Outlaw's Bride (12 page)

W
hen Ragan came through the back door the next morning to begin breakfast, there were three cups of coffee waiting on the table. Johnny and the judge already had their hands wrapped around two of them.

She smiled, feeling a rush of gratitude. Any sign of progress with Johnny brought hope.

“You’re getting pretty good at making a decent cup of coffee. They’ll be hiring you at the Oasis one of these days,” she teased.

The faint hint of a smile showed at the corners of McAllister’s mouth and her pulse raced.

“Don’t bet money on it,” he told her.

“I don’t wager, sir. Can’t quite imagine you in a skirt, anyway.

” Judge McMann chuckled, reaching for the cream pitcher. “You two are in a feisty mood this morning.”

Bending over Johnny’s shoulder, Ragan replenished the cream pitcher. The faint hint of shaving soap left her feeling a bit heady. She turned slightly, her face shamelessly inches from his. “Good morning.”

“You’re in a good mood this morning,” he murmured.

“As a matter of fact, I am. It’s a glorious day.” She touched his shoulder briefly and moved on. Sliding into her chair, she opened her napkin.

“More coffee, anyone?” the judge asked.

The judge chatted amiably but Ragan’s mind was on the man
opposite her. She couldn’t wait for the meal to be over and for Johnny to accompany her to the mercantile. Lately, the moments they spent together were the highlight of her days.

Shortly after breakfast she approached the work shed, happily anticipating the outing.

“I’m out of white thread. I need to purchase some this morning.”

He quietly laid aside the window frame he was rebuilding. “I’ll wash up.”

“We won’t be gone long.”

He nodded, moving to the water tank to wash.

She wished he would say something instead of just looking at her with those dark, brooding eyes. How she longed to know his inner thoughts—his inner purgatory. As he fell into step with her on the way to the store, she racked her brain thinking of topics to discuss. Finally, she couldn’t stand the strain a moment longer.

“About this morning,” she blurted. “I didn’t mean to behave so boldly.” Actually, she did, but her conscience nagged her. She was in a position of authority; she should never have trifled with him. Touching his shoulder was bold and completely inappropriate. Had the judge noticed? Heat tinged her cheeks.

“You don’t need to explain, Miss Ramsey. You wouldn’t deliberately encourage a prisoner’s favor, would you?”

She was so taken aback by his swift response, she was speechless. Apparently he’d been thinking about this morning’s incident too. “I just don’t want you to think…”

“Think what?” His eyes skimmed her lightly.

“That…I’m a…wicked woman.”

“Wicked?” He threw back his head and laughed. Sobering, he met her gaze. “Look. If you’ll let up on me, I’ll ease up on you. Agreed?”

His words were firm but encouraging.

She accepted his offer with grace.

W
hile Ragan shopped, Johnny leaned against the livery building and watched the town activity. A few women stood about, discussing such topics as which fabrics to use for new dresses and whether milk or cream made fluffier mashed potatoes.

He couldn’t be certain, but he was beginning to wonder if the newest raids were the work of the red bearded bank robber, Puet, and his gang. He hated to think he’d brought more grief to the town or Ragan.

He nodded to the Thompson sisters as they crossed the street.

Old-timers stopped by, asking him questions. Did he think it would rain? Had Ragan make him one of her strawberry pies yet? How did he like Barren Flats?

Nowadays, he was beginning to notice when old Mr. Parson’s lumbago was acting up, or if Mrs. Keeling was having a particularly hard day adjusting to her husband’s passing. He didn’t like noticing. It made the people more like family…and they weren’t his family. They were strangers, and he meant to keep them that way.

He straightened when he spotted Everett strutting up the walk. Good. It would save him the trouble of going to the telegraph office. Had Everett taken the bait?

When the young clerk was upon him, he paused, shifting a sheaf of papers to his opposite arm. “Mr. McAllister.”

“Everett.”

“Hot today.”

“Sure is.”

Everett cast a wary glance over his shoulder. Clearing his throat, he lowered his voice. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

“Oh?” Johnny forced a casual smile.

The clerk edged closer, keeping an eye on the mercantile doorway. “I’ve been thinking about your offer.” Everett’s voice lowered even further, and he spoke without moving his lips, which made it difficult to understand him. “You said you could teach me how to shoot. I figured maybe if you didn’t touch the gun, you could tutor me. I’m willing to pay for your services.”

Johnny shrugged. “I suppose I could help. What do you have in mind?” What was this sudden nagging guilt? He had a job to do, and sentiment toward Ragan wasn’t going to stop him. The quicker he left this town, and its idiotic ways, the better, for both him and Ragan. They were starting to get a little too comfortable around each other.

Everett glanced toward the sheriff’s office. “I know you’d be doing something you shouldn’t, but if you give me your word that you won’t try and take the gun—”

Give my word that I won’t?
Johnny shook his head at the man’s innocence. “All right. I’ll give you my word. I’ll teach you to shoot, but we’ll have to be careful. It’s not going to be easy to keep this quiet.”

Everett grinned. “Leave that to me. Not a soul will know what’s going on. I’ll arrange everything.”

“Fine. When do you want to start?”

“The sooner the better. Founders’ Day is six weeks away. I want to be ready.”

Six weeks to teach Everett Pidgin to shoot out rattlesnakes’ eyes.

“I intend to win that Greener.” Everett’s eyes shifted to the mercantile. “A woman would be mighty proud of a man who proved to be the best shot in town. Why, if I could shoot out a rattlesnake’s eye—”

“You won’t. Not every time.”

