Once an Outlaw (10 page)

“I reckon you must have a lovely time at every dance,” he muttered, thinking of the parade of men he’d already witnessed lined up to dance with her—outlaw kin or no.

Emily wasn’t about to tell him that she’d been fifteen and a hopeless wallflower at her last dance. Instead she gave a delicate shrug.

He frowned at her. “The fact is, Miss Spoon, there’s no need to thank me. My stepping in wasn’t personal. I was just doing my job.”

“Of course you were.” Her eyes flashed. “The ever-diligent lawman. If you’ll excuse me …”

But as he yanked open the door for her, and she started through it, what she saw in the hallway not more than ten feet away made her stop dead. Not exactly what she saw, but
whom
she saw.

John Armstrong, Lissa’s ex-fiancé, was coming through the hall toward the door. His head was turned momentarily toward the dining room where the dancing and refreshments were in full swing, but at the same instant she saw him, his head began to turn back, toward the door…

She spun around, flung herself out onto the porch once again, and stumbled straight into Clint Barclay.

“Ohhh,” she gasped as she fell against a rock-solid chest, and his arms went around her to steady her.

She heard Armstrong’s boots thumping—thumping right up to the door—he would see her—any moment now, he would see her.

There was no time to think, to plan. She threw herself at Clint, driving them both deeper into the shadows. Flinging her arms around his neck, she did the only thing she could think of to do—she began to kiss Clint Barclay with fervent intensity.

IS MOUTH MOVED OVER HERS
, warm, strong, sure. In the shadows at the edge of moonlight, Sheriff Clint Barclay encircled her with those iron arms and returned her kiss with every bit as much intensity as she had shown in initiating it.

Sparks burst through Emily along with a dazzling heat as one kiss led to another—and another—each deeper and longer and somehow more intimate than the last. The idea of kissing a lawman should have made her ill, but instead she felt a rush of sensation, heady and hot and sweet.

For a moment, she forgot about everything—even about John Armstrong. She only knew a deep hunger, a yearning that came from her very soul, a pleasure that left her breathless. The soap and leather scent of him enveloped her. Her breasts were crushed against his powerful chest as he drew her closer, closer still.

Her entire body down to the tips of her toes caught fire.

Oh … my…

Her heart had gone crazy, thundering like an out-of-control train, but dimly she heard the footsteps thump
past them on the porch, heard heavy boots scrape the boardwalk, then heard more footsteps—this time receding.

He’s gone. Armstrong never saw you … you can stop kissing this lawman now
, Emily thought desperately, then panicked at the realization that she didn’t
want
to stop kissing him. Using all her willpower, she forced herself to tear her trembling mouth from his.

“We can… stop now—he’s… gone,” she whispered and tried haplessly to extricate herself from the sheriff’s arms, but he caught her to him and hauled her up against his chest again.

“What if he comes back?”

“He…” Dazedly, she started to glance after Armstrong, saw his burly figure striding up the street, and then saw nothing more of him as Clint Barclay yanked her in even closer.

“My turn, Miss Spoon.” His low, gentle voice was at odds with his powerful strength, and both sent a shiver racing down her back. Electricity blazed between them as his eyes gleamed into hers.

“Turnabout is fair play,” he said.

Then he was kissing her, his mouth slanting against hers with explosive heat. It was too late to protest, to try to pull back. The kiss imprisoned her in a giddy pleasure, as surely as did those strong arms. The first time, when she’d kissed him, she’d found him all too willing and ready to respond, following her lead with only the briefest flash of surprise, but this time she found him taking control, kissing
her
, tasting
her
, drawing out the kiss and deepening it as he tenderly explored the very shape and texture of her lips, as if seeking to know her in a way that was intimate and deliciously new and that defied description.

Blanketed in shadows, they were locked in an embrace that sent dizzying sensations tumbling through her. It was impossible to think with him kissing her like this, and Emily, accustomed to thinking so much and so often about everything in her life, knew an odd exhilaration as Clint Barclay wiped everything but the feel, scent, and taste of him quite out of her head.

Neither of them actually stopped the kiss in the end, it just came to a slow, sweet, shuddering end. They stood like that, their mouths still touching, their breath coming quickly, as the sounds of the dance, the laughter, and the music flooded back.

And so did the dark coolness of the night, the creaking of the porch planks beneath their feet, the sighing of the wind sweeping down from the hills.

And the memory of John Armstrong—here in Lonesome—nearly running smack into her.

“I have to leave.” Emily broke out of the spell and pulled back within the circle of his arms. “L-let me go.”

“Don’t you think you should tell me what that was all about?”

“There’s no time—I have to get back to the ranch—right now!”

