The Reluctant Outlaw (Love Inspired Historical) (8 page)

Planting one fist on her hip, she retorted, “What if I have?”

Unable to contain his mirth, Evan threw back his head and laughed—a deep, hearty sound that rumbled through his chest. She would’ve appreciated the sound of it if she wasn’t so irritated.

“Oh, Juliana,” he breathed, his hand splayed across his flat stomach. “You should see yourself. Your lips are stained dark red! Your teeth, too.”

“What?” Mortified, she covered her mouth with her hand.

He popped one of the berries in his mouth. Then he flashed her an impish grin. “Mmm. I can see why you couldn’t wait. Very tasty.”

Indignation rose in her chest. “You’ve been out of polite society far too long, Evan Harrison. A true gentleman wouldn’t dare make fun of a lady.”

His expression sobered, but his eyes continued to dance. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Scooping up a few more berries, he chewed slowly as if to savor the taste. His smile was a mile wide. “Are my teeth red now?”

Juliana didn’t want to let go of her irritation, but it was hard not to in light of his good-natured teasing. Seeing him this way was a welcome change from his normally serious manner.

She dropped her hand from her waist. “Not as red as mine, I imagine.”

“Hey.” He caught her wrist. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

A small smile touched her lips. “I know. I shouldn’t have gotten so riled up. Guess I’m a bit touchy about my
appearance right now. I don’t remember ever going without a bath and a change of clothes before.”

She could only imagine what she must look like. Wisps of hair had escaped her untidy braid to trail down her neck. Her injured cheek was no doubt a mottled purple and yellow, and now her lips and teeth were red. Her dress was torn and stained and missing a button. Her new boots were scuffed and dirty.

She was a mess! While she wasn’t fashion crazy, like her sister, Nicole, she liked to look nice and neat. That Evan should see her like this bothered her. That she cared bothered her even more.

His indigo eyes bored into hers. “Let me be frank, Irish. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. A little dirt can’t hide that fact.”

Juliana’s lips parted in disbelief. Her knees went weak. The heat of his fingers burned into her wrist and moved up her arm.

She couldn’t speak. Evan thought she was beautiful? Did that mean he was as affected by her nearness as she was his?

Gazes locked, silence stretched between them.

When he released her and turned back toward the fire, she swallowed back regret.

Admit it. You want him to kiss you.

No! It was wrong to want anything from this man. He made a living stealing from honest people. His friends were thieves and possibly murderers. And while he admitted that he was once close to God, he certainly wasn’t now. Everything he stood for went against her beliefs.

“Evan.”

He looked up at her, his expression guarded.

“Have you ever killed a man?”

A veil came down over his eyes, but not before she glimpsed a spark of anger. “No, I have not.”

“Have you shot a man?”

His lips thinned. “No,” he ground out, “I have not.”

He was angry, but her questions were legitimate. She simply
had
to know.

“I guess your next question is whether or not I’ve kidnapped a person before. The answer is, no, I have not. You’re the first. Anything else you’d like to ask?”

Actually, yes. But she wasn’t about to push her luck.

“No.”

“Good,” he said in a clipped voice. “Let’s eat and get back on the trail. We’ve wasted enough time here already.”

H
e was wet, cold and miserable. Exhausted, too.

Gray clouds had rolled in about an hour earlier, spitting rain off and on. In the last twenty minutes the rain had come down more steadily. Didn’t look like it was going to stop anytime soon. He’d kept his eye open for shelter, but hadn’t spotted anything.

He was getting desperate.

His hat kept his head and face dry, but water dripped off the brim to slide down the back of his neck and under his shirt collar. Juliana’s bonnet, made of less sturdy material, was saturated and provided little, if any, cover from the rain.

She shivered and his arms tightened around her.

“What’s that?”

His gaze followed the direction of her outstretched finger to a dark structure nearly covered by vines. Whatever it was, it was old and had probably been abandoned a long time ago. But with the storm nearing, it wasn’t as if he had much choice.

