Chapter 14
R
afe rode into Paris, leading Lady on her horse. He didn’t trust her not to find a way to sneak off in the crowd of people and animals, so he kept her tethered to him. She was as wily as a coyote, and he didn’t want any more trouble.
Paris, a county seat, was up and coming with a courthouse, two hotels, a schoolhouse, and other buildings. After the fire of 1877 destroyed ten acres of the downtown district, residents had lost all faith in clapboard and rebuilt in brick. The Texas and Pacific Railway station looked busy. Thousands lived in Paris, but most of the settlers in the area made their homes on small cotton farms in the rich black gumbo land of the Red River Valley.
Rafe would have liked nothing better than a hot meal and an even hotter bath, topped with a shot of whiskey. Lady appeared about as dirty and tattered as he felt. He thought they must be making a sorry looking pair as they rode up the street. If he’d had the time, or thought he could keep Lady under control, he’d have booked a room at the finest hotel in town, eaten, bathed, and then rested his weary body overnight. But that might lead to weakening his resistance to her. One more of her hot kisses would about make him forget his mission.
His job came first. As quick as possible, he needed to send a telegram about Lampkin’s double life to Judge Parker and Marshal Boles. If Marshal Phillips was in his office, Rafe would alert him, too. The U.S. Senate confirmed U.S. Marshals, who hired their own local deputies. Like Rafe, Lampkin worked for Boles, but Phillips ought to know, too, so he could be on the lookout for trouble.
Rafe nodded to people he passed. He’d gotten used to being out in the country on his own and wasn’t sure he much liked the hustle and bustle of town life. People made for complications. They could not be trusted and their motives were often unclear. Neighbors could turn to enemies in the blink of an eye. Guess their shenanigans kept him in business, though, so he shouldn’t complain.
“At least let me get a bath and put on clean clothes before you slam a jail door shut behind me,” Lady said, kneeing her mare closer to him.
Rafe glanced over at her. “I’d like nothing better myself, but I can’t trust you.” No more Sharlot. He had to think of her as Lady, a dangerous outlaw not a desirable woman. It helped with the guilt, too.
“I need a bath.”
“You can get one in jail.”
“With an audience?”
“I’ll set it up for you. String a blanket for privacy.”
“Look!” She pointed at a store front. “Let’s stop at that mercantile with ready-made clothes. You could use a new hat.”
“No time.” But she was right. He needed one.
“Won’t take long. I’ll get some soap.”
“I don’t trust you not to make a break.”
“I’m weaponless. You’re ruining my life. At the very least, you could give me five minutes to buy a bar of soap.”
“You’re always dangerous. And I’m not ruining your life. You made the choice to—”
“Forget it.” She looked away. “You’ve got no idea how to treat a lady.”
“You really know how to twist the knife in a man.” He groaned. “I know I’m going to regret this, but if we stop, do you promise not to do anything except buy soap?”
“Yes!”
“You won’t try to escape?”
“No!”
“Okay. You like the looks of that store?”
“Harris Mercantile. Look at that gorgeous crimson gown in the window.”
“Are you sure red is the color for jail?”
“I’m Lady Gone Bad. What other color would I wear?”
Rafe stopped in front of the store, squinted down both sides of the street, evaluating the men, the weather, and the lay of the land. Satisfied all appeared safe, he got down, and tossed both horses’ reins over the hitching post. He gazed up at Lady. The sight of her made his heart beat fast. She was no-good, ornery, bad luck, but the most fascinating and desirable woman he’d ever met. Best thing he could do was get her out of his life.
She lifted a leg over the saddle horn, and then slid out of the saddle. He caught her around the waist, felt her curves slide through his hands, setting him on fire. When she firmly planted both feet on the ground, she grinned up at him, a challenge and a dare. He stared at her, unable to make his hands do anything except hold her close, knowing it was most likely for the final time.
“Take it easy, Deputy,” she purred, sounding like Lady Gone Bad even though she looked bedraggled and down on her luck. “Don’t want to get too attached now.”
He dropped his hands, but kept one hovering over his Peacemaker. “We can do this easy, or we can do this hard.”
“Mmm.” She winked at him. “Decisions. Decisions.”
“You want soap or you want to go to jail? Either way, I’m not putting up with your antics.”
She bit her lower lip, pouted, and then flounced up the wooden steps. He followed, his gaze riveted by her sashaying hips. Much time around her and a man would age fast. Almost be worth it.
He opened the front door for Lady and watched her sail into the store as if she owned it, wearing handcuffs and all. He glanced around. Place carried the usual groceries, such as cured meats, sugar, coffee, cheese, crackers, dried fruits. He saw a big selection of dry goods like denim, calico, and gingham fabrics, plus dress patterns, hats for men and women, and some clothes. He’d check the guns and ammunition that filled one counter. He might even pick up a luxury like peppermint stick candy.
While he was there, he could use some new duds. He’d toss what he was wearing and start over. Life with Lady could be hard on a man in more ways than one.
“I want that red gown in the window,” Lady said, walking toward a trim, dark-haired woman in a blue gingham dress.
