Outlaw Love

“I didn’t notice.”

Holly shrugged. “We’ve probably seen the last of him.”

“I hope so.” Mallory urged her horse to a faster pace. “A lawman is nothing but trouble.”

“Cold and heartless,” Holly added.

Kelsey felt the gazes of her friends upon her, but couldn’t bring herself to agree with them. They hadn’t seen the marshal the way she did. They hadn’t felt his breath on her face when she cut the noose from around his neck, or sensed the raw power he possessed when she freed his hands. They hadn’t seen the steel gray of his eyes melt into pools of blue when he realized she’d come to rescue him.

Kelsey touched her heels to the horse. “We’ll have to hurry to make it to Flat Ridge in time.”

She pushed the image of the marshal from her mind. The lives of too many people rested on her shoulders for her to waste time on such thoughts. She couldn’t allow herself to think of him. Not now.

She had a stage to rob.

Chapter Two

Clay pulled off his black Stetson and sat down on the rickety chair across the desk from Deputy Billy Elder.

“So them two ambushed you, huh?” The deputy’s amusement was thinly veiled, in the guise of taking down Clay’s report. “They got the drop on you. Bushwhacked you. Then tried to string you up. Is that about it?”

The chair creaked under Clay. “Yeah, that’s about it.”

Seated under the gun rack across the room, Sheriff Roy Bottom rubbed a cleaning rag over the barrel of a Winchester. Gray hair bristling from beneath his hat, he appeared content to let. his young deputy handle the paperwork.

Billy looked up from the report on his desk. “And it was only them two. Just Deuce and Luther. They were the ones who bested you.”

Around twenty, Clay guessed his age to be, with the look of an arrogant kid who ought to be taken down a notch or two. Clay had disliked him on sight. “Yeah, just the two of them.”

Billy consulted his report again. “And you’re a United States marshal, sent here on special assignment to clean up the gangs. Have I got that right?”

“You got it right.” Clay lunged to his feet and threaded his fingers through the dark hair at his temple. He’d had enough of Deputy Elder. He headed for the door.

“Chandler… Clay Chandler.” Sheriff Bottom stroked his chin and propped the rifle against the wall. “I heard about you. Brought in Cecil and Cyrus Reynolds, and the Fields gang, as I understand it, all on your own. You’ve got quite a reputation for yourself, marshal. Who are you trailing now?”

“Scully Dade.”

Billy snorted. “Shoot, the Dade gang makes the Reynolds boys look like ladies at a quilting bee.”

Cold determination hardened in Clay’s belly. “I’ll bring him in.”

Sheriff Bottom nodded slowly. “If what I hear about you is right, I believe you’ll do just that.”

Billy mumbled his disbelief and shuffled his reports into the desk drawer.

“Appreciate your help on this one.” Sheriff Bottom nodded toward the cells down the hallway. “At least that’s two less to worry about. Doc says Luther’s shoulder will mend in a few weeks. I’ll hold him here till the circuitjudge gets around again. Deuce’s pa will be by soon. He’ll probably beat the tar out of the boy. You can be sure he’ll stay in town till the judge gets here.”

“Who’s riding the circuit around here?”

The sheriff shifted. “We lost Kingsley.”

Clay had crossed paths with Judge Kingsley a time or two in the past “No loss. Most judges practice law from the bench. Kings ley did it from somebody’s back pocket.”

Sheriff Bottom shrugged indifferently. “We got a new judge now. Some fella name of Winthrope.”

The name coiled a tight knot in Clay’s belly. “Harlan Winthrope?”

He nodded. “Could be. I never met the man. He ain’t been out this way yet. You know him?”

Clay’s stomach churned. “I know him.”

“You’ll be gone before he gets here, huh?” Billy asked.

Clay nodded. He definitely intended to be gone from this town before Harlan Winthrope arrived. “I’ll be here a few more days, that’s all.”

He opened the door, then turned back. “Do you know about a gang called the Schoolyard Boys?”

“I sure as hell do.” Billy rose and swiped his blond hair back with his palm. “Them boys are making a name for themselves around here.”

The sheriff nodded wisely. “They hit the stage at Flat Ridge just this afternoon.”

“This afternoon? You sure it was today?”

“’Course I’m sure. Why?”

Clay nodded toward the cells. “Luther claimed it was the Schoolyard Boys that shot him.”