He leaned in close, his face pressed close to her cheek. “Good eyes, Irish. With a little work, it might be just the thing we need.”

Evan dismounted and turned to help her down. He noticed that her face and lips were pale, and beneath the bonnet her hair was plastered to her head.

“I’ll work as fast as I can,” he promised, determined to get her warm and dry as quickly as possible.

He searched for the oversize knife he packed for emergencies and began cutting away the vines and under-growth. It was muddy, backbreaking work. He kept his eye out for snakes and others critters. Of course, he was more concerned about the condition of the inside of the cabin. No telling what he’d find there.

A bolt of lightning split the sky, followed by a deafening crack of thunder. Juliana let out a small cry, but had the peace of mind to grab his horse’s bridle and calm him with soft strokes. Evan worked faster.

Fifteen minutes later, sweating and out of breath, he stood back to survey what he’d uncovered. “What do you think?” he called over the noise of the rain.

“Great job.” The admiration on her face made all the hard work worthwhile.

“Thanks. Wait on the porch while I check the inside.”

She followed him up the steps and onto the porch, standing off to the side as he pushed on the door. It didn’t budge, so he threw his shoulder against the weathered wood. It scraped along the floorboards. An unpleasant musty odor hit him in the face and he drew back, giving his eyes time to adjust to the dim interior. As he scanned the square room, he noted a rough wooden table and four chairs in one corner and a cot along the far wall. A large stone fireplace took up the wall opposite the door.

He shoved the door open wider to let in more light. Vines had squeezed through the floorboards and climbed up the walls, and spiderwebs hung suspended in the corners. He tested the floorboards with his weight as he went
farther inside. There were a couple of soft spots, but all in all he thought it was sound.

“Not the best of accommodations, but it’ll do,” he told Juliana, who stood in the open doorway. “Come in. I’m going for my bags.”

She scooted past him, her eyes wide as she looked around the small space. “Please don’t let there be any spiders in those webs.”

“That’s what I’m here for, remember?”

She shivered again.

“I’ll be right back.” He bounded down the steps. His boots splashed through the mud as he ran to retrieve the saddlebags.

Back inside, he held up one of the bags. “There’s a shirt and pants in here. Put them on. They’re clean and dry.”

“I couldn’t possibly—”

“You’re soaked to the skin. Trust me—you don’t want to catch pneumonia.”

Sighing, she reluctantly accepted the clothes. The bill of her bonnet drooped over her eyes and she pushed it back up with one finger. “What about you?”

“I’ve got another change in this one.”

“I don’t have any other choice, do I?”

“Not if you want to stay well. I’ll be outside working on some sort of shelter for Lucky.”

He tugged the door closed behind him and went to work hacking out an overhang. By the time he was finished, his palms were raw and bruised. His shirt and pants were plastered to his skin. Although it was the middle of July, he was beginning to feel chilled. He longed for hot coffee and a fire, but at least he had a change of clothes. With the big horse blocking him, Evan peeled off the wet garments and slipped into the
dry clothes. Holding the satchel over his head, he sprinted to the cabin.

Juliana was perched on one of the chairs, her arms wrapped around her middle to ward off the cold. She looked like a young girl with her wet hair hanging loose around her shoulders. She was clearly uncomfortable wearing his clothing, but trying to make the best of it.

He moved closer, removed his hat and placed it on the table. Staring at her in the faint light, he noticed the swelling in her cheek hadn’t gone down.

“Does it hurt worse?”

She lightly trailed her fingertips across the purplish-yellow skin. “About the same.”

When she didn’t elaborate, he got the feeling she was trying to spare him more guilt. He had no idea why she would do such a thing. She owed him nothing. After all he’d done, he deserved nothing less than her contempt.

“I was afraid of that,” he murmured, frustrated at his inability to help ease her discomfort. If only he had some alcohol on hand… He kept some at home for medicinal reasons, of course, but he didn’t travel with the stuff. “A poultice would help, but with this rain it will be a while before I can make one.”

