Once an Outlaw (14 page)

“What happened to your ankle?” Clint asked, slipping his arms under her. “And your horse?”

He lifted her with ease and cradled her against his chest as the wind nearly blew her hat off.

“She threw me … and bolted. Spooked by lightning.” Emily tried not to think how good it felt to be held by Clint Barclay. Held so effortlessly and easily, as if she were a doll. His warmth and strength seemed to be flowing into her, easing the icy weariness that had eaten into her bones. “I… I was trying to find a cave or something … I didn’t think I’d reach the line cabin …”

Clint’s arms tightened around her as he felt her trembling all over. Her face was icy white, her teeth chattering. Damn, she needed warm blankets and a good blazing fire … fast.

“Well, you’ll reach it now,” he said grimly. “We’ll wait out the storm there.” As if she weighed no more than a penny, he hoisted her into the saddle and vaulted up behind her.

Lightning split the sky in a fiery arc and she flinched involuntarily. When Clint Barclay’s powerful arms closed around her she could only sag against him with relief.

She closed her eyes then, too spent and weak to do anything else. She blocked out the storm that swirled all around them as they galloped away from the ravine and night began to descend. All she knew was that she was safe. That Clint was holding her, warming her, taking her to shelter.

When they reached the line cabin, Emily half expected to find Uncle Jake inside, but when Clint kicked the door open they found it dry, stocked with supplies, cold as a tomb—and empty.

Where is he?
she wondered uneasily, finding it odd
that she hadn’t come across him once during all the time she’d been searching for Joey.

“I’ll get a fire going,” Clint said curtly as he set her down upon the neatly made-up cot on the far wall. He noticed then that her hands were shaking so much with cold that she was having difficulty removing the wet slicker. Swearing silently, he paused long enough to undo the fastenings for her and help her out of the heavy covering. There was a saddle blanket folded at the foot of the bed and without a word he draped it around her shoulders.

“I never should have let you go out to search in this storm,” he muttered.

“It wasn’t for you to decide.” Emily clutched the blanket around her and lifted her eyes to the hard planes of his face.

“Yeah? Well, now I’m in charge. Sit here, don’t move, and take it easy.”

For some reason, despite the numbing cold, his nearness and his touch as he had wrapped the blanket around her had sent a wave of heat through her body.

“I’m perfectly fine,” she murmured defiantly, wondering
why. Why
did this man have such an effect on her? Why did his nearness make her heart do strange little somersaults, and warm her blood, and make it difficult to think clearly?

“I can make coffee while you …”

“Move off that cot and I’ll hogtie you.” Clint’s stern gaze brooked no argument. He regarded her warningly for a moment, then swung away to the hearth, already stocked with two thick logs. “The first thing we have to do is get you warm.”

If anyone had ever told her she’d be hiding out from a storm in a line cabin with a lawman, letting him make her
coffee and a simple supper of hardtack and jerky, she’d have thought they were crazy. But here she was, and she was startled that it didn’t feel as strange as she would expect. Despite being cold and exhausted, and her ankle hurting, it was almost… pleasant to be here with Clint Barclay.

She felt grateful he had found her and … she felt unaccountably but completely safe.

You’re delirious
, a small sharp voice inside her insisted, as the rain battered the cabin’s roof and a roaring wind seemed to shake all four mud-thatched walls.
The sooner the storm ends and you can go back to the ranch, the better
.

“Do you think it’s going to stop storming any time soon?”

“Like tonight?” He poured more coffee into her tin cup and brought it over to the cot. “Don’t count on it. By sunrise, maybe.”

Sunrise?
“I can’t stay here all night,” Emily said firmly. She accepted the cup and felt a current of heat as his hand brushed hers. No, she couldn’t possibly stay here all night.

“Why not? I don’t bite.”

“As soon as the storm lessens a bit, I’d like you to take me home.”

As if to mock her words, lightning slashed beyond the single window at that very instant, lighting up the sky and the entire shack as if it were daylight. It was immediately followed by thunder exploding even closer and louder than before, and the downpour suddenly intensified.

“Like I said before—sunrise,” he repeated, then flashed her a quick grin. “Come on, you’re not
that
afraid of me, are you?”

“I’m not afraid of you at all.”

