Authors: Elaine Levine
Logan's Outlaw (13 page)
“You're up!”
Her head shot up as the familiar deep voice slipped into her mind. He was coming up the stairs bearing a cup of coffee. “I thought you'd left.”
“Of course not. It occurred to me there was no reason to rush off at the crack of dawn. You've had quite a few hard days. I wanted you to rest.” He handed her a cup of coffee. Her hands shook as she took it.
She looked up at him, his image wavering in her eyes. “I thought you were gone.”
He pulled her into an easy hug. “Aw, sweetheart. I'm sorry I frightened you.” He rubbed her back. “Come down to breakfast. Maddie's been cooking for hours. I hope you're hungry.” She leaned into his chest, drawing a long breath and slowly releasing it. He seemed to be waiting for her composure to return. He could read her far too easily. She hated letting him see how dependent she was on him.
She sipped her coffee, using the motion to shield herself from him. She wondered, as she followed him to the kitchen, if he would be different once he was away from town and these people he knew so well. Would he keep his promises to her when there was no one around to know if he didn't?
Chapter 9
A massive covered wagon drew up in front of Maddie's boardinghouse a short while later that morning. Their ponies were tied to the tailgate. Sarah sent Logan a questioning glance. “Are we traveling in that? Is it safe?”
He grinned. “It's safe. We'll be out for a couple of weeks. I thought you'd rather ride in a wagon than on a horse for that amount of time. Besides, I need to take a fair amount of supplies to Chayton and hope to be picking up a good collection of artwork from his wife. We could either bring two pack mules with us, or take the wagon.” He shrugged. “It just seemed easier.”
Sarah's gaze traveled across the hard planes of Logan's face. His eyes were alive with excitement.
“ComeâI'll show you. It's a chuck wagon.” He took her hand and drew her around to the end. The backside of the wagon was a custom-fitted cupboard, with cabinets, panels, and compartments. “There's a table that folds down for food preparation. The drawers are hidden behind the table's board. Its leg folds up and over to the side. We're stocked with coffee, flour, sugar, beans, oats, grits, cornmeal, salt, pepper, baking powderâany dry goods you might want. The cabinets hold utensils, pots, and pans.”
He took her around to the front bench, past a large water barrel tied to the side of the wagon, along with various ropes and lanterns. The driver's bench sat high atop another cabinet. Logan helped Sarah up to the bench. He followed her up and stepped over the front seat into the interior of the wagon. There were two benches on either side with a table between them. They ended at another cabinet, on top of which lay a mattress, complete with sheets, quilt, and pillows.
“Logan, this is a house. On wheels. Where did you get it?”
He grinned. “The livery owner bought it awhile back from a logging crew. He's repaired all the bad wood and broken hinges and made a new tarp for it. Took him awhile to get it cleaned up for us this morningâwhich was another reason I decided to leave later than planned. The linens are newâpicked them up from Jim's store. Maddie gave us the pillows and quilts.”
“It's too much. You wouldn't have done this if not for me. I don't want to slow you down.”
“I'm not in a hurry, Sarah. Not anymore. I'm dragging you across the territory. I want you to be comfortable.”
Sarah looked away, shocked by the depth of his thoughtfulness. Her father had been a kind and gentle man. He'd done everything in his power to make her mother's life what she wanted it to be. Her own marriage to Eugene had not been anything like the magic her parents shared.
Logan climbed back onto the seat next to her. “I brought your things down and packed them under that bench. We're all loaded up. Ready to start?”
She drew his old hat up and cinched the thong beneath her throat. “Ready.”
Maddie stood in her drive and waved to them. “You take care of Sarah. And don't be a stranger, Logan. We've missed you.”
He nodded to her with a quick tug at his hat, then slapped the reins. Sarah looked at Logan. Her husband. So many times over the last couple of years, her life had taken a turn she'd never seen coming. Her family's move west. Her parents' deaths. Her first marriage. Her capture by the Sioux. And now her marriage to Logan. It was like living in a river full of rapids and falls, the current moving so fast that anything resisting the raging waters would be destroyed.
Logan's hands were light on the reins. He looked relaxed, a man very much at home in this wild territory. She felt his courage, doubted he'd ever encountered something or someone he couldn't handle. His hat shielded the upper half of his face, but sunlight touched his chin, the hard outline of his jaw. She couldn't believe he'd found her, that they were married. Her gaze lingered on his face, drinking in the sight of him.
