Renegade Most Wanted

chapter Six



Emma hung a wet pair of jeans on the line to dry. A drop of wash water rolled down her wrist, sparkling in the August sunshine. Nearly two weeks had passed since Matt had knelt in the mud beside her, replanting trees that he knew good and well would not survive.

What had survived from that night was the memory of Matt squatting bare chested in the mud with rain washing over his skin. Lands, if she hadn’t wanted to toss her tree aside and run her fingers across his glistening back.

Good common sense had been no more than a lightning bolt away from being dumped in the mud. Indeed, she had been reaching toward him ready to trace his flexing muscles with her mud-caked fingers when lightning had flashed a shocking blue-white glare over her ruined field.

She’d reined in that honey-slick impulse before Matt had known what she was about, but for the past two weeks she’d been wondering what might have happened if she hadn’t.

“Mama Emma, lift me up.” Lucy waved a small wet calico dress that she had taken from the laundry pile. “I want to hang up my own.”

“Okay, sweetie—jump high when I lift you.” The leap took a considerable bit of weight off the task. “Hook the pins right at the shoulder…there, good girl.”

“Let me do another one.” Evidently, to Lucy, laundry hanging was a morning game.

“Just once more.” Lucy jumped, Emma lifted. “I swear you get bigger each time I pick you up.”

As soon as her tiny boots touched the ground, she wrapped her arms around Emma’s thigh and hugged tight.

“I don’t want to get a new ma someday.” She gazed up past Emma’s apron with eyes so solemn they looked like the sky with a storm gathering. “I want you to be my mama till I’m all grown up.”

Lordy, how she wished she could fall on her knees and hug that child up tight to her bosom. Somehow, living alone didn’t have the sparkle it once had. Lately she found herself having to look deeper in her heart to find the thrill of being independent.

In the end it didn’t matter how she felt. That outlaw was going to come gunning for Matt. He would take his family and move to California.

“I can’t be your mama for that long, baby, but I can always be your friend.”

“You can be my ma if you want to.”

How was a body to explain to a little girl how impossible that was? Luckily she was spared that by the sudden appearance of a green-wheeled buggy coming over a rise of ground.

The ever-blowing wind stirred up a gust of dust that would have to be brushed out of the clothes when they dried.

“Somebody’s here!” Lucy dashed off to greet the approaching wagon.

When the wagon pulled in front of the now fully framed house, Mrs. Sizeloff waved. Charlie jumped down from the wagon.

Emma reached the buggy and Mrs. Sizeloff handed down a basket with her baby, Maudie, asleep inside.

Praise be that there was always a pot of coffee going for the men. With the scones left over from breakfast, she could treat her guest to a proper welcome.

They sat on the floor of the framed house with the breeze blowing through, eating scones and drinking coffee.

Mrs. Sizeloff didn’t seem to mind the lack of chairs while they spoke of this and that going on in town. She’d come for a supply of Orange Lilly for herself and her sister in Kinsley who had frightful monthlies.

“I spoke with your husband when he came to town to buy a load of barbed wire. He told me about the troubles you’ve had with those wandering cattle.”

“It’s not the cattle so much as their owner that’s giving me grief.” Emma swallowed the last sip of coffee from her mug and set it down. “Why, that Mr. Pendragon must think he’s king, wanting everybody’s land right along with his own.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to see him sitting beside his daughter in church more on a Sunday… . Charlie!” she called out to her son, who splashed in the creek with Lucy. “Go get what we brought in the wagon and bring it up here to the house.”

Charlie pounded barefoot past the house, then scrambled up onto the wagon. He returned with a pair of squirming, whining puppies, one tucked under each arm.

“We had a litter of ten a few months past.” Rachael Sizeloff took one of the pups from Charlie and set it in Emma’s lap. “I thought Pendragon might not sneak up on you so easily with these two to announce him. Their mother is as fine a dog as God ever made.”

A pair of pups would be demanding but, mercy, they might be just the companions she would need after Matt and Lucy had gone.

“Aren’t they sweet?” Emma breathed in a lungful of puppy scent, then handed the dog to Lucy. “Feel how soft he is. Maybe you can give him a name.”