Those cool blue eyes smiled into hers as he lowered his tall frame so that he straddled the spindly chair across from the cot. “Then why are you trembling?” he asked, studying the delicate hands that gripped the cup.

“I’m not. I’m just cold.”

But it was a lie because, to Emily’s dismay, a tingling warmth was rushing through her. She wasn’t cold anymore in the least.

“Tell me about Joey.” That was a safe subject. Anything to escape the intensity of those eyes. They looked even bluer in the dimness of the cabin, lit only by lightning and firelight. Even bluer yet against the lean swarthiness of his handsome face, the dark stubble of his jaw…

“Where did you find him?” Emily asked desperately, taking a sip of the coffee.

He told her about his encounter with Joey and Lester, adding, “Mostly, he was scared—and wet as a drowned rat. I made sure he knew that John Armstrong had left town.”

Emily’s eyes mirrored her distress. “I never should have discussed that man while Joey was anywhere around,” she muttered.

“It wasn’t your fault. I pressed you to tell me.”

“I can’t bear to think that if he hadn’t run into Lester, he might still be out there right now—in this!” She flinched as the rain pounded in a driving frenzy upon the shack’s roof.

“But he did run into Lester, Emily. He’s safe. And so are you.” But he was wondering if he’d have ever found her if she hadn’t fired that shot.

“He’s been so frightened,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “And he was finally beginning to get over that fear.”

“I know.” Clint nodded, his eyes narrowing. “I saw the fear on his face today. Poor kid. It reminded me …”

His voice broke off.

“Reminded you of what?”

Abruptly he stood up, went back to the coffeepot, and began to pour himself a cup. “Nothing,” he said in a flat voice. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Tell me.” Emily watched him, watched him wrestle in his own mind, trying to decide if he wanted to explain. At last he took a swig of coffee and then spoke in that same flat voice.

“Joey reminded me of my own brother, Nick. The way he looked after our parents were killed.”

Tension shot through her at his words. And at the rigid clench of his jaw, the flash of pain in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered into the silence that followed. “What… happened?”

He swung back toward her, straddled the chair once more, and in the firelight, his face looked hard again, as if nothing penetrated that iron calm. “Their stagecoach was held up. Nick was with them.” He shook his head, remembering, and Emily sat perfectly still on the cot, watching that sharp, swarthy face as if she too could see the ghosts walking through his mind.

“My older brother, Wade, and I were staying with neighbors while our parents went to Kansas—they wanted to visit my mother’s aunt, who was dying. Nick was only seven—the baby of the family—so they took him along. I guess my mother didn’t feel right leaving him behind.” His big knuckles whitened on the tin cup, then, with an effort, she saw him deliberately relax. “But they never got there. The stage was stopped.”

Emily sat very still, no longer hearing the drumming
of the rain, only hearing his voice, so calm, dispassionate, almost detached.

“The outlaws who held them up killed all the passengers—except Nick. Every man, every woman—and the driver. My father tried to fight, tried to save my mother, and she in turn pushed Nick behind her, trying to shield him with her own body. Pleading for them to spare him with her last breath. That’s what Nick told us later. For some reason, maybe because she tried so hard to protect him, the bastards didn’t shoot Nick. They let him live.”

Clint’s eyes were slits of deadly blue ice. A shudder ran through Emily as she closed her own eyes a moment, thinking of that small boy, the lone survivor of such a massacre.

“He was the only one,” Clint said softly, and she marveled at the steadiness of his tone. “The only one to get out alive. And he came back to us, to me and Wade. When he did,” he said, drawing in a deep harsh breath, “he looked a lot the way Joey did today. The way no kid should ever have to look.”

Emily swallowed. Words couldn’t express the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. “How … horrible. I’m sorry.” How silly and feeble those words sounded.

Clint looked at her, his expression unreadable. “It was a long time ago,” he muttered.

“But the pain never really goes away.” Emily’s tone was soft. She was thinking of her own parents, who’d died of the fever, thinking how much she missed them still. For a moment, gazing into Clint’s eyes, she thought she felt a flash of understanding between them.

“I hope for Joey it
will
go away someday,” he said, his jaw clenching.

