Outlaw's Bride (23 page)

T
he judge tapped his pipe bowl. “I’m proud of you, son. You made a mistake, but you’re paying your debt. One slip isn’t going to impede your progress. And you’ve been good for Everett.”

Everett was busy entertaining several of the town’s eligible young women. The new dynamite shack had made the telegraph clerk somewhat of a celebrity.

“He’s a hard worker.”

“That boy was raised in a strange family. His daddy took off soon after Everett was born. An uncle moved in and helped Everett’s mother and grandmother put food on the table, but he was an overbearing man and never had much good to say about the boy. Everett’s mother never quite took to her son, though she raised him with strong moral convictions, and he always did well in school.” The judge sighed. “I suppose that’s why Ragan’s always been so good to him. Over the years, Everett has latched onto her like a lifeline.”

Johnny smiled. Who could blame him?

“Working with you these past few weeks has turned him into a man.”

When Everett spotted the two, he excused himself and walked over to join them. “Afternoon, Judge.”

“Afternoon, Everett. Turned out to be a nice day.”

“Yes, sir, real nice. Can I get you a cool drink, sir?”

“No, think I’ll just go over and help myself to another piece of Mazilea’s chocolate cake. My, that woman can cook.” He wheeled off, heading for the desserts.

Everett fell into step with Johnny, and they walked to the area where the shooting contest was scheduled to start in little under an hour.

“How’s your aim today?”

Everett shrugged. “Not worth a hoot.”

Johnny grinned. “Just remember to keep that arm steady.”

“I’ll try, but however the contest turns out, I’m not doing it for Ragan anymore.”

“No?”

“She’s in love with you, John.”

Johnny shook his head. He was in love with her, but he didn’t know if he could saddle her with a man with a record. “Once my sentence is served, I should be moving on.”

“You’ll break her heart.”

The last thing he wanted to do was break her heart, but he loved her enough to walk away. All of her life she’d been a caretaker; he wanted more for her. Her law degree and eventually a man solid with God and in good standing with the community. He was none of those.

“When I leave, Ragan can go on with her plans. She’ll go off to school, and someday she’ll find a man deserving of her love. I’m not the settling-down kind.”

Clearing his throat, Everett dropped his voice and glanced around. “Shoot fire, I’d hate to see you leave myself. I’ve never had a real friend before…hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind, Everett. I was thinking the same about you.”

What are you going to do, McAllister? Put your life on hold forever? Let a woman like Ragan slip through your fingers so you can pursue scum like Bledso? Ignore something like Everett’s admiration and loyalty? Friends like him rarely come along. A friend like that would stand beside you through thick and thin.

Bledso wasn’t worth a hair on Ragan’s or Everett’s head. Why couldn’t he let it go and get on with his life?

“We’re good friends now,” Everett reminded.

Nodding, Johnny concurred.

“I’m giving her to you, John.”

“Who?”

“Ragan.” Everett paused and turned to face Johnny. “I’ve loved her for as long as I can remember, and she likes me—in a brotherly sort of way. But she loves you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I may not be the biggest or smartest man around, but I know Ragan. And she’s in love with you. You’re the best man for her.”

“Best man?” Johnny paused, digesting the gift. “Between the two of us? I’m not the best man, Everett. I’m the ordained man.”

“Huh?”

“I may be the one God has in mind for her, but I cannot imagine why. You’re the best man, and the woman God has for you is out there. You’ll meet her someday, and then you’ll understand just how complex love can be.”

“Well.” Everett grimaced. “She’s taking her own good time getting here.”

The hour for the shooting contest arrived. The men, faces drawn with concentration, had taken their three shots at their targets. There’d been some mighty fine exhibition.

Now, all eyes were centered on the last contestant.

Silence gripped the area.

Everett clutched his big blue pistol and steadied his arm. Sweat beaded his lower lip. Staring down the sight, he slowly squeezed the trigger. His arm jerked upward, and the bullet actually landed on his target.

Carl Rayles checked the board for accuracy and then shook his head. “Well, that was close.”

Everett craned his neck to see. “It was?”

“Weren’t bad. Take your second shot.” Mayor Rayles stepped back, his eyes on the large X.

Hubie Banks paced behind the benches, his eyes glued to the target. The brand-new Greener double-barrel shotgun, displayed in a leathertooled case, rested on a nearby table.

Everett closed one eye, squeezed the butt of the pistol between both fists, and sighted. His eyes closed as the shot rang out.

“Hit it square in the middle this time!”

“Let me see that!” Hubie Banks pushed through the onlookers and snatched the board from the mayor’s hands. He studied the bullet holes, then silently handed back the target.

Everett’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not the judge, Hubie. Go sit down.”

The saloon owner stalked off.

Everett returned to his mark and, taking careful aim, fired his last shot.

“Half inch to the left of the X,” the mayor called out.

Everett bit his lower lip.

“Still pretty good shootin’. Definitely in the running.”

The mayor added Everett’s target to the pile, and the men began to put away their guns. “That’s it for the contest, gentlemen. I’ll announce the winner of the Greener before the fireworks tonight.”