Billy’s brows drew together and he sucked his teeth. “Now let me besure I got this straight, Marshal Chandler. You were tracking Scully Dade, but lost him and got ambushed by Deuce and Luther and nearly hung. Then you came across the Schoolyard Boys, but they slipped through your fingers and robbed the stage coach not an hour later. Is that about the size of it?”

Clay pulled his hat low on his forehead and gritted his teeth. “That about sums it up.”

Billy nodded slowly. “Much obliged, Chandler. Good having you federal boys on the job.”

Clay turned and left the office. He strode down the boardwalk of Eldon’s Main Street, his gut churning.

He didn’t like being made a fool of. It was one thing that Scully Dade—a hardened lifelong outlaw—had eluded him. And even the likes of Deuce and Luther getting the drop on him could be palated. But he couldn’t abide being made a laughingstock by a bunch of kids—school-age kids, with a woman among them, at that.

Clay pushed his way through the swinging doors of the Watering Hole Saloon. He caught a few curious stares from the sparse afternoon clientele as he made his way to the bar. The badge on his chest always attracted attention.

“Beer.” He tossed a coin on the bar and took the mug the bartender slid his way. Clay settled in at a table in the corner, his back to the wall. He took a long drink and ran his fingers across the rope burn on his neck.

Clay pushed his hat back and rested his boots on the rung of the chair beside him. Here under special appointment from the governor, he and dozens of other marshals spread out across the country had been directed to get rid of the outlaws terrorizing honest, law-abiding folks, and make it safe for families and businesses alike. He’d been on the trail for months.

Clay took a long drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He’d asked specifically for this assignment. He’d bring in the Dade gang himself, and not just because it was his job.

Kelsey hurried down the boardwalk, doing her best to conceal the carpet bag in the folds of her pale blue dress, and slipped into the kitchen of the Eldon Hotel.

“Well, I wondered if I was going to have to cook this whole meal myself.”

Etta Mae Brown’s disapproving gaze met her when she stepped through the door. Kelsey untied her bonnet and hung it on the peg. “Like you’d let me help cook even if I were here all day long?”

Etta Mae giggled and stirred the boiling pots on the cookstove. “Oh, Kelsey honey, you know me too well.”

She smiled and darted into the small bedroom just off the kitchen. Quickly Kelsey dumped the contents of the carpetbag into the bottom drawer of her bureau and shoved it shut.

Kelsey hurried into the kitchen again. The large room held a massive cookstove, a pie safe, a sink, a sideboard and cupboards, with a worktable in the center. A pantry stood at one end, and a narrow service staircase to the second floor next to it. A small round table sat near the doorway to the bedroom Kelsey used when she stayed overnight at the hotel, which lately had been more than in her own bedroom at home.

“Smells delicious.” Kelsey made her way to the sideboard, careful to avoid the bits of dough, squashed peas and flattened potatoes that littered the floor. Etta Mae was a wonderful cook, but as messy as the day was long. She was short and stout from years of tasting her own creations, and her gray hair was streaked with white and arranged neatly on top of her head. Etta Mae had worked at the hotel since her husband passed away, over a year ago.

“Anybody new check in today?” Kelsey took a fresh apron from the drawer and tied it around her waist.

“Hmm?” Etta Mae looked up from the pots she tended. “Oh, no. No new guests.”

Kelsey sighed and mentally calculated the number of guests already in the hotel and the amount of income they generated. She hoped the supper crowd would be good.

“How’s things at the house today?” Etta Mae turned to Kelsey, water and greens dripping from her spoon.

“Everything’s fine.” Kelsey washed her hands at the kitchen pump, then took out a knife and sliced the apple pie cooling on the sideboard. She kept her head turned, avoiding Etta Mae’s probing gaze.

“And your pa?” She leaned closer, her brows bobbing.

“Pa’s fine, too.”

It could be true, Kelsey told herself. In fact, it probably was true. She just hadn’t actually been home today to know for sure. So it wasn’t really like lying. Was it? After all this time covering up her whereabouts, Kelsey still wasn’t used to it.

Etta Mae stirred the boiling potatoes, splashing water onto the cookstove. “Do you think your pa will be coming into town anytime soon?”

“No, Etta Mae, I don’t expect so.”

“He trusts you to run this place without him, hmm?”

