Nights with the Outlaw

Lauri Robinson

Nebraska, 1885

Outlaw Clint Turnquist is on a mission—one that doesn’t involve falling in love. His freedom hinges on tracking down his former gang, but he can’t resist Doreena Brockman’s plea to help protect her ranch from the strangers watching her property. Bold and beautiful, she tempts Clint with both her body and her promise of a fresh start. But even with his past standing between them, denying the urge to kiss her may take more discipline than he has….

Dear Reader,

America’s Old West was settled by men and women full of fiery pioneer spirit and determination. Other countries had their wild and rowdy times, but nowhere else had anything like the vast open land west of the Mississippi—land of promise, change, beauty, wonder and riches. Of course, there was also pain, hardship, broken dreams and death. Men had to be bold, women tough.

In this story, it’s Doreena, a woman struggling to save her home, and Clint, the outlaw who stumbles upon her.

I hope you enjoy their journey to happily-ever-after.

Cheers,
Lauri

To my mother, whose pioneer spirit is still alive and well.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter One

1885-Central Nebraska

Clint Turnquist thought he’d seen it all. He tipped the brim of his hat back as he nudged his mount closer to the commotion. The edges of a blue dress fluttered beneath a tree limb, exposing white pantaloons covering a set of legs stretched out and wrapped around the branch, holding a woman in place.

She tossed aside the cinnamon-colored wisps of hair hanging around her face with a shake of her head, and settled a stern stare on him. “Don’t you dare shoot him,” she shouted from her precarious perch.

Clint had no intention of shooting the pig rutting the dirt around the tree’s roots, but he was going to scare it off. The thing was half as big as a cow and tore at the ground with all the gumption of a crazed bull. He cocked his gun.

An identical click came from the tree. “You shoot my pig. I shoot you.” She held the aimed pistol steady, one-handed. The other arm held her in the tree.

“You’d be better off pointing that thing at your pig than me, lady. It looks downright wild,” he told her.

In that instant, the pig spun and shot forward toward Clint’s horse with all the fury it had been bestowing on the tree.

Clint grabbed for the saddle horn as Runner reared, and again when the animal twisted sideways and bucked. When the horse twisted yet again, Clint flew through the air, landing on the dry Nebraska dirt. There was no time to catch his breath before the pig, with eyes rolling in all directions, charged him.

Lungs burning, Clint scrambled to his feet and got a hold on a low branch of the massive oak. It had been years since he’d climbed a tree, but the memories of what needed to be done, and the fear of drooling fangs slicing his shins, soon had him hugging a branch on the opposite side of the trunk from the woman.

Having missed its target, grunting and snorting, the hog attacked the tree again, ripping thick roots out of the ground like they were little more than flower stems.

The woman peered around the trunk. “Shh,” she whispered. “He’ll go away if he can’t hear us.”

Air finally filled Clint’s lungs, and his hand went to his hip. Great. He’d lost his hat and gun when he hit the ground. He glanced below him to where the sparkling gold eagle on the oak handle of his pistol glistened beneath the ever-growing pile of pig-churned dirt. He shot a glance at the woman. Her gun was tucked into the holster belted around her waist and snapped in place by a wide strip of leather.

She flipped aside the long braid of hair dangling over one shoulder and then in a friendly, nice-to-meet-you sort of way, stretched out an arm. The action seemed a bit odd considering their predicament, but Clint reached around the trunk and took her hand with his free one. “Doreena Buckman,” she whispered.

Odder yet was his thought on how the unique shine and blue-green color of her eyes held a striking resemblance to the gulf waters down in Texas. “Clint Turnquist.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he returned, wondering if he’d lost his mind when he’d hit the ground, as well as his gun and his hat.

She released his hand, and he resettled his weight on the tree limb. Runner let out a snort from where he stood several yards away, and another horse, a black-and-white paint, Miss Buckman’s no doubt, grazed a short distance off, but other than that, it was just him the woman and the pig. Clint let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Shh,” she reminded, somewhat primly.

Holding in the grin attempting to form, he gave a nod of compliance. He wouldn’t have believed this scene if he wasn’t part of it. The last speck of his gun disappeared beneath the soil. It was only a few months old, but he’d come to love it like an old friend. “She’ll treat you good, better than a woman in most instances,” the shopkeeper back in Missouri had said when Clint bought the pistol. He’d found that interesting, since loving a woman didn’t have a place in his life. He pulled his gaze off the growing pile of dirt and stole a quick glance at the woman.

Wrapped around her branch, she gave him an apologetic-looking grimace—an extremely attractive one. Besides their captivating color, her eyes seemed to hold a secret or a promise.

His blood stirred, making him focus his attention on the pig, the tree, the dirt, or anything else, except her.

It wasn’t long before the hog wore itself out and plopped on its side. Clint closely studied the dirt-covered snout quivering with every breath. Sure enough, the critter had fallen asleep.

Clint eased sideways, and laid a hand on the tree to aid in his descent.

Doreena Buckman’s hand covered his. Her brows arched. “You been around many hogs, Mr. Turnquist?”

Her whispered question was husky enough to make his spine quiver. “A few when I was a kid.” He glanced toward the sleeping animal and lightheartedly whispered, “But I guess I’m more familiar with bacon and ham now.”

She grinned, showing an appealing little gap between her two front teeth. “You get down now, and he’ll wake up ornerier than before.”

Clint assessed his options. Even if he maneuvered around to the other side of the tree, the critter would feel his feet hitting the earth. A sudden movement drew his attention back to the woman. She’d swung around to sit on her tree branch, and situated her skirt to hang over her dangling legs.

“He won’t sleep long, and when he wakes up, he’ll have forgotten all about us and be on his way.”

It was Clint’s turn to raise a brow.

She grinned again. “I, Mr. Turnquist, know a lot about pigs.”

“Oh?”

Settled on her branch, looking as comfortable as if she sat on a porch swing, she asked, still whispering, “You from around here?”

Her relaxed manner quelled his urgency to get down, but he’d never been one to share information readily—not even to charming, young women. “Nope.”

“Just passing through?”

“Yep.”

“So, where you from?”

He shrugged.

“Where you headed?”

“Why do you want to know?”

She looked around. A few rolling hills, clusters of trees, and blue sky decorated with thick, floating clouds was about all there was. Her roaming gaze ended on him. “No reason. Just thought as long as we’re stuck here, we might as well converse.”

He sat quiet for several minutes, until boredom and the underlying sense of her disappointment made it impossible to remain silent. “You from around here?” he asked.

“Yes. My ranch is just over those hills. About three or four miles.”

“Your ranch?”

“For now anyway.” Her sigh was weighted. “I inherited it when my parents died, and until my younger brother turns eighteen, it’s mine.” She peered around the tree to make eye contact. “Nebraska doesn’t recognize women’s rights. Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton have been in Lincoln advocating on behalf of women. I’ve gone both times. But even with their help, every amendment introduced into legislation has failed.” Her thickly lashed eyes turned back to the landscape. “Of course most of the bills directly relate to a woman’s right to vote. I’m interested in other rights—particularly land ownership.”

A distressed expression covered her face, and Clint had an irrational thought. He wished the tree wasn’t separating them. It was hard to tell what a person was thinking without studying them directly.

“I’ve consulted a lawyer, but without a significant law change, I’ll have to turn the ranch over to Tristan on his birthday in two months.”

Clint didn’t respond. Not only was it none of his business, old habits were hard to overcome. The word lawyer made him twitch. The mention of anything close to a lawman kicked every outlaw’s nerves into a gallop.

“It’s silly really. If Papa had left a will, there wouldn’t be a problem.” She leaned her head against the tree trunk. “Actually, if Sheriff Drake didn’t have it in for me, even that wouldn’t matter.”

First a lawyer, now a sheriff. Clint’s nerve endings buzzed like flies on a windowsill. “How long you think that critter’s gonna sleep?”

Peeking around the tree with a smile that made her eyes sparkle, she answered, “I can’t say for sure, but it’s usually no longer than half an hour or so.”

The invite to tease her couldn’t be ignored. “Usually? You get treed a lot?”

She stifled a giggle by pinching her lips together. “No. But hogs in general don’t sleep that long when napping. I just got him last week. He rutted his way out of the pen the first night, and I’ve been searching for him ever since. Once I get him home, I’ll put a ring in his nose to stop it from happening again.”

Clint didn’t have a response. Besides being endearing, Doreena Buckman had grit.

“He’s my make-it-or-break it. That’s one of the biggest Chester Whites you’ll ever see.”

Sleeping, the pig looked bigger than it had rutting the ground around the tree. “I’d say.”

“Did you know it’s cheaper to ship one pound of live hog than it is three pounds of grain?”

He shook his head.

“Well, it is. And bacon is the mainstay of the Western coffer.” She pointed to the land. “My father ran cattle, but after he died the cattle business went sour for us. So I studied up on hogs.” Her gaze was utterly serious. “My first sow farrowed forty-five pigs in her first three litters. Thirty-nine of them made it to market. Can’t do that with cows.”

The smugness in her voice made him smile. “No ma’am, I guess you can’t.”

Her pert lips puckered. “Last month, I found my best boar dead in his pen. Stabbed.”

His nerve endings pricked again. “Who stabbed it?”

“Don’t know, but I have my suspicions.”

Clint wanted to know more, but held his silence. The hog had stirred, was rolling its round body onto the four legs that didn’t look large enough to hold its weight, and Doreena Buckman had put a finger in front of her lips.

After sniffing the torn-up ground, as well as the air, the pig trotted off as if it knew exactly where it was going. Clint watched, wondering how far away the critter had to be before it would be safe to climb down, but also a touch disappointed their time in the tree was over.

“Well, Mr. Turnquist, thanks for the visit. It made the time go by faster.” Her shrill whistle had Clint tightening his hold on the tree branch.

