Wilda's Outlaw (38 page)
Never moving his gaze from the woman and her pistol, the deputy turned the key in the padlock and swung open the cell door. Calder stepped out of the cell.
“Git that piece of paper he’s gotta sign,” Margaret ordered.
The deputy touched the brim of his hat and hustled to the sheriff’s desk where he rummaged around a bit before looking up with wide-eyed fright. “They ain’t nothin’ here yet. I ’spect the papers are coming on the next stage.”
“Well, then,” Margaret said. “We’ll just fix us up one.”
“How we supposed to do that?”
“Dang, boy, I’ll do it for you.” Margaret laid the long barreled pistol on the desk within reach, opened drawers till she found some paper and a pen, and began to write. She paused once, looked up at Calder. “Spell me out your first and last name, son.”
He did so, wishing she’d hurry. The sheriff wouldn’t be as easy to handle as this young deputy and he wanted to put some miles between himself and Hays before Calumet got wind of Margaret’s little plan.
At last she glanced up, waved the sheet back and forth to dry the ink, then beckoned Calder to the desk. He took the pen, dipped it in the ink well and signed his name with a flourish.
“Put the date,” she said.
“What is it?”
“Well, I don’t know.”
The deputy told him and he scratched it on the paper.
“Can I go now?”
“Don’t see nothing stopping you.”
“I need my rig.”
She nodded, and he took his belt and gun from the hook where he’d hung it when he arrested himself.
“You got a horse, boy?” she asked.
“He’s out back. I left him there last night. You said she went toward Ellis?”
“Yes, now hurry.”
He eyed her for a minute, then took her hand and kissed it. “Thank you, ma’am. Thank you. I’ll be going now, if you don’t mind.”
“Don’t you worry none, I’ll take care of this. Now you get going. Git on out of here. I’ll hold down the fort, as they say.”
Calder raced out back, startling Gabe when he leaped into the saddle. Forgotten were his hunger and thirst. Wilda had ridden out after him, willing to be an outlaw’s woman. Damn, how he loved that woman.
He and Gabe made Ellis by evening, and it didn’t take him long to find someone who’d seen Wilda. A storekeeper remembered her well, and said she’d headed west early that morning.
“You hurry, you’ll catch her. That big gelding of yours’ll eat up the ground and catch her little dapple right quick.”
Calder stopped long enough to get a canteen of water from the man, then headed out. Wouldn’t do her any good if he was to die from lack of water along the trail. Out here on the plains you couldn’t always expect to run across a stream. God, he hoped she was all right. What a foolhardy thing for her to do, not knowing the country or even being very good at riding. Suppose some ornery cayuse came along and done her bodily harm?
He bent low over Gabe’s neck. “Come on boy, get to running.”
By the time darkness covered the plains, both he and Gabe had slowed down. No sense killing his horse, either. Maybe she’d put up overnight and he’d catch her by tomorrow. Meantime, he would ride all night, but at a slower pace.
What if she got off the road to camp and he rode right on past her? What if she took off cross-country? Damn, the farther he went without catching up to her, the more he worried about one thing or another.
A huge moon rose to light the way, and on they traveled. Then he heard someone coming. A lone rider headed toward him. “Whoa, Gabe,” he said low like.
Sure enough, the sound of a horse walking, hooves thumping along the wet ground. Quickly, he reined Gabe off the trail. Never could tell who might ride the roads at night. Best he got out of sight. Trouble was, there wasn’t much to hide behind, and it was bright enough that he stood out like a mule in a herd of pigs.
Then he saw the dapple, its white-patched hind sides shining. On its back, a slight figure in britches with long red hair gleaming in the moonlight.
Wilda. It was her.
He shouted. She jumped and so did the little mare. Spooked, the dapple took off running out across the prairie. He spurred Gabe and caught up. Spooked, she just kept riding. He wrapped an arm about her waist. She wouldn’t loosen her knees and they rode side by side for a while.
“Turn loose, honey,” he said. “It’s me.”
She cried out, went limp. He lifted her easily from the saddle, reined Gabe up, set her down and dismounted. The two horses drifted around in confusion for a moment, then stopped and began to munch at the thick, green grass.
Time passed with the two staring at each other. He ached to touch her but wanted her to make the first move. She just kept staring down at the ground. Finally he could remain mute no longer. “Them’s some britches you got on there. ’Spect they’re easier to ride in than those blooming hoops you was wearing first time I seen you.”
Slowly she looked up, touched his cheek with trembling fingers. “I was afraid, thought you were someone else.”
“No, I’m just me. You look wore hard. Where was you headed?”
“I thought if I just kept going not finding you I’d end up lost forever. I guess…guess I was going back to Victoria.”
Tears glistened in the moonlight, then slowly she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the mouth. A long sweet kiss with lips so smooth he liked to passed out from the joy of it. He wrapped her up in his arms, buried his nose against her neck, then kissed her everyplace he could find a bare spot. Earlobe, jaw, chin, cheeks, eyes, nose. She tasted so sweet he couldn’t stop. And she didn’t seem in the mood to stop him either.
Her hands ran up under his shirt, and by that time he had his nose nestled in the vee of her dress. About then he remembered how sour he smelled, but he couldn’t stop loving on her. In a minute, they were lying in the wet grass, rolling around like it was a bed.
