Nevada Heat (5 page)

He pointed and Jesse turned to look. A big, red clay jar sat on a table just to the side of the front door.

"When somebody goes out for supplies to stock the kitchen and such, they take what they need from there." He shrugged. “That way nobody goes hungry and the food here belongs to any of us that needs it."

Jesse shook his head slowly. He could hardly believe it. A town full of sneak thieves, rustlers, and bank robbers run on the honor code. "Whose crazy idea was that?"

Jim's brows shot up. "Crazy? Why the hell is it crazy? It works."

"And all you bunch… trust each other?"

"Well… " Jim paused a moment then smiled. “I wouldn't say 'trust’ is the right word. 'Put up with' is most likely. 'Sides, if we steal here… where else we gonna go?"

That was true enough. And looking around, Jesse could see plainly what this place meant to most of the men. It was a haven. A safe place where they could let down their guard somewhat. Where they didn't have to be constantly on the prod, waiting for trouble to start or a lawman to sneak up behind them. Even he had felt it, Jesse acknowledged silently. He knew that he was perhaps closer to his prey than ever before, and an uneasy calm had settled over him almost as soon as they'd entered the canyon. At least until he met Miranda.

Shrugging, he followed Jim out of the restaurant. But when the blond walked toward the corral and stable, Jesse stayed behind. Leaning against the half finished porch railing, he reached into his pocket for his tobacco pouch.

After he'd rolled his cigarette, he scraped a match across the neatest post and touched it to the tobacco. He took a deep pull, dragging the hot, acrid smoke into his lungs and expelling it in a cloudy blue stream. This early in the morning, there weren't too many folks wandering about the town. So far the only people he'd seen were those in the dining room, hovering over coffee, hoping to wake up.

Jesse's gaze moved over the empty, one-street town, and despite himself, he felt a grudging admiration for whoever had put Bandit's Canyon together. The tiny village lay nestled deep in the rock canyons of the desert, surrounded on all sides by high cliff walls. Clumps of mesquite and sage clung tenaciously to the rocks, sprinkling the red rock with patches of gray and green. A cursory look at the cliffs and a man would think there was no way out of there. But Jesse knew that wasn't so. There were so many caves and tunnels twisting through the rock canyons, a man could get lost in there for years.

He lowered his gaze and looked at the neat buildings lining the street. One story, with two-story false fronts, most of them looked as though they could use some care, though the place looked a sight better than he'd expected it to. Wind, sand, and the desert had done plenty of damage. The paint on most of the plank buildings had been swallowed by the wood grain, leaving only a hint of their original color. But scattered here and there was evidence that someone was trying to change all that.

Jesse's gaze lit momentarily on the bright green door of the general store. The paint job was fresh, the color shiny in the early sunlight. His eyes moved on, absently noting a flower box, a half-finished boardwalk, a decidedly crooked hitching rail, and even, he observed with surprise, gingham curtains at the bunkhouse windows. Idly he wondered why he hadn't noticed them the night before.

Because, he told himself firmly, he was too busy noticing Miranda. He gave himself a good shake to clear his head and went back to studying the outlaw hideaway. His gaze stopped on a particular sign. He snorted. Jesse never would have thought that a bandit town would have a store marked LADIES' APPAREL! Just under that sign, a door opened.

Jesse watched as a nicely rounded behind backed into view. Despite his best intentions, his gaze fixed on the woman dragging a huge box out of the store. Miranda was wearing a pair of men's pants that had obviously been altered to fit. And fit her they did. The fawn-colored trousers hugged her behind and clung to her long, shapely legs. At her calf they disappeared under a pair of knee-high moccasins that even from a distance he could see were decorated with beads and fancy stitching. She stood up, put her hands at the small of her back, and stretched.

Jesse's gaze moved unwillingly over the white, open-throated shirt straining across her high, full breasts. His breath ragged, he tore his gaze away and focused instead on her shining brown hair that hung in one long braid down the center of her back, ending just at her narrow waist.

He rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth and clenched his teeth. If Birdwell Cates was so damned concerned about men leaving Miranda alone, why the hell did he let her dress like that? In all his life, he'd never see a woman so… bewitching. That was the only word for it, he knew. Nothing else could explain his interest in the woman. After all, for the last two years he'd had no trouble at all avoiding the very same feelings that were swamping him now.

When she raised her arms high above her head and twisted first one way then the other, obviously working out the kinks in her muscles, Jesse groaned softly and turned away.

In the cool desert morning, he was dripping with sweat. He felt it roll down between his shoulder blades, sticking his gray shirt to his already too hot flesh. Deliberately Jesse kept his back to her, walked to the edge of the wide porch, and sat down.

Whatever was happening to him, he'd best find a way to stop it He pulled his hat off and fanned himself slowly as he shifted around on the uneven porch looking for a comfortable position. Then Jesse smirked at his own thoughts. He knew damn well what was making him uncomfortable and it wasn't the good-for-nothing porch! Well, he told himself wryly, at least now he understood why Birdwell was so dang touchy about Miranda! Hell, lookin' like she did, it was amazing that the men around her left her alone. And yet maybe it wasn't so amazing. Jesse leaned his head back against the railing and remembered his little "chat" with Birdwell.

Miranda hadn't been gone from the room more than an instant when the big man started in. “I saw the way you was holdin' her," he said, "and I'm here to tell ya… that there'll be the last time."

Jesse's eyes hadn't left the shotgun, still aimed in his direction. “You didn't see a damned thing, mister."

Birdwell took one ponderous step closer. “Don't tell me what I seen with my own two eyes —“

“I was holdin' her while she cried for that damn fool kid over there." Jesse forced himself to meet the other man's cold black glare.

Slowly Birdwell nodded. "Maybe. Miranda does go on about such things." The shotgun lowered a hair. "But that don't mean you wasn't thinkin' somethin'.”

“Shit," Jesse countered as he realized he wasn't as near to being shot as he'd thought, "you gonna shoot a man for what he's thinkin'… then you'd best stock up on an almighty lot of ammunition."

Birdwell studied him for a long, breathless moment, then slowly lowered the shotgun. "Awright. Reckon I cain't shoot you for what you think… but, mister, you ever try to do somethin' about it and this here gun will smash you into so many pieces, nobody'll be able to walk without steppin' on ya."

Jesse nodded.

"You say you come in with the SuIlys?"

"That's right."

“How long you plannin' on stayin'?"

Jesse shrugged indifferently. "Till Jim's ready to pull out, I s'pose."

“I’ll be talkin' to him about you." Birdwell's voice lowered and rumbled in the quiet room. "And I best like what I hear."

Jesse straightened his hat and headed for the door. To get there, he had to walk directly past Birdwell. When he was next to the big man, he stopped and looked up. "Don't worry about me, mister. I don't want her." Birdwell started to speak, but Jesse cut him off. “I got things to do and a woman's got no place in my plans." He took another step, then stopped and looked over his shoulder. "But just so's you know." Birdwell looked up. “If I did want her… not you nor your damned shotgun could stop me."

Before the big man could answer, Jesse turned his back and walked away.

A curse rang out in the still air and Jesse snapped out of his recollections. Hesitantly he looked around at Miranda and saw that it was as he'd expected. It was her cussing. As he watched, she kicked the box in front of her then, hands on her hips, glared at it expectantly.

He sighed. If he knew what was good for him, he'd head off and do something. Rub down the horses, clean his guns---hell, even wash his clothes. He knew he ought to stay as far away from that woman as he could. Even as he pushed himself to his feet and started toward her, he called himself every kind of fool and wondered if Birdwell would take pity on a crazy man.

#

Birdwell fingered the shotgun's trigger thoughtfully. He cradled the gun in the hollow of his arm and watched Jesse Hogan cross the street to Miranda. Birdwell's gaze flicked quickly to the young woman he thought of as a daughter and he noted, not for the first time, how she'd filled out in the last few years.