She forced herself to look at the land slowly passing by, but saw nothing of its green lushness. Her mind was too filled with gray eyes, eyes that seemed to read souls. She knew she had no secrets from him, not when he could look at her and know her wounds.
She folded her legs up on the bench and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Why have you stayed away from your home and family so long?”
A muscle worked in the corner of his jaw. He shrugged. “No good reason. Habit, I guess. Being gone was easier than returning.”
“Why?”
He sent her another quick look. His face was a careful mask. He sighed. “I spent four years back East getting my degree. I planned to take a job there, but my stepfather wanted me to come home. He had plans to have me marry his neighbor's daughter.”
Sarah was speared by an unfamiliar blast of jealousy. “Did you get married?”
He shook his head. “My stepbrother fell in love with her.”
“Is that why you left?” Sarah held her breath, waiting for the devastating news that he still felt the loss of his first love. Or worse, that he'd only married Sarah so that he wouldn't have to return home alone. She blinked away her tears, quickly, before he could notice them. What was, what might have been, was in the past. She and Logan, for better or worse, were married. She would do her best to help heal that old wound. She would make him proud.
“Maybe it was. But it isn't why I stayed away. I'm happy for my stepbrother and Rachel. They were meant for each other. She mended the things that were broken in Sager's spirit. There could have been no other for either of them.”
“Why, then, did you stay away?”
“My stepbrother and stepdad are a bit overpowering. I didn't want to live in their shadow. My brother will inherit the ranch we grew up on. And in marrying Rachel, he gets all of her father's land, too. There was no place for me. So I left to find where I belonged.”
“What happened to your parents? Your stepdad raised you?”
“My father died when I was very young. I don't remember him at all. My stepdad met my mother when I was only a few years old. They married and he brought us out here, to his ranch. He is really the only father I remember.”
“Was he a good father?”
Logan considered her question. He sent her a quick look. “My stepdad lost his first wife to a Sioux raid. She was pregnant when they took her. Sid, my stepdad, searched for her for years. When he finally learned she'd died, he also discovered that she had borne him a son. I think Sid cared for my mother and me, but he was gone a lot searching for his real son. I was left alone with my mother, who was angry about having to live in so remote a spot. She was a bit unbalanced. Her rage grew over time. We all lived in fear of upsetting her.”
“I'm sorry, Logan.” She reached across the bench to touch his arm. “Is she better now?”
He shook his head. “She passed away eight years ago.”
“Oh, Logan!”
He shrugged. “It's done. My brother came home when he was a teenager, and left again almost immediately. Again my father searched for him. And then, when I graduated college, my father and his neighbor hatched a plan to have me marry Rachel. Sager had come back about then. I thought we could try to be a family, but it wasn't possible.” He gave her a wan smile. “And that, Mrs. Taggert, is the whole sordid story of my life.”
Sarah moved her hand down to clasp his hand, glove to glove. “That is
not
the sum of your life, Logan. You are part of this wild country. You're friends with everyone. You can speak Sioux and probably a dozen other Indian languages. You understand tribal customs. You ride across this land without fear, as if you welcome the challenges that might come your way. You don't let men bully youâor any strange women you happen to run into. You are an extraordinary man. I am glad you are my husband.”
not
the sum of your life, Logan. You are part of this wild country. You're friends with everyone. You can speak Sioux and probably a dozen other Indian languages. You understand tribal customs. You ride across this land without fear, as if you welcome the challenges that might come your way. You don't let men bully youâor any strange women you happen to run into. You are an extraordinary man. I am glad you are my husband.”
Logan studied her beautiful brown eyes, struck by the fierceness of her defense. He pulled his hand free and wrapped it about her shoulders, drawing her closer to his side. “Thank you,” he whispered. She had reached out to him just now. And she had let him hold her last night. It was a start.
After hearing the story of her first husband, Logan knew theirs had been no real marriage at all. Eugene Hawkins, or whoever the hell he really was, had used her to fund his trip west. He'd never intended for his resourceful bride to follow him to the wilds of the Dakota Territory.