Everett flashed Johnny a relieved grin, and Johnny released the pent-up breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Now he knew what it was like to have a kid.

Toward dark, the festivities started to wind down. Women gathered the leftover food and packed it away, and lanterns were lit. Older children played stickball or captured fireflies in glass canning jars.

Mothers with small babies spread blankets on the ground and settled down to nurse their infants before the annual fireworks display started.

The brand-new shotgun went to Hubie Banks again this year, but Everett came in third. The telegraph clerk shook Banks’ hand and warned him that next year would be different. He turned and met Johnny’s eyes in the crowd, and with a huge grin he saluted him.

While the prizes were distributed, Johnny wandered through the crowd until he located Jo, sitting with Fulton Ramsey. During the day he’d noticed that Ragan’s father seemed more lucid than usual. Tonight his eyes were bright as he watched the activity going on around him, even though it was getting close to his bedtime.

Seating himself on the ground beside Jo, Johnny grinned at her. She smiled back.

“Guess who I just saw at the lemonade stand?”

She lifted her brows. “Who?”

“Benny Dewayne I-can’t-live-without-you Wilson.”

Her eyes lit with excitement. “Is Emma with him?”

“No, I saw her talking to Austin Plummer’s boy.” He leaned closer. “Benny looked like he could use a pretty girl’s company.”

Jumping to her feet, Jo tidied her hair. “Really?”

Chuckling, Johnny said, “Go on. I’ll keep your father company.”

Jo hurried toward the lemonade stand, still fussing with her hair as she walked.

“Enjoying the events, Mr. Ramsey?”

Fulton turned his head. He smiled vaguely, digging in his vest pocket. A moment later he produced a wooden giraffe and pressed it in Johnny’s hand. “God watches over them.”

Johnny nodded. “Yes, sir, he sure does.”

Then Fulton’s face sobered. “But he also expects his people to look after themselves.”

Johnny studied the older man. Ragan favored him in some ways. Same blue eyes, same shaped nose. Those eyes focused clearly on Johnny now, not clouded as they usually were. “Because I didn’t stand up to the gangs, my son was taken from me. You can’t let that happen. Give me your promise that you won’t let that happen again.”

“Mr. Ramsey—”

Fulton took Johnny by the arm, his eyes burning with conviction. “If I had stood up, the town would have followed me. If we had stopped the raids, Jacob would be alive.”

Johnny was relieved when he caught sight of Ragan crossing the
lawn, balancing three pieces of watermelon in her hands. Concentrating on the melon, she called out, “Anyone still hungry?”

Her smile faded when she looked up and saw Johnny’s somber expression. She glanced at her father and then back at him. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Your father and I were talking.”

She frowned. “Talking?”

“Yes. Your father was talking about your brother.”

“Oh, Papa.” Ragan set the watermelon slices aside and leaned down to adjust the light throw draped across Fulton’s legs. “Do you want to go home now? Are you tired?”

Fulton rummaged in his pocket and came up with a wooden fish. He handed the treasure to her. “Two fishes and five loaves of bread were all that were needed to feed the multitude.”

“Come, I’ll—”

He flashed a smile, his eyes clear again. “No, daughter, I don’t want to go home. I’ll stay for the fireworks, thank you.”

I
thought I might find you here.” The following Monday morning, Ragan set her bundles on the general store floor and knelt beside Johnny, who was loading nails into a sack. Their eyes met, and she drank in the sight of him. He looked so handsome this morning, his dark hair damp with rain. “Good morning.”

He checked to see if Mazilea was at the front of the store before leaning to steal a brief kiss. “I thought you had baking you wanted to do this morning.”

She pressed her forehead against his. “Bread’s cooling on the counter. It’s raining.”

He checked Mazilea’s whereabouts again, and then stole another kiss. “Did you come all the way over here to remind me that it’s raining?”

“Of course not. But that means you can’t work on the tower.”

He dropped the last nail into the sack and stood up. “Not until it lets up. Everett’s catching up on some work at the telegraph office, so I decided to come for supplies. Do you need something?”

She rose to face him. “You.” Slipping her arm into his, she led him toward the front door. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” Breezing by the register, she called, “Mazilea, put two dozen nails on Johnny’s account.”

The store’s owner was busy sacking cornmeal. She tied off a bag
and set it on a shelf, waving an acknowledgment as they went out the door.

The couple stepped onto the porch, and Ragan popped open her umbrella. The sky was dark; the steady rain that had fallen since daybreak drummed on the tin roof. The drought was broken.

“What’s this about?” Johnny asked, ducking under the canvas awning.

Flashing an impish smile, she inclined her head toward the end of the street. “Follow me!”

They darted down the steps and across the street, sidestepping mud puddles. They were halfway down Main when the sky opened and rain fell in torrents. Racing up the porch steps, Ragan flung open the door, propped the dripping umbrella on its handle, and dashed into the foyer.

Johnny, close on her heels, closed the door behind him. They stood in the hallway, dripping on the polished oak floor.

