Once an Outlaw (27 page)

“Smells mighty good, Emily girl.” Uncle Jake gave her a cautious smile from beneath his craggy brows as she marched to her seat beside his and sat down.

Emily picked up her spoon and began to eat.

“Yes, ma’am, it surely does,” Lester chimed in heartily.

“After a hard day on the range, it’s sure good to come home to your good cooking, Sis.” Pete offered his most winning smile.

Joey glanced from one to the other of the grown-ups at the table as a tense silence fell.

Uncle Jake cleared his throat. “You boys going to that there party tomorrow at the Mangley place?” He had adopted Lester’s hearty tone.

Pete and Lester said they were.

“Emily? How about you?”

Emily kept eating.

“Emily—”

“No, I am not.”

“Oh, Sis, come on. You have to go.” Pete broke a biscuit in half. “I hear it’s going to be some fancy party—and it’s in our honor. Mrs. Mangley thinks we’re all heroes for saving her and her daughter.” He gave a hoot of laughter. “Bet you never thought that would happen, did you?”

“No, I can’t say that I did.” Emily continued eating her stew, not looking at him.

“Can I go too?” Joey asked eagerly.

“You sure can,” Uncle Jake assured him. “You and me and Emily will all go together.”

“I’m not going.”

“It won’t be the same if you’re not there, Emily.” Lester’s voice was low and full of misery. Sadness flickered in his eyes as he gazed at her across the table. “Besides, Carla told me especially that she wants you to come.”

Everyone turned and stared at him—even Emily. His ruddy cheeks turned ruddier.

“What in blazes are you looking at?” He swallowed. “I… I happened to bump into her in town this morning,” he said defensively, but he dropped his spoon on the floor and then banged his elbow on the table as he reached down to get it.

“We only talked for a minute,” he growled.

“A minute. Ahuh.” Pete chuckled as he swallowed a mouthful of stew. “Then how come Florry told me she saw you two spooning in the alley outside the hotel? For a lot more than a minute.”

Jake guffawed and Joey asked what spooning was. If Lester had been pink before, he now turned scarlet.

“Florry, eh?” Lester’s chin jutted out. He jabbed a finger at his cousin. “You should talk then. You sure are seeing a lot of her lately.”

Pete grinned and winked at Joey. “Why shouldn’t I?” he said. “No law against spending time with a pretty woman, is there?”

“Is that why Sheriff Barclay keeps coming to see Emily? He wants to spend time with a pretty woman too?” Joey piped up.

Emily choked on a green bean.

“Well, is it?” the boy persisted as Pete got up and smacked her on the back and the coughing subsided.

“I reckon,” Uncle Jake said tautly. But Emily shook her head.

“No, Joey, he comes by just to make a pest of himself.”

“I thought you liked Sheriff Barclay,” the boy said. “I do. The other day, when you wouldn’t come out to talk to him, he talked to me instead. And he taught me how to whistle. All kinds of whistles. How to sound like a bird, how to whistle for a horse, how to whistle if you’re in trouble…”

His voice trailed off as Emily’s spoon clattered into her bowl. “Tell me about school, Joey. Did you learn to spell any new words this week?”

“She doesn’t want to talk about Sheriff Barclay, pard,” Pete told the boy.

“Why not? He likes to talk about her. When he was teaching me to whistle, he said—” He clapped his hand over his mouth suddenly and looked at Emily. “I forgot. He wanted me to tell you something.”

“Never mind, Joey,” she said, a smile pasted on her face. “Eat your stew. I’m not the least bit interested in hearing what he had to say.”

“But he said it was impor-ant. Very impor-ant that I tell you. And I clean forgot,” he exclaimed in dismay. “Listen, Em-ly, he said he was sorry. Very very sorry.”

Emily felt her stomach churning. She’d eaten the stew too quickly—she was going to be sick. “Using a child to … to … relay his stupid messages to me,” she managed to choke out. “It’s despicable.”

For the first time since the men had come into the cabin, she looked at Uncle Jake. “I want you to tell him to stop coming here, to stop using this innocent boy to try to salve his sorry excuse for a conscience.”

“Maybe you ought to tell him yourself, Sis,” Pete suggested. He was looking out the window, in the direction of a rider approaching the cabin. “Unless I’m mistaken the sheriff is paying you another call.”

“Want me to get rid of him for you, Emily?” Lester offered, pushing back his chair, but Emily, to everyone’s surprise, shook her head. She rose from the table and squared her shoulders.