Logan had asked Sheriff Declan to look into her husband. He had a sneaking suspicion that Eugene had been mired in the corruption he'd uncovered before his deathâhe was not the bumbling innocent his wife believed him to be. Not for the first time, he regretted the bastard was already dead. He'd have liked to kill him personally. Slowly. Painfully. Drawing from him blood for every injury he'd done Sarahâthrough intent or ignorance.
Â
The evening wind had calmed to a slight breeze, stirring cool air around the dusky sky as Logan secured their camp at the end of the day. The fire was banked. The horses were tied to a corral line. He turned around and saw his wife standing there in her boots and nightgown, a blanket over her shoulders. Her thick, white-blond braid was pulled forward over one shoulder. She stopped all motion when he looked at her. He wondered if she was even breathing, because he wasn't.
He moved toward her, his stride stiff, his every sense locked on her. The evening's pastel orange and pink colors bathed her face and hair, a wash of color that made her skin glow. He looked at her mouth, imagined it against his, imagined her opening for him, giving herself to him even as he gave himself to her.
“Do you need help getting into the bed? You'll have to climb up there.” He pointed to the chair beside the table.
“I don't need help.”
He held still as she moved past him to the wagon. Her blanket brushed his arm. He caught the faint scent of her, fresh and sweet-smelling. He forced himself to go to the river's edge. He took his time with his evening routine, wanting to give her plenty of time to get settled before he joined her.
When he returned to the wagon, he untied the rear section of the canvas, folding it back so that the bed was exposed to the open air. The June evening was long. They could lie together and watch the darkening sky.
Inside the wagon, he changed into a fresh set of clothes that he reserved for wearing to bed. He hadn't worn a nightshirt since his childhood and didn't intend to start now, but he couldn't join Sarah wearing only his drawers. Besides, the night was cold. He took up his pistol, rifle, and knife, setting them at the foot of the thick mattress while he climbed up. He took the outer half, preferring to keep Sarah somewhat sheltered by the interior of the wagon. She moved stiffly to the far side of her half while he arranged his weapons in easy reach.
He sat on his edge of the bed, facing the open end of the wagon, his legs folded. “Sarah, come and sit next to me. We'll watch the sunset.”
He looked so boyish sitting on the edge of the mattress, facing the night. Carefree. She looked beyond him, to the prairie and the sky that met it at the horizon. To the east, where night was gathering, the sky had turned gray. To the west, the sky was a vibrant orange, the clouds shades of pink, vermilion, and apricot.
She couldn't resist his request. She crawled over to one side of him and sat cross-legged as she drew her blanket over her nightgown. Birds were sounding their nesting calls. The grasshoppers were growing quiet, their noisy clatter replaced by chirping crickets serenading one another. It seemed the world was settling down, but she knew that was an illusion. It was just a change in shifts, from day hunters to night hunters. The open, endless prairie was vast and lethal.
Logan watched the changing colors, listened to the changing sounds, felt the cool night breeze with rapt attention. She looked again at the land surrounding them, trying to see it from his eyes. She knew what was out thereâcoyotes, wolves, and snakes. Humans more dangerous than any animal. She shivered.
“Cold?” Logan asked as he adjusted her blanket. Frosty air chilled her foot. She moved to cover herself again, quickly, before he saw the scars on the bottom of her feet. Too late. He grabbed her wrist and stopped her.
“What is this?” he asked, staring at her foot.
She tried to move so that her feet were together, folded away from him, but he took hold of her ankle. “Let me see your feet.”
“No. Please. Please don't look at them.”
“Show me your feet.” His voice brooked no argument. She moved so that the soles of her feet faced him. She watched the prairie, wishing the sun was setting faster, wishing for the cover of darkness.
He lifted her feet and put them in his lap. She held perfectly still as he brushed his hand over the puckered, seared skin. “Christ. What did they do to you?” He touched her other foot. She couldn't feel much of his stroke. He gripped a foot in each hand, her terrible scarred feet. His eyes watered. “What did they goddamn do to you?” he asked again, his voice a harsh rasp.
She swallowed, fixed her gaze on her knees. “I tried to run several times that first month they took me. I ran anytime I could, though every time they found me and beat me. I had heard some of the women talking about a unit of soldiers that was searching nearby for me. The warriors feared I would escape and bring the soldiers back upon them. They had the women burn the bottoms of my feet so that I couldn't run.”
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