Lucy held the pup the way she held her rag doll. Evidently it didn’t take to being toted about like a hunk of cotton. It twisted and wiggled until it got free, then ran toward the creek with Lucy only a stride behind.

“Thank you, Mrs. Sizeloff. Once they get some size on them they ought to be a help.”

Mrs. Sizeloff stood, stretched, then called for Charlie.

“Time to be on our way. The Williamses have a sick baby. We can only hope it isn’t the cholera. I need to take my young ones to Mrs. Conner so Josie and I can go on over and sit with the poor parents and watch in prayer.”

“Let me get that Orange Lilly for you.”

Emma hurried toward the dugout to get the patent medicine. If only it worked on the cholera. She’d heard of too many children taken by the sickness.

The thought of losing Lucy that way made her feel weak in the knees. Maybe she was closer to being the mother that Lucy dreamed of than she realized.

* * *

“This fence ought to make Pendragon as mad as a swatted bee,” Billy said while he unwound several feet of barbed wire.

“As dangerous as a loco bull, too.” Matt hammered the sharp wire into place.

He knew that they were waving a red flag in front of the man. Being dangerous and angry weren’t good things to encourage in the Englishman. It would be better to stay on the man’s good side, which still meant he was an arrogant cuss, but not so likely to do harm.

“Good thing you brought back plenty of wire,” Billy said. “We’ll be fixing cut fences from now until kingdom come.”

“Until fall, anyway.”

“What about after that?” Billy took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve. “What’s Emma going to do about Pendragon once we’ve gone?”

That was a question that had left Matt gazing at the stars more than the backs of his eyelids at night. A woman needed a man out here on the plains, no matter how much she didn’t think so. Emma might be a pistol, she might be as spirited a woman as he’d ever laid eyes on, but she would be no match for the sodbusting life and Pendragon together.

“As I see it, you can do one of two things, cousin.” Billy hammered a section of wire into place. “First thing, and best thing, is to get her to come along to California.”

“You’d better tell me the other one. You see the way she moons about that new house. I’d have to hog-tie her to the train to get her to leave the place.”

“I don’t see any help for it, then, but to find her a new man.” Billy kept his eyes focused on his task, pounding in a nail and unrolling another length of wire. “A good strapping fellow who can hold things together in your place.”

Another man in his place? The thought made him mad enough to spit the nails into the fence.

“You crazy fool, a man doesn’t give away his wife.”

“A man doesn’t sleep outside with a pair of smelly cowboys when his wife’s lying clean and sweet inside the dugout, either.”

“A man doesn’t make holy bonds of that sort unless he’s planning on being around. Hell, Billy, you know I can’t stay here—there’s Lucy and Red to consider.” Matt dropped his hammer and picked up his canteen. He took a long swallow, then splashed some water on his face. “Could be that you’re waiting to step into my place.”

“That would suit me just fine if I was the marrying kind.”

Matt started to declare that he wasn’t the marrying kind, either, but Billy had been able to read his lies since they were eight years old.

“A man never knows when he might get to be the marrying kind. It might come to him right out of the blue,” Matt said.

“It doesn’t take a voyeur to see what’s hit you out of the blue. And it’s no wonder. I suppose we’ve all gone a little soft for Emma in our own ways. But all that aside, with Hawker getting out, you’ve got to go and Emma needs a man.”

Wasn’t that the worry that had kept him awake night after restless night?

“I suppose you have my replacement picked out?”

“Woody Vance.”

Matt’s stomach turned sour on his breakfast. Woody Vance was a tall, husky fellow who felt a call to the land nearly as strong as Emma did. The man also felt a call to Emma. Evidently Cousin Billy hadn’t missed the way the farmer had gazed after Emma the times they had been in town.

Matt retrieved his hammer from the ground and smashed a nail into the wood post harder than he needed to.

“I suppose you’ve thought of a way to get me replaced?”

“I do a lot of thinking while I’m working.” Billy walked toward the next post, dragging the wire with him. “As I see it, we’ll have a party to celebrate the new house being finished. With all the dancing and merriment going on, they ought to take to each other like butterflies in a field.”