When the black-and-white paint arrived at the tree, she lowered herself from the branch onto the horse’s back fluidly, as if she did it every day.

Clint looked at Runner. The horse tossed his head.

“Here, climb on.” She held her hand up.

His ears burned at having a woman help him off the branch, but after considering his options, Clint took her hand, and used her horse’s rump as a staircase to the ground.

“You need help catching your horse?” she asked.

I better not. Clint glared at Runner as he grabbed his hat. “No, but thanks.” He kicked at the dirt, uncovering his six-shooter.

“You looking for a job?”

A shiver had Clint pausing to look at her as he bent to pick up his gun.

Doreena felt the blush all the way to her toes. The tenderness in his blue eyes had her insides acting all silly. She stiffened her spine, drawing up a touch of confidence. “I could use some help catching the hog.”

His gaze went back to the gun as he cracked it open.

“I have three hired men,” she explained. “But two of them left this morning to drive a hundred head of hogs to the rail station in Lincoln, and Jeb’s too old to chase down a feral pig.”

He wiped the gun with his bandanna.

She took his silence as an answer. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I normally don’t blurt out my problems to complete strangers. It’s just been one of those days.” With a nod of her head, she kneed Scout. An odd bout of melancholy had her twisting around in the saddle. “Have a good life, Mr. Turnquist.”

He gave an offhanded nod, and she turned to follow the pig. Minutes later, the sound of hoofbeats following behind her made a smile tug at her lips and had her heart thudding in her chest. Why she’d asked for the man’s help was a confusing jumble in her mind, as was why she’d told him about the ranch. Clint Turnquist was a handsome man, with those kind blue eyes and sandy-shaded hair, but she’d never been fooled by a man’s looks. After all, who truly knew what the devil looked like?

The buckskin sidled up next to Scout. “We’ll help catch your pig.”

“I’m obliged,” she responded, hoping her tone disguised the excitement buzzing inside her. “Where’d you say you’re from?”

“I didn’t.”

And you aren’t going to, she reckoned. It didn’t matter, not out here. Drifters often roamed through her acreage on their way to parts unknown. Usually, she’d offer a meal before sending them on their way. Once in a while she’d offered one a chance to earn enough provisions to see him to his next stop. Her instincts were good, and she trusted them. Clint Turnquist was no different than a dozen others she’d encountered.

Liar, her mind refuted.

Doreena couldn’t protest, and that muddled her usual straightforward logic. The anticipation running in her veins at having this particular stranger’s company for a bit longer confused her.

“Over there,” he said, drawing her attention to a patch of bramble brush.

She slid her long riding crop out of its spot behind the saddle. “Just get him between the two of us, then we’ll drive him home.”

As a team, they rousted the hog out of the underbrush, and once it was trapped between the horses, she tapped the pig’s rump with the leather tip of the crop. The hog attempted to jut sideways, but seeing Clint’s horse, quickly changed its mind. “Herding pigs is easy when there are two of you,” she said, “but with just one, it’s like chasing a bumblebee.”

He cracked a slight grin, and the humor sparking in his eyes made her breath catch.

Doreena kept tapping the pig, making it maintain a trot between the horses. She caught Clint looking at her more than once, and the way he’d quickly pull his gaze away had her insides quivering. She remained quiet, pondering the man a bit deeper, while the ride home went by without another mishap.

At the ranch, he dismounted and opened the gate as she guided the pig into its pen. She was swinging out of the saddle when three fast shots rang out. Air swooshed out of her lungs as she suddenly hit the ground covered by the protective weight of Clint’s body. Stunned by his unexpected actions, she fought to breathe as Clint, still on top of her, pointed his pistol in the direction of the shots.

Chapter Two

Doreena’s heart pounded. Not from the gunshots, but from the heat and unusual sensations Clint’s body created in hers. His weight held her flat on her back. Once her lungs caught some air, she took a moment to contemplate the situation and the unique vibrations happening to her insides before saying, “That would be Tristan, my brother.” Catching the attention of those blue-on-blue eyes, she continued, “He wants to be a gunslinger.”

“Oh.” Clint eased off her, glancing around the property. She followed his gaze. Pride and love for what he saw filled her. The house, the barn and sheds, as well as the pens and the land itself proved her father’s cattle business had done considerably well at one time. She’d worked alongside her parents for years building the ranch, and she wasn’t about to walk away from it without a fight. No matter what. Hope leaped inside her. Clint’s split-second reaction to the gunfire said he might be the one person who could help her.

She took hold of the hand he held out, and rose to her feet. “It’s not completely his fault for being as frolicsome as he is. Mama lost four babies before Tristan came along so she tended to spoil him.”

Clint tucked his gun back in its holster. “Being a gunslinger isn’t an easy job. Your brother would be better off tending to the pigs.”

Three more shots rang out. “I know,” she admitted. “I’ve told him that, many times. But he’s stubborn. Won’t listen to a thing I have to say. Besides, that too, is partly my fault. Ever since I mentioned hiring a gunslinger, he’s decided to become one.”

Eyeing her from head to toe, Clint asked, “You two live out here by yourselves?”

“No. I told you I have three hired hands. And Jeb’s married to Sarah. They live in that cabin next to the bunkhouse.” She’d already told him more than she normally would, but for some reason, she couldn’t stop now. “Sarah’s getting up in age, too. Pushing sixty. That’s part of the reason I thought about hiring someone else, a sentry of sorts. I have too many people to keep safe, besides the hogs.”

“You run this place?”

Doreena frowned. Her instincts had said he was different. “Of course I run this place. Didn’t you believe me before? I already told you, I have for years.” A touch of sadness had her gaze going to the grove of trees on the hill to the west. “Even before Pa died. He just wasn’t the same after Mama passed on. I guess I should be thankful he only lived a couple of years without her.”

She knew the moment he recognized the markers on the hill as headstones. His gaze returned to her. “Years? How old are you?” he asked.

“I’m twenty-four. Why? How old are you?”

“Well, I’m twenty-six.”

She could swear his cheeks, beneath a thin layer of whiskers, were tinged pink. Doreena shook her head, trying to get rid of thoughts about just how handsome this stranger was. She didn’t have time for such notions, nor did she have time to waste on someone who thought she—a woman—couldn’t handle running the ranch. “Good for you,” she said, turning for the barn. “I gotta get a ring in that pig’s nose before he digs out again.”

Clint fell in step beside her.

She eyed him warily.

“I’ll help,” he muttered.

She shrugged. “Suit yourself. You ever pierced a pig before?”

“Nope,” he said. “But I’d never been treed by one before, either. This must be my day of firsts.”

The humor and easiness of his voice had her relaxing and smiling again. Maybe her first instincts about him were right. It was impossible to tell with her insides jumping about. “I’ll teach you. It’s not hard, but it’s not pleasant, either.”

The task was done in no time, and Clint proved to be an apt learner. Doreena wiped her hands with the skirt of her work dress and then pointed toward the far side of the bunkhouse. “You can get cleaned up over there. Supper’ll be done in an hour. Once you’ve eaten, I’ll square up with you for helping.”

Clint tipped back his hat while his acute eyes roamed the homestead again. “How long are your hired hands going to be away?”

“A few days. Why?”

He shrugged. “I could hang around until they get back. Make sure that pig doesn’t get out again.”

Her heart nearly somersaulted right out of her chest. She had to roll her shoulders to keep it where it belonged. An unwavering honesty in his eyes said his offer was genuine. “I sure could use the help,” she admitted. “I’ll pay you the going rate, and you’ll have the bunkhouse all to yourself until Joe and Dobbs get back.”

He nodded, and she, feeling almost as happy as she had when the new Chester White had arrived, turned for the house.

Clint couldn’t draw his eyes away as Doreena walked across the worn ground between the big whitewashed house and the hog pen. She was remarkable. The way she wrangled that pig, along with the care she used while piercing its nose, said she had gumption. That alone made him want to help her.

He turned to make his way to the bunkhouse, and reality hit. What was he thinking? Stay around until her hired men got back? He had to find Martin and Henderson, see they got their due and then be on his way to California. To where the streets were lined with gold and women wore scanty dresses. That’s where a man could forget his past and start anew. Everyone knew that, including him. So why’d he have this odd desire to help a woman he found hugging a tree?

After cleaning up, and getting no closer to figuring out why he’d offered to stay, Clint stowed his gear under an empty bed in the one-room bunkhouse, and then made his way around the large home, to where shots continued to echo.

A scrawny kid, with a mop of blond hair had six bottles set up on stumps and was taking aim. All three of his quickly fired shots whizzed several feet over the bottles. An older man, leaning heavily on a cane, said something, but the kid started firing again, so Clint couldn’t hear what it was.

He made his way over to stand next to the older man. Balancing his weight on the cane, the man offered his hand. “Jeb Stockholm.”

“Clint Turnquist.”

“Doreena says you’re gonna hang around a few days and help out.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, without a qualm, which again was odd.

“Thanks. We sure could use the help. I messed up my knee a couple of weeks ago and haven’t been much good for anything lately.”

Clint nodded, but his attention was on the boy staring at them with puckered lips. “You’re not aiming with your gun,” Clint suggested.

The kid, Tristan, glared harder.

“The end of your gun predicts where the bullet’s going.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Tristan snapped.

Clint waited for the kid to fire off a few more rounds before pulling a coin out of his pocket. “Tristan.” When the kid turned, Clint tossed him the coin. “Throw it in the air.”

Tristan rolled the coin between his fingers, as if deeply contemplating the action. Then with a snap of his wrist, he flipped the coin skyward.

Without thought, Clint drew and shot. The coin recoiled from the hit, and he fired again, hitting the metal a second time as it spiraled to the ground.

“Sheesh!” Tristan ran to retrieve the coin. “How’d you do that?” He held the coin in the air. “You hit it twice. There’s no hole, only two buckle marks.”

“Of course there’s no hole,” Clint said. “A bullet’s not powerful enough to go through the metal. If anyone tells you differently, they’re wrong.”