Emily was still picturing him as a young boy who’d
lost his parents in such a brutal way. “How … how old were you when all this happened?” she asked.

“Nine. Wade was eleven.” Clint shook his head. “Suddenly we were orphans. All we knew was that no matter what it took, we wanted to stay together. Things looked pretty bleak on that front—until a man by the name of Reese Summers stepped in.”

“Who was he?”

“Reese was my father’s best friend. The two of them went way back. After the holdup, Reese came and got us and brought us back to his ranch in Wyoming. A place called Cloud Ranch.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Emily exclaimed. Cloud Ranch—one of the largest ranches in all of the West. “That’s where you grew up?” she asked, a little awed.

“Yep. It’s a great ranch now—Reese built it up from a tiny cabin not much bigger than this one. It was his dream, his life. And it became our home. And he became like a father to all of us.”

Suddenly he drained the last of the coffee and swung off the chair. He left the cup on the small table near the fire and came to stand before Emily. “It took time though. It wasn’t easy, especially for Nick. That’s why I understand about Joey and his fears. After Nick saw our parents and everyone else on that stagecoach killed, he didn’t speak for a long time. Not one word. But thanks to Reese Summers, he got over it, and the fear—and the silence—eventually went away.”

“Where’s Nick now?”

“Who knows?” Suddenly the harshness lifted from his face and he laughed. “He moves around a lot, my baby brother does. He stays in touch, though. He’s a gun-fighter.”

“A gunfighter!”

“Guess it’s his way of getting back at the men who killed our parents,” Clint said. “The bastards were never found, never identified. Never punished. They’re the kind of vermin my brother hunts down.” His face was grim again and Emily shivered, suddenly knowing that if Clint Barclay himself ever found those men, he’d make them sorry they’d ever been born.

“And this is your way of getting back at them,” she said slowly, looking up at him. Her gaze flicked to the badge glinting on his vest. “It’s the reason you’re a lawman.”

There was a pause. The only sound was the rain drumming upon the roof and the wicked hiss of the wind. “Guess you could say that,” Clint said at length. “All I know is it’s something I need to do.”

A wave of compassion swept through her and at that moment it was hard to hate him for being who he was, what he was. Once Clint Barclay had been a young boy like Joey, scared and alone, torn from his parents. He had become a strong man, determined to fight the kind of brutality that had nearly destroyed his family.

“And Wade?” she asked, to change the subject, a bit unnerved by her own reflections.

“Wade took over Cloud Ranch after Reese passed on recently. Actually, a part of the ranch was left to all three of us, but Wade has the biggest share. He’s the foreman and he has the same love for the place and for Silver Valley that Reese had.” Again his face softened, just a trace. “He got hitched recently. It was his wedding I was coming back from that first night I met you,” he added.

“Oh.” Emily’s thoughts went back to that night, to how frightened she’d been when Clint Barclay had first grabbed her in the darkness. Now, despite his imposing figure, the fact that he was so tall and so muscular, with
that sharply handsome face and those eyes that could cut your heart in two, she somehow couldn’t imagine being frightened of him. Not in the way she had been at first. Those gentle kisses had seen to that…

She mustn’t think about those kisses. To stop herself, she said abruptly, “Well, now that your brother has married, I guess you’re planning to do the same thing.”

His eyes narrowed. “What would make you say a fool thing like that?”

It was Emily’s turn to laugh. “Nearly every woman of marriageable age in this town has asked me to sew her a new dress in time for the box lunch social. From what I’ve heard, they’ve all set their cap for you. Though I can’t imagine why,” she couldn’t help adding tartly.

Instead of rising to the bait, Clint just sighed. “Neither can I.”

“Well, you must have done something to make them all start chasing you like bees after honey.”

He looked startled. “Hell, no. Why would I? I’ve got no intentions of settling down, not for a long time. If ever.”

“Oh, not the marrying type, are you?” Emily inquired coolly.

“Nope, and I never pretended to be. But then most men aren’t.”

“Your brother just got married,” she reminded him.

“Yeah, that was a surprise. But Wade got lucky. He met a perfect woman. Someone perfect for him,” he added with a grin. “I wouldn’t trade in my freedom, even for a girl as gorgeous as Caitlin Summers—I mean Caitlin
Barclay
now.”