“You’ve got a mind for writing dime novels. I’m not handing my wife over to the first farmer who comes along.”

“I’m just saying Woody could take care of her once we’ve gone.”

Woody Vance was young, strong and fine to look at from a woman’s eye. It hurt to dwell on the ways he might take care of her.

Matt was spared having to consider it further when he looked up and saw Emma bringing lunch. She rode Pearl with Lucy nestled in front of her and a pair of baskets behind. The lid of one basket popped open and closed.

“Papa!” Lucy pointed to the jostling basket. “Mama Emma said we could have puppies!”

Puppies? Puppies grew into dogs. Maybe a pair of big mean-looking canines would protect Emma better than Woody Vance could.

Matt lifted Lucy off Pearl, then he settled Emma to the ground, letting his fingers linger about her waist. In the instant that her gaze slid past his, his heart beat as heavily as Billy’s hammer pounding on a post.

Would Woody Vance notice how her eyes took the blue right out of the sky? Cousin Billy might do a heap of thinking while he worked, but the ideas he came up with were purely muddled.

“Papa, take down my puppies.”

The first pup he lifted out would be a protector. Even though it didn’t seem to be anything more than a ball of black fluff at the moment, it nearly jumped out of the basket on its own. It wiggled and licked Matt’s fingers on the way to the ground. Maybe they’d just name the dog Woody and be done with Billy’s harebrained scheme.

The second pup slept through being picked out of the basket. It only stirred and yawned when he set it in Lucy’s arms.

“Those are fine little dogs, baby girl.” Lucy fairly sparkled with joy over having them. Leaving for California had just got a little bit more complicated.

“This one is called Princess.” Lucy kissed the pup’s furry head and tucked it up under her chin. “I love Princess so much, Pa.”

Princess probably suited that dog. Luckily the other dog would be something bolder, with the way he was going after Billy’s boots.

“Hey, you little varmint, quit gnawing on my footwear!”

“He’s not Varmint, Uncle Billy. He’s Fluffy.”

Fluffy and Princess…hopefully the dogs would grow into more heroic names.

“How about Buster and Chomps?” Matt asked.

“Silly papa, they’re girls.”

A female could be fierce at protecting her own. Maybe Fluffy and Princess would do just fine.

Emma set out a blanket, then laid a feast of fried chicken, biscuits and peach pie in the middle of it. It was always a wonder to him that his wife could conjure up such good things to eat out of a campfire. He wished he’d be around to taste what she might cook on a proper stove in a real kitchen.

What might it be like to be a proper husband in a real bedroom? He’d be damned if Woody would be the one to find out. Curse Cousin Billy for putting the thought in his head!

To settle his rising foul mood, he turned his attention to Lucy, who had fallen asleep after lunch with her head in Emma’s lap. One pup, he couldn’t tell which—they both looked like Fluffy to him—had nestled into Emma’s side and curled about Lucy’s head. The other pup snuggled into the folds of Emma’s skirt, tucked right into the crook of her knees.

If he had the uncomplicated life of a dog, he’d be tucked right in there with them.

“This is a fine-looking fence, Matt…Billy.” Emma smiled at them both but she looked worried. “It ought to keep those cattle off my land just fine.”

“Pendragon will cut the wire when he gets the chance, darlin’, but we’ll mend it,” Matt said.

“What if a fire gets going out here?” Emma ran her fingers through Lucy’s hair, but Matt didn’t think she gave the action a thought. Tender touches seemed to be her natural way.

“I suppose that the Harkinses set a firebreak around the house and the barn,” Billy said, with the last bite of his peach pie making his voice thick. “Soon as we finish with building the house we ought to find where it is and clear it.”

Emma didn’t look relieved. Worry shadowed her eyes when she gazed at him straight on.

“We won’t let your house burn down,” Matt said.

“What about my new trees? If Pendragon burns them, well, I can’t hold myself responsible for what I might do.”

“Pendragon won’t set a fire.” It might happen a hundred other ways. Fire was one of the demons that plagued settlers and ranchers each year. “It would harm him as much as anyone else.”