She couldn’t remember the last time her pa had come to town to check on his hotel or any of his other holdings. He didn’t want to come, and Kelsey didn’t encourage him. It served no purpose for the town to see what Emmet Rodgers had become; it would only anger Kelsey further.

“You poor dear.” Etta Mae sighed wistfully. “I don’t know how you keep up with it all. If only your brother—”

“Seth will be home soon enough.” Kelsey pulled off her apron. “I’m going to check the dining room.”

They took turns preparing the tables. Etta Mae had done it today, in her typical fashion. Kelsey hurried about the room, turning the white cloths so that the stains and mends weren’t so readily apparent, straightening the silverware and refolding the napkins. The dining room faced the street, so Kelsey kept one eye on the boardwalk and one on the lobby, waiting and hoping for diners to appear. She desperately needed a large turnout tonight Tonight and every night

The supper crowd proved disappointing. The hotel guests were there, all four of them, and Bill and Virginia Braden, who owned the dry goods store down the street

Kelsey stood by the door, fretting over the number of diners, mentally calculating the price of their meals and what it had cost her to prepare them.

“You mustn’t frown so much, my dear. How will you ever catch a husband like that?”

A chill slid up Kelsey’s spine as she turned to find Jack Morgan standing beside her. Dressed in a white linen shirt with a brocade vest and dark jacket, he looked every bit the most prosperous man in Eldon. His eyes were warm, his expression was compassionate, but Kelsey saw past the benevolent facade he presented She knew the real Jack Morgan, and not just because he was her best friend’s father.

“Catching a husband is not high on my list of priorities, Mr. Morgan.” Kelsey struggled to sound pleasant

“Whatever you say, my dear.” He gave her a thin smile and slid his finger along the mustache above his lip. “What are we serving tonight?” ‘That he referred to the hotel as partly his rankled Kelsey no end. He didn’t own the place. Not yet. And she intended to see to it that Jack Morgan never took another thing from the Rodgers family again.

“Roast turkey. I’ll show you to a table.”

He smiled indulgently and gazed at the room. “No need. I believe I’ll have no difficulty in finding an empty seat.”

Stomach churning, Kelsey returned to the kitchen.

By dusk, business at the Watering Hole had picked up and Clay ordered his third beer. He made it a policy not to drink too much. A federal marshal was a temptation to a young gunslinger out to make a name for himself, or a local looking to liven up a Saturday night. Clay had to keep himself ready.

But today had been a hell of a day, so he indulged himself. He questioned that decision a few minutes later, when Deuce walked through the swinging doors. Clay dropped his hand to his side and rested it on his Colt.

Deuce spotted Clay and walked to his table. He stared at the floor for a minute, then took a deep breath. “I came to tell you that I’m sorry for what happened today.”

Clay rocked back in the chair. “Is that so?”

He nodded. “And I appreciate you telling Sheriff Bottom that it was mostly Luther that wanted to string you up.”

“He threatened to shoot you if you didn’t go through with it,” Clay pointed out. “I just told the sheriff the truth.”

Deuce’s cheeks grew red. “I appreciate you not mentioning to anybody that I threw up.”

Maybe it was the beer, or maybe it was the flash of memory from when he’d been sixteen himself, but Clay took pity on him. He pushed out the chair beside him. “Sit down.”

His gaze came up quickly. “No. No, I can’t.” Deuce glanced back over his shoulder, then looked at Clay again. “My pa was powerful mad at me when he got me out of jail. He whipped me good. I really can’t…sit down.”

Clay shook his head slowly. “I don’t think you’re cut out to be an outlaw, Deuce.”

He lifted his thin shoulders. “No, sir. Me either.”

“Did your folks give you that name, boy? Or was it just hung on you?” Clay took another sip of his beer.

“My name’s Dennis, but everybody calls me Deuce ‘cause I’m the second one. I got a twin brother.” He looked at the floor again. “We’re twins, but me and Jared don’t look much alike. He’s real big and strong, like my pa. That’s my pa over there.”

Clay peered around Deuce at the man standing by the swinging doors. Tall, with big, powerful arms and a full chest, a strong face set directly down on broad, muscular shoulders.

“He’s the blacksmith.”

“Holy Jesus…” Clay gulped down three swallows of his beer.

“Pa never let me work at the livery with him and Jared, ‘cause I’m so small. But he says now I have to work there everyday so he can see to it I don’t get into any trouble.”