“How’d you do that?” Tristan asked again.

“I aim with the end of my gun.”

“You didn’t aim at all,” Tristan insisted. “You just shot.”

“I didn’t use the sights, but I aimed the end of the barrel at the coin.” Clint nodded toward the coin. “Throw it again.”

That’s where Doreena found them, shooting at the coin until Clint was almost out of ammo, which was a foolish thing to do. Ammo was precious.

“Supper’s on the table,” she said, glancing at the coin Tristan held.

“Can I keep this?” the kid asked.

Clint nodded and followed the group toward the house. A part of him—the part that wanted to impress her—had hoped Doreena would witness his shooting abilities, but the way she’d looked at the coin had him wondering if she’d actually second-guessed her agreement to let him stay. He removed his gun belt and hat inside the back door, and when he turned about, memories of sitting down to a meal with others threatened to make it impossible to swallow. He should walk out now, while he could.

Doreena, with a light touch on his arm, guided him to the table. “Sit here, Clint,” she instructed, taking an adjacent chair.

“I’m Sarah,” a round and buxom older woman said. “Jeb’s wife.” She set a platter on the table. “Don’t be shy about eating. You earned it catching that hog Doreena’s been chasing for a week.”

“I couldn’t have done it without him,” Doreena agreed, spreading a napkin across her lap.

His neck heated up, as if he stood in the sun, and his throat locked, holding in the protest proclaiming she’d done most of the work.

“Eat up,” Sarah insisted as she took a seat next to her husband.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Tristan lifted a basket. “Here, Clint, nothing’s better than Sarah’s biscuits.”

Clint took one and passed them to Doreena, whose genuine smile had his pulse slapping against his skin.

The warm atmosphere was like a calming balm. Jeb and Sarah were good people, friendly and forthright, and Tristan, though young and with his head still in the clouds, was a likable kid when all was said and done, but it was Doreena that held Clint’s attention.

She’d changed her dress, and now wore a delicate rose-colored gown that made her about the most fetching woman he’d ever laid eyes on. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t quit staring at her. After everyone finished the fine meal with a large slice of chocolate cake that had made his stomach growl like he hadn’t just eaten two helpings of ham and potatoes, Clint took his leave of the house. It was too hard to think straight with Doreena’s long lashes fluttering like a butterfly’s wings. Her transformation from a no-nonsense ranch owner to a proper and almost prim young lady was mystifying, and had him thinking about things he shouldn’t be thinking about.

A big round moon lit up the yard, and the stillness let the sounds of night float on the air with an unhurried peace. Clint stretched his arms overhead as he walked to the bunkhouse, where he found a sturdy chair under the overhang. He sat and let his mind dwell on the situation he’d planted himself in. After two years of living in a cell and not doing much except thinking, most folks would have thought themselves right out of thoughts, but that wasn’t the case for him. If anything, he now had more to ponder, including a beautiful and baffling woman pig farmer.

Trancelike, watching the tiny flicker of a flame far off in the hills, his insides twitched when someone sat down next to him.

“Nice night,” Doreena said.

“Yes, it is.” Drawing ease from her tranquil sigh, he added, “Nice supper you made there.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you liked it.”

Neither spoke then. It was a gentle silence, one that didn’t seem strained or out of place or lonely. That thought surprised him, too. He hadn’t pondered loneliness for some time.

“Clint,” she uttered so softly it sounded whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”

He shrugged. “Here and there.”

“Where’s here and there?”

He shifted in his chair. Being a hired gun wasn’t far from being an outlaw.

“Never mind. It’s none of my business anyway.”

“Texas,” he blurted, somewhat stung by the piece of his heart that was ready to share his entire sordid past with her.

“Excuse me?”

“Texas is where I learned to shoot like that. I was born and raised in Missouri, but moved south when my mother died several years ago.” He pulled his attention back to the tiny glow. “When did your hired hands head out with the pigs?”

“That’s not them.”

He’d already gathered as much.

“I don’t know who it is, but they’re out there every night. Every day.” Her chair creaked as she leaned back. “That’s part of the reason I waited so long to send Joe and Dobbs and the herd to market. I’ve searched. Rode every trail, but I can’t find them.”

“Maybe it’s drifters.”

“No. Whoever it is, they’re watching us. Watching me, and waiting to make their move.”

“Indians?”

“No. There aren’t any hostiles around. I believe it’s Stewart Drake. Not necessarily him, but his cronies.”

“Drake? The Sheriff you mentioned earlier?”

“Yes. He’s out to break me. Has been since I accused him of killing my father.”

The hair on the back of his neck grew stiff.

“My father died riding posse with Drake. The two of them separated from the rest of the group, and Drake returned with the body of my father, shot in the back. The rustlers were never caught. Jeb was there. He thinks the same as I do.”

An all-too-familiar, gut-churning, bile-building scene crossed his mind. Blocking the memories, he started to ask, “Why would—”

“Drake showed up around here about the same time as all the rustling started. When Sheriff Dobson was shot dead—” her gaze was serious “—again in the back, Drake supposedly shot the assailant, and then convinced the city council to appoint him the new sheriff of Plum Creek. The man’s as dirty as they come. I know it. I just haven’t been able to prove it.” Her sigh echoed in the still night. “I’ve been too busy trying to keep our heads above water.”

The more Doreena said, the more Clint wanted to know. Martin’s signature was shooting people in the back. “I was going to ask why Drake would want your father dead.”

“That’s what I’m still trying to figure out. That and why he wants my property so badly. He’s gone so far as to say the only way this ranch will be mine is to marry him.”

Clint balled his fists. His mind went to his mother, and her disastrous second marriage to Nelson Harmon. Nelson had been looking for two things, a hideout and new recruits. He’d gotten both.

Doreena turned to him. “I’m going to be honest, Clint. I need your gun. I need a man who can shoot like you do. You name your price, and I’ll find a way to pay you.”

Although his gut reaction was to say yes, he shook his head. “My gun’s already hired out.” He’d meant to just say no, but his crazy-acting heart was smothering rational thoughts.

“Oh,” she said calmly. “To whom?”

“A marshal in Missouri.”

“Then why are you in Nebraska?” she asked.

Clint tossed a few answers around in his head, but he had to be honest with her. She deserved that. “I’m an outlaw, Doreena.”

She arched a brow quizzically. “An outlaw who hires his gun out to a marshal? That’s a bit contradictory, isn’t it?”

The teasing hint in her voice enticed a smile from him, but he swiftly squelched it. Nothing about his situation was humorous. “Part of my early release from prison includes finding two men I used to ride with and bringing them to justice.”

“Oh,” she said solemnly.

The silence grew thick and heavy; the only thing unaffected was the little flicker in the hills. Clint wanted to explain his outlaw ways, but that would be self-justification. There was no excuse for who he was, what he’d done.

“Prison, huh?” she asked, several long minutes later.

“Yes,” he answered, regret practically stitching his throat closed.

“Well,” she said a few minutes later as she stood. “The offer still stands. I want your gun. Outlaw or not.” She stepped off the porch, adding, “Sleep tight. Morning comes early.”

Chapter Three

Clint tossed and turned all night. The narrow bed had nothing to do with it; he’d slept on worse—the hard ground included. Shoving aside the blanket when the sun finally peeked through the windows, he flipped around to sit on the edge of the cot and tugged on his boots. He’d leave today, find Martin and Henderson and then head west.

The thought vanished when he pulled open the door. Leaping down the steps in one bound, he caught up with Doreena near the pigpen and grasped the handle of one of the heavy buckets she carried.

“Good morning.” Her smile rivaled the sun.

“Morning,” he answered. “Here, I’ll take the other one, too.”

“No, I got it,” she insisted. A couple of steps later, she dumped the contents of her pail between the fence slats. Hogs, snorting and grunting, rushed toward the trough as the slop splattered against the wood.

He dumped his bucket and then followed her back to the barn. The next trip they each carried two buckets. “Where’s Tristan?” Clint asked.

“Still sleeping,” she answered, emptying another bucket.

“Shouldn’t he be helping with the chores?”

“Yes, but it’s more work to fight with him than it is to do the chores.” She waited until he’d dumped both of his pails before turning for the barn again.

Clint bit his tongue. It wasn’t his place to tell her how to treat her brother, but it irritated the pants off him that the kid was still sleeping while she hauled bucket after bucket of slop to the hogs. Anyone with her determination deserved help.

“Did you think about my offer?” she asked when they entered the barn again, heading toward the water pump and feed bags where they’d mix up four more buckets of slop.

“I’ll stay and help for a short while, but I won’t hire on as a gun,” he said before he had a chance to contemplate an answer.

Her obvious disappointment was like a kick to the belly. For a moment his mind went to his mother, and how different things could have been if she’d asked someone else to help out around their place—someone other than Nelson Harmon. Pressure built in his chest. He could afford to dally a few days. Besides, a part of him said Martin and Henderson were nearby.

He set down the buckets. “I’ll do some scouting, find out who’s camped in the hills.”

“I told you, I’ve tried. You won’t find them.” Distress clouded her eyes.

The urge to ease her burdens pulled at him, tugged his heart in every direction. He stepped forward to lightly grip her upper arms, and was somewhat taken aback by how his fingers and palms tingled at the connection. “I know you have,” he stated, “but I might know a few tricks you don’t. I’ll find them. I promise.”

Her solemn gaze roamed his face, as if she searched to see if he told the truth or not. A new desire grew in his chest, an urge to fold his arms around her and hold her close. It was odd. He hadn’t wanted to hug anyone for years.

He dropped his hands to his sides. “I don’t give out promises easily, Doreena, but I will find them and discover what they’re up to.” A vow to keep his hands off her should have come next, but his tongue planted itself against the roof of his mouth, refusing to emit those words. Which told him clearly that he should hightail it. Ride as fast and far away from Doreena Buckman and her sea-colored eyes as he could.