Emma seemed to consider that for a moment. “I suppose it’s true. A bully’s biggest body part is usually his mouth.”

“Pendragon is worse than most when he wants his way,” Billy said, and wiped his pie-smeared hands on his vest. “Did he say something we need to set straight?”

“Not exactly. I ran into him the day we went to town to order the supplies for the house. He wasn’t anything more than rude. He went on about tornadoes and such, but then he mentioned how cowboys weren’t always so careful about their cigarettes. With the grass all around getting higher and drier, it brought to mind what he said.”

“Pendragon says a lot of things, Emma. He’s fond of a threat, but don’t you worry. We’ll keep those firebreaks good and wide around the house,” Matt vowed.

“Around your new grove of trees, too,” Cousin Billy added.

“Thank you. I can’t imagine what I’d do without you.”

“Sometime, when I pass this way again, maybe you’ll make me a pie from one of those trees.” Judging from the grin on Billy’s face, he could smell them baking already.

Emma’s smile shone bright and sincere. Only a few weeks ago she’d have liked nothing better than to see the whole gang of them riding off into the sunset. Only a few weeks ago that had been his clear goal, to see his wife safe and then move along.

If they ever did pass this way again, would Woody Vance be the one grown fine and fat from Emma’s pies?

* * *

If there was a thing that Emma seemed to like more than shopping, Matt decided, it was conversing with her customers about snake oil. To hear the ladies talk, a soul would think that Orange Lilly was the best thing to hit Dodge since Del Monico’s had served its first steak.

Matt followed Emma down the boardwalk. Under one arm he toted a box of fabric and notions for Lucy’s new dress, and under the other he carried the bottles of Orange Lilly they were delivering about town.

Emma’s bustle, swaying with her quick stride, made Matt glad to be walking behind. It was a pleasure to watch her round hips swing back and forth in front of him. He’d make up a song about it, but his head was so full of Emma songs already that another might break his heart wide open.

Their third stop was at Sarah Michaels’s pretty white fenced house. He’d rather pass this one by, but since Sarah was one of Emma’s customers there was nothing for it but to follow her inside.

The house, like Sarah, was bright and cheerful. She must have put the painful shadow of widowhood behind her. Sarah ushered them into the parlor, where pink-and-purple flowers from a window box outside gave off a spicy, sweet scent.

Matt sat back on the sofa beside Emma and sighed in relief. Even though it was Saturday afternoon, Sarah’s burly brother wasn’t there.

The lemonade Sarah served went down his throat cool and sweet. It made listening to the women talk about female troubles less distressing.

At first he thought to ignore talk of monthly pain and contrary moods. He meant to sit back and sip the lemonade, to daydream about having dinner with Emma at Del Monico’s later this evening. Since Lucy was back at the homestead with Red, he’d be able to socialize with his wife with no one to occupy her attention but him.

When the women’s talk swung to the problems of thirteen-year-old girls, it roped him back to the here and now. There were things he would have to know. Without a mother to guide her, Lucy would be turning to him for answers to her changing body. In only nine more years, give or take, he might need this Orange Lilly. What if his little girl went through the tortures some women did?

Without a mother, would Lucy confide in him?

Caught up in his worry, Matt didn’t hear the back door open and close. Sarah’s brother ambled into the parlor and swallowed up Emma’s hand in greeting before Matt could choke down his gulp of suddenly tasteless lemonade.

Matt stood up, but the other man was still taller. He extended his hand.

“Woodrow, good to see you,” Matt said.

Just a few days ago it would have been good to see him. The farmer’s friendly smile would have been returned in kind.

“Woody, have you met Mrs. Suede?” Sarah asked.

“I’ve noticed her about town, but I haven’t had the pleasure until now.” His smile seemed too intimate and his eyes too bright for a first introduction.

Why did Sarah’s big brother have to keep hold of Emma’s hand beyond what was friendly? Shouldn’t she be snapping back out of that handshake by now?

“It’s pleasant to meet you, Woody.”

It wouldn’t have been pleasant if the man hadn’t let go of her hand in time with his next breath.