Clay let out a heavy sigh and sat back in his chair. “If that were my pa, Deuce, I’d see to it I never got into a minute’s trouble again.”

Deuce’s father left his station by the door and crossed the saloon. He offered his hand to Clay. “I’m Ben Tucker.”

Clay got to his feet and accepted his iron handshake, the grasp of a man who worked hard for a living. “Clay Chandler. Glad to know you.”

“I wanted to tell you personal, Marshal, that I’m much obliged to you for putting in a good word for my boy with the sheriff.”

“I only told him what really happened.”

Ben nodded. “You can be sure Deuce here won’t be .hanging around with the likes of that Luther McGraw again. I put a stop to that today.”

Deuce grimaced and shifted uncomfortably.

Clay nodded. “I think he got in with the wrong bunch.”

“Well, it won’t happen again.” He gave Deuce a stem look. “That right, boy?”

He nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m beholding to you, Marshal. You need anything from my livery stable, you just say the word. Is that your bay stallion outside the sheriffs office?”

Clay nodded.

“I’ll bed him down at the livery. No charge. The boy here will take your gear over to the hotel.”

They turned and headed out of the saloon. When they reached the door, Deuce ventured a glance at his father. Ben gave him a cold stare and walked out ahead of him. Deuce’s shoulders sagged, and he followed along behind.

Clay fell back in his chair and took a long drink of beer. Thoughts of his own father, his own family, floated through his mind, and for a moment he allowed himself to indulge in the memories. Happy times, filled with the love and closeness of a family. Times spent with… Rebecca.

Anger coiled in Clay’s belly. He pushed his beer aside and surged to his feet, knocking the chair to the floor. The saloon quieted, and gazes turned his way. Clay pulled his hat low on his forehead and kicked the chair aside. He didn’t like to remember. It always made him angry. But the anger was easier to endure than the guilt that ate at him. Guilt for his actions—and his actions alone—that forever guaranteed that those happy memories were a thing of the past.

The saloon patrons gave him a wide berth—and plenty of stares—as he made his way to the street again.

Dusk had fallen, and Clay felt tired. He’d seen the hotel when he rode into town this afternoon, so he headed down the street in that direction. Shops were closing for the night, merchants and customers hurrying home to their families. They paused long enough to give him and the star pinned to his vest a curious look. He ducked into the alley, unwilling to be the object of any more idle gossip today. At times, the badge was a heavy load to carry.

Kelsey swept the last of Etta Mae’s meal preparations from the floor and dumped them into the bucket of dirty water waiting beside the back door. She straightened and groaned softly in the silent kitchen. The guests were all upstairs, and Etta Mae had gone home, leaving Kelsey to close up for the night. She didn’t mind cleaning the kitchen alone. Tonight, fueled by thoughts of her encounter with Jack Morgan, the work had gone quickly.

Kelsey wiped her hands on the linen towel and draped it over her shoulder as she looked around the room. Spotless. She carried the bucket onto the back porch. In the fading light, she saw the small stable and paddock across the dirt alley and reminded herself to take the mare to the blacksmith first thing in the morning, before its owner was ready to check out. Early, before prying eyes noticed.

A cool breeze stirred and Kelsey shuddered, anxious to finish her chores and get into bed. She drew back the bucket and tossed the dirty water into the alley.

At that instant, a man turned the corner of the hotel, and the water hit him square in the belly.

“Jesus Christ!”

Clay roared like a wounded tiger as the water splashed up his shirt and down his trousers and soaked his boots.

Kelsey gasped and looked down in horror at the incriminating evidence in her hand. She tossed the bucket aside.

His gaze impaled her, blazing like hot embers in the dim light. “What the hell are you doing?”

Her eyes rounded. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

A stream of filthy curses tumbled from his lips as he looked down at himself and flung water from his hands.

“It was an accident. I didn’t mean to—”

His frown grew more fierce.

“Let me help you.” Kelsey pulled the linen towel from her shoulder and hurried to him. Quickly she pressed the towel against his chest, mopping up the wetness.

“I didn’t see you standing there,” Kelsey explained hurriedly. She dipped the towel lower and pressed it against his belly. “I’m terribly sorry—really I am.”

Fire, more intense than his anger, suddenly ignited low in Clay’s belly. Through the layers of clothing that separated his flesh from hers, the feel of her fingers moving over him, dipping lower and lower, sent a surge of desire through him, swift and strong. Its urgency overwhelmed him.