Mules couldn’t have pulled him away from the smile that appeared on her face. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Looking into the depths of her eyes was like catching a glimpse of paradise—a place he’d thought he’d never see. It was a moment before he could think—move. He touched the tip of her nose with his index finger. “Let’s get the rest of these hogs fed.”

The fluttering in Doreena’s stomach had raced down her legs, making her quivering knees almost incapable of holding her upright. Clint turned back to the feed bags, and she tried to understand what was happening inside her. As if she didn’t have enough going on, her body now decided to act as if it had never encountered a man before. She’d been around men her entire life. But, her mind disputed, never one like Clint.

Not only was he fine looking, he radiated compassion and a sense of loyalty to his fellow man. She’d thought deep into the night, and a part of her, a large part, didn’t believe what he’d told her. He may have done time, but Clint Turnquist wasn’t an outlaw.

He caught her staring, and the smile he cracked had her cheeks tingling.

“I can do this. There’s no need for you to help.” He hefted two buckets.

She pushed off the wall. “No, I’ll help,” she insisted, if for no other reason than to be near him. It was where she felt safest, which was just one of the things that told her he wasn’t an outlaw.

Once the chores were completed, she led him to the house, knowing Sarah would have breakfast on the table.

“That pen could use a bit of reinforcement.” He nodded toward the large paddock that had held the herd Joe and Dobbs had driven to the train.

“Pigs are tough on their pens,” she admitted. “Dobbs and Joe will see to it when they return.” For a second she caught a glimpse of a future that had Clint working beside her, building the ranch back into a profitable venture.

He held open the front door for her to enter. The smell of flapjacks and bacon filled the air. Side by side, and with her heart skipping around, she and Clint walked into the kitchen and washed their hands before they took their seats.

Tristan, already consuming the food, pointed his fork at Clint. “You can give me some lessons as soon as we’re done eating.”

Doreen bit her lip and stayed silent, wondering how Clint would handle Tristan. Clint lifted a brow. “Oh?”

“Yep. Teach me the trick to shooting that coin.”

“There’s no trick,” Clint replied, taking the platter she passed his way. “And lessons can’t teach it.”

“Then how’d you learn it?” the youth demanded.

She watched and waited while Clint covered his jacks with syrup. Tristan needed guidance from a man—only heaven knew how hard she’d tried with her brother.

“It takes coordination. Once you have that, it just comes,” Clint said.

“I’m coordinated.” Tristan twirled his fork, as if proving his dexterity.

“Eye-hand coordination.” Clint chewed his food and swallowed before adding. “I’d be willing to teach you that.”

“You would?” Tristan asked.

The same question rolled around in Doreena’s head.

“Yep, as soon as breakfast is over.”

Mind ticking over, Doreena kept her gaze on Clint. He glanced her way and winked. The action had her heart thudding.

The meal proceeded with Jeb and Clint talking about repairing the pen, and as soon as their plates were empty, the two headed toward the back door.

Tristan stopped them with a shout. “Hey, what about my lessons?”

“Come on.” Clint waved a hand.

“I’ll get my six-shooter,” Tristan said.

“You won’t need it,” Clint assured him, already walking through the open doorway.

Doreena carried the dishes to the sink and peered out the window. All three men soon disappeared around the corner of the house. Usually, household chores didn’t bother her, but today, knowing Clint was outside and she wasn’t, they seemed a nuisance. Less than an hour later, she decided the rest could wait and walked out the back door to where the sounds of hammers echoed.

In awe, she stopped to stare for a moment. Tristan was nailing the boards together alongside Clint and Jeb. Her brother didn’t even look her way, but Clint did. A smile pulled on his lips as he set his hammer down and walked across the pen, meeting her near the gate.

“How on earth have you managed that?” She gestured toward her brother.

“Eye-hand coordination. If you can’t hit a nail on the head, you’ll never shoot a coin out of the air.”

Tristan let out a yelp, and shook one hand, before he started hammering again. Astonished, Doreena pointed a finger at Clint. “You’re quite amazing, Clint Turnquist.”

“So are you, Doreena Buckman.”

A rush of warmth flooded her system, and when he winked at her, a tornado set down inside her, stealing the very air she breathed.

He nodded toward Tristan and Jeb. “They have this covered. Do you have time to ride with me to where we saw that light last night?”

A bubble of excitement popped inside her windpipe. “Yeah.” She sucked in air, and repeated more clearly, “Yes, I do.”

He twisted about. “Then let’s go.”

Her work dress wasn’t the best for riding, but she’d done it before, and once she had the skirt twisted about her legs, they trotted out of the barn.

As the well-worn path out of the yard narrowed, Clint steered his mount left. “Let’s go this way.”

“But the light came from over here.” She pointed to the right.

“I know,” he said, “we’ll circle around to there.”

She nudged Scout into the tall grass. “This’ll be a roundabout way.”

“I know, but whoever’s watching will think we aren’t headed their way,” he explained.

She studied Clint for several seconds, taking in his confidence. “I bet you’ve outsmarted a fox or two.”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t always work, but I’m counting on it this time.”

“Me, too.” The significance of her agreement filled Doreena. She’d been cautious of people for a long time, but here she was, barely a day after meeting the man, riding across the countryside with him and counting on him to solve her burdening problems. It should be perplexing, but in short, her intuition told her Clint Turnquist was the answer to her prayers. And she believed it.

They rode through the open prairie, side by side, silently, until she asked, “Do you have any family?”

His back stiffened.

She hesitated, but then couldn’t stop from continuing, “You said your mother died, but is there anyone else? Siblings? Your father?”

“He died when I was little.” Clint tipped his hat brim, glancing at the horizon before adding, “So it was just the two of us.”

“How’d she die?”

They came upon a cluster of trees that lined the creek, and Clint picked a trail near the underbrush.

Having lived on the ranch her entire life, Doreena knew most every inch of her property, yet, she’d never traveled the creek bed, didn’t know exactly how it twisted and curved through the land. “You don’t have to tell me. I was just curious,” she added, following in his wake.

At a spot where the trees hung over the water, Clint steered them across the shallow creek and up the bank on the other side. “She had consumption,” he said finally when they rode side by side again.

“My mother, too,” Doreena offered.

Clint glanced her way. She shook her head, not wishing to recall the past, yet it was there and wanted out. “She was sick for so long, a part of me wished it would just end for her.” Fearful he’d think she was callous, she quickly admitted, “I’ve never told anyone that. It’s not something I’m proud of.”

He reached over and laid a hand atop hers. “I know just how you felt. It was the same for me.”

“It was?”

“Yes, it was.” He squeezed her hand. “And a part of me was glad when she died, knowing it was over for her.”

His touch was much more than simple comfort; it held a deep connection she’d never felt before. “Me, too,” she whispered. “Me, too.”

After giving her hand a final squeeze, he let loose and kneed his horse ahead. She followed, pressing her warm and tingling hand to her chest, lost in thought. Had she just confessed her most personal sentiments to a stranger? He didn’t feel like a stranger. More like a friend she could tell anything to, and not be condemned.

A short time later, after rounding a sharp bend, Clint twisted and held a finger to his lips. The action made her pulse quicken. He eased out of his saddle and gestured for her to do the same. “We’ll walk from here,” he whispered, tying the horses to a tree.

“Wh—”

“Shh.” His fingers clasped hers and he pulled her in his wake. The touch sent her blood racing. Bramble brush and taller hardwoods grew close together and cast dark shadows. Their trek was uphill and the rocky ground treacherous at times. Doreena held on to his hand more firmly and depended on his skills more and more as they climbed.

Open land and bright sunshine appeared between the trees when he knelt down, tugging her with him. He touched his lips with a finger again before pointing through the trees. The covertness of their actions heightened her senses and dulled them at the same time. Her gaze didn’t follow to where he pointed. It stayed on his lips. They were full, and she wondered what they’d feel like upon hers. What they’d taste like.

A tap on her cheek forced her to turn her head. His arm went around her shoulders, pulling her close to see between the thick branches. Their shoulders pressed together, and her temple touched his cheek.

She sucked in air at the humming inside her.

“Shh,” he whispered again. “Look.”

Far off, in the direction he’d pointed, two men sat beside a small fire. In all the years she’d traversed the land, she’d never seen the little hidden spot. A small overhang created a cave of sorts near the top of the hill. The men were reclined against the rocks, and two barely distinguishable horses were staked in the large grassy area between the hill and the creek.

She turned to Clint. This time he put his finger against her lips and then tapped her ear.

His touch had her heart pounding so hard, it was impossible to hear. The two men conversed casually, but she couldn’t decipher words. She held her breath, but not even that helped her hearing. After several minutes, Clint gestured it was time to leave.

He picked their return path as silently and cautiously as he had earlier. “Be very quiet,” he urged almost soundlessly when they returned to their horses.

They rode back along the creek without speaking, and by the time he led her into an open field, questions about the men screamed to get out.

“Did you recognize them?” he finally asked.

Practically bursting, she blurted. “No, did you?”

He grinned. “I’m not from around here. How would I recognize them?”

His teasing made her smile. “You’re right,” she admitted. “I can’t believe we found them. I mean you found them. I’m sure I checked that hill.”

Clint reined in, and gazed at the rolling hills behind them. “You wouldn’t have seen them from the top of the hill. They’d have noticed you and hidden the horses in the cave.”

“What do we do now?” she asked.

“We wait. They’re there for a reason. Let’s see what it is.”

Chapter Four

Upon his return to the homestead, Clint took a moment to check Tristan’s and Jeb’s progress, and then used the excuse of examining other areas of the pen to gather his bouncing nerves. Leading Doreena through the woods had been more pleasurable than it should have been. She smelled like a field of flowers, and at one point all he could think about was kissing her.

