Abbie's Outlaw Page 14

  John put iron in his voice. “Let me tell you what I see.”

  She shook her head no, but he wasn’t about to let her stand there feeling flawed.

  “Those marks on your belly tell me you’re a mother. They make you more beautiful than you were in Kansas. You could have walked away from the pain on those glorious legs of yours, but you stayed because of your children. And those scars on your chest—they’re badges of honor.” A horrible possibility pierced John’s thoughts. Robert had tormented her for a reason, and he was afraid he knew what it was. “You were protecting Susanna, weren’t you?”

  She looked at him with stark anguish. “He wanted to know your name. I told him you didn’t care—that you didn’t even know about her—but he kept hurting me until I told him everything.”

  John didn’t think he could feel more despicable than he had after shooting Ben Gantry’s sons, but he did. Nor could he imagine lighting another cigarette as long as he lived. They were all going in the trash. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  But it was…he’d planted his seed and left Abbie to tend it alone. Somehow he’d make it up to her—starting right now. He lifted her robe off the hook and held it open for her. “It’s over, Abbie. No one will ever hurt you again. I swear it.”

  Looking down, she touched the empty sleeve and burst into tears. “No one has ever done this for me, covered me up, I mean.” Sobbing, she stepped out of the tub, slipped into the robe and pulled the sash tight. She was murmuring she was sorry and embarrassed, explaining that once she started to cry, she couldn’t stop.

  Wanting to soothe her, John put his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  “I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”

  “No one is going to.” John knew all about licking wounds in private. “We’re going to my room.”

  Abbie recoiled with terror. As much as he wanted to hold her close, he stepped back and held his hand palm up in a gesture of submission. “You’re completely safe with me. You know that, don’t you?”

  Her eyes widened. “I do.”

  “Good,” he said. “Because I have a sure cure for the shakes.”

  He snuffed the lamp and guided her from the bathing room. In the kitchen he took a pint of whiskey out of the pantry and led her to his room where he set the bottle on his desk and lit the lamp. The sudden glow revealed jumbled sheets and his navy-blue comforter.

  John glanced at Abbie who was hugging herself as if her stomach hurt. The sobs had eased, but her breath was still shallow.

  “Get in,” he said. “I’m going to tuck you in, pour you a shot of whiskey and sit here until you fall asleep.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t. Beth gets up at dawn. What if she sees me leaving your room like this?”

  “She won’t,” he replied. “I can move without making a sound. Once you’re settled, I’ll get a dress from your room. With the curtains open, the sun will wake you at first light.”

  She looked at the bed with longing and then perched on the edge, huddling forward as she hugged her waist. John poured a shot of whiskey in a glass and handed it to her. After turning the desk chair, he sat across from her and watched as she downed the amber liquid. As if the will had gone out of her, she handed him the glass, scooted to the middle of the bed and let him tug the comforter up to her chin. A kiss to her forehead would have been fitting, but he didn’t want to crowd her so he sat back down.

  She laced her fingers together, making a shelter of sorts across her middle. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll be all right in a while. I’ve had this happen before.”

  “Me, too,” he said. “You need to talk it out.”

  “I have.” Her voice sounded steadier. “I have wonderful friends in Washington. We listen to each other, cry together. We’ve all been down the same road. I’ve told them pretty much everything.”

  Just as John had told Silas “pretty much” everything. No one on earth knew John had murdered his own father. Did Abbie have any buried secrets? If so, he knew what it was. “Did you tell them about me?”

  When she pressed both hands to her lips, John’s gut clenched. If she started to cry again, he’d feel like dirt. But a closer look revealed a twinkle in her eye. The woman was holding in a bad case of the giggles.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “I told Maggie about my first time.”

  John tried not to groan, but he knew this joke was on him. “This can’t be good.”

  Abbie chuckled softly. “Maggie called you a two-legged goat.”

  “Now that’s a picture,” he said dryly. Judas wanted to make a better defense, but John refused to think about it.