“You’ve got good taste. I’m Mrs. Kay Harris, proprietor and owner. Let me know what you want and I’ll make sure you get it.”
“You have a wonderful selection.” Lady looked around. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many clothes before.”
“I carry more ready-made clothes than any other store in town,” Mrs. Harris said with pride. “If you’re on the move, I’ll even order from a catalog and you can pick it up here. Naturally, I add a small handling fee and you pay in advance.”
“That’s good to know.” Lady smiled. “And convenient.”
“We’re in a hurry,” Rafe said, giving Lady a steely look. “Thought all you wanted was a bar of soap.”
“That was before I saw this lovely merchandise.”
“Sir, would you like something, too?” Mrs. Harris asked, eyeing Lady’s handcuffs and Rafe’s clothes, but saying nothing about her customers’ appearance.
“Might as well,” Rafe said. “Levi’s, shirt, socks.”
“Hat?”
“Yes.” He was sick of the sun beating down on his bare head. Damn the necktie party for trampling his favorite hat. No telling how long it’d take him to get a new one broken in just right. At least it was his hat, not him, lying back in the Bend’s mud.
“Preference in color?” Mrs. Harris indicated a stack of plaid shirts in a variety of colors.
“No.” He suddenly felt like a bull in a china closet, ready to rampage if they didn’t get done soon. At least he could solve his hat problem quick as greased lightin’.
“Blue,” Lady said. “Plus, wrap up a gray shirt, charcoal trousers, and gray neckerchief to go with it.”
“I don’t want to look like a dandy,” Rafe said, wondering if a shirt was worth an argument and quickly deciding it wasn’t.
“You won’t. Besides, it goes with my red dress.” Lady pointed at the lingerie. “I also need chemise, drawers, corset, and petticoat for the gown.”
“Certainly.” Mrs. Harris eyed Lady up and down. “Fortunately, you are of a size that all will perfectly fit you.”
“Good.”
“By your leave,” Mrs. Harris said, clearing her throat, “I must say you’ve come to me none too soon for clothes. Would you by chance need a key for your bracelets?”
“I’ve got the key,” Rafe said.
“And he’s not giving it up easy,” Lady added.
“No doubt. Some men do like control.” Mrs. Harris quickly took the crimson gown from the window, pulled out lace trimmed muslin underwear, set it out for Lady’s decision, and then continued to select other items.
Rafe grumbled to himself, but he wasn’t going to get into the fact that Lady wore handcuffs because she was under arrest although that seemed obvious. Let them have their little joke. He didn’t want to embarrass Lady by stating the truth, but he had to wonder if she was a woman who could blush.
He tried on several hats. Most were the wrong size, too flashy, or cheap enough to fall apart in the first storm. He settled on a gray John B. with a high crown, wide brim, and a snakeskin band with a silver buckle. Stiff and pricey, but right as rain. He hoped Mrs. Harris picked the correct sizes because he wasn’t trying on anything else.
Tugging the Stetson down tight on his head, he glanced impatiently at Lady as she toyed with one bit of fluff and then another, probably delaying going to jail. He got hot at the idea of seeing her wearing nothing but underwear, hard thinking about stripping off her finery, and finally burned imagining his hands on her luscious, naked body.
Trying anything to get his mind off Lady, he opened a jar of peppermint sticks and sniffed the tangy aroma. “I’ll take some of these.”
“Just a moment and I’ll be happy to help you,” Mrs. Harris said. “How many do you want?”
“Couple dozen ought to do it. Three boxes of .45 ammunition, too. Better throw in some beef jerky, coffee, cheese, and crackers.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“I need something practical, too,” Lady said as she looked in the glass-fronted cases of merchandise. “I’ll take that forest green split riding skirt with the matching blouse. And I need a new hat.”
“Perfect for horseback.” Mrs. Harris picked up Lady’s choices.
“She may not be riding horses for a while,” Rafe said, “but she’ll look good in it anyway.”
“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch,” Lady snapped, trying on a beige hat. She exchanged it for a bright red one. “Oh, look at that ruffled crimson blouse. I must have it, too.”
“Excellent taste.” Mrs. Harris quickly stepped away from them as she sorted and added up merchandise. “Just one moment and we’ll be all done here.”
By the time she had all of their purchases wrapped in paper and tied with string, Rafe wondered where he was going to put so many packages. He supposed he could tie them to the saddlebags till they reached the jail.
“Sir, the total is—” Mrs. Harris said.
“Almost forgot.” Lady set down a bar of lavender soap, tossing him a quick grin. “I’m paying.” She struggled to pull a coin purse out of her pocket.
“No, she’s not.” Rafe shouldered Lady aside and set several gold pieces on the counter. “That ought to cover it.”
“Yes, indeed, sir.” Mrs. Harris smiled, sliding the gold pieces toward her. “Please come back often to shop. I get in new merchandise weekly.” She nodded toward Lady’s handcuffs. “I carry some lovely jewelry you might want to consider on your next visit.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.” Lady tossed Rafe a narrow-eyed look. “You can carry our packages, too.” She walked to the front of the store, flung open the door, and stepped outside.