He paused near the back of the pen, and knelt to run a hand along the bottom board. The delight of holding her hand still had his tingling. He shook his head. The men camped in the hills were what he should be thinking about. They’d seemed relaxed and settled, like they’d been there for some time and planned to stay a while longer. His gut told him Martin and Henderson had something to do with those men, but for the first time in a very long time, he wasn’t listening and reacting to his gut. Instead, in a sneaky but warm and pleasant way, his heart had taken over. It talked louder than his gut and was focused on Doreena.

“Clint!”

He spun around.

Tristan waved an arm. “Lunch is ready.”

Clint pushed off the rail and walked over to where Jeb, leaning on his cane, waited. “Doreena said you found them,” Jeb said.

Clint set his gait to accommodate Jeb’s. “Yeah, two men camped in an overhang in the hills.”

“Got a plan?”

Clint shook his head. “Not yet.”

Jeb grinned. “When you do, let me know what I can do to help.”

“I will,” Clint agreed, half wondering how he’d gotten himself proclaimed the person in charge. He’d never been the leader, just a follower. Did what the Harmon brothers had told him to do, which usually had been holding the horses, or keeping watch. Though, when he’d returned from Texas, and the group took him back in, they’d all listened to him then, which is why he’d been able to foil the robbery and had eventually got the law on his side.

Lingering thoughts stuck in his mind while he washed and he took the empty seat at the table on the end opposite Doreena.

It was a mistake. Every time he glanced up those blue-green eyes, full of contemplation, caught his. She didn’t pull her gaze away, or blush, but simply kept staring.

Bold and beautiful, that’s how he’d describe her, and he liked that. Liked it a lot. He’d come up with a plan all right—make sure whoever was out there left her alone, and then he’d do the same. The connection he felt to her went too deep. Feelings like that caused nothing but problems.

“What do you say?”

He glanced to Tristan. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your question.”

“I said how about we do a bit of shooting practice this afternoon?” Tristan swallowed, and then added, “That pen’s almost done.”

“I found a few more boards that need to be replaced on the far side.” Clint caught the way the kid’s lips puckered. Dang if he wasn’t taking a liking to the whole family. “I’ll make you a deal,” he offered. “You finish that pen today, and we’ll do some shooting this evening.”

Tristan thought for a moment, but then agreed with a nod.

The twinkle in Doreena’s eyes was worth the ammunition he’d use up.

Hours later, he remembered a time when he’d been just like Tristan, wanted to learn to shoot above and beyond everything else. It didn’t surprise him either, when Doreena joined the shooting practice with two fancy revolvers.

“You went six for six against those bottles,” he said, walking beside her when Sarah called them to supper. “Hit most every one square center.”

A healthy glow covered her cheeks. “I’ve had practice,” she said.

“Oh?”

She nodded.

He leaned closer. “Remind me to never make you mad.”

She giggled. “I will, if the need ever arises.”

When he took a chair at the table that night, it was once again opposite Doreena. This time, he caught her gaze and winked. The blush of her cheeks tickled him, and later, after he’d said good-night and walked to the bunkhouse, he wondered if she’d join him on the little porch. He sat down and waited.

It wasn’t long before she arrived, still wiping her hands on her apron. “I just wanted to say thank you, again, for finding those men.”

He stood, waiting for her to sit in the other chair before he took his seat again. “I figure we should ride out there again tomorrow, just give them something to watch.”

“Okay,” she said.

Serenaded by crickets, they sat, without really saying anything, yet Clint felt as if they conversed deeply, profoundly, and that was something he pondered most of the next day, until the sun set and the two of them were sitting on the porch outside the bunkhouse once again.

“I think we’ll replace those shingles on the barn tomorrow,” he said as she took the chair next to his.

“At the rate you’re going, Joe and Dobbs won’t have anything to do when they return.”

A cinch tightened in his chest. “Sure they will,” he said. “Most every building here could use a coat of paint, and the hay field is about ready for cutting, and—”

Her hand fell on top of his, halting his speech. “I was just teasing,” she whispered.

He rolled his hand, so his palm met hers. Their fingers entwined, and he felt something trail up his arm. It was under his skin, a gentle but strong sensation that entered his veins and filled him with a deep tranquility.

“I appreciate all you’ve done, Clint, and that includes making Tristan interested in helping out around here.”

His throat felt a touch raw. He cleared it. “He’s a good kid.”

“Yes, he is, but he needed some guidance to bring it out. You’ve done that.” Her hand tightened around his.

He caressed the back of her hand with his thumb, and wondered about telling her about the Harmon brothers. Explain how he’d hated riding with the gang, but had been afraid of what they’d do to him and to his mother if he didn’t obey. The stars twinkling overhead and the grunts of sleeping pigs encouraged him to remain silent. He didn’t want to spoil the evening, spoil the peacefulness of the night. Of the world.

Doreena held her breath to completely focus on the vibrations of Clint’s thumb tracing a lazy circle on the back of her hand. It was silly how deeply such a simple caress touched her heart. The past two days had been magical. Not just because of the amount of work that had been done, but what was happening inside her. She found herself smiling all the time, and finding beauty and grace in everything. The magic really happened at night. Right now. While they sat on the porch. Together. Alone. She wished time would just stop, keep her right here, holding his hand, forever.

Yet time didn’t stop, and Doreena found herself happy about that, for each day she found life to be more enchanting. Clint encouraged Tristan to help with every chore, and her heart swelled at how her brother flourished beneath Clint’s tutelage. She found time to complete things she’d set aside the past year, but was never so busy she couldn’t take refreshments to the men, or ride across the plains with Clint. The evenings, though, remained her favorite time, when they’d sit on the porch.

Tonight as they sat side by side, holding hands, thick clouds hid the stars and lightning flashed on the horizon. Her insides held a storm of their own. She let out a pent-up sigh. “Joe and Dobbs should arrive home tomorrow.”

“If they don’t drown in the storm that’s rolling in,” Clint said.

She should at least smile, for he was teasing, but her heart hung too heavy in her chest.

With his free hand, he lifted her chin and tilted his head, gazing deeply at her. “What’s wrong? You’ve been quiet all day.”

His hold didn’t allow her to look away. She shrugged. “You said you’d stay until Joe and Dobbs returned.”

His hand slid along the side of her face, until her cheek rested in his warm palm. “I also said I’d stay until we find out who’s camped in the hills and why.” He nodded toward the plains. “They’re still there, and I’m still here. Will be until they’re gone.”

She lowered her lashes, afraid to become too joyous. “So you won’t leave?”

He leaned closer until their noses almost touched. “I won’t leave,” he murmured.

Her gaze stuck on his lips, and she wondered yet again, as she did most every minute of every day, what it would be like to be kissed by him. Could she ask him to kiss her? Or maybe if she tilted her head, brought her lips up to meet his…

Clint stood, bringing her out of her chair with him, and caught her when she would have tumbled. “Wha—”

“I’ll walk you to the house.”

“T-that’s not necessary,” she protested.

“It’s raining. I don’t want you to slip in the mud.”

“It’s raining?”

“Yes, it’s raining.” He pulled her forward.

As she stepped off the porch, large drops splattered her. Clint plopped his hat on her head and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, sheltering her with his body as he ushered her across the yard. Touched by his behavior, and growing giddy, Doreena giggled. He wasn’t leaving. Wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.

They arrived at the house and he quickly led her up the stairs, to where the awning blocked the rain. “You find running through the rain fun?”

She nodded. “With you, I do.”

He reached up with both hands, lifting his hat off her head. She stood absolutely still, meeting his thoughtful gaze. Her heart stopped beating and her lips parted. He was going to kiss her. Thrilled, excited and enthralled that the moment had finally arrived, she closed her eyes.

“Good night, Doreena.”

Her eyes flew open. He’d already turned around, was about to step off the porch. She reached out and grabbed his arm.

He put his hat on and patted her fingers. “Go to bed, Doreena. Morning comes early.” Before she could speak, he was sprinting across the yard.

Clint burst into the bunkhouse, shaking the water from his hat as he shut the door. His hat landed on the bed as he paced past it. What had he done? He’d let her get under his skin, that’s what. Trouble was, it wasn’t like a tiny sliver of wood that festered, but like a torch that had been set ablaze by a match and filled his insides with light.

Plopping on the bed, crushing his hat in the process, he propped his elbows on his knees. Not kissing those pert lips had taken every ounce of discipline he had, but he didn’t want to hurt her—ever. Didn’t ever want to see anything but delight and enjoyment gracing her lovely face, and kissing her, then leaving, would hurt her.

He lifted his head, blankly gazed around the room and contemplated when he could put down roots. The thoughts hung with him the next few days, like apples waiting for the first signs of autumn before dropping to the ground, and made him feel distant in a poignant way. Ironically, it helped, made him make sure they weren’t alone in the evenings anymore. Joe Edwards and Thomas Dobbs had returned, and all the men sat on the porch, discussing which chores to do the next day.

This morning, a runner from a bank in Lincoln brought notice of a deposit made by the rendering plant in Iowa. Clint had to hand it to Doreena. Her investment in hogs was certainly paying off faster than cattle would have.

“Why don’t you bank in Plum Creek?” he asked that afternoon as they rode side by side across the prairie.

“Because I don’t trust Drake. The less he knows of my business, the better off I am.” She flashed a grin. “Wanna race to that cottonwood?”

He nodded, but when she kneed Scout, he held Runner back, taking in how her hair waved in the wind and the way her body flowed with the gait of the animal as it gained speed. Once again, he found himself wondering about the curves of her body. How smooth her skin must be. How warm and pliable it would be beneath his fingers.

She arrived at the cottonwood seconds before him, and the glow of her cheeks as she whipped her head around to proclaim her win had his insides spinning. Usually they didn’t dismount when they rode, but today Clint swung to the ground and grasped her waist, lifting her from the saddle.

“I win again,” she announced softly, her breath expanding the tiny waist his fingers held.