A shiver coursed through her body. She began to briskly rub her hands up and down her arms. No doubt her wet hair wasn’t helping. He was cold, too.

“Do you have a ribbon or string to tie your hair back with?”

“No. And in my haste last night, I misplaced the last of my hairpins.”

Evan thought for a moment. “Let me braid it for you, and I’ll tie it with a strip of cloth.” He rifled through his bag for a cloth and his knife.

“I can braid my own hair,” she protested.

“Oh, really?” He paused in what he was doing to look at her. “Hold out your hands.”

She stopped rubbing her arms and held them out. “So?”

“So?” He closed his hands over hers, resolutely ignoring the pleasure he felt at the simple touch. “You’re trembling. And your fingers are like ice.”

She dropped her gaze and gasped. “Evan, you’re bleeding!”

He looked down and noticed the angry red scratches crisscrossing the tops of his hands. One in particular was deep and oozing blood. Only after he spotted it did the stinging set in. He pulled his hands away. “It’s nothing.”

“It isn’t nothing,” she countered. “We have to wrap this up tight. Give me that clean cloth.”

“Hang on.” With one quick movement he cut a long strip from the cloth and laid it on the table. “That’s for your hair.”

She gave him a look but didn’t comment, only motioned for him to sit next to her. She cradled his injured hand in her lap and pressed the material against the wound to stanch the flow. Her touch was gentle, calming. Evan stared at her bent head. He wondered what she was thinking as she wrapped the material around his hand and secured it with a knot.

“There. It’s the best I can do.”

“Thank you.” He didn’t know why, but Juliana’s fussing over him made him feel lonely. “Now for your hair.”

“What about your hand?”

“I can still move my fingers, see?” He wiggled his fingers.

“Don’t tell me you’ve done this before.” Her eyes searched his expectantly.

“No, but it can’t be that hard, can it? Face the other direction so I can reach.” When she only stared at him, he leaned forward. “Don’t be stubborn, Irish.” He deliberately kept his tone light so as to put her at ease. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

With a doubtful expression, she presented him with her back. He realized his mistake the moment he plunged his fingers in the silky tresses. Her scent enveloped him, awakening his senses to her sweetness. The warmth of her body beckoned him. He wanted to hold her, to discover if her graceful form would fit against his as well as he suspected. When his fingertips raked across her nape, he heard her swift intake of air. His hands stilled.

He spotted the blush staining her cheek and leaned forward an inch. He would press a kiss against her smooth skin.

“Evan?”

The uncertainty in her voice stopped him. Juliana would not welcome his attentions. Of course she wouldn’t. And why was he thinking such thoughts, anyway? He wouldn’t allow himself to feel anything for her.

He straightened. He made quick work of her hair, then moved back to put as much space between them as possible. When she reached up to touch her hair, he noticed her fingers trembling. So. She was not unaffected by him. Evan tried not to be pleased, but failed.

Clearing his throat, he pulled a compact tin can out of his bags. “Have you ever eaten smoked oysters?”

“N-no, not that I recall.”

“Hooper couldn’t get enough of these, so he swiped a few cans from each mercantile we came to. I’d forgotten I had it, actually, but it’s our good fortune. Without
a fire, I’ve little to offer in the way of food.” He worked to get the lid open.

“I’m hungry enough to overlook the fact I’m eating stolen property,” she said dryly, the tension between them easing.

“You first.”

Scooping one up with her fingers, she popped one in her mouth and chewed. “It’s good.”

“Yeah? I think so, too.” He ate slowly, savoring the taste.

The rain intensified suddenly. It sounded like a hundred men stomping on the roof. Juliana looked around him to peer out the one dirt-caked window. “Do you think we’ll be able to travel tomorrow?”

“Hard to say.” He shrugged. “I know you’re eager to get to Cades Cove and send that telegram. I’ll do my best to get you there as quickly as possible.”