“No. I’m quite capable of getting rid of him myself.”

Her face was pale, but she wore an expression of grimmest fortitude. As her family and Joey watched, she stalked toward the rifle, grabbed it, and as Clint rode up to the front yard she marched through the parlor and out onto the porch.

As he swung down from his horse, she saw something that made her go still as stone. Tall, dark, muscular—as gorgeous as ever in a fine blue chambray shirt and dark pants, the man coming toward her clutched a thick handful of flowers, brilliant in the falling dusk, their stems tied together with a pink ribbon.

For a moment something fluttered happily within her, but Emily squelched it immediately. A whole meadowful of flowers wouldn’t make up for what he’d done.

“Don’t come another step closer,” she warned, leveling the rifle at his chest.

Clint paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing, appraising. Silhouetted against the distant mountains, he looked every inch as rugged as they did. And just as imposing. But Emily held the rifle steady.

“These are for you,” he said evenly.

“I don’t want them.”

“Emily—”

“Get off my land. You’re trespassing and I have every right to shoot you if you don’t leave—now.”

He surveyed her, his jaw clenched. “Shoot me if you want, Emily, but I reckon I’m not leaving here until I give you these flowers.”

“Didn’t you hear what I said? Don’t come another step!”

But to her dismay, he started forward again, his blue eyes coolly fixed on her.

“Do you think I’ll let a little thing like a rifle keep me away from you? We need to talk—”

Emily pulled the trigger, shooting into the dirt at his feet. Surprise glinted in his eyes, but he never faltered. He merely set his jaw even tighter and kept walking. Swearing under her breath, Emily once again fired at his feet.

“Don’t think you’re going to make me dance unless it’s with you,” Clint told her, still advancing.

“Stop!” she gasped and leveled the rifle at his chest, but he just vaulted up the steps and took hold of it with one hand, easily wresting it from her. Never taking his eyes from her face, he set the rifle down against the porch rail and then planted himself in front of her.

“Here.” Gently he grasped her hand and pushed the bouquet of flowers into it. She tried to pull away, but he
held her easily, carefully, touching her as if she were as fragile as the blossoms he’d brought for her. He shifted closer to her as the faint shadows of nightfall crept over the land.

“I want you to have these. Emily …”

Clint’s voice faded. It was the first time he’d seen her since the day he and Pete and Jake had found her at Bitter Rock, and for a moment, her loveliness snatched away all the words he’d wanted to say. His breath was trapped in his lungs. Damn, she was even more beautiful than he remembered, and what he remembered had been keeping him up nights. Her midnight hair, tossed by the wind, cascaded in a riotous tumble around that delicate face, and the plain gray gown she wore only emphasized her vivid beauty. He gazed at her hungrily, longing to touch her, longing to feel her soft, slender form nestled against his. He fought the urge to catch her up in his arms and carry her into the barn, up into the hayloft, and make love to her all over again, until all the hurt and pain between them was wiped out by the passion.

But since Jake, Pete, and Lester Spoon were all filing out onto the porch, followed by Joey, that didn’t seem like it was going to happen anytime soon.

“Let me go!” Emily hissed at him, and wrenched out of his embrace.

“You heard the lady.” Jake’s raspy voice filled the night. “Back off, Barclay.”

“The hell I will.” Clint glared at all three Spoon men. “Stay out of this if you know what’s good for you.”

“You’ll leave my sister the hell alone if you know what’s good for you,” Pete exploded.

Clint clenched his fists and Lester and Pete both started toward him, but Emily sprang forward, getting between them.

“That’s enough. I won’t have this, do you hear me? What kind of an example are you setting for Joey?”

All the men fell silent. Clint’s gaze searched her face and for one shattering moment her resolve faltered. She fought the urge to run to him and throw herself into his arms. Then she found her backbone again and drew herself up straight and tall.

“Go away,” she commanded him icily. She hurled the flowers as far as she could, over the porch railing, into the grassy yard. They landed with a soft thud that made his mouth tighten.

“And don’t come back,” she added between clenched teeth.

With that she flung an angry look at Jake, Pete, and Lester, grabbed Joey by the shoulders, and propelled him inside the house.

The moment the door was closed, she leaned against it, as the lump in her throat grew hard and tight, as sorrow and loneliness and despair rose in her like floodwater.

She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t.

She took a deep breath—and burst into tears.