He felt the towel against his belt buckle, then against the front of his trousers. Clay gulped and jumped back.

“Stand still.” She stepped closer. “I’m not finished.”

If she kept this up, she’d have a finish she hadn’t counted on. Clay pushed her hands away. ‘’Keep to yourself.”

Annoyed, Kelsey planted a fist on her hips. “Stop making such a fuss. I’m just cleaning you up.”

Raging heat consumed him. He glared down at her. “Didn’t your mama tell you that’s no way for a lady to act?”

Kelsey rolled her eyes. “This is hardly the time for concern over proper decorum. Besides, I have brothers.”

“Well, I’m not one of them.” Clay yanked the towel from her hand and mopped the water from his trousers.

Heat flushed Kelsey’s cheeks, and she felt them redden. She took a step back, needing to put some distance between herself and this man, and the feelings his words had evoked.

“I’ve had a hell of a greeting in this part of the state,” Clay grumbled as he wiped his hands on the towel. “This tops off my day just dandy.”

Kelsey’s back stiffened. “You needn’t stand there acting as if this were all my fault”

He looked down at her, his eyes narrow. “You’re the one who threw the water, lady.”

“Well, you’re the one sneaking around the alley.” She planted her fist on her hip.

He waded the towel in his big hand and pointed. “I’m going to the hotel.”

Her nose went up a bit. “I don’t know where you’re from, but around here, guests use the front entrance.”

He lowered his face, leveling his nose with hers. “And I can sure as hell see why.”

They glared at each other for a moment before Kel-sey stepped back and lifted one shoulder. “Well, anyway, I’m sorry.”

He grumbled, then flung the towel over his shoulder. “No harm done,” he finally said.

“Good. Now, give me your trousers.”

His chest swelled. “What?”

Kelsey’s cheeks flamed. She twisted her fingers together. “To have them laundered.”

He drew in a long, ragged breath, then handed her the towel. “I need a room for the night Where’s the hotelkeeper?”

“That would be me. Kelsey Rodgers.”

His brows inched upward, and then he touched the brim of his black Stetson. “Clay Chandler.”

Noting that he hadn’t said he was happy to make her acquaintance, Kelsey turned quickly on her toes and led the way into the back entrance of the hotel. She felt him behind her, his height and wide shoulders a force of their own. The man radiated a heat she’d never noticed in any of her brothers. His big, heavy steps sounded on the bare floors, drowning out the light scuff of her slippers.

She tossed the towel on the sideboard as they passed through the kitchen and led the way down the hallway to the small lobby. Modestly furnished, it held the registration desk, a settee and two upholstered chairs. The dining room was located at one end of the room and the staircase to the second floor was situated at the other.

Clay took in the lobby in one sweep, then sauntered up to the desk. He pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his black, wavy hair. Kelsey slipped behind the desk and turned up the wick on the wall lantern. Their first meeting notwithstanding, she desperately needed another guest in the hotel, and she would take this stranger’s money gladly.

She put on her best hotelkeeper’s smile and turned to welcome him to the Eidon Hotel. The words suddenly died on her lips. Pinned to his vest, shining in the lanternlight, was the badge of a United States federal marshal.

Raw terror ripped through her. A federal marshal! Right in her own hotel! Had he come for her? Did he suspect her involvement in today’s stagecoach robbery? Would he arrest her on the spot? Kelsey gripped the edge of the desk.

“I’ll be staying a couple of nights.” Clay dropped his Stetson on the desk. “Give me a room facing the street.”

Kelsey swallowed hard and forced her gaze from his badge to his face. Recognition coiled her stomach into a knot. This wasn’t just any federal marshal, but the marshal she’d rescued from a hanging only hours earlier.

Her gaze dipped to his neck, and she saw the rope burns inside his collar. At once she felt overwhelmed by the desire to press her fingers against the marks and soothe them with her touch.

She gave herself a little shake. What was she thinking? The man was a federal marshal. If he knew who she was and what she’d done, he’d slap her into jail without a second thought She had to get rid of him.

Kelsey perused the register and cleared her throat. “Sorry, but we’re full up.”

One thick, dark eyebrow crept upward, and he turned to gaze pointedly at the deserted lobby. Silence hung over the hotel. Clay eyed the cubbyholes on the wall behind the desk, the rows of keys to unrented rooms dangling there.