Just to be sure Woody understood that Emma was a married woman, he caught up her hand and tangled his fingers through hers.

He shouldn’t want the smile that she flashed up at him to be full of true affection—it would only make their parting harder. Likely it was only for show. Emma was good at show.

It was with true affection, though, that he squeezed her hand. He’d have to deal with the heartache of it later.

Emma returned his squeeze. When skin met skin, he realized for the first time that he’d neglected to put a wedding ring on her finger.

Matt groaned inside to think how many men in town might have warmed to his wife, not knowing she was his. His until mid-September, anyway.

“Emma darlin’, we’ve got three more ladies to visit before supper. We should be on our way.”

If he’d had it to do over again, he’d have hustled Emma away before lemonade. It twisted his gut inside out to see the way Woody Vance looked like a melted candle, just watching Emma walk out the front door. Vance would be a happy man if he knew about Billy’s meddling.

Matt prayed to be well on his way to California before his wife took up with another man.

* * *

Emma sat at a table beside the window of Del Monico’s, grateful for a few moments alone. Matt had escorted her inside, then remembered an errand that couldn’t wait. He’d promised to be back before she finished her wine.

She shouldn’t drink the wine at all. Her head spun like a leaf in the wind as it was. Her heart had flopped over in dizziness some time back.

Her husband had been jealous of Woodrow Vance! The signs of it had been clear as sunrise. Back at Sarah’s house, he’d gripped her hand and all but snarled at Sarah’s poor brother in spite of the tight, surface-friendly words he’d spoken.

Of course, Woodrow had been too smitten to notice. She’d be surprised if he’d even recognized that her name was Mrs. Suede.

But Emma felt the name. It warmed her more thoroughly than the wine on her tongue. It made her insides glow, like lightning bugs partying in her belly.

The front door opened and Billy walked in with Sarah Michaels on his arm. Matt’s cousin claimed that he wasn’t the marrying kind, but Sarah certainly brought a smile to his face. The pair greeted her, then took a table across the room.

She looked out the window. Across the street, a man lit a lamp in the gathering dusk. Someone began to bang out a frisky tune from the saloon next door. Matt came out of Rath and Wright’s, followed by Mr. Wright, who closed and locked the door behind him.

Over the tinny music Emma heard Matt singing while he crossed the street. As usual, the sound of his voice touched her soul, even though he sang the bawdy words that went to the saloon’s music.

When he stepped inside, he took off his hat and shook his hair. He smiled at her and crossed the crowded room with long bold strides.

The click of his boots on the wood floor made women’s heads turn. Their subtle gazes followed him all the way to the table. When he slid into the chair across from her she felt them sigh as deeply as she did.

“Your business didn’t take long,” she said.

Matt called for the waiter to bring him a tall whiskey.

“You look as pretty as sunset tonight, Emma.”

Matt reached across the table and covered her hand. His big calloused fist on her skin made the fireflies in her belly explode. If this tender touching was just for show, what might happen to her if it ever became sincere?

“You’re right handsome yourself, cowboy.” Emma squeezed his hand. It was such a subtle pressure that not a soul would know that it had happened, except Matt. She wanted him to understand that not every display of affection was for the benefit of the marshal. In fact, the lawman wasn’t even here.

The waiter brought Matt’s whiskey. He stood up, brought his chair to her side of the table and slid in beside her, sitting closer than casual friends would.

“It won’t be long until the house is finished.” He twirled his whiskey in the glass without drinking it. He watched it swirl, then put it down.

“It’s a fine house. More than I could ever have dreamed for.” The trouble was, lately her dreams hadn’t been only of the house. They had been of her and Matt together in the house. All alone in the bedroom of the house.

The waiter approached the table and Matt ordered dinner. Even though he claimed to be starved, he looked nervous, as though he were sitting on an anthill instead of a cushion.

He held her hand again, his thumb brushing her knuckles. It was all she could do not to clutch the red gingham tablecloth in wonder at his odd behavior.

“Is there something troubling you, Matt?”