“I’ll clean that up later.” Ragan impatiently grabbed his hand and proceeded up the stairway, dragging him behind her.

The noise prompted the judge to wheel his chair to the parlor doorway. “That you, Ragan?”

She stopped midway and turned to lean over the railing. “It’s me, Procky. I have something to show Johnny in the attic.”

“In the attic?”

“I’ll leave the door open!” she called.

Frowning, the judge patted Kitty, who was stretched lengthwise on his lap. “Can’t imagine where she gets all her energy,” he said to the cat. Shaking his head, he returned to his journals.

Johnny and Ragan exchanged conspiratorial glances, and she continued up the stairs.

Rain pattered off the eaves of the musty-smelling attic. Ragan lit a candle and set it on a nearby trunk. Rubbing her arms, she smiled. “Procky hasn’t quite gotten used to the idea that he can’t run up and down the stairs anytime he wants to anymore.”

Johnny returned her smile. “Should he check on us?”

She shivered, ignoring the innuendo. He was still a bit rough around the edges, but that would change. “It’s chilly up here,” she murmured, trying to still her chattering teeth.

His gaze scanned the cramped quarters. “Just show me what you want to show me, and I’ll be running along. Got a lot a work yet today.”

She picked up an old blouse, and started drying off. “We are courting, aren’t we? Sort of.”

His gaze sobered. “I’m not in any position to be courting.”

“That’s for me to decide.”

He stepped deeper into the attic, his eyes scanning the discarded furniture and crates.

“Do you spend much time up here?”

“Some. It was Maddy’s sewing room. She said it was the only peace and quiet she could find, so she came up here most every day and sat in that corner by the window to read or sew or to just think about things. I’ve sorta picked up her habit. I do quite a lot of thinking up here, myself.”

Johnny bent to look out the window. “Not much of a view. All you can see is the porch roof.”

“I didn’t bring you up here for the view.” He turned around, and her eyes met his. “I have something for you.” Taking him by the hand, she moved toward a table on the other side of the window. The surface was cluttered with sewing notions and stacks of cotton material. Scissors, thread, pins, a tape measure, and patterns attested to its recent use.

Ragan picked up a wrapped bundle and handed it to him. “Go ahead and open it,” she said with anticipation.

Johnny unwrapped the package and removed two new shirts. Holding them up, he stared at them.

“Do you like them? I finished them after breakfast this morning.”

“They’re…real nice.”

“Just nice?”

He looked at her, confusion evident in his eyes. “Who are they for?”

“For you, silly.” She moved around the table, tidying up. “I had all
this material just lying around. I made the judge shirts for Christmas, and I thought you’d enjoy having something new too.” The two shirts he owned were threadbare, and they’d been washed so many times the colors were faded to nothing.

He appeared to be struggling with accepting the gift. Had she embarrassed him? That wasn’t her intention—far from it. She longed to take care of him, the way a wife cares for a husband.

Thunder shook the old house, rattling the windows. Rain sluiced down the glass panes. Johnny held one of the shirts up to his chest for fit. “I can’t pay you for your work.”

“Pay me?” She paused, overcome with disappointment. “I wouldn’t accept money, Johnny. They’re a gift.”

“I don’t remember the last time I had a gift—or a new shirt, for that matter.”

“Well, you have two new ones now. I have a good eye. I think they’ll fit,” she said as he stepped in front of a mirror and held a shirt up to his chest.

Slipping the new shirt on over his old one, he assessed his image.

“What do you think?” she asked. He looked powerfully handsome in the blue-and-black plaid.

“You did a good job.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Drawing her closer, he bent to kiss her. She looked up at him, her heart hammering. “I love to make things for you.”

“You want to know something?”

She nodded, loving him so overwhelmingly she felt that she might explode.

“I like you to make things for me.” They were the most heartfelt words she’d ever heard from him. And the most welcome.

Resting her cheek on his shoulder, she savored the moment. There had been too few good ones lately. “You’ve been so quiet the past few days. Withdrawn, the way you were your first few weeks in Barren Flats. I thought we had moved past that.”

“Sorry. I’ve had things on my mind.”

“Still Dirk Bledso?” she guessed softly.

Gently releasing her, he stared into the mirror.

How could she reach through this shell he’d built around himself? How could she make him see that all he wanted was right here, standing beside him, with her heart in her eyes?

“It’s funny,” he mused.

“What’s funny?”

“I’m twenty-eight years old. I have no home, no family, my horse was sold for restitution, and someone other than family has Grandpa’s pistol.”

She heard what he couldn’t say, that he had no purpose other than to kill a man. “Papa would say a man makes his own purpose.”

“Your papa’s wiser than I am.”

Johnny fell silent as he reflected on his mirrored image.

Was she getting through to him? It was hard to tell. His hurts were buried so deep. But she wouldn’t stop trying until she did.

He turned from the looking glass and drew her back into his arms. Closing her eyes, she held him tightly, surrounding him with her love.
Please God, let me make a difference in this man’s life.

But for the first time in her life, she wasn’t sure her Maker was listening.