“But if I could do it even once, that would be enough for me.”
Everett was so earnest, Johnny had to look away. Grandpa wouldn’t be proud of this.

Ragan’s laughter floated across the street as she emerged from the mercantile with Kensil Southern. The two women paused on the top step, chatting.

Everett’s mouth went slack. “She’s so beautiful, she makes the flowers blush.”

Johnny’s gaze followed Everett’s. He didn’t have Everett’s poetry, but yes, Ragan Ramsey was a real beauty. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Everett’s head snapped back. “You hadn’t noticed?”

Johnny adjusted his hat on his head. “Women will get you in trouble, Everett. Better buy yourself a good horse and forget about Ragan.” He stepped off the planked porch and started across the street.

“Mr. McAllister?”

Johnny turned. “Yes?”

“I overheard you the other day at the stage station. You said a man’s size didn’t matter. Did you mean that?”

At times, Johnny felt sorry for the young man’s uncertainties. He didn’t like to prey on them, but Everett was his lifeline.

“A man makes his own way in the world. Size doesn’t have a thing to do with it.”

The clerk’s eyes returned to Ragan. “That’s how I have it figured.”

The sounds of quickly approaching hoof beats caught the men’s attention.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Everett called, already running down the boardwalk as two banditos rode into town, firing into the air as the town citizens scattered for cover.

M
onday morning Reverend Pillton posted a notice that services would be held on the following Sunday, provided the repair work on the church was completed.

Immediately after breakfast, Johnny was sent to the work shed to gather brushes and rags while Ragan got her sewing materials together. When she came out the door, he hefted a ladder to his shoulder, and they set out together.

She gave Johnny his instructions. “The church needs a good cleaning and sprucing up. Sawdust is everywhere, and the eaves need a fresh coat of paint.”

“Seems like a lot of trouble to me. The gangs aren’t going away.”

“I’ll be at Minnie’s if you need me for anything.”

“I won’t need you.”

Shooting him a dour look, Ragan turned north to join her sewing group, and he continued down the lane, grinning. She sure was pretty when she was riled.

Arriving at the church, Johnny found it empty. So much for town participation. He set up the ladder outside, opened a bucket of paint, and climbed to the highest point. He painted for more than twenty minutes before he heard a hiss from a nearby bush. He glanced down, trying to locate the source.

“Psssssssst. Hey!”

Stepping down a couple of rungs, Johnny leaned to peer over the top of the bush.

“Over here,” the voice stated.

“Everett? What are you doing behind the bush?”

“I’m hiding.”

“Why?”

“I’ve got the gun.”

Johnny glanced at Minnie Rayles’s house.

“Stay down. The women can see you.”

“Where are they?”

“At the mayor’s house.”

The clerk duckwalked from behind the bush, a package tucked neatly under his arm. Pausing at the bottom of the ladder, his eye scoured the area for intruders.

Johnny quickly joined him on the ground. Picking the ladder and the bucket up, he moved to the opposite side of the building, out of the women’s view.

Everett duckwalked behind him, toting the wrapped pistol. When they reached safety, Johnny said, “Okay, let’s see what you have.”

The clerk hurriedly unwrapped the gun.

Johnny glanced around to be sure they weren’t observed. “Everett, that’s a big-bore forty-five hog leg. What are you doing with a pistol like that?”

“It was my Uncle Mort’s. Aunt Pearl gave it to me when he passed on last year. What do you think of it?”

Johnny studied the weapon: a blue, eight-inch six-shooter. The pistol could bore a hole the size of a little finger going in, a silver dollar coming out. “It’s not exactly a gentleman’s weapon.”

“I know!” Everett beamed. “It’s a man’s gun
.
”

Johnny itched to hold the firearm, but he kept his distance. “Do you have ammunition?”

“All we’ll ever need. It’s behind the counter at the telegraph office, bottom shelf, way back in the left-hand corner. I keep it there in case I ever have trouble at work.”

“It’s not loaded now, is it?”

Everett took a small paper-enshrouded package out of his pocket and thrust it at Johnny. “The bullets are in here.”

Johnny stepped back, refusing the package. “You carry them. And break open the chamber.” He wasn’t taking Everett’s word on the gun’s firing capacity.

Everett obediently opened the chamber and Johnny nodded.

“We can shoot it right now.” Everett duckwalked to the corner of the building and peered around the corner. After a moment he waddled back. “No one will pay any attention to a little gunfire over in the woods. Hubie Banks practices every morning.”

Johnny glanced at the stand of scrub oak over the ridge from the church. The area was small, but bushy and dense.

“I don’t know, Everett. The women will hear us.”

“So? They’ll just think it’s Hubie shootin’ or another raid about to take place.” Everett shifted from one foot to the other. “Come on, just five minutes. I’m itchin’ to try this thing out.” He patted the hog leg confidently. “This is my ticket to the Greener.”

Well, one shot wasn’t that hard to account for. One shot would hold Everett for a few days—a small price to pay in order to know where the clerk kept the gun. The hog leg would never make the telegraph clerk the object of Ragan’s affection, but Johnny didn’t have the heart to explain that. Everett would know it soon enough.

“All right, one shot.”

“One shot,” Everett promised. He waddled alongside Johnny as they moved away from the church building.

“Stand up and walk straight, Everett.”

“Oh, sorry.”

Moments later, the two men disappeared into the trees.