“Yes, you did.” He should put her back on her horse.

“I have a feeling you let me win.” She cocked her head sideways, eyeing him coyly. “Again.”

The urge to kiss her was something he dealt with daily, and each passing moment it took more and more control to resist it. He twisted her around and took one hand. Together they walked into the shade of the tree. “Now, why would I let you win?”

She swiveled, planting herself so her breasts almost touched his chest. “I ask myself that same question.”

Only the skin of their hands touched, but he could feel her from head to toe, almost as if she was a layer of clothing cloaking his body. It was a unique sensation, pleasurable and potent.

Rising on her tiptoes, bringing her lips close to his, she asked daringly, “Are you ever going to kiss me?”

Through the buzz in his head, he half heard his own nervous chuckle. “What?”

“You’ve been at the ranch for over two weeks and have yet to kiss me.”

His insides pounded with excitement. He shouldn’t, but he really wanted to. “Doreena—”

“Where were you headed when you found me in that tree?” she interrupted.

“I’ve told you,” he reminded her. “California.”

Using one fingertip, she traced a line from his elbow to his shoulder, causing little shoots of pleasure to race down his arm. “Why?”

It took a moment for him to recall his once oft-repeated clause. “To find streets lined with gold and women in scanty dresses.”

“There are no streets lined with gold.” The gentle breeze of her breath danced against his lips.

He shifted his feet, attempting to brace himself. “I suspected as much,” he answered, feeling as if he played with fire. “But the women do wear scanty dresses. I’m sure of it.”

A tiny giggle escaped her lips. “They might.” Her chin dipped and rose in a teasing way. “If I wore a scanty dress, would you kiss me?”

That vision was a bit more than he could take. His mouth went to hers, and the brush of their lips tickled his soul. Her sigh, soft and sweet, had his lips tasting hers again. The blending of their breath and flavor was powerful, and provided a glimpse of the paradise her eyes offered. He pulled her close. Enticed, his hands roamed her graceful curves. He thought he’d memorized her shape with his eyes, but finally feeling how every curve flowed perfectly beneath his palms had his blood pounding.

Swelling inside his britches, he attempted to pull out of the kiss. Doreena’s hands, warm and gentle, tightened the hold she had on the sides of his face, and the tip of her tongue ran along his bottom lip. Her bold playfulness demanded a response. Tugging until her body collided with his, Clint caught her tongue with his and drove the kiss to a heightened exploration. His imagination soared. Through their clothing, the tips of her breasts hardened against his chest. He could almost envision the dark peaks, knew they’d fill his mouth wonderfully.

His tongue danced with hers, and he held her firmly against him, imagining how glorious it would be to be inside her, rising to the apex of delight and releasing his seed to be embraced by her womb. The thought was suddenly sobering. He’d never dreamed of a woman bearing his children.

Practically trembling in his boots, he broke the kiss, but planted a few small ones on her cheek and nose and temple as she snuggled her head beneath his chin, leaning heavily against him.

Her hands kneaded his back. “Does that mean you want me to find a scanty dress or not?”

He couldn’t control the chuckle that escaped.

She lifted her head while her hands slipped down to settle on his waist. The look in her eyes was deep and thoughtful. Taking a step backward, she took his hand and pulled him down as she sat.

Once on the ground, the enthusiasm in his groin had him wanting to lay her down in the grass and remove her clothing piece by piece. He gave his head a clearing, scolding shake. He should be trying to fathom up an excuse to keep from kissing her, but that was impossible. His mind couldn’t think of anything except how sweet she tasted and how full of life he felt.

“Have you ever carved your initials in a tree?” she asked.

A thumping in his head told him to stop acting on his feelings for her. No good could come of it. “No, I can’t say I have.” And never will, he added silently. She was as pure and clean as new snow, and he was as tarnished as a rusted nail. “Doreena, I’m sorry, I shouldn‘t—”

“Shh.” Doreena pressed a hand against Clint’s lips, stopping his protest. She was lit up like a firefly in a jar from the kiss they shared, and she wasn’t about to let anything hamper the joy of it.

She’d never imagined the day would come when she’d want to share everything she had, but she did with Clint—had for weeks now. Not only that, she wanted to kiss him again and again, wanted to feel his arms around her every day, and every night. Sometimes, like right now, she wanted it more than she wanted the ranch. “Why shouldn’t we?”

Clint shook his head slightly. “I’m an outlaw.”

She let out a sigh. “I know. You told me. But I don’t…” Just telling him she didn’t believe it wouldn’t be enough. She glanced around, trying to come up with a way to explain how she felt. “Tristan has changed since you arrived, but he’s still a kid, and my responsibility. Jeb and Sarah, Joe and Dobbs, depend on me, and the wages I pay them. Do you honestly think I’d put any of them or myself in danger?”

“No,” he answered.

“I wouldn’t. And I don’t believe you would, either.”

His hands, warm and gentle, cupped her cheeks. “No, I wouldn’t.” Disquiet shimmered in his eyes. “But that doesn’t change my past. I’m an outlaw, Doreena. I spent the last two years in prison in Missouri.”

She’d never asked him why, but did now. “For what?”

“Train robbery.”

His answer didn’t cause a deep reaction. She could live with his past. “You served your time. You paid your dues.”

“It’s not as simple as that.” His hands fell to his lap. “There were other robberies.” He bowed his head. “Trains, banks, stagecoaches.”

She wrung her hands, wanting to touch him, but sensed he’d back away. “If you can start over in California, why can’t you start over here?”

“Doreena—”

She shook her head and laid a hand on his chest. “The first place to start is right here. Inside yourself. Once you start over there, the rest is easy.”

Thoughtful and clear, his gaze held hers. She leaned closer, so her lips almost touched his. They wanted to be reunited with his, and it was a fight of will to keep them from doing so. “There’s something you need to know about me, Clint,” she whispered. “I don’t give up.”

He smiled ruefully. “I noticed that.”

She brushed her lips against his, but he pulled back after a brief moment, and stood, dragging her upright with him.

The horses had moved to escape the heat, and one of them let out a snort. She glanced to where they stood in the shade, and when her gaze went back to Clint, his was aimed over her shoulder, and a dark frown marred his face.

“What?” She twisted to peer behind her.

“A rider,” Clint whispered. “Come on.” He tugged her behind the tree.

“Where?” she whispered. “I don’t see anyone.”

“Watch that hill. He should top it any moment. There might be two.”

A second later, two horses topped the hill. The black horse with two white socks was unmistakable. Focused on Clint the past weeks, she’d almost forgotten about the sheriff. She let out a snort of disgust. “Drake.”

“That’s Sheriff Drake?” Disbelief coated his whisper.

“Yes, that’s him, and Deputy Hines.” The riders disappeared on the other side of the knoll. “They’re going to see the men at the cave, aren’t they?” She turned to Clint, expecting his confirmation.

The glare of hatred in his eyes made her skin quiver.

Chapter Five

Doreena poked a pin over the rope, securing the sheet to the clothesline. The hot afternoon breeze assured everything would be dry in no time. Clipping the other corner of the cotton to the line, she let out a frustrated sigh.

It had been two days since they’d kissed under that cottonwood, and though Clint didn’t act any different in front of everyone else, she sensed the difference in him. She’d caught him staring her way more than once, and recognized turmoil in his eyes. Moreover, yesterday afternoon he’d come up with an excuse as to why they couldn’t take their normal ride, and last night he’d gone to town, breaking their evening routine, as well.

Pulling one of his shirts out of the basket, she shook out the twists from washing. Sarah had made this one for him, and the dusty blue color matched his eyes perfectly.

“Doreena!”

Her heart did a cartwheel at the sound of Clint’s voice. She ducked beneath the shirt. “What?”

“I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Pushing the clothing aside, she stepped forward. “You couldn’t have looked too hard. I’ve been right here.”

A grin formed, but left his face as fast as it had appeared. “Half an hour ago you were in the barn.”

She lifted a brow, mockingly. In reality, her heart sang, knowing he kept such a close eye on her whereabouts. “Yes, I was, and then I told Sarah I’d finish the laundry so she could bake bread. Was there something you needed?”

He brushed the hair off the side of her face. The intimate, gentle touch had her breath fluttering and her blood swirling. The kiss two days ago had left her craving his touch more than ever. She reached up and held his hand against her cheek. His concentrated gaze roamed her face. A tremble lodged in her knees as she caught an intense hesitancy about him.

“Clint?”

“I-I have to tell you something.”

“All right,” she said, while her insides screamed at the cold, dark wave working its way up her body. He was leaving. As sure as the sun was shining overhead, he was leaving. At this moment she hated her instincts—wished this once they were wrong.

Bracing herself by digging her heels deep in the earth, Doreena let her hand fall to her side. A tug-of-war ensued between her heart and mind. She couldn’t make him stay. Not even she had that kind of power.

Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she refused to give them freedom. She’d lived through pain before, the death of her parents, the loss of cattle, Drake’s interferences. She snapped her gaze up. “This is about Drake, isn’t it?” She hadn’t questioned the hatred she’d seen in Clint’s eyes that day, had assumed it had to do with what she’d told him about the lawman, but now she knew differently.

“Yes, it is,” he admitted.

Like heat lightning on a hot summer night, flashes sparked in her mind. Trains, banks, stagecoaches. She held strong, refusing to let despair take root inside her. “He’s why you really agreed to stay, isn’t he?”

Clint glanced around, looking everywhere except at her.

Tension built in her spine with every second that ticked by. She fought, holding her breath and curling her toes to keep still.

“Let’s sit down—” he pointed toward the woodpile “—over there.”

“No,” she insisted. “Tell me what you have to say, here and now.”

He let out a heavy sigh. The sound was as piercing to her heart as a knife. She grabbed his arm, mindless of how her nails buried into his flesh.

“Drake isn’t his real name,” he said. “It’s Martin Harmon. The deputy is his brother Henderson.” A sneer in his tone said more than the words.