He grabbed their merchandise and followed in Lady’s wake. He knew she was mad at him for buying her clothes, but he liked the idea of dressing Lady Gone Bad on his dime. Maybe one day he’d buy her a gold locket or something pretty, but he had to admit, no two ways about it, she looked mighty fine in handcuffs.
He stopped in the doorway, looked carefully down both sides of the street, didn’t see any trouble, and stepped into the sun.
Lady waited for him a few paces away. She was reading wanted posters stuck to the building wall. Maybe looking for her own. Suddenly, she jerked down two posters. She glanced at him, then down at the posters as if comparing his face with what was on the paper.
“You’d better take a look.” She held out the wanted posters.
“You still trying to buy time?” He clattered down the steps, tied half the packages on his horse and the other half on her mare.
She followed him. “I’m serious. Take a look.”
He turned around, grabbed the posters. “Okay.” He might as well keep her happy a little longer, so he read, “Wanted Dead or Alive: Lady Gone Bad.” He looked from the drawing to her face. “You don’t admire your likeness? I admit it doesn’t do you justice.”
She glanced about, edging closer. “The other poster!”
“Wanted Dead or Alive: Rafe Morgan.” He stopped, looked hard at the poster, reread the words, and realized his jaw had gone slack in astonishment.
She jerked the posters out of his hands and swung up on her mare. “Let’s get the hell out of Paris.”
Chapter 15
“Y
ou think I’ve got a yellow stripe down my back?” Rafe glared, body rigid, hands fisted.
“No,” Lady snapped. “I think we’re both in danger of hanging for no good reason.”
“We’re going straight to the jail, to put you behind bars, and set this misunderstanding about me straight.”
She shook the wanted posters in his face, handcuffs jingling. “You believe they’ll trust your word over your poster?”
“I’m a Deputy U.S. Marshal.”
“Not now! You’ve been stripped of your badge and your image is on a wanted poster.” She waved the posters. “Look, you’re not listed here as a deputy marshal.”
He rocked back on his heels. “Lampkin! That dirty, conniving rattlesnake.”
“Let’s get out of here.” She pulled her hat low to conceal her face, and dropped the wanted posters in the dirt.
Rafe shook his head. “I can’t run away. I’m not made that way. I need to explain that Lampkin is the turncoat, not me. He lied. Set me up.” He gave her a hard stare. “You’ll explain about the Bend, the outlaws, everything.”
“Why should I help you stay out of jail when you’re so determined to put me in it?” She turned Jipsey north as she looked back at Rafe. “We’re sitting ducks here. You coming?”
“You’re using this as an excuse to run.” He grabbed his reins and leaped into his saddle.
“Run?” She laughed. “Not me.” She wanted to drum heels against the mare’s sides and leave Rafe and Paris in her dust as fast as four hooves could take her, but that’d be drawing too much attention. She urged Jipsey forward at a sedate pace.
Rafe rode up beside her. “I’m thinking we’ll be better off in Fort Smith.”
“Not me. We’re both hunted now. Lot of miles to Arkansas.”
He glanced around, his right hand hovering over his Peacemaker.
“Eyes everywhere. Indians. Outlaws. Citizens.” She tried to ease the itch in the center of her back, feeling as if she was the target of somebody’s rifle, wanting him to feel it, too.
“Deputy marshals and lighthorsemen,” he said.
She smiled, shrugged. “I doubt we’ve been recognized. We’re so dirty and scruffy our own mothers wouldn’t know us.”
“Justice,” he said.
“Pretty showy.” She kept watch in every direction, alert for anything out of the ordinary. “You pick out that chestnut your own self?”
“Gift.”
“Lady friend?”
“Sister.”
“Your sister gave you that horse knowing you’re a lawman who needs to fade into the background?”
“Long story.”
“I’d like to hear it.”
“Not now.”
“For a law and order type of man, I’m beginning to think you shelter a lot of shady secrets.”
“Unlike you.”
“We all do what we have to do.” She glanced around, clearing her head, sizing up opportunities. If she got Rafe arrested, she could escape, but to do that she needed to draw attention to him. Unfortunately, that’d put her in the calaboose, too. She had to come up with a better plan. Now that he was in a pickle, maybe she could use him to help her. At the very least, he sure as hell wasn’t taking her in to the law, not with his own neck on the line. If he didn’t realize that fact now, he’d come to that realization pretty quick. She just had to keep him from doing something stupid before reality hit him.
Rafe glanced back at the courthouse, half turning his horse in that direction.
She kicked his boot to draw his attention to her. “What really makes us obvious are these bracelets. And think, if you get put in jail, how are you going to clear your name?”
“Damn Lampkin’s hide.”
Heads turned, watching them.
“Look, let’s take it easy till we get out of Paris.” She gave him an encouraging nod, hoping to bolster his confidence in her. “Better yet, till we cross the Red River. Once we’re in Indian Territory, we’ll be safe. You can tell me about this Lampkin. We can figure out a plan.”
Rafe narrowed his eyes to a squint, drilling her with a long, steady, assessing look. He gave a curt nod. “Never in a million years would I have thought I’d be taking the advice of Lady Gone Bad.”