’s hooves, coming fast.

  Could it be Pete or Lester or Uncle Jake returning for some reason? she wondered, her heart thudding.

  She wasn’t about to take any chances. Dashing to the kitchen, she grabbed up the rifle and held it at her side as she hurried to the porch. At the same moment, Joey scurried out from the barn, his face white.

  “Who’s coming?” Fearfully he darted up the porch steps to her side. His shirt pocket bulged with the pack of cards he carried everywhere. “Em-ly, is it… him?”

  “No, no, of course not.” But a horrible seed of doubt had sprung up in her mind and she strained to make out the rider galloping toward the cabin. He was still too far away…

  “If it’ll make you feel better, Joey, go inside and wait. I’ll talk to whoever our visitor is.”

  “But… aren’t you scared?”

  “No. I’m not scared.” Emily gripped the rifle tighter. “Go ahead, Joey, go inside,” she said, far more calmly than she felt.

  The boy didn’t need to be told twice. He scooted through the door and it banged shut behind him even as Emily curled a finger around the safety.

  If Pete had made a mistake, and John Armstrong hadn’t left town and had found out about a girl named Emily Spoon living out at the old Sutter place …

  Then the rider at last came close enough for her to see who it was. She very nearly dropped the rifle.

  Clint Barclay thundered into the weed-strewn yard and reined in his horse less than ten feet from where she stood.

  “Morning, Miss Spoon,” he said evenly, touching a hand to the brim of his hat.

  Morning, Miss Spoon. Is that what a man said to a woman he had thoroughly kissed the night before? Absurdly she felt the urge to laugh hysterically and stifled it.

  “Sheriff.” The single word was said with caution and the unfriendliest tone she could muster.

  Clint swung down from the saddle with lithe ease. “We need to get a few things straight. I found out the name of that man who spooked you. He’s J—”

  “That’s enough, Sheriff!” Emily interrupted swiftly, horror jolting through her. She knew Joey must be listening inside. “Please—don’t say any more.”

  “Why not?”

  He vaulted up the steps and glanced at the rifle in her hand. “Planning to shoot me if I do?”

  Emily heard gentle amusement in his tone. But at the same time, there was determination in those penetrating blue eyes, a determination that signaled
he wouldn’t be deterred from asking her about John Armstrong.

  “Joey,” she called suddenly. “Joey, it’s all right. Come out here, please. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  At first there was no response, and she thought the boy would be too fearful to come out. Then the door opened slowly and the child stepped out. He walked slowly to Emily and without a word slipped his hand into hers.

  All the while he was staring at the sheriff, and she saw that he was noting the glittering silver star pinned to Clint’s vest.

  “This is Sheriff Barclay,” Emily said quietly. “Sheriff, I’d like you to meet Joey.”

  She looked for the surprise in his eyes when he saw the boy, but there was none.

  “Howdy, Joey,” Clint Barclay said in a level tone.

  “You … you were here before,” the boy blurted out. He peered up at Emily. “Wasn’t he, Em-ly?”

  “That’s right. He was.” She knelt down suddenly and smiled into the boy’s wary eyes. “He’s a nice man, Joey. It’s his job to protect people. So you don’t have to be afraid,” she whispered.

  He nodded, and his small shoulders relaxed. “If John Armstrong came here, Sheriff Barclay would shoot him, right?” he whispered back to her.

  She stiffened and couldn’t help throwing Clint a swift glance. She could see by his face that he’d heard every word. His jaw tightened and he looked like he wanted to say something, then he seemed to think better of it, and let Emily answer the child’s question.

  “He’d help us.” She choked out the words, torn between the need to soothe Joey’s fears and to keep Clint Barclay from learning any more than was absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, the way things were going, it looked like she’d end up having to tell him the whole story anyway. “That’s his job.”

  “She’s right, Joey.” Clint hunkered down, going eye to eye with the boy. He smiled, a warm, honest smile that tore at Emily’s heart—especially when she saw Joey smiling back.

  “I have a sworn duty to protect all the people in these parts from bad men. That means that if I catch anybody bothering you, or Emily, or anyone else, I can stop them. And make sure they can’t bother you any more.”