“And you know them.” It sounded like a question, but she already knew the answer.

He nodded. “Their older brother was my mother’s second husband.”

Drake or Harmon, whatever his name was, was the epitome of evil. She’d known that from the moment she’d met him. The fact Clint knew this man iced her chest. Her fingers relaxed the hold they had on his arm, and her hand fell to her side. “They’re the men you rode with, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

Doubt was an evil companion, sneaking in when least wanted, and latching on tighter than the clothespin she’d just stuck on the rope. She didn’t want to doubt herself, question the set and steadfast beliefs she had about Clint, yet, all of sudden, she did. Doubted everything about him, and doubted herself.

“You went to town yesterday to find them, didn’t you?”

Clint looked over her shoulder, as if he couldn’t meet her gaze. “They’re the men I was hired to track down.”

That fact was no better. “Track down, or kill?” She heard the question, knew it was her voice asking it, but she didn’t want to hear the answer.

He took a step back. “That’s what hired guns usually do.”

The stinging in her eyes burned hotter. She thought she could live with his past. An outlaw. A gunslinger. But deep down, inside where it really mattered, could she? Could she go to bed at night knowing the man lying beside her was a killer? “W-was it a fair fight?”

A haunted look hovered in his eyes.

She’d seen him use a gun, knew how quick and precise he was with every bullet. Her heart was slipping downward, would soon be pumping blood from her toes.

“I didn’t kill them, Doreena,” he said, sounding almost disgusted.

“Why not?”

The way her eyes snapped, and her curt and harsh tone, had Clint’s guts churning. No, he hadn’t stayed because of the Harmon brothers. He’d stayed because of her, but that didn’t matter. His innermost consciousness, that hidden piece of him that had warned him to keep on riding when he’d seen that pig tearing up the tree, had been right all along. For as much as she protested and said his past wasn’t an issue, the minute it came into question, she believed the worst about him. A heated tussle erupted inside him. Half of him said he should have told her everything. How the only way to keep Nelson Harmon from battering his mother had been to ride with the gang, do everything they told him—a kid of thirteen—to do.

The other half of him said saddle up and ride. She wouldn’t have understood these excuses days ago, and wouldn’t now.

Yesterday, when he’d gotten a closer look at the men and confirmed Drake and his deputy were really Martin and Henderson Harmon, he’d left town, the back way. Neither brother had gotten a glimpse of him. The visit he’d then paid to the two men in the hills had told him all he needed to know.

A sixth sense had him glancing back to Doreena. Pain sat heavy and clear on her face. He hadn’t laid a hand on her, but he’d hurt her as badly as Nelson used to hurt his mother.

Escapades during the years of living and riding with the Harmon brothers bounced about in his mind. It had taken two years to convince the law to listen to him about why he’d gotten involved with the gang. Two years of living in a cell smaller than the pen her prized boar lived in.

Air hotter than the devil breathed burned his lungs, forcing him to let it out. Despite everything they’d done to him, he hadn’t gunned down the Harmons because he hadn’t wanted to look evil in Doreena’s eyes. Bitter, he twirled around and headed for the barn.

“Clint?”

“I gotta go.”

Chapter Six

When he pulled his saddle off the stand, she stood between him and Runner. “What are you doing?”

“I’m leaving.” He explained the obvious.

It was a stare down, and try as he might, he couldn’t make her back down. Her eyes never even flickered. Finally, he shouldered past her.

“Where are you going?”

The tremble in her voice hit his heart, making it throb painfully. He tossed the saddle across Runner’s back. His lungs were heavy, as if clogged with thick and clinging mud. He couldn’t lie to her. “To do the job I was hired to do.”

“Will you be back?”

His heart screamed yes, but his head told him to think about it. What would he really be saying if he said yes? He turned to face her. It was a mistake.

She looked so forlorn, so dejected and hurt, and yet so tender and sweet. . He reached out and pulled her forward. It was as if neither of them had any control. Their hands, their lips, their bodies acted without sensible thoughts leading them. The kiss was heated and aching, and made them both more frantic. His hands roamed her, memorizing the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts, burning an image into his mind of the most beautiful woman he’d ever know. Ever love. He drank her sweetness, wishing it wasn’t the last time he’d experience such a delicacy. It was more than he deserved, but he took what she offered nonetheless.

With his mind and heart still feuding, he ended the kiss by gently pushing her away.

She looked him straight in the eye, and with tears trailing down her cheeks, squared her shoulders. “I won’t beg you to return.”

“I know,” he whispered.

Straight backed and stiff, she turned and left the barn. Watching her walk away, he fell deeper and deeper in love. It had to be love. Nothing else could go so deep, hurt so severely.

Dobbs appeared then and saddled a horse. Clint ignored the man. If he spoke, the stinging in his throat would make his voice crack.

The man followed as Clint rode out of the barn. It wasn’t until miles later, when sweat coated Runner’s neck that Clint pulled the animal into a walk and turned a steely gaze on his uninvited companion.

Dobbs was a thin man, with knobby knees and sunken eyes, who looked as if he’d never eaten enough to completely fill out. He gave a stiff nod. “Joe’ll make sure there’s no trouble at the house.”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“With you,” Dobbs answered.

“I don’t need anyone riding with me.”

“I know.”

Doreena smoothed the folded shirt flat with both hands as she set it back down on the narrow cot in the bunkhouse. This was the tenth morning she’d awoken without Clint gracing the ranch. It was as if she’d lost a major piece of her being. Her heart hung so heavy it hurt to breathe. She had no idea where he was, and had found no answers in town. Drake and his deputy had disappeared a few days ago. No one knew where they’d gone. The cliff dwellers had moved out, as well. Joe was no help, either, claiming he didn’t know why Dobbs had ridden out with Clint.

The loss of two hired hands should have had her in a tizzy, but it didn’t. One thing had come out of Clint’s absence—an epiphany of sorts. For all her insistence his past didn’t matter, the moment it came to light, she’d balked. Truth was, his past wasn’t the problem. Her insecurity was. Losing someone dear to her was her true fear. And why she’d recoiled at the concept of Clint leaving. She turned away from the bed, gasping for air.

“Stop it,” she said aloud, swiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “Without Drake’s interferences, I don’t have nearly the problems I had before.” At the window she pulled aside the curtain. “Now that Tristan has taken an interest in the ranch, things will be easier than before.”

“Who you trying to convince, girl? Besides yourself?”

She spun to the open doorway. Jeb’s cane thumped against the floor as he stepped into the bunkhouse.

“No one.” She sighed. “I’m only trying to convince myself.” A chair was nearby so she sat. “And I’m not doing a very good job of it.” Most likely because giving up wasn’t in her system. That still held true. She wanted Clint. Here. Now. Forever. Outlaw or not.

Jeb leaned against the wall. “Dobbs rode in a few minutes ago.”

“He did?” She jumped from the chair. “Is Clint with him?”

“No,” Jeb said. “But Dobbs said you’re to meet him by the pig’s tree.”

The next instant, she was out the door and racing down the steps. It took forever to get Scout saddled, due to how her hands shook, and the miles separating her from the oak seemed longer than ever. Sweat coated Scout’s neck, and her heart pounded in her chest by the time the tree came into view.

Clint was nowhere in sight. Neither was Runner.

Doreena slid out of the saddle, and made her way to the tree, scanning all directions. She should have talked to Dobbs first. Maybe Clint had said she was to meet him there later today, or tomorrow, or—

Something caught her eye. Stepping beneath the broad branches covered with thick leaves that cast a wide shadow, she felt a smile rise from her chest to splay across her face. A large heart had been whittled in the thick bark, along with CT Loves DB.

Happiness bubbled in her chest.

“Know anyone with those initials?”

Her gaze snapped up to the branches. “What are you doing up there?”

“Waiting for you.” Clint, grinning from ear to ear, flipped around and hung from the branch by his arms before landing on the ground.

For the first time in her life, she had no idea what to do. She wanted to leap into his arms, but wariness held her back.

“So—” he gestured toward the carving “—do you know anyone with those initials?”

Her heart threatened to leap out of her body. “Yes, I do. Do you?”

“I hope so, since I carved it.” His hands wrapped around her upper arms.

The familiarity of his touch had her body wilting in pleasure. “You did a good job, too.”

“Thanks. It’s some of my best work,” he whispered.

The desire to be held by him ate at her. She pressed both hands against her pounding heart. “So what do we do about it?”

“What do you want to do about it?” He was freshly shaven and wearing new clothes. All in all, he’d never looked better. The scent of spicy soap had her drawing in a deep breath. He lifted a hand and pushed her hair behind one ear. “The Harmon brothers are in jail. Dobbs and I saw them, as well as the cave dwellers, all the way to Lincoln.”

“You did?”

“Yes. They’ll spend the rest of their lives in a Missouri prison, alongside their brother Nelson.” His fingers combed into her hair and he tilted her face upward. “I’m still an outlaw, Doreena, or at least I was. Nothing can ever change that. But if you’ll marry me, I promise I’ll walk on the right side of the law the rest of our lives.”

The heat of his body had her insides swirling, but his words had her heart pounding in her ears, making her wonder if she’d heard right. “Marry you?”

He nodded. “Yep. Marry me.”

She swooned into his arms, into his life, the one place she lived to be. His lips found hers, and the intensity of his kiss had her clinging to him. She buried her breasts against his chest, delighting in the painful, yet, thrilling way they tingled and throbbed. He instilled feelings in her she’d never known existed, but she knew there was more. Much more.

His lips left hers and trailed down her neck and up the other side before he leaned back enough to look down at her. “Is that a yes?”

She leaped, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist. “Yes, that’s a yes.”

He wrapped his arms around her bottom, holding her in place. “Can you live with it? The fact I was an outlaw?”