“I’ll take you.” His arms were still snug around her. “And on the way you can tell me—”

“No!” Emily wrenched away, panic welling up in her. She had to get to Joey and make certain he was safe. She had to find Pete and Lester, ask them to take her home…

“Usually when I kiss a lady she’s not in such an all-fire hurry to run out on me.” Clint’s eyes were amused and yet searching as they settled on her in the darkness. “Maybe you ought to just slow down and—”

But Emily was already darting past him, back inside the hotel, without even a backward glance.

As Clint watched her disappear into the crowded lobby, he felt a stab of disappointment.

I never even had a chance to ask her to dance
.

No sooner had this thought flashed through his brain than he was shaking his head at the absurdity of it.

A lawman dancing with Jake Spoon’s niece? Not a good idea.

Didn’t matter how pretty she was—or, hell, how beautiful—didn’t matter how sweet she kissed or how delicious she tasted. Getting involved with a girl like her was…

Hold on a minute. A girl like her? You’re as bad as Jenks
, Clint realized suddenly.

He wondered what was wrong with him. Not only didn’t he know why Emily Spoon had kissed him with such ardor, why she was afraid of that stranger who’d come out of the hotel, or why she kept disappearing on him, he didn’t know why in hell he’d kissed her back.

“Sheeeriiff! Sheriff Barclay!”

The singsong tones of Agnes Mangley broke through his thoughts and galvanized him to action. He vaulted over the porch rail and strode down the street in the same direction that the man Emily Spoon had wanted to avoid had walked not more than ten minutes earlier.

It was almost midnight and the boy was fast asleep.

Jake Spoon crossed the bedroom floor and gazed down at Joey’s peacefully closed eyes, at his small form curled up into a ball on the mattress. He stood a moment, listening to the child’s soft, even breathing.

Sleep tight, kid
, he thought. From the looks of it, that’s exactly what the boy was doing. Jake figured a norther could blast the hills and the cabin, and Joey wouldn’t hear a thing.

Jake turned quickly on his heel. For a big man, he moved soundlessly across the floor, his boots making the barest scuffing noise as he let himself out of the room, then strode through the cabin and out into the night.

When he pushed open the barn door, heavy darkness greeted him. Then he heard a match strike; a flame sputtered and caught. The man standing in the shadows of the horse stalls regarded him with cold, shining eyes.

“’Bout time you got here, Spoon.”

Even without seeing Ben Ratlin, he’d have recognized that heavy, dour voice. A voice he’d heard every day for seven years in prison.

“You’re early, Ratlin.”

“Damn right I am. We have a lot to talk about. Close that damned door.”

As Jake complied, Ratlin turned up the oil lamp that hung from a hook on the barn wall and Jake noted that somehow the huge, bearlike man looked even more dangerous than he had in prison.

There was both ferocity and cruelty in those hooded deep-set eyes—and a kind of hunger Jake recognized and had seen in many men. The hunger for gold, silver, for precious gems. For long-dreamed-of wealth, riches attained by any means.

It was a hunger that afflicted many—and its name was
greed
.

Now that the time had come for Ratlin to finally pull off that big job he’d been talking about in prison the
past year, to get his hands on the huge payoff he’d been promised for its successful completion, Jake could smell the blood lust on him, the excitement of the hunt and the kill.

Jake understood it. The kind of payoff Ratlin had promised him for doing his part represented more money than Jake had ever hoped to haul in during all the holdup jobs he’d ever pulled.

And Ratlin’s share was even bigger than that.

“We’d better talk fast,” Jake said. “My niece could be back from town soon. There’s not much time.”

“Whose fault is that?” Ratlin sneered. He was as big as Lester, and built like a boar. There were strands of gray in his shaggy black hair and beard, and his oily, swarthy complexion shone in the dimness of the barn. “Don’t see why you couldn’t meet me at Cougar Pass, like I wanted,” he growled. “It’s damned risky for me to come here. And all because of some snot-nosed kid?”

“I told you, Ratlin, if you wanted to meet tonight, it had to be here.” Jake spoke curtly, his gaze nailing the other man’s. “I promised my niece I’d keep an eye on the boy while she was gone. If I’d said I couldn’t do it, she’d have asked questions. Now quit wasting time and fill me in. When’s the job—and who do we have to kill?”

Ratlin shook his head. “You’ll find out—all in good time, Spoon.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means the boss hasn’t told me I can let you in on the details yet. He’s calling the shots, not you, not me. Now what about your son and your nephew? You ask them yet if they want in on the job?”

“Not yet. But they will.”

“Just make sure they keep their mouths shut. They
won’t be squeamish about the killing part of it, will they? Seems to me your old gang never did shoot no one, from what I heard.”

“Pete and Lester will do whatever I tell them to do.” Jake Spoon met Ratlin’s glittering eyes, his own as hard as rocks. “The killing won’t be a problem.”

“Good. That’s real good.” Ratlin nodded approvingly and relaxed enough to offer a tight-lipped smile. “Just make sure you and your gang are ready whenever I give the word.”

“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.