His coal-black eyes narrowed when Jesse closed in on her. Birdwell didn't much care for the way the younger man looked at Miranda. Like a hungry kid at a peppermint stick. Lord knew, he'd seen other men stare at her with wishful eyes and itchy hands… but there was something different about this one. Something more. In Jesse Hogan's eyes, there was a craving.

He watched as the outlaw lifted the wooden crate easily and began to follow Miranda down the half finished boardwalk toward the general store. He heard Miranda's laughter, soft and gentle in the early-morning air, and could hardly credit that “his” little girl was a full-grown woman. Birdwell left the shadowy alley and walked down the street in the opposite direction of the store. Miranda would be safe enough for now. Not even Jesse Hogan would try something foolish in broad daylight in the middle of town.

When he reached the oversized, slat-backed chair in front of the main bunkhouse, Birdwell plopped down. Tilting the chair onto its back legs, he lifted one booted foot and propped it on the porch railing. He reached over and leaned his shotgun against the side of the bunkhouse, then ran one beefy hand over the smooth surface of his scalp. Where had all the time gone? How had the years slipped by without him hardly noticing? And when had Miranda become the woman she was? In his mind's eye, Birdwell saw her as she used to be. Long legs, knobby knees, and spirit like a Thoroughbred filly. And as she grew she'd fulfilled every promise he'd seen in her and more. Maybe too much more.

He glanced around the quiet street and felt again the odd sense of foreboding that filled him more and more often lately. Times were changing. Or maybe he was just getting old. He'd been out of the outlaw life for so long, he hardly knew any of the young sprouts comin' through the canyon anymore. Shit, he told himself, most of the ones he'd started out with were either in jail or dead.

And in just the last year or so, he'd begun to see a change in the kind of men lookin' for shelter in Bandit’s Canyon. Oh, sure, there was still some of the regular crowd-like the Sullys for instance… and Ezra Banks and a few others. But along with them was a bunch that Birdwell wouldn't give two bits for. And he couldn't think of a rightful way of keepin' 'em out of the canyon.

He shook his head and smoothed his full beard down over his red flannel shirt. Ol' Judd Perry would be some disgusted if he was to come back from wherever he'd gone after dyin'. One of the first rules Judd had lain down for his bandit town was "no killers allowed." Birdwell snorted. Oh, Judd understood how some folks kinda stumbled into the outlaw life. How rustlin' a few head of cattle because you were hungry could stick the name of outlaw on a man. And gamblers and cardsharps — well, Judd always figured if a man was stupid enough to get himself fleeced by the likes of them, it was his own fault. Even bank, stage, and train robbers had their place, Judd figured. Kept those rich fellas on their toes. But he never could abide a killer. Wasn't no reason for it, he'd always said.

And Bandit’s Canyon had worked just fine. Over the years it’d been home to most of the wanted men west of the Mississippi at one time or another. And not a killer in the bunch. Until now. Birdwell's eyes moved restlessly over the street. He felt in his bones that some of the men hiding out in town were killers. But there was no way to prove it. And as long as they caused no trouble in town, he had no reason to throw them out.

Birdwell heaved a sigh and directed his dark stare toward the general store where Miranda and Jesse had gone. With a snort of admiration, he recalled Jesse's bravado the night before. Standing up to a man holding a shotgun on you was either real stupid or damn nervy. Either way, though, Hogan's actions had made Birdwell face the fact that there might come a day when he wouldn't be able to protect Miranda. That one day somebody might just shoot him down to get to her. Without Birdwell, she'd be all alone. In a town full of men you couldn't trust further than you could spit.

He had to try again to get Miranda to leave the canyon. It was the only way he could be sure of her safety.

#

“What the hell have you got in that damned thing anyway?" Jesse straightened up and glared at the huge wooden box sitting on the plank floor in the middle of the general store.

Miranda chuckled again but quickly bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself. Her laughter only seemed to annoy him and Jesse Hogan was cranky enough already. "All sorts of things," she answered, dropping to her knees.