  Abbie smiled at him. “She said worse things about Robert. Those were true, but you were good to me, Johnny. First times aren’t always nice.”

  “But they should be.” Needing to console them both, he reached across the bed and took her hand. “Lord knows, if I could live that night again, I’d make things right. I’d change everything, especially how it ended.”

  “But we can’t,” she said. “Besides, marriage just isn’t for me. Why bother with the misery if I can’t conceive?”

  Can’t conceive…can’t conceive…

  Her words echoed in John’s mind like a shout from heaven. More than anything, he feared passing on his bad habits to an innocent child. If Abbie couldn’t have more children, that would never happen. He could make love to her without the fear of planting his seed in her womb. He could kiss the scars on her body and heal the wounds on her heart.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  Her green eyes filled with sorrow. “After years of hoping, I’m positive. Something happened during Robbie’s birth. I figure I have scars inside as well as out.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

  “Me, too.” She shrugged off the sadness the same way she ignored the pain in her shoulder and the spots in her eye. “At least it simplifies my choices. If it weren’t for the arrangement between us, I wouldn’t have married again.”

  John suspected why. “Don’t tell me you think those scars matter? You’re a beautiful woman, Abbie, and so brave it shames me.”

  “I’m not brave at all. I can’t even think about bedroom things without crying.” She pulled her knees to her chest, then turned her head to hide her quivering lip. “Do you know how it is when you smell bread and instantly think of home?”

  “Not really.” His mother had rarely baked. “But I know how it feels to see a shovel and remember being whacked with it.”

  Her pupils narrowed in the lamplight, making her irises even greener. “Then you understand. That’s why I panicked after that kiss at the stream. I can’t forget.”

  John had walked that bitter road with Silas, talking late into the night. The old man had been both tough and kind, but mostly tough. You gotta face the ghosts…

  John made his voice firm. “If I can stop sweating at the sight of a shovel, you can get over Robert.”

  Abbie shook her head. “It’s not a choice. I just react to things.”

  “That reminds me.” John stood and opened the drawer that held his cigarettes. He scooped up the two packs, set them in the washbowl and poured water on them. “You won’t smell smoke on me ever again. It’s a bad habit anyhow.”

  Abbie sighed. “It’s a nice gesture, but it won’t fix me.”

  John looked down as Abbie settled into his pillows and yawned. Earlier he’d prayed to be delivered from the temptation to take her to bed. Now he wondered if the good Lord was sending him a message of a different kind. She needed to be touched with sure and gentle hands. She needed healing and love. They were married…he could give her those things with a clear conscience, but then how could he let her leave?

  He couldn’t. And neither could he ask her to share his life knowing that his past was a threat to them all.

  Abbie snuggled into the feather mattress with a contented sigh. “
Thank you, Johnny. You’ve been so kind.”

  Bending low, he kissed her forehead, watching as her eyelids fluttered shut like tired butterflies. He couldn’t give her the things she needed most, but he could see to it that she spread her wings a bit. He could provide for her needs and make her feel pretty again. He could buy her those new dresses…underthings with a bit of lace…a nightgown that held no memories.

  Without making a sound, he closed his door and went to her room where he opened the wardrobe in search of the gray dress. He found it hanging neatly on a hook and checked the tag. Just as he thought, the garment had been made by a dressmaker named Jayne Trent. Along with the dress, he gathered fresh underthings, her shoes, a hair-brush and handful of hairpins.

  Walking with his old stealth, he slipped back into his bedroom where he laid her things on a chair and opened the drapes as he promised. After putting on his black coat, he strode to the stable where he saddled his mare for a ride out to the Trent ranch.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Trent place had changed in the time since John had married Ethan and Jayne on a nearby knoll. The cabin had been replaced by a frame house, and the barn held four fine quarterhorses. As he rode through the meadow, he noticed the lupine just beginning to open in the morning sun. The stalks reminded him of Abbie’s wedding flowers.

