Ana Seymour - Outlaw Wife

“We’ve had word from the deputy over at Cat’s Butte. He says the remaining members of the Davis gang were seen staking out the road between here and Cheyenne.”

“You figure they’re going to try to free their boss?”

“As sure as a puppy knows how to bark.”

John’s round face was creased with worry. “You can’t ride out there to be ambushed, Marshal.”

Sneed was the only one at the table with whiskey rather than coffee. He lifted the tumbler and took a deep drink. “I wouldn’t mind meeting up with that crew,” he said, swiping his hand across his mouth.

“I don’t intend to be ambushed, John,” the marshal replied. “We’ll skirt around them—ride through the hills.”

“There’s some rough country,” the sheriff pointed out.

“I’d rather deal with rough country than that quartet of Davis’s. Jake Patton alone can drill a nickel at sixty paces. And he’s a mean son of a gun with his fists.”

“He’s none too gentle with his boots, either,” Simon added.

John shook his head. “I say you all wait here until they can send reinforcements. Call in some help from the army.”

The marshal pushed away his plate. “No. We’ll handle it. Go easy on that, Tom,” he said as his deputy drained his glass.

Simon and John shared a glance that mirrored each other’s doubt. “At least let me keep the girl here,” the sheriff said finally. “Davis is the one you really want to nail, and you’ll have a better chance without a female along.”

“When the female’s as tasty as that little cottontail, she’s no trouble at all,” Sneed said with a leer.

“Shut up, Tom,” Marshal Torrance barked. “You might have something there, John. It’s Seth Davis I want to see swinging. I don’t really give a damn about the daughter.”

“I can hold her until the Davis gang clears out of the territory. Then you can send someone to fetch her.”

The marshal considered for a moment. “All right,” he said, standing. “I’ll take you up on your offer. One less problem for me to worry about. C’mon, Sneed.”

The deputy rose unsteadily to his feet. John stood along with them, but Simon stayed sitting, letting comfort take precedence over courtesy.

“Do you need me to go open the cell for you?” John asked.

“No, finish your supper. We know where the keys are.” Torrance and John shook hands. “I’ll send word when I make arrangements for the girl.”

The two lawmen said goodbye and walked out of the restaurant, leaving John to settle back down in his chair. “So it looks like I have a real prisoner on my hands for a while.”

“I don’t know why you offered to keep her. She’ll be madder’n hell when they take her father away, and you’ll be the one she’ll take it out on.”

“We’ll be the ones,” John corrected.

“Uh-uh. I’m going home.”

“You’re not riding for two more days, remember?”

“If you’ll let me have another dose of that stuff you gave me this morning, I can just float home.” Porter came over to the table to fill their coffee cups, and Simon ordered a steak.

“Bloody,” he told the stocky old gentleman who had been waiting tables at the Buckhorn Inn as long as Simon could remember. “Tell Mrs. Harris to just pat the cow on its head and send it on in here.”

Porter chuckled and shuffled off into the kitchen.

John resumed his argument. “Just because you don’t feel the pain, doesn’t mean you’re mended. Do you want Cissy riding out to Saddle Ridge to give you a piece of her mind?”

“Not especially.”

“Then just forget about it. You and Miss Davis will be nice cozy roommates over at the office for the next couple of days.” One of John’s white eyebrows shot up. “Anyway, I didn’t notice you finding it a hardship to look at her.”

“Looking’s one thing. Listening’s another.”

“Listening?”

“Before I came over here she was trying to talk me into letting her and her pa go. She said I owed it to her because she saved my life.”

John gave a whistle. “I expect that could be a powerful argument for a softy like you, Simon.”

“I wasn’t tempted,” Simon said, not entirely sure he was telling the truth.

“Good lad. But it’ll be close quarters over the next two days. Do you think she can change your mind?”

“I may be soft when it comes to kids and old folks like you, John, but I have no charity in my heart for outlaws.”

“Not even pretty ones?”

Simon hesitated just enough to let a grin begin to light John’s face, then said firmly, “Not even pretty ones.”

When John and Simon returned to the sheriff’s office, the pretty outlaw was clearly upset. The minute they opened the door she launched herself against the bars like a caged wildcat and said in an anguished voice, “You have no right to keep me here. I want to go with my father. He’s not well. He…he needs me.”

Her attractive features were strained and desperate and on closer perusal, Simon could see traces of tears on her cheeks. But she wasn’t crying now.

“I demand to see a lawyer,” she said to the sheriff, her voice a little calmer.

John picked up the papers the marshal had left on his desk and began to examine them. “If you want a will signed or a deed filed, Judge Abercrombie’ll see to you. But he’s retired from criminal cases, and the only other lawyer available is Philip Sutton.”

“Then I want to see him.”

Simon’s eyes were on the girl’s lips. She licked them nervously, then clamped them in a stubborn line. They were full and red, he noted idly, feeling a stir. He hung his hat up and went over to the cot with a rueful shake of his head. The girl was an outlaw, behind bars. She was upset and desperate and in trouble up to her ears. And here he was letting himself get bothered by a pair of lips. He sat down with a jolt of pain. Hell, even three broken ribs couldn’t keep his body in line. He hadn’t been with a woman since he and Cissy had broken up. Perhaps it was time for him to find someone for a Saturday-night tumble in the hay.

“I’ll let Sutton know,” the sheriff answered her. “He rides through here every six weeks.”

“Six weeks!” Willow’s exclamation turned into an undecipherable sputter.

“I’m turning in for the night,” the sheriff continued, unperturbed by her anger. “Do you need to take a trip out back before I go?”

“I’m not staying here,” she said again.

Simon tried to bend far enough to pull off his boots, but gave up the attempt almost immediately. “I need you to nursemaid me one more time, John. Sorry.”

“Is he staying the night here, too?” she asked as the sheriff went to help Simon.

John gave her a quick glance. “If you’ll be quiet long enough to let him get some sleep.” Then he turned back to pull off Simon’s other boot and said to him, “Maybe you should come with me to the hotel.”

“I’m not up to Mrs. Harris’s mothering, John. One of her hugs and I’d have the right side of my rib cage as sore as the left.”

“I could tell her to go easy on you.”

“No, thanks. I’ll take my chances with Miss Davis, here. At least she’s behind bars.”

“Bars don’t keep out the sound,” John pointed out.

Simon looked over at the girl, who had grown silent. In spite of the vehemence of her protests about her father, she didn’t look the least formidable. She looked tired. “Will you give us both a break, miss, and save your complaining until tomorrow?” he asked her.

Her gaze went from him to the sheriff and back. “You can’t keep me here,” she said. “But I guess it can wait until morning. I haven’t slept for fortyeight hours and I reckon I could fall asleep in a den of rattlesnakes tonight.”