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Nora Roberts: Lawless

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Nora Roberts Lawless

Lawless: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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Half-Apache and all man, Jake Redman was more than a match for the wild Arizona Territory. Sarah Conway, on the other hand, was an Eastern lady who belonged anywhere else but on the rugged land Jake loved. Still, the stubborn beauty was determined to make Lone Bluff her home . . . Though Jake was annoyed to find himself playing guardian angel to this tantalizing innocent, he was even more disgusted to find he liked it. Because beneath Sarah's ladylike demeanor beat the heart of a true pioneer, a women he yearned to make his own.

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He’d lived like this, she thought, in a mud house in the middle of nowhere, so that she could have pretty dresses and new stockings. So that she could learn how to serve tea and waltz. It must have taken nearly everything he’d managed to dig out of the rock to keep her in school back east.

Now he was dead. She could barely remember his face, and he was dead. Lost to her.

“Oh, Papa, didn’t you know how little it mattered?”

Lying across the grave, she let the tears come until she’d wept her heart clean.

She’d been gone a long time. Too long, Jake thought. He was just about to go after her when he saw her coming over the rise from the direction of the old mine. She paused there, looking down at the house her father had lived in for more than a decade. She’d taken off her bonnet, and she was holding it by the ribbons. For a moment she stood like a statue in the airless afternoon, her face marble-pale, her body slim and elegant. Her hair was pinned up, but a few tendrils had escaped to curl around her face. The sun slanted over it so that it glowed richly, reminding him of the hide of a young deer.

Jake blew out the last of the smoke from the cigarette he’d rolled. She was a hell of a sight, silhouetted against the bluff. She made him ache in places he didn’t care to think about. Then she saw him. He could almost see her chin come up as she started down over the rough ground. Yeah, she was a hell of a sight. “Mr. Redman.” The grief was there in her red-rimmed eyes and her pale cheeks, but her voice was strong. “I apologize for the scene I caused earlier.”

That tied his tongue for a moment. The way she said it, they might have been talking over tea in some cozy parlor. “Forget it. You ready to go back?” “I beg your pardon?”

He jerked his thumb toward the wagon. Sarah noted that all her trunks were neatly stacked on it again. “I said, are you ready to go back?”

She glanced down at her hands. Because the palms of her gloves were grimy, she tugged them off. They’d never be the same, she mused. Nothing would. She drew a long, steadying breath.

“I thought you understood me. I’m staying in my father’s house.”

“Don’t be a fool. A woman like you’s got no business out here.”

“Really?” Her eyes hardened. “Be that as it may, I’m not leaving. I’d appreciate it if you’d move my trunks inside.” She breezed by him.

“You won’t last a day.”

She stopped to look over her shoulder. Jake was forced to admit that he’d faced men over the barrel of a gun who’d had less determination in their eyes. “Is that your opinion, Mr. Redman?”

“That’s a fact.”

“Would you care to wager on it?”

“Look, Duchess, this is hard country even if you’re born to it. Heat, snakes, mountain lions-not to mention Apaches.”

“I appreciate you pointing all that out, Mr. Redman.

Now my luggage.”

“Damn fool woman,” he muttered as he strode over to the wagon. “You want to stay out here, hell, it don’t matter to me.” He hefted a trunk into the house while Sarah stood a few feet back with her hands folded. “Your language, Mr. Redman, is quite unnecessary.” He only swore with more skill as he carried in the second trunk. “Nobody’s going to be around when it gets dark and you change your mind.”

“I won’t change my mind, but thank you so muchfor your concern.”

“No concern of mine,” he muttered, ignoring her sarcasm. He scooped up the rest of her boxes and dumped them inside the doorway. “Hope you got provisions in there, as well as fancy dresses.”

“I assure you I’ll be fine.” She walked to the doorway herself and turned to him. “Perhaps you could tell me where I might get water.”

“There’s a stream half a mile due east.”

Half a mile? she thought, trying not to show her dismay. “I see.” Shading her eyes, she looked out. Jake mumbled another oath, took her by the shoulders and pointed in the opposite direction. “That way’s east, Duchess.”

“Of course.” She stepped back. “Thank you again, Mr. Redman, for all your help. And good day,” she added before she closed the door in his face.

She could hear him swearing at her as he unhitched the horses. If she hadn’t been so weary, she might have been amused. She was certainly too exhausted to be shocked by the words he used. If she was going to stay, she was going to have to become somewhat accustomed to rough manners. She peeled off her jacket.

And, she was going to stay. If this was all she had left, she was going to make the best of it. Somehow.

She moved to the rounded opening beside the door that served as a window. From there she watched Jake ride away. He’d left her the wagon and stabled the rented horses with her father’s two. For all the good it did her, Sarah thought with a sigh. She hadn’t the vaguest idea of how to hitch a team, much less how to drive one.

She continued to watch Jake until he was nothing but a cloud of dust fading in the distance. She was alone. Truly alone. She had no one, and little more than nothing.

No one but herself, she thought. And if she had only that and a mud hut, she’d find a way to make the best of it. Nobody-and certainly not Jake Redman-was going to frighten her away.

Turning, she unbuttoned her cuffs and rolled up her sleeves. The good sisters had always claimed that simple hard work eased the mind and cleansed the soul. She was about to put that claim to the test.

She found the letters an hour later. When she came across them in the makeshift loft that served as a bedroom she wiped her grimy hands as best as she could on the embroidered apron she’d dug out of one of her trunks.

He’d kept them. From the first to the last she’d written, her father had kept her letters to him. The tears threatened again, but she willed them back. Tears would do neither of them any good now. But, oh, it helped more than she could ever have explained that he’d kept her letters. To know now, when she would never see him again, that he had thought of her as she had thought of him.

He must have received the last, the letter telling nun she was coming to be with him, shortly before his death. Sarah hadn’t mailed it until she’d been about to board the train. She’d told herself it was because she wanted to surprise him, but she’d also wanted to be certain he wouldn’t have time to forbid her to come. Would you have, Papa? she wondered. Or would you finally have been willing to share the truth with me? Had he thought her too weak, too fragile, to share the life he’d chosen? Was she?

Sighing, she looked around. Four bedrooms, and a parlor with the, windows facing west, she thought with a quiet laugh. Well, according to Jake Redman, the window did indeed face west. The house itself was hardly bigger than the room she’d shared with Lucilla at school. It was too small, certainly, for all she’d brought with her from Philadelphia, but she’d managed to drag the trunks into one corner. To please herself, she’d taken out a few of her favorite things- one of her wildflower sketches, a delicate blue glass perfume bottle, a pretty petit-point pillow and the china-faced doll her father had sent her for her twelfth birthday.

They didn’t make it home, not yet. But they helped. Setting the letters back in the tin box beside the bed, she rose. She had practical matters to think about now.

The first was money. After paying the five dollars, she had only twenty dollars left. She hadn’t a clue to how long that would keep her, but she doubted it would be very long. Then there was food. That was of immediate concern. She’d found some flour, a few cans of beans, some lard and a bottle of whiskey. Pressing a hand to her stomach, Sarah decided she’d have to make do with the beans. All she had to do now was to figure out how to start a fire in the battered-looking stove.

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