“I stink,” he murmured while both hands searched for a way to get to her breasts.
“I don’t care,” she said back at him, doing things that snatched his breath away.
Speechless, then breathless, he finally pulled the fabric loose and kissed her bare flesh hungrily. She moaned, wiggled close and wrapped one leg around him. His fingers found the rope around her waist and fumbled at the knot. Damn thing was tight and he couldn’t get it loose.
“What in thunderation you got tied around you, anyway?”
She laughed, curled both hands around his, put a stop to his fumbling. “I have a question.”
He groaned, stopped, felt like he’d burst right out of his pants. “Please don’t tell me we gotta talk about this.”
“Just a little. You going to marry me?”
“Hell, yes. In the next town.”
She pulled his hands away. “Then, let’s get there. This will wait.”
Maybe he shoulda said no. “Honey, I’m not exactly in the mood to wait.”
She ran one hand down the front of his pants. “Mmm, appears a bit urgent.”
“I’m telling you, it’s worse than that. Maybe you could make an exception here.”
She unfastened the buttons, the brush of her fingers adding to his frenzy.
“Wilda, dang it.”
She laughed, reached inside and curled her hand around his erection.
“Oh, God,” he hollered, loud enough to startle Jeb into a loud whinny.
“Now you blamed well better get on with it. This for sure ain’t waiting till the next town.”
“Lay down,” she whispered, working to tug his pants down.
“I’m laying.” His teeth ground over the words and he gasped.
“Grass feels good on your bare behind, doesn’t it?” She kissed up under his shirt, then down his bare belly.
“Oh, Lord, woman.” He fumbled with the knot at her waist. “That don’t come aloose, I’m tearing them pants right off you.”
“Then what will I wear to our wedding?”
“Dang, you can’t be serious?” He yanked two or three times, trying to pull them down over her hips. Then he changed his attack, pawing at the roll of jeans down around his ankles. “What are you doing?”
She planted a kiss so dang close to the rise of his manhood he almost lost his mind.
“K-k-knife p-p-pocket.”
“I don’t need a knife.” This time the kiss was so well aimed he couldn’t speak.
“Good God awlmighty, who taught you to do that?”
She came up for air. “Never you mind.”
“Woman, have pity. Git my knife, cut that blamed rope.”
She sprawled her body across his, pressing on his erection. “I have my secrets. Is that better?”
“Better than what?” he croaked.
She laughed, kneeled astraddle of him and before he could take another painful breath, performed some sort of magic with the knot, the rope and the pants. Her warm bare sweetness took him inside, and she swayed gently, then with more fervor, pinning his arms above his head.
When he came it was like he’d been thrown high in the sky by a wild horse. Her cries echoed his into the moonlit night and she collapsed onto his chest.
They lay entwined for a long while without speaking. He could have stayed right there all night, but she finally stirred, nibbled at his ear. “Those nuns were right.”
“About what?” he managed, but just barely.
“Anything that feels that good has to be evil.”
He tousled her hair. “You reckon?”
“I do indeed reckon. Could we do it again?”
****
Chin tucked on her bent knees, Wilda watched the sun rise over the Kansas plains like a rainbow of fire. Calder lay sprawled on his back beside her, snoring softly. She studied his face for a long while. Tiny lines ran from the corners of his closed eyes. Long dark lashes shadowed stubbled cheeks. A gentleness around his mouth belied the outlaw image he professed. Reminded her of the way he had with Rachel’s children. He was going to make a wonderful father, but she would wait to tell him until they left Kansas far behind.
Epilogue
Rowena’s Journal
Thursday, June 10, 1875
Tyra returned last night and I feared for her life when Blair learned what had come to pass. But after ranting and marching back and forth in his den as if he were back in the Zouave Army, he passed out from drink. I will go to him this morning and try to clear up all that has happened and attempt to assure Tyra’s and my place here at Fairhaven.
Oh, how I wish with all my heart that I did not love this man. But I do, and I fear what it will mean if I remain. But I cannot return to England, nor do I desire to be set free in this terrible untamed land. Women have a terrible time here. They might as well be slaves. Though life was hard at St. Anne’s we were not mistreated.
I long to know where my sister has gone. We’ve been so close all our lives. For her to do this is incomprehensible to me. Still, life must continue, and I do want her to be happy.
My poor dear Blair, who suffers so from his horrid memories of the war, needs me and I will be here for him. Perhaps in time he will mend and these terrible raging episodes will be put to rest.
I go to him now, and pray he does not cast us out.
A word about the author...
Velda Brotherton writes of romance in the old west with an authenticity that makes her many historical characters ring true. A knowledge of the rich history of our country comes through in both her fiction and nonfiction books, as well as in her writing workshops and speaking engagements. She just as easily steps out of the past into contemporary settings to create novels about women with the ability to conquer life's difficult challenges. Tough heroines, strong and gentle heroes, villains to die for, all live in the pages of her novels and books.
Watch for Rowena and Blair’s story coming soon in
Rowena’s Lord
, part of The Victorians series.
Check her website at:
and follow her blog at:
http://veldabrotherton.wordpress.com
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