“I wouldn’t call it trouble.” He looked up from their joined fingers. The amber heat of his gaze would have set her spinning if she hadn’t already been doing it. “There’s something I should have done some time back.”

Matt reached into his pocket and drew out a small velvet box.

“This is for you.”

“Mercy, you didn’t have to get me anything.” Lands! No one had ever given her anything in a velvet box. “But I’m pleased that you did.”

He lifted the lid on the box.

A gold band engraved with morning glories lay against the deep blue velvet.

“A wedding ring,” she whispered.

Matt plucked it from the box and slid it over her finger. It couldn’t have fit better if the jeweler had been standing beside her taking a measurement.

“I can’t figure what took me so long to think of it. You should have had it weeks ago.”

What a pretty thing it was, glowing in the light of the candle on the red tablecloth. A lump formed square in the middle of her throat. It ached nearly as much as her heart.

“I’ll make sure the marshal gets a good stare at it.” Words had trouble making their way past that blamed lump. If she could speak her piece without bawling like a baby for things that couldn’t be, she’d bless her stars. “I’ll only wear it to town. It won’t show a bit of wear. You’ll be able to sell it once you get to California.”

“This isn’t a show for the marshal or anyone else. You are my wife. I’d be pleased if you’d wear my ring. You can throw it in the creek tonight or keep it to remember me when we part ways. This is yours, darlin’, and the marshal be damned.”

“It’s lovely, Matt. I’ll be proud to wear it.”

Cream churned to butter couldn’t have melted her insides like his smile. The grin pulling at the crease in his cheek called to be kissed.

Just one kiss from her to him that didn’t have a blessed thing to do with escaping the hangman’s noose.

She would have done it, but Matt leaned toward her first. His lips came down upon hers. His hair brushed her cheek and smelled of grass and leather, new lumber and secret dreams.

Her left breast pressed tight to his shirt when his arm circled around her back. Somewhere out on the prairie on the long ride home, she’d make sure the other one got there, too. It didn’t matter that her marriage would be short, she would have it be true.

Matt lifted his lips from hers. He smiled and tapped the tip of her nose. She wanted so much more. For now she gazed down at the ring on her finger, dreaming of a future to go with the promise of the gold, even though it could never be.

A whisper of voices murmured through the dining room but Emma paid no attention.

“Get a lookie-see at the lovebirds,” a sneering voice said from beside the table. Matt’s arm tightened about her back.

“Go on about your business, Bart.”

“This would’ve been my business if you hadn’t gone and butted in.” Bart’s foul smile made Emma’s stomach lurch. Had she really considered wedding him? Praise be that Matt had come along!

“You have no dealings with my wife. You’d better move along before I take offense.”

Bart planted his boots, swaying beside the table.

“Looks like you didn’t hear the news, kissing up to the missus like you are. Hawker’s out. Plans on taking his time getting here to make you sweat, is what I hear. But he’s riding in.”

“You gone deaf, Bart? I told you to get out of here.”

It seemed that every soul in Del Monico’s had lost interest in their meal. Not a single fork clanged against a plate. She heard Hawker’s name whispered from every corner of the dining room.

“Lady, once that man of yours is worming in the grave, I’ve a notion to take his place—”

Lightning couldn’t have moved as fast as her husband. One moment Bart had been working his tongue at a sore on the corner of his lip and the next Matt had scooped him up by the seat of his pants and tossed him out the door of Del Monico’s.

Through the window she saw Bart come to rest in a horse trough, splashing and sputtering. He rolled out of the water but lost his balance and tumbled onto the dusty street. Quiet laughter tittered from one end of the restaurant to the other.

Matt stomped back inside and sat down at the table.

“I reckon old Bart needed a good mouth cleaning,” he declared.

It looked to Emma as if Matt hadn’t truly minded giving it to him.

Even Billy, coming to stand beside the table, seemed pleased. Sarah stood next to him, fingers lightly on his arm. At least she had the good sense to look concerned.

“Emma,” Billy said. “I was just telling Sarah that we ought to have a party as soon as the house is finished, to show it off to the neighbors. What do you think?”

She thought it was a wonderful idea, but Matt looked as if someone had just added lemon to his whiskey.