  Damn, but he was aching again—for himself, for Abbie, for the things that couldn’t be. He had to focus on the needs he could meet, not the ones that pulled at his groin as well as his heart. Forcing his gaze away from the flowers and the new grass that matched Abbie’s eyes, John rode across the yard and dismounted.

  As he swung out of the saddle, Ethan stepped onto the porch. The man who had once resembled an angry grizzly was already shaved and sipping coffee. He hadn’t lost his instincts, though. When he saw John, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What’s wrong?”

  Ethan’s dire tone matched John’s mood perfectly. Looking just as grim, he said, “I need a dress.”

  Ethan arched an eyebrow. “Should I be worried about you?”

  Realizing how peculiar he’d sounded, John chuckled. He’d made a similar remark to Ethan when the rancher had hijacked a trunk full of Jayne’s clothes during their courtship. “You’ve waited a whole year to get back at me for that crack, haven’t you?”

  “I sure have.” Ethan held out his hand and the two men shook. “Come inside, Reverend. Have some breakfast and tell us what’s got you in a twist.”

  As John followed Ethan into the house, the aroma of biscuits tickled his nose. He was close to relaxing when a baby’s delighted squeal reached his ears. He’d dedicated Louisa Margaret Trent last winter. She was six months old and blond like her mother.

  John’s heart squeezed. His daughter had made baby sounds he would never hear. She had nursed at Abbie’s breast and he hadn’t seen that flow of milk and the love in her mother’s eyes.

  Before he could collect his thoughts, Jayne came around the corner holding Louisa on her hip. Yesterday he would have reached for the little girl and plopped down in the rocker. Today he couldn’t make his arms move.

  “Hello, Reverend.” Jayne’s eyes filled with worry. “Are you all right?”

  That’s when he realized he hadn’t shaved for two days and his eyes were red-rimmed and bleary. The work shirt under the black coat wasn’t exactly fresh, and the blue chambray didn’t match his usual attire. Not wanting to explain himself, he focused on the task at hand. “Do you remember a gray dress you had for sale at the Emporium?”

  “Sure,” she answered. “A suit with pearl buttons and a high collar.”

  “I need you to make about five more in the same size, but in pretty colors with buttons and what-not.” His voice picked up speed. “She needs underthings, too—just as pretty as you can make them. And nightgowns and a wrapper. Any color but pink… How long will it take?”

  “I finished two dresses yesterday that are just her size. Have a seat and I’ll get them.”

  John shook his head. “I’d rather stand. I’m in a hurry.”

  Judging by her expression, John had stirred up her imagination as well as her curiosity. Jiggling the baby, she said, “This wouldn’t be for your houseguest by any chance?”

  John hated gossip. “What have you heard?”

  “Only that she’s young for a widow…and very pretty.”

  When Jayne smiled, John scowled. “She’s had rough go of it. It’s time she made a fresh start.”

  Ethan and Jayne both nodded, somewhat solemnly. Because their own love had come after a brutal heartbreak, they understood the cost of new beginnings. Jayne broke the silence. “Mrs. Windsor is lucky to have you for a friend.”

  Jayne had said the right words, but Cupid had put a twinkle in her eye. John put his hands on his hips. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m just helping her a bit.”

  Ethan raised one eyebrow. “And what wrong idea is that? Seems to me it might be the right idea.”

  John felt as if the walls of the cozy home were falling on top of him. The fool rancher probably made love to his wife three times a day. She’d rub his back and kiss his neck. He’d return the favor…they would snuggle and talk. And then… Ah, hell. John was so jealous that all he could do was growl. “You know darn well what wrong idea. That is not why I’m here today.”

  Ethan snorted. “Of course not.”

  Jayne looked even less convinced, but she had the decency to be professional. “I’ll get the dresses.”

  Turning, she handed Louisa to Ethan who propped the baby on his shoulder. When she kicked like a rambunctious lamb, the rancher grew six inches in front of John’s eyes. Swaying to rock the baby, he looked at John. “Have you heard the news?”