Her expression grew troubled. “The longer my family has to wait for news, the tougher it will be. If I can’t be there in person, I can at least put their minds at ease…” Her words trailed off, her lashes lowering to hide her eyes. She plucked absently at her sleeve.

She was obviously thinking of her family, missing them, and he felt awful about what he put her through. Maybe talking about them would lift her spirits. Besides, he was curious about Juliana and her life back in Gatlinburg.

“Why don’t you tell me about your sisters?”

Her expression turned affectionate. “Megan is nineteen, two years younger than me. She’s the bookworm.”

So Juliana was twenty-one. He couldn’t imagine why she was still unmarried. Were the men of Gatlinburg blind?

“Some nights we gather around the fire and listen to
Megan read aloud. All sorts of books…poetry, historical documents, adventure novels. And after Megan is Nicole.” An indulgent smile lifted her lips. “She’s seventeen. Ah, it seems that Nicole’s sole purpose in life is to be beautiful. I’m not certain which she deems more important—bonnets or ribbons. Momma still holds out hope that she will turn her attention to more worthwhile matters, but I’m not convinced.”

“Give her time.”

“I’m afraid it will take something drastic to change her ways.” She pushed the too-long sleeves back up. “After Nicole are fifteen-year-old twins, Jessica and Jane. And, before you ask, yes, they’re identical.” It was obvious that she adored her sisters, and that they all shared a special bond.

“Do all your sisters have red hair?”

She touched a hand to her hair. “I’m the only one, although the twins’ hair does have an auburn tint. Mother says I inherited this hair from my father’s side. A great-grandmother, I believe.”

“Were you teased a lot growing up?”

“Actually, no. There may have been a few comments, but I didn’t let it bother me. I was happy to be different.”

“It’s beautiful,” Evan blurted, his voice hushed in the still air.

She ducked her head. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad you told me about your family. You’re lucky to have them.”

Her gaze searched his face. “What about you? Don’t you have any family?”

The question sparked sad, bittersweet memories. No, he didn’t have family. Not anymore.

“My parents died six years ago,” he admitted. “I was nineteen, old enough to be on my own but still a kid in
many ways. I was devastated. Lost. Confused…but I had James—” He stopped, unwilling to continue lest he spill the whole sordid story. Juliana was too easy to talk to.

“How did they die?”

“Hmm?”

“Your parents?”

“Cholera outbreak. It happened so fast there wasn’t time to say goodbye.”

He remembered the shock of it all, how his mother and father fell ill that fateful spring morning. By nightfall they were dead. In a flash, responsibility for the homestead—their very livelihood—was thrust upon him. And his brother…

“I’m so sorry.” Her voice, soothing and heavy with compassion, interrupted his thoughts. “I know what it’s like to lose someone you love dearly. My father died when I was ten. He and I were close.”

Evan was silent, not trusting himself to speak just then. How long had it been since someone,
anyone,
had cared how he felt? Had showed him an ounce of compassion?

“Who is James?”

“My brother.”

“And he’s where now?”

Gone. Dead. “He died almost a year ago. I’m alone now.”

“Evan.” She leaned closer and placed a cool hand on his arm. “Are you familiar with the verse promising that God will never leave us nor forsake us?”

“Yes, of course.” At his mother’s insistence, he and his brother had memorized many verses from the Holy Scriptures.

“God’s Word tells us Jesus is a friend who sticks closer
than a brother. If you have Jesus, rest assured that you are
never
alone.”

“I appreciate your kind words, Juliana. After what I’ve put you through, I don’t deserve your compassion.”

“I’m simply speaking the truth. All you have to do is trust Him.”

“I’m not ready,” he admitted with regret. The grief inside him was too fresh, too deep to ignore. Suddenly he was exhausted, both physically and mentally. Unfortunately, he doubted that he’d get much sleep that night.

He rose to his feet. “Would you mind if I turned in early?”