“Em-ly!” Joey ran to her and hugged her legs. “Don’t cry,” he begged.

With an effort, she managed to swallow her sobs. She sniffled and gasped, muffling the sounds of her grief as much as possible. She didn’t want any of those men standing out there in the night to know that they’d reduced her to tears—least of all Clint Barclay.

She took a long steadying breath and fought back one last sob. Kneeling, she put her arms around the boy watching her so anxiously.

“I’m b-better now. There’s n-nothing to worry about.” Somehow she managed a watery smile. “Let’s clear the table and you can h-help me wash the dishes.”

“Okay, Em-ly.” He threw his arms around her neck. “But just tell me—are you crying because you’re mad at Sheriff Clint or because he brought you those flowers?” he asked.

Emily’s heart split in two. “Both,” she whispered desolately. Then she stood up, squared her shoulders, and blinked back a fresh batch of tears.

The thunder of Clint Barclay’s horse pounding away from the ranch dwindled, leaving silence between the three men who remained on the porch. Jake lit a cigar, Lester threw himself glumly into the porch chair, and Pete stood scowling into the darkness.

“I’ve a good mind to follow that son-of-a-bitch and teach him not to pester my sister,” Pete growled.

“Want some help?” Lester sighed. “I’ll do anything that’ll get me back in Emily’s good graces. It’s hell around here lately, with her being so silent and angry and all. I mean, Barclay wasn’t half bad during the holdup—he’s right smart, and he can sure shoot straight, but just because he plugged Jenks and got him to tell us where Emily was, he thinks he can come here anytime and make a nuisance of himself.”

“Just what the hell does he want with her?” Pete frowned. “That’s what I want to know.”

“What do you think he wants?” Lester exclaimed disgustedly, shaking his head.

“I oughta horsewhip him.”

“You reckon that’ll please Emily?” Jake’s voice sounded dry in the darkness. “It’s what she wants with him that has me worried.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Uncle Jake?”

“Either of you boys ever notice the way she looks at him? Or the way he looks at her?”

“No,” Pete and Lester answered in unison, sounding puzzled.

“Well, I have.” Jake blew a smoke ring toward the sky and watched it rise and dissipate in the clear, cool air. “And I’m not a mite pleased about it. Matter of fact, it turns my stomach. But still…”

“What are you trying to say?” Pete demanded.

Jake’s gaze pierced each of them in turn as in the distance a coyote began to howl, followed by another, and then another. The mournful cries filled the night.

“Either of you heard that girl crying her heart out these past few nights? Or notice how pale she looks? How sad?” he asked, sounding angry.

“Yeah,” Pete sighed. “And I hate it. But that’s because she’s mad at us, isn’t it? And I figure she’ll get over it… sooner or later.”

“She will, won’t she, Pa?” Lester asked sharply.

“What she’s got, she won’t get over,” Jake muttered.

A startled silence followed his words.

“I was married to Ida for thirty years and she never got over it—no matter what I did, how many times I let her down, or did something that made her madder’n hell, she never got over it. She loved me, loved me till the end, till the day she died, even though I didn’t deserve it.”

“What the hell are you saying, Uncle Jake?” Pete glared at him. “You’re not talking about Emily and… Barclay?” he asked in dawning horror. “You don’t think Emily is in love with that… that
lawman?”

Lester froze on the chair, staring at his father incredulously. “No, Pa, no, she can’t be.”

“Hell, open your eyes. No sense pretending what’s there
isn’t
.”

Pete began pacing back and forth across the porch,
while Lester slumped lower in the chair. “Well, we gotta stop her. Change her mind,” Pete exclaimed.

“Change the mind of a woman in love?” Jake gave a curt laugh. “You boys don’t know a damned thing about women. Besides,” he added slowly, looking at each of them. “Don’t you want her to be happy?” His tone was gruff. “To have a home of her own some day? A husband, children?”

“Never thought about it much,” Pete muttered. He wanted to hit somebody. Somebody like Barclay.

“Damn it, Pa, she sure as hell isn’t going to have those things with Barclay.”

“Not at this rate.” Jake shook his head. “Did you see how she threw those flowers of his? And he’s so busy staring at her he can barely get the words out to apologize. Damn fool. Can’t he see that girl’s stubborn as a whole pack of mules? By the time he spits out what he needs to say and grovels enough to get her to forgive him, they’ll both be older and grayer than me—and I’ll be dead. Unless—”