  “I hear all sorts of things—both good and bad.”

  Ethan grinned. “This is good. Louisa’s going to have a little brother or sister sometime in the spring.”

  John blinked and imagined Abbie growing round with his child. It was a foolish thought, but he felt an ache deep in his chest. At the sight of Ethan’s smile, John’s usual request for a cigar turned into a lump of envy in the pit of his stomach. He had just managed to say congratulations when Jayne walked back into the room with two dresses draped over her arm. She set them on a chair and lifted the first one for his inspection.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  John’s mouth went dry. The dress matched the color of Abbie’s hair, a reddish brown with tinges of gold. It had black brocade on the front, two rows of fancy frog-ties and the high collar she needed to cover the scars. It made him think of smoke and flame. “It’s perfect.”

  Pleased, Jayne held up the second dress, turning it to show off a column of dainty buttons running down the red linen. “Not all women can wear bright colors. Do you think—”

  He thought, all right—about undoing the buttons one at a time. “I’ll take them both.”

  Jayne nodded. “I have a full set of underthings I can send with you now.”

  John managed a crisp nod, but unmentionables were the last thing he wanted to be thinking about. His intentions were to make Abbie feel womanly so she’d be ready for love when a good man came into her life. As for the temptation to be a real husband to her, he had to stop thinking about undoing her buttons.

  Jayne interrupted his thoughts. “I’ll wrap everything up. Would you like to stay for breakfast?”

  “You’re more than welcome,” Ethan said, chuckling. “But be warned. Louisa might put cereal in your hair.”

  As if she understood, the baby made a “bah” sound and then kicked her legs. “Bah!”

  Ethan clicked his tongue to soothe her. “She’s hungry. Two more minutes and she’s going to be screaming.”

  John wanted to run from the cozy house, but he had to pay Jayne for the dresses. With Louisa kicking and shouting “bah, bah, bah” like a Gatling gun, he felt like a man under full attack. Sure enough, before Jayne returned with his packages, the little girl was screaming her lungs out…all becau
se she was afraid she’d go hungry. And there was John, ready to wail with her because he was hungry, too. Only instead of food for an empty belly, he wanted Abbie.

  When the baby let out an ear-piercing shriek, Ethan headed for the kitchen. “Jayne’s in charge of the cereal, but I can manage some applesauce. How about you? Want some coffee?”

  “No, thanks,” John answered.

  Coffee didn’t appeal to him right now, but apples did. He flashed to Abbie wearing the red dress. The next thing he knew he was back in her grandmother’s orchard picking fruit. Only instead of the sweet wine saps she had made into a pie, he was plucking rotten apples off the tree in his mind. Worry. Fear. Doubt. The certainty that he was doomed to starve…just like Louisa.

  And that’s when it struck him. The temptation he had to fight had nothing to do with wanting Abbie in his bed. That yearning had a purpose like a baby’s hunger. His mistake was thinking he knew what the future held. Pure and simple, it showed a lack of trust in the same God who had healed Bones and kept John off the gallows.

  When Ethan upended a spoonful of applesauce into his daughter’s mouth, she took it like a baby bird and opened for more. John wanted more, too. He wanted to know the same contentment that had changed Louisa from a banshee to a blond angel.

  His problems were more serious than hers. Ben Gantry posed a real threat, but what did John really know about the future? Gantry could be playing horseshoes with his boys in heaven, or he could have left Bitterroot and made a new start. John had always trusted his crazy intuition. It had been necessary for his survival, but now it was in the way of other things, like hope.

  As for his cursed blood, Abbie’s confession put that concern to rest. He was sorry for her but relieved for himself. While Gantry remained an unknown, John’s family legacy of violence and bad tempers was certain. His heart was picking up speed when Louisa sputtered a mouthful of applesauce straight at her daddy. Chuckling, Ethan wiped his cheek. “Tell the truth, John. Wouldn’t you like to have a little darling of your own?”