She pushed away his hat and ran her hands into his hair. “I can live with it, because I know what’s inside you. I’ve seen it from the moment I met you. You may have ridden with outlaws, you may have done what they told you, but deep down, you were doing it to save your mother, not for yourself.”

“How do you know that?” he asked wonderingly.

“I just do. It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s the truth. She—”

Doreena pressed her lips to his, stopping his words. “It’s over. You did what you had to do. Everyone stumbles. Everyone falls. It’s the way you pick yourself up that tells the world who you are.”

“You don’t give up, do you?”

“Not on you. Not now. Not ever.” She gazed deep into his eyes.

If possible, the tenderness she’d always seen in his eyes grew. It dawned on her then. It was love. This man held more love inside him than any dozen others. Life with him would be a precious gift she’d forever cherish. She pressed her lips to his again. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He spun on his heels.

She giggled, growing light-headed as the world whirled around them.

When he stopped and covered her mouth with his, a deep intuition rose from her core, begging for more. Her breasts tingled and a growing heat formed in the juncture of her legs. “Clint,” she whispered against his lips. “I-I need…” She didn’t know exactly what to say.

Abruptly, he set her down, took her hand.

After two steps, she asked, “Where are we going?”

“Back to the ranch. Before we do something we shouldn’t,” he said grimly.

She skidded to a halt.

He stopped, as well. “At least not until we’re married.”

“The preacher won’t be in town for two more weeks.” Running a lazy fingertip over the buttons on his shirt, she said, “Clint, I’m done waiting.”

He gazed at her searchingly, but hope also shimmered in his eyes. “Done waiting?”

Biting her lip to contain her excitement, she nodded. “I’ve dreamed of what we’ll do together, and I can’t wait two weeks.” She kissed the tip of his chin. “Can you?”

Chapter Seven

Heat and pleasure radiated from her center and flowed profoundly through her body as Clint lowered her onto the soft grass beneath the tree. Every touch of his lips, every stroke of his hands had her senses reeling. Their shoes and several pieces of clothing were in a haphazard pile beside them. She ran her hand over the hard contours of his chest. It was like touching heaven; there was nothing else comparable.

He pushed her hair from her face. “You’re so beautiful, so wonderful. Are you sure you want to marry me?”

“More than anything else in the world.” She kissed his neck, savoring the tang of his skin.

His lips pressed against hers softly and lingered there for a long time. The touch was so intense it stunned her. When he lifted his face, he said, “I never fathomed the things I want with you. Life. Family. Home.”

“That’s what I want, too.” There was no shyness inside her, only a hot, strong desire. “And I want you, Clint. Now.”

His smile lit up his face. “I’ll never be able to deny you anything.”

She giggled. “I hope not. Especially right now.”

The sun bore down on the earth, but beneath the shade of their tree, a sweet breeze floated over her skin as Clint, with tender, gentle hands, and even more affectionate kisses, eased away her underclothes. The way his eyes savored her body, as if he’d never seen anything more glorious, filled her with exquisite pleasure. His movements, how he rolled down her stockings or lifted her camisole over her head, were slow and languid, as if he unwrapped a delicate package. Afterward, when he set each article aside, he explored the exposed skin with his hands, and tempted the growing storm within her by kissing each inch.

Every touch, though soft and gentle, was powerful, making her sigh with pleasure while increasing the sensations awaking inside her. The need grew more demanding, focused on an action she knew little about, but wanted beyond reality.

She grew fervent, afraid she might perish if he didn’t soon satisfy the heated turbulence overcoming her. Kneading the thick muscles of his sides and hips, her fingers tingled and her palms quivered at the intimate touches while her eyes feasted on his masterful body.

He leaned down and covered her nipple with his mouth. The delightful intensity lifted her back off the ground, and she dug her hands into his shoulders, wanting to cry out with joy. Glorious sensations shot through her system faster than her blood could flow. His fingers weaved their way down below her stomach, to her private center. There they caressed her so sweetly she buckled, squeezing his hand between her thighs.

Unable to take much more, she found the waistband of his britches and worked her fingers to the front, searching for the buttoned flap. His arousal, gallant and telling, increased her natural boldness. The buttons parted, and her fingers wrapped around the hot shaft. Stroking him caused a surge of boiling flames where his fingers continued to fondle.

“Clint,” she gasped, “I’m on fire with want.”

“Me, too, darling.” His lips left her breasts and found her mouth. “Me, too.”

She pushed his pants down, caressing the firmness of his backside and the tight muscles of his thighs.

He rolled onto his back and shed the pants, tossing them aside. She grabbed his arms, pulling him back toward her.

The smile on his face made her giggle. “I’m a bit impatient.”

“I noticed,” Clint said, kissing her nose, and drowning in the love beating inside his chest. He’d taken a chance on returning, a leap of faith his heart had conjured up. It had insisted she needed him, and he needed her. It was right.

So hard he was ready to burst, Clint fought to control his desire. He wanted to be gentle, give her the opportunity to savor their first time together the same way he was.

“I don’t want to cause you pain, Doreena,” he murmured, searching her moist warmth with his fingers again. The touch renewed his passion, making him throb with expectation.

She spread her legs wide, giving him room to settle his knees between hers. “Then take me now, Clint. Now, before I expire from yearning.”

He eased his fingers away and used them to guide his way into her folds. Cautiously he pushed forward, but drew back before full engagement. She lifted her hips confidently, pulling him forward again.

Their pace grew gradually, every thrust more splendid than the last, and when he entered her fully, she gasped, but her hands clutching his backside and her arched back refused to allow him to withdraw. After a short pause, their mutual momentum began again.

Glorying in her eagerness, he moved, drawing them closer and closer together with every plunge. A natural rhythm ensued, one they both instinctively knew. The pleasure on her face, the way she increased her speed, keeping the movements both equal and enthralling, had Clint reeling with sensations that would forever remain in his mind. The sharing of need, the distribution of give-and-take, was completely unforgettable. It went on and on, until he was overwhelmingly immersed in nothing but their union.

His body grew hard, his time of release urgent, but he held back, watching her face, feeling her body as it reacted to wave after wave of pleasure erupting between them.

“Clint,” she exclaimed, wrapping her legs around his thighs as she met her summit.

He groaned as he discharged in a moment of liberation, becoming one forever with Doreena. The act was exhausting, and invigorating, and made him want to shout at the deep and profound ecstasy. He kissed her instead, thoroughly. When she relaxed and grew lethargic beneath him, he slid off her. Unwilling to experience separation, he pulled her close and caressed her silky skin.

“That was amazing,” she whispered as she settled her cheek upon his chest and her leg across his.

“Yes, it was,” he admitted. “So are you.”

She sighed with pleasure, and he kissed the top of her head as she twisted.

Her gaze was on the tree. A sudden quiver of unease rippled his spine. “I carved that because I figured we’d both lost some of our youth. We’ve been too busy with life to experience the simple, silly things others may have.”

She ran the tip of one finger over his lips. “That’s just one of the things I love about you. No one else could ever understand me the way you do.”

“Nor the way you understand me,” he admitted.

She braced herself on one arm, looking down at him with a glowing, serene gaze. “We both needed a new start. Now we have it. Tristan will inherit the ranch and we’ll go—”

“What?” he interrupted.

She shrugged. “Go to California?”

“You’ve worked so hard. Your pigs. Jeb and Sarah and the others, they need you.”

Her lips brushed over his. “But I need you more. From now on, I’ll be devoted to making you happy.”

He framed her face with both hands. “You’ll make me happy by doing what you do best. Tristan will need your help to run one of the biggest pig ranches in all of Nebraska.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, he will.” Tiny lines formed on her forehead. “You’d be all right with that? With us helping him, for a while at least?”

“Yes. I fell in love with a woman pig farmer. And that’s the woman I want to spend the rest of my life loving.”

“What about California?”

He shrugged. “Maybe when you and Tristan sell a right-of-way to the railroad, you can get a couple tickets in the deal, and we’ll take a trip out there.”

“Railroad?”

He nodded. “That’s why the dwellers were in the cave. Martin was trying to sell rights-of-way to the railroad.”

“On our land?”

He nodded. “His lookouts were to keep the railroad men from approaching the ranch.” He touched the tip of her nose. “A railroad agent will be out to talk to you and Tristan next week.”

Her response was a simple but thoughtful, “Hmm,” before she gave him a saucy look. “If we do go to California, are you going to look for women in scanty dresses?”

He grasped her hips and settled her warm, naked body upon his. “Nope. I got the only woman I want to look at right here. No other will ever compare to this.” He kissed the tip of one healthy breast as her weight settled upon him.

She giggled. “We’re going to have a wonderful life. Together, with your leadership and my instincts, we’ll help Tristan build the largest pig farm in Nebraska.”

He cupped her buttocks. “The way you say it, I can’t help but believe it.”

She lowered her lips to his. “You’d better believe it, because when I set my mind to having something, I never give up.” After a brief kiss, she repeated. “Never.”

“I noticed,” he whispered. “I noticed.”

If you enjoyed this story by Lauri Robinson, don’t miss her other Harlequin Historical UNDONE stories set in the Old West:

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Both titles available now wherever ebooks are sold!

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Lauri Robinson’s chosen genre to write is western historical. When asked why, she says, “Because I know I wasn’t the only girl who wanted to grow up and marry Little Joe Cartwright.”

With a degree in early childhood education, Lauri has spent decades working in the non-profit field and claims once upon a time and happily ever after romance novels have always been a form of stress relief. When her husband suggested she write one, she took the challenge and has loved every minute of the journey.

Lauri lives in rural Minnesota where she and her husband spend every spare moment with their three grown sons and four grandchildren. She works part time, volunteers for several organizations, and is a diehard Elvis and NASCAR fan. Her favorite getaway location is the woods of northern Minnesota on the land homesteaded by her great-grandfather.

ISBN: 978-1-4592-0272-6

Nights with the Outlaw

Copyright © 